The stronger my children get...it seems sometimes, the weaker I get. I'm usually the first person to load myself up with packages to carry. It is completely foreign to me to stand back and watch "the men" grab all the packages and bags while I stand there and carry nothing.
I have seen this all my life - watched other women stand back while the men do the heavy lifting. In many ways, they are perhaps smarter and yet, next picnic, barbecue or major move...there I am lifting again. One of the strangest passages that occurs in your life, it seems, is accepting the passing of the strength - that time when you look at your sons (and daughters) and realize they are physically stronger than you.
More and more, I let my sons carry the heavier things and more and more, as I lift something, one of my sons comes forward to meet me and take the burden. It is natural for them and so strange for me. Yesterday, we went to buy paint for the new house. I went with Elie and my youngest daughter and following the stereotyped preferences, picked a light blue for the boys' rooms and sure enough, my little one started paging through the pinks.
When the older man at the store came to assist us, we discussed paints and colors while Elie went and picked out rollers and accessories. He measured by what was comfortable for him, already assuming he will do much of the painting. The store clerk and I agreed on various containers, including one that contains 18 liters of white base paint and is quite heavy.
Without hesitation, he turned to Elie and asked him to lift it and without hesitation, Elie went over and began moving things aside to reach the specific container.
"Do you need help?" I asked stupidly and thought, no, silly, of course he doesn't need help and if he did...how could you help him? Easily, he picked it up; easily, he placed it on the cart. He has no trouble accepting what his body can do...it is yet another, on top of so many, lessons I must learn - to yield to his physical strength and accept it not as a sign of my weakness, but a glorification of his reaching his truest potential in yet another area of his life.
My he go from strength to strength, always on the path of right and light and health.
Shabbat shalom.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Things that Make a Mother Twinge
There's this feeling - I don't know how to describe it. It's sort of a twinge in the stomach...a sick little feeling that in a better world, this wouldn't be necessary. One of those things, for me, has always been dog tags (and WHERE did they get the name "dog tags" from?). When Elie first showed me his tags and told me where they are kept, I felt sick.
Tags aren't needed when a man can say, "this is my name", right? No, they are for when the unimaginable happens, when your world comes crashing down around you. I went to pay a condolence call to a family that had lost a soldier a few weeks ago. While I was sitting there with his parents, some of his friends came over and handed a set of dog tags to the soldier's mother. Suddenly, the air felt so thick - and I finally understood that strange phrase. It means - when you suddenly can't breathe, when your mind freezes and you can't think of a word to say.
Logically, it made no sense that this friend was handing the soldier's mother his dog tags. He was wearing them when he was killed in action; clearly, the army would have them, not some friends. But that logic didn't penetrate that awful moment of silence and hesitation.
Almost as if they realized what they'd inadvertently caused, the friends quickly clarified that even though the string and holder were "authentic" (and can be bought in numerous places), the tags inside were a joke. Someone had given it to the soldier as a joke and the friends were now giving it to his mother, as many often bring letters, pictures, and stories to the families of the fallen. As soon as it was clear that the dog tags weren't the real ones, everyone relaxed, Noam's mother took the dog tags, and the frozen moment passed.
Those twinges, those moments, come and go throughout your life as a soldier's mother. They are there in the news when you hear the name of a place where your son is, or was, or will be. It comes when there is yet another of those "it could have been" moments, that you know will come without warning.
Yesterday, Elie called to tell me that he was called back to the army for a drill, then he told me as part of the drill, they were being moved up north (they got up north, turned around and came home...go figure that one out)...and there came that twinge.
"Elie, is something happening?" I asked, trying to hide the sudden worry/terror I was feeling. No, nothing happened - this is part of the army; a lesson they teach them from the start. In this, it is not for you to ask, not for you to know. Get here fast, and then we will tell you what is happening, if anything is happening. In this, you do not think. If we really need you, we won't have time to explain. Move now, come, you'll know soon.
And today, as Shmulik was leaving, I asked him how yesterday went. I wasn't able to speak to him last night because while I was at a wedding, Elie called and told me he was on his way south...but they were taking him back to his base. Since I was close by, I was able to wait (longer than I expected) to bring him home around 2:00 in the morning. So, today I asked and got my answer.
"Fine," explained son/soldier number two. He's never been one to share openly, without prompting.
"What did they do?" I asked.
What they did was make him officially a soldier, give him a military ID that allows him certain privileges, and, what they did was give him dog tags. And there goes that mother's twinge again - that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, that here-we -go-again and oh-God feeling.
So, I'll go back and follow my own advice and take this day as it comes. Elie is asleep in his bed. Shmulik has gone to take a test in one of his courses. Two kids are in camp and my daughter is at home in her apartment. My husband is far away, but coming home soon.
I'll take the blessings God has given me this day with gratitude and love. I'll accept the twinge and pray it is all I ever get, and maybe, maybe I'll go take a nap.
Tags aren't needed when a man can say, "this is my name", right? No, they are for when the unimaginable happens, when your world comes crashing down around you. I went to pay a condolence call to a family that had lost a soldier a few weeks ago. While I was sitting there with his parents, some of his friends came over and handed a set of dog tags to the soldier's mother. Suddenly, the air felt so thick - and I finally understood that strange phrase. It means - when you suddenly can't breathe, when your mind freezes and you can't think of a word to say.
Logically, it made no sense that this friend was handing the soldier's mother his dog tags. He was wearing them when he was killed in action; clearly, the army would have them, not some friends. But that logic didn't penetrate that awful moment of silence and hesitation.
Almost as if they realized what they'd inadvertently caused, the friends quickly clarified that even though the string and holder were "authentic" (and can be bought in numerous places), the tags inside were a joke. Someone had given it to the soldier as a joke and the friends were now giving it to his mother, as many often bring letters, pictures, and stories to the families of the fallen. As soon as it was clear that the dog tags weren't the real ones, everyone relaxed, Noam's mother took the dog tags, and the frozen moment passed.
Those twinges, those moments, come and go throughout your life as a soldier's mother. They are there in the news when you hear the name of a place where your son is, or was, or will be. It comes when there is yet another of those "it could have been" moments, that you know will come without warning.
Yesterday, Elie called to tell me that he was called back to the army for a drill, then he told me as part of the drill, they were being moved up north (they got up north, turned around and came home...go figure that one out)...and there came that twinge.
"Elie, is something happening?" I asked, trying to hide the sudden worry/terror I was feeling. No, nothing happened - this is part of the army; a lesson they teach them from the start. In this, it is not for you to ask, not for you to know. Get here fast, and then we will tell you what is happening, if anything is happening. In this, you do not think. If we really need you, we won't have time to explain. Move now, come, you'll know soon.
And today, as Shmulik was leaving, I asked him how yesterday went. I wasn't able to speak to him last night because while I was at a wedding, Elie called and told me he was on his way south...but they were taking him back to his base. Since I was close by, I was able to wait (longer than I expected) to bring him home around 2:00 in the morning. So, today I asked and got my answer.
"Fine," explained son/soldier number two. He's never been one to share openly, without prompting.
"What did they do?" I asked.
What they did was make him officially a soldier, give him a military ID that allows him certain privileges, and, what they did was give him dog tags. And there goes that mother's twinge again - that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, that here-we -go-again and oh-God feeling.
So, I'll go back and follow my own advice and take this day as it comes. Elie is asleep in his bed. Shmulik has gone to take a test in one of his courses. Two kids are in camp and my daughter is at home in her apartment. My husband is far away, but coming home soon.
I'll take the blessings God has given me this day with gratitude and love. I'll accept the twinge and pray it is all I ever get, and maybe, maybe I'll go take a nap.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
The Break...Takes a Break
We were supposed to begin physically moving tomorrow. Now I am not sure what will happen and when. My oldest daughter and second son have tests tomorrow and Sunday, my third son has an "important" trip with camp, and this morning, Elie called me while I was on my way to a meeting to tell me that the army had ordered a drill.
"What sort of drill?" I asked, already dreading his answer.
"They want to see how fast we can move."
"Tell them, really fast," I tried to joke as my mind began to whirl with details and how I would accomplish this without Elie. Already Sunday, the army has told him that the commanders will be having a "fun" day with PaintBall. These days are important - they help solidify the connections they have, their working together as a unit. It is less conventional than standard training and thus, in many ways, as effective - coming from a different angle.
So Sunday, when we are to move - Elie won't be here...as for tomorrow....well, Elie has been ordered to a central point, from which he will be collected with other commanders and moved to another point...from which, having assembled and proven they can reach a specific location within a specific period of time, Elie will be able to come back home. Better than we thought this morning, when he told me he was packing a backpack for three days, but still - on such a hot day when he was supposed to finish packing, it amounts to another day going in circles, accomplishing...I don't know what.
"Do the other soldiers get called in too?" I asked Elie.
"No. They figure if the commanders can get here from all over the place, so can the soldiers." Their part was "fictional." They were called and had to respond to the call within a short period of time, but simply reporting back to their commanding officers counted as if they were able to show up.
Anticipated return trip for Elie is now close to midnight. It reminds me of years ago, when I was a teenager and spent a weekend with friends who were in the army. This was back in the late 1970s and there was trouble on the Syrian border. They called in the soldiers - got them up north, only to send them back home. By the time they arrived at the Kibbutz where I was staying, it was already the Sabbath. The boys came in dirty, tired and starving. The kibbutz people jumped up and brought them all food and drink and though we had finished our meal, no one left the room - somehow, everyone wanted them to feel relaxed and "normal." It is a custom to sing at the Sabbath table. There are many beautiful songs and melodies.
At one point, someone began to sing "Yom Zeh L'Yisrael" - "This day is for Israel" and the newly returned soldiers laughed, stopped eating, and started singing and clapping to the song. That day had been for Israel.
Today, one son began a journey and another will travel for hours - yes, this day is for Israel.
"What sort of drill?" I asked, already dreading his answer.
"They want to see how fast we can move."
"Tell them, really fast," I tried to joke as my mind began to whirl with details and how I would accomplish this without Elie. Already Sunday, the army has told him that the commanders will be having a "fun" day with PaintBall. These days are important - they help solidify the connections they have, their working together as a unit. It is less conventional than standard training and thus, in many ways, as effective - coming from a different angle.
So Sunday, when we are to move - Elie won't be here...as for tomorrow....well, Elie has been ordered to a central point, from which he will be collected with other commanders and moved to another point...from which, having assembled and proven they can reach a specific location within a specific period of time, Elie will be able to come back home. Better than we thought this morning, when he told me he was packing a backpack for three days, but still - on such a hot day when he was supposed to finish packing, it amounts to another day going in circles, accomplishing...I don't know what.
"Do the other soldiers get called in too?" I asked Elie.
"No. They figure if the commanders can get here from all over the place, so can the soldiers." Their part was "fictional." They were called and had to respond to the call within a short period of time, but simply reporting back to their commanding officers counted as if they were able to show up.
Anticipated return trip for Elie is now close to midnight. It reminds me of years ago, when I was a teenager and spent a weekend with friends who were in the army. This was back in the late 1970s and there was trouble on the Syrian border. They called in the soldiers - got them up north, only to send them back home. By the time they arrived at the Kibbutz where I was staying, it was already the Sabbath. The boys came in dirty, tired and starving. The kibbutz people jumped up and brought them all food and drink and though we had finished our meal, no one left the room - somehow, everyone wanted them to feel relaxed and "normal." It is a custom to sing at the Sabbath table. There are many beautiful songs and melodies.
At one point, someone began to sing "Yom Zeh L'Yisrael" - "This day is for Israel" and the newly returned soldiers laughed, stopped eating, and started singing and clapping to the song. That day had been for Israel.
Today, one son began a journey and another will travel for hours - yes, this day is for Israel.
Meet-Hayel
Hebrew is a beautiful language built on relationships between words. Core letters from the root; adjust the various tenses, and new meanings are created. A three letter root (aleph, bet, daled) - means "to lose." Someone who commits suicide, is said to "meet-abed" - which essentially means "to lose oneself." Thus, committing suicide is losing oneself. I've always taken that to mean a spiritual or emotional loss even more than a physical one. The "meet" part is reflexive, to do something to yourself. Thus there is a word for dressing someone, as opposed to dressing oneself. I hope I have this all correct - I'm not a language expert, certainly not in Hebrew.
And so, last week when my second son came over and told me that next week (today), he would "meet-hayel" - I wasn't really sure what that was. He explained that it meant the army would take him through the steps of being inducted today. I spoke to Elie and Shmulik (second son) until I finally began to understand.
Today, Shmulik officially becomes a soldier but there were no bags to pack and no separation to anticipate. Tonight, he will sleep in his bed, here in his home. He goes in his regular clothes, and will return in them. Today, he was taken to the same induction center where Elie began his journey more than two years ago. Like Elie, today my second son will receive the medical exam and shots he needs; he will be given an official military card...and then, a few meters later (unlike what happened with Elie), it will be taken away and filed until March when he will officially wear a uniform, get a gun, and be inducted into our armed forces.
The night that Elie joined the army, he was given a uniform and taken to a distant base. He was told to call his parents and so he began the days and weeks and months and years I have written about so often. Tonight, Shmulik's journey remains as it was - something coming closer, but not yet here.
The word "meet-hayel" means that today, my son, my second son, "made himself a soldier" of Israel. He's on his way home now - so different from when Elie did the same thing. Then, I drove him to the meeting point, knowing that soon I would allow myself to fall apart
And so, last week when my second son came over and told me that next week (today), he would "meet-hayel" - I wasn't really sure what that was. He explained that it meant the army would take him through the steps of being inducted today. I spoke to Elie and Shmulik (second son) until I finally began to understand.
My Son the SoldierShmulik is following a different path than Elie - he is attending a Hesder program that combines years of study with military service. These religious soldiers serve in units together and special attention is paid to their religious needs so that they can serve the country without compromising their beliefs and practices.
Well, the day has finally come - arriving with a mixture of so many emotions and unspoken fears. Elie packed his bag last night - as ready to go as he has been for some time now. Perhaps over the weekend, he was a little more playful, a little more "around" us than usual, but this morning, it was all business. - Induction Day for Elie, March 25, 2007
Today, Shmulik officially becomes a soldier but there were no bags to pack and no separation to anticipate. Tonight, he will sleep in his bed, here in his home. He goes in his regular clothes, and will return in them. Today, he was taken to the same induction center where Elie began his journey more than two years ago. Like Elie, today my second son will receive the medical exam and shots he needs; he will be given an official military card...and then, a few meters later (unlike what happened with Elie), it will be taken away and filed until March when he will officially wear a uniform, get a gun, and be inducted into our armed forces.
The night that Elie joined the army, he was given a uniform and taken to a distant base. He was told to call his parents and so he began the days and weeks and months and years I have written about so often. Tonight, Shmulik's journey remains as it was - something coming closer, but not yet here.
The word "meet-hayel" means that today, my son, my second son, "made himself a soldier" of Israel. He's on his way home now - so different from when Elie did the same thing. Then, I drove him to the meeting point, knowing that soon I would allow myself to fall apart
There is no ceremony, no great moment, just a gentle slide into a new world. He went in his direction without hesitation; I reluctantly went in mine and I tried all day not to think of where he was. Or, more importantly, I tried not to think of where he wasn't. From the time my children were born, almost without exception, I have known where they are. Perhaps not to an exact location, but close enough to know that they are within reach, within a short drive or call away. Now enters a time when more often than not, I won't know where he is, what he is doing. I will have to trust that no news is good news, that he is ok. -- Induction Day for Elie, March 25, 2007Someday soon - too soon, I will write these words for Shmulik.
My son is a soldier in the army of Israel. Why that makes me want to cry, I can't explain when it is something that I have accepted, something in which I feel pride. For now, the fear and worry that threatens to push the pride aside will be my personal battle in the next day and week and year. My son is where I have always wanted him to be, doing what he must do. It is something that Jews have been unable to do for thousands of years - to defend their land and their right to live here. My son is a soldier in the army of Israel. -- Induction Day for Elie, March 25, 2007May God watch over my son Shmulik, and my son Elie - both soldiers for Israel. May He bless them with safety and life and health, them...and all the soldiers everywhere who fight for what is right and decent and free in this world.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Uncomfortable Interest
Elie is, in some ways, the "man of the house" while his father is visiting relatives in the States. This shows in many ways - he's helping with his younger siblings...including discipline and ordering them around.
At the Sabbath table, it was Elie who made the blessing over the wine and over the bread. Friday night, he did as his father does - cutting the bread down the center. My husband does this to show that the Sabbath is different in all ways from the rest of the week. During the week, we eat pre-sliced bread or cut from one end, on the Sabbath, we enjoy a sweet bread for what we hope will be a sweet day.
And at the Saturday meal, Elie did it his way - grabbing the challah (sweet bread) and pulling off a chunk for each of the people at the table. This is Elie - his father's son...and his own person.
Elie is also helping me with the move to the new house - going with me to speak to contractors who may be doing the work. One was an Arab - a Palestinian who lives in Hebron. I've had conversations with him in the past. He is one of those with whom we could easily make peace. His interests are his family, his work - politics isn't his focus. He wants to build - that's what he does and he doesn't mind at all building Jewish homes in the Jewish land of Israel.
I met Daoud in Jerusalem where he is working on a project and drove him to the home we are buying. I asked Elie to meet me there for many reasons. There is still, within much of the Arab world, the concept that men are more capable of discussing such things as building plans and measurements than women. Also, Elie came to Israel as a young child; his Hebrew is excellent, while mine remains that of an immigrant, even one here for many years.
On the way, Daoud asked me about my children - where they are, what they do. It's easy to talk about the one who is married, the ones in school. But it gets awkward to speak of Elie. This is my son...I am so proud of him...and yes, he fights your people. Not all of them, but many.
"Was he in Gaza?" Daoud asks and I choose to be honest.
"Yes, he was," I answer. "It was a very hard time."
Daoud didn't ask any more questions, I didn't volunteer information. We spoke of the sink and the walls and painting. He greeted Elie with a handshake; Elie greeted him back. It was fine; it was friendly. There could be peace, I thought to myself, if the world consisted of only Elies and Daouds.
When we finished measuring, I asked Elie if he would mind taking Daoud to the front of the city, from which he would find his own way back to Hebron. Elie said he didn't mind and so I asked Daoud if that was okay and he too had no problems.
When Elie returned to the house, I asked him if they'd spoken, or, more precisely, what they had spoken about.
"He asked me if I'd been in Gaza," Elie said.
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him, yes." Okay, that was clear.
"What did he say?" I asked.
"He asked me if it was true Israel had used illegal weapons," Elie continued and then answered with, "and I told him no, that wasn't true."
"Did he ask you..." I stopped. How can I phrase this for my son without him thinking that I question his actions for even a second.
"No," Elie answered, "he didn't ask what I had done and I didn't tell him about..." Elie answered, listing the places he'd fired into, what he hit. He knows these things, lives with these things.
No, there are things I can't list here, things I won't say. Elie did not choose to go to Gaza, but once there, he did what was required of him. He did not "follow orders" because that might imply a mindless acceptance of things beyond his understanding. That isn't the way Elie is, isn't the way the Israeli army works. Once, my people were victimized by a nation that "followed orders."
No, our army does not "follow orders" blindly. Our soldiers are encouraged to think, to understand, to evaluate and yes, to confirm the morality of the commands they receive. A soldier who does something immoral IS held liable, even if he attempts to argue that a commanding officer ordered this action.
The army takes the time to explain and so Elie understands. He did nothing that brings him or his nation shame; nothing illegal, nothing immoral. He feels no guilt - nor should he.
What he didn't tell Daoud was a double-edged sword. Had Elie opened the discussion, it would have started with rockets on our cities, our children terrorized for years by missiles and rockets that send them running for shelter with 15 seconds to find cover. What Elie didn't say is that Israel warned Gaza and Hamas repeatedly. Stop firing the rockets or we will be forced to respond. Stop shooting at our citizens, our children, or we will be forced to fire back...even if your gunmen hide among YOUR citizens, your children.
Elie didn't tell Daoud and Daoud would not have wanted to hear so it was left at the simplest of levels - yes, Elie was in the Gaza war and no, Elie and Israel did nothing wrong.
At the Sabbath table, it was Elie who made the blessing over the wine and over the bread. Friday night, he did as his father does - cutting the bread down the center. My husband does this to show that the Sabbath is different in all ways from the rest of the week. During the week, we eat pre-sliced bread or cut from one end, on the Sabbath, we enjoy a sweet bread for what we hope will be a sweet day.
And at the Saturday meal, Elie did it his way - grabbing the challah (sweet bread) and pulling off a chunk for each of the people at the table. This is Elie - his father's son...and his own person.
Elie is also helping me with the move to the new house - going with me to speak to contractors who may be doing the work. One was an Arab - a Palestinian who lives in Hebron. I've had conversations with him in the past. He is one of those with whom we could easily make peace. His interests are his family, his work - politics isn't his focus. He wants to build - that's what he does and he doesn't mind at all building Jewish homes in the Jewish land of Israel.
I met Daoud in Jerusalem where he is working on a project and drove him to the home we are buying. I asked Elie to meet me there for many reasons. There is still, within much of the Arab world, the concept that men are more capable of discussing such things as building plans and measurements than women. Also, Elie came to Israel as a young child; his Hebrew is excellent, while mine remains that of an immigrant, even one here for many years.
On the way, Daoud asked me about my children - where they are, what they do. It's easy to talk about the one who is married, the ones in school. But it gets awkward to speak of Elie. This is my son...I am so proud of him...and yes, he fights your people. Not all of them, but many.
"Was he in Gaza?" Daoud asks and I choose to be honest.
"Yes, he was," I answer. "It was a very hard time."
Daoud didn't ask any more questions, I didn't volunteer information. We spoke of the sink and the walls and painting. He greeted Elie with a handshake; Elie greeted him back. It was fine; it was friendly. There could be peace, I thought to myself, if the world consisted of only Elies and Daouds.
When we finished measuring, I asked Elie if he would mind taking Daoud to the front of the city, from which he would find his own way back to Hebron. Elie said he didn't mind and so I asked Daoud if that was okay and he too had no problems.
When Elie returned to the house, I asked him if they'd spoken, or, more precisely, what they had spoken about.
"He asked me if I'd been in Gaza," Elie said.
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him, yes." Okay, that was clear.
"What did he say?" I asked.
"He asked me if it was true Israel had used illegal weapons," Elie continued and then answered with, "and I told him no, that wasn't true."
"Did he ask you..." I stopped. How can I phrase this for my son without him thinking that I question his actions for even a second.
"No," Elie answered, "he didn't ask what I had done and I didn't tell him about..." Elie answered, listing the places he'd fired into, what he hit. He knows these things, lives with these things.
No, there are things I can't list here, things I won't say. Elie did not choose to go to Gaza, but once there, he did what was required of him. He did not "follow orders" because that might imply a mindless acceptance of things beyond his understanding. That isn't the way Elie is, isn't the way the Israeli army works. Once, my people were victimized by a nation that "followed orders."
No, our army does not "follow orders" blindly. Our soldiers are encouraged to think, to understand, to evaluate and yes, to confirm the morality of the commands they receive. A soldier who does something immoral IS held liable, even if he attempts to argue that a commanding officer ordered this action.
The army takes the time to explain and so Elie understands. He did nothing that brings him or his nation shame; nothing illegal, nothing immoral. He feels no guilt - nor should he.
What he didn't tell Daoud was a double-edged sword. Had Elie opened the discussion, it would have started with rockets on our cities, our children terrorized for years by missiles and rockets that send them running for shelter with 15 seconds to find cover. What Elie didn't say is that Israel warned Gaza and Hamas repeatedly. Stop firing the rockets or we will be forced to respond. Stop shooting at our citizens, our children, or we will be forced to fire back...even if your gunmen hide among YOUR citizens, your children.
Elie didn't tell Daoud and Daoud would not have wanted to hear so it was left at the simplest of levels - yes, Elie was in the Gaza war and no, Elie and Israel did nothing wrong.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Taking a Break
For the last few days, I've been less drawn to writing on the blog than usual. It's something I enjoy doing, and do quite regularly and yet, I've had to remind myself that I need to come here and post. And today, I figured out why.
I was driving to work, consumed with thoughts of the technical writing class I've just begun, my husband being away, our imminent move, and more. You see, today, Elie is on break for a period of two weeks. This week, his entire unit gets "regila" - vacation. Next week, he asked the army to give him a special break to help with our move. I can't explain how human, never mind humane, the Israeli army is - it is something we all understand here and accept. The army of Israel, is Israel and they have families that need them, houses that need to be moved and happy (and sad) family events.
The army understands when a soldier needs to be home, and when home needs the soldier, so Elie has not only this week, but next week too. And so, Elie isn't a soldier now. He's a regular young man with a dirty room that has to be packed, a sister that MUST be teased, a younger brother that MUST be ordered around. Now he is Elie, who cooked dinner last night, insisting that I don't add enough sauce to the spaghetti, and Elie who saw I was losing the computer game can grabbed the laptop to victory...and kept it for another game as well.
Now it is my Elie, always my Elie, and not my soldier. And, I realized this morning, if he isn't a soldier, I'm not a soldier's mother, am I?
That doesn't mean I'll stop writing, when do I ever? But, now it feels more like I'm writing about my kids and less about my soldier. But, of course, there is a difference that is never forgotten. News comes into our home - an arrest near Kalkilye - Elie's friends. A firebomb attack on a bus; smuggling attempts and more. Elie keeps one ear on the news, which is not normal, at least not according to the standards of my youth and there is a gun in Elie's room so the door is locked more often than not.
Elie is taking a break from the army and I can sleep and breathe more easily - in a strange way, I love being a soldier's mother...because I love what the army has done for and to my son and what he has become as a result of his service. But, I also love taking a break and having him home!
I was driving to work, consumed with thoughts of the technical writing class I've just begun, my husband being away, our imminent move, and more. You see, today, Elie is on break for a period of two weeks. This week, his entire unit gets "regila" - vacation. Next week, he asked the army to give him a special break to help with our move. I can't explain how human, never mind humane, the Israeli army is - it is something we all understand here and accept. The army of Israel, is Israel and they have families that need them, houses that need to be moved and happy (and sad) family events.
The army understands when a soldier needs to be home, and when home needs the soldier, so Elie has not only this week, but next week too. And so, Elie isn't a soldier now. He's a regular young man with a dirty room that has to be packed, a sister that MUST be teased, a younger brother that MUST be ordered around. Now he is Elie, who cooked dinner last night, insisting that I don't add enough sauce to the spaghetti, and Elie who saw I was losing the computer game can grabbed the laptop to victory...and kept it for another game as well.
Now it is my Elie, always my Elie, and not my soldier. And, I realized this morning, if he isn't a soldier, I'm not a soldier's mother, am I?
That doesn't mean I'll stop writing, when do I ever? But, now it feels more like I'm writing about my kids and less about my soldier. But, of course, there is a difference that is never forgotten. News comes into our home - an arrest near Kalkilye - Elie's friends. A firebomb attack on a bus; smuggling attempts and more. Elie keeps one ear on the news, which is not normal, at least not according to the standards of my youth and there is a gun in Elie's room so the door is locked more often than not.
Elie is taking a break from the army and I can sleep and breathe more easily - in a strange way, I love being a soldier's mother...because I love what the army has done for and to my son and what he has become as a result of his service. But, I also love taking a break and having him home!
Sunday, June 28, 2009
He Knows How to Shoot
After Shabbat had ended, as I was doing something on the computer, I got a phone call. While I took the call, Elie turned my laptop computer around to face him and began playing one of those games on the computer where you aim a colored ball and if you place it correctly, all adjacent balls of the same color evaporate.
I finished my call and went to sit down. Elie kept playing. "Are you almost done?" I asked.
"Almost," Elie answered.
A few minutes later and more rounds, "Much longer?"
"Soon," Elie answered.
I got another phone call and when I returned, Elie was deep into his second game, having won the first one with more than 200,000 points racked up. We went through the "almost" and "soon" a few more times and I made some comment about his playing the game quite well.
At that point, my youngest son answered, "he's in artillery; he knows how to shoot."
Well, when I finally got my turn, I decided to play the game Elie says he "always wins." I've lost 10 times already; my highest score is 28,000 and I'm seriously thinking of how I can get revenge for his getting me hooked.
And, as for the answer to how it's possible to get 200,000 points...I guess it's because "he's artillery; he knows how to shoot"...or...maybe, in a week or two or three or four, I'll figure some other answer.
I finished my call and went to sit down. Elie kept playing. "Are you almost done?" I asked.
"Almost," Elie answered.
A few minutes later and more rounds, "Much longer?"
"Soon," Elie answered.
I got another phone call and when I returned, Elie was deep into his second game, having won the first one with more than 200,000 points racked up. We went through the "almost" and "soon" a few more times and I made some comment about his playing the game quite well.
At that point, my youngest son answered, "he's in artillery; he knows how to shoot."
Well, when I finally got my turn, I decided to play the game Elie says he "always wins." I've lost 10 times already; my highest score is 28,000 and I'm seriously thinking of how I can get revenge for his getting me hooked.
And, as for the answer to how it's possible to get 200,000 points...I guess it's because "he's artillery; he knows how to shoot"...or...maybe, in a week or two or three or four, I'll figure some other answer.
Friday, June 26, 2009
A Son of Israel - Gilad Shalit
It’s now just after midnight in Israel and Gilad has entered his fourth year in captivity. There are rumors, as there often have been during the last three years, that he might be moved to Egypt soon, that there might be a prisoner exchange, etc. etc. But there are no concrete plan or hopes as of now – at least none that are being confirmed by anyone in the know. Today, thousands – literally thousands of people posted brief messages on twitter praying for Gilad Shalit. The messages were encouraging, demanding, angry and hopeful.
The goal was to reach the top of trend tracking…and we succeeded. It would have been nice to get to # 1, but with a solid # 3, we clearly achieved our goals.
Our goals were to make people aware of Gilad – this we did.
Our goals were to make the media and world leaders aware – I know of at least one Knesset member who commented on our campaign to me privately and all around the world, world leaders and ordinary people gave their support for Gilad.
Our goal was to let Gilad’s family know we have not forgotten him – this was accomplished as well.
No, Gilad is not sleeping in his bed tonight – but we never thought our efforts would bring this to be – that is for others to accomplish and ours to support and hope for.
I want to thank all those who thought of Gilad, all those who twittered or posted on Facebook or elsewhere as part of this campaign – or any campaign. I think we all did a great job and only hope that Gilad will know of our efforts soon – when his parents will have him home and tell him how much we all tried to do what we could.
Shabbat shalom – may it come in peace for all of us, and for Gilad.
The goal was to reach the top of trend tracking…and we succeeded. It would have been nice to get to # 1, but with a solid # 3, we clearly achieved our goals.
Our goals were to make people aware of Gilad – this we did.
Our goals were to make the media and world leaders aware – I know of at least one Knesset member who commented on our campaign to me privately and all around the world, world leaders and ordinary people gave their support for Gilad.
Our goal was to let Gilad’s family know we have not forgotten him – this was accomplished as well.
No, Gilad is not sleeping in his bed tonight – but we never thought our efforts would bring this to be – that is for others to accomplish and ours to support and hope for.
I want to thank all those who thought of Gilad, all those who twittered or posted on Facebook or elsewhere as part of this campaign – or any campaign. I think we all did a great job and only hope that Gilad will know of our efforts soon – when his parents will have him home and tell him how much we all tried to do what we could.
Shabbat shalom – may it come in peace for all of us, and for Gilad.
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