It is the most beautiful thing. Perhaps I can draw the picture for you.
I am sitting at my dining room table typing this while sipping my first of many cups of Nescafe. A quick glance outside captures a moment of serenity in the lives of two canines. My two black dogs are sitting on the mirpeset, or patio, sniffing the breeze. The sun is shining but my carob tree only offers it in increments. My long haired dog is my only instrument for measuring the wind's velocity. His beautiful coat is softly swaying. I could sit right here and stare at him all day.
Yesterday, as I sipped coffee at a restaurant in our new, gorgeous mall, with an old gorgeous friend, many friends, both hers and mine, stopped to chat. It was a pleasure after my self-imposed hibernation to be out in circulation again. To my sheer delight, "sidewalk" sales abounded, and I barely felt the weight of the bags bearing my newest acquisitions. I couldn't wait to share the good news with my husband that I had succeeded in saving him so much money. Funny, but he didn't quite look at it that way.
Meanwhile, an hour and a half south of my mall venture, the Israeli Air Force was invading Gaza, seeking retribution for the stabbing, bus bombing, shooting death and rocket, all four having occurred in the last 24 hours. My children hear this news in the midst of their school days, shrugging it off as a day's work in defending your country from terror that seeps into everyday routines. Adding insult to injury are the international lectures, daring our government to defend against such terror, as if they would do any differently. But we are the heart of the world, we are told. How can we fly off to heal Haiti and the Phillipines, but not be able to use our defense resources for, well, defending?
As parents we see ourselves as our children's teachers. But experience teaches that it is reciprocal. When your nine-year-old son asks you questions, you learn a lot. This morning's routine brought many. Did a policeman get stabbed yesterday? Did a Palestinian do it? Are all Arabs bad? The answers were yes, yes, and no, respectively. Conversations with our children are a lot like Olympic gymnastics events; we balance carefully while walking the beam. While I must impress the dangers of accepting rides from those whose Hebrew contains hints of an Arabic accent in a society where hitchhiking is considered a regular form of transportation, I also inject stories of the kind Arabs I have shared hours with in hospitals and in society in general. The painful truth is that while I long for love to replace the violence in this land, the textbooks and children's programming that teach ideals of killing Jews is a devastating reality, particularly in Gaza, a Hamas stronghold. Perhaps when my children have the opportunity to mix with those who are an enigma to them now, the experiential learning will put my heart to rest. Perhaps there will one day be peace, although it is not on the immediate horizon.
While many in the world spout anti-Israel, as well as anti-Islamic rhetoric, I continue to greet the Arab shopkeeper in our town center, who thankfully allowed my son to return to his store the following day when he came up 20 shekels short while buying me a much needed item. It is something that every store owner here does on a regular basis, but clearly this man knew that in our community it was no question that he would see his money the following day as promised. Perhaps that is why he set up shop here in the first place. Ah, if trust were only that easy.
The daily contrast of peace and war, the mall jaunts and garden scenes against the backdrop of terror and Gaza incursions, should not be lost on one who wishes to know life in Israel. Nor should my son's final question from the shower this morning. "Mama, who is stronger, Palestinians or G-d??" G-d, I told him. Does G-d take care of Arabs and bad people too, he asked me. Yes, I told him. "Yay!! We have G-d!!", he exclaimed in glee, and he high-fived me from behind the shower curtain.
I think he is going to be all right here.
And to all who read this, thank you. You give me strength :)
I am sitting at my dining room table typing this while sipping my first of many cups of Nescafe. A quick glance outside captures a moment of serenity in the lives of two canines. My two black dogs are sitting on the mirpeset, or patio, sniffing the breeze. The sun is shining but my carob tree only offers it in increments. My long haired dog is my only instrument for measuring the wind's velocity. His beautiful coat is softly swaying. I could sit right here and stare at him all day.
Yesterday, as I sipped coffee at a restaurant in our new, gorgeous mall, with an old gorgeous friend, many friends, both hers and mine, stopped to chat. It was a pleasure after my self-imposed hibernation to be out in circulation again. To my sheer delight, "sidewalk" sales abounded, and I barely felt the weight of the bags bearing my newest acquisitions. I couldn't wait to share the good news with my husband that I had succeeded in saving him so much money. Funny, but he didn't quite look at it that way.
Meanwhile, an hour and a half south of my mall venture, the Israeli Air Force was invading Gaza, seeking retribution for the stabbing, bus bombing, shooting death and rocket, all four having occurred in the last 24 hours. My children hear this news in the midst of their school days, shrugging it off as a day's work in defending your country from terror that seeps into everyday routines. Adding insult to injury are the international lectures, daring our government to defend against such terror, as if they would do any differently. But we are the heart of the world, we are told. How can we fly off to heal Haiti and the Phillipines, but not be able to use our defense resources for, well, defending?
As parents we see ourselves as our children's teachers. But experience teaches that it is reciprocal. When your nine-year-old son asks you questions, you learn a lot. This morning's routine brought many. Did a policeman get stabbed yesterday? Did a Palestinian do it? Are all Arabs bad? The answers were yes, yes, and no, respectively. Conversations with our children are a lot like Olympic gymnastics events; we balance carefully while walking the beam. While I must impress the dangers of accepting rides from those whose Hebrew contains hints of an Arabic accent in a society where hitchhiking is considered a regular form of transportation, I also inject stories of the kind Arabs I have shared hours with in hospitals and in society in general. The painful truth is that while I long for love to replace the violence in this land, the textbooks and children's programming that teach ideals of killing Jews is a devastating reality, particularly in Gaza, a Hamas stronghold. Perhaps when my children have the opportunity to mix with those who are an enigma to them now, the experiential learning will put my heart to rest. Perhaps there will one day be peace, although it is not on the immediate horizon.
While many in the world spout anti-Israel, as well as anti-Islamic rhetoric, I continue to greet the Arab shopkeeper in our town center, who thankfully allowed my son to return to his store the following day when he came up 20 shekels short while buying me a much needed item. It is something that every store owner here does on a regular basis, but clearly this man knew that in our community it was no question that he would see his money the following day as promised. Perhaps that is why he set up shop here in the first place. Ah, if trust were only that easy.
The daily contrast of peace and war, the mall jaunts and garden scenes against the backdrop of terror and Gaza incursions, should not be lost on one who wishes to know life in Israel. Nor should my son's final question from the shower this morning. "Mama, who is stronger, Palestinians or G-d??" G-d, I told him. Does G-d take care of Arabs and bad people too, he asked me. Yes, I told him. "Yay!! We have G-d!!", he exclaimed in glee, and he high-fived me from behind the shower curtain.
I think he is going to be all right here.
May G-d rest the soul and comfort the family of 22-year-old Salah Abu-Latif, a civilian IDF employee from the Bedouin town of Rahat, who was working on repairs to the Gaza security fence when he was shot by a Palestinian sniper.
May He give a speedy recovery to the police officer who was stabbed in the back at a checkpoint on Monday and lost a kidney, as well as to the officer injured when a bus bomb detonated in Bat Yam on Sunday.
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| Salah Abu-Latif Photo courtesy of Times of Israel |
And to all who read this, thank you. You give me strength :)
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