Can you imagine hearing those words from your child?
Logic will tell you that your child is a grown man, armed and trained to defend himself and the country he serves. Your heart will break into a thousands pieces and you'll want to rush to your car anyway.
Don't come get me...it's too dangerous.
I'm approaching 11 years as a soldier's mother. I chose to write this blog from my perspective and not those of my three sons who have (and are) serving in the army of Israel. I have been to war, over these last 11 years, three times as a citizen and twice as a mother. I have heard explosions through the phone and seen missiles shot into the air.
I have seen first hand the devastation of a missile that did not miss a target and I have experienced the sheer terror of being pulled into a bomb shelter when your child is "somewhere out there". My youngest had left just 5 minutes before and was outside and as David pulled me into the bomb shelter, promising me things that he realistically could not know - that she was okay and finding shelter herself, I experienced terror at a level I never want to know again.
But hearing those words from David - "don't come get me...it's too dangerous" released so many emotions. I wasn't afraid because I knew he was safe and more, I have faith in his ability to defend himself (and yes, it is dangerous there...on his way home, he saw a bus that was on the side of the road, having been shot at moments before).
I'm angry that there are people who believe they have the right to inflict harm, pain, even death on innocent people because of some conceived notion that they are entitled to something they don't have (and in all honesty, don't deserve). Their grandfathers had a choice...as did mine.
Mine chose to accept half of what they felt they deserved to reclaim at least part of a 3,500+ year promise and thousands of years of yearning and hundreds of years of work and always, always, a presence and a belief we would return. We did. What was ours before, is ours again. What is ours now, no one will take from us.
Theirs chose to refuse half of what they felt they deserved. There was nothing to reclaim because they had never owned it before and didn't own it then. They were nomadic tribes and the wind blew them into this land. They may or may not be a people now, but there is no question they were not a people even 100 years ago. No, for goodness sakes, Jesus was not a Palestinian and if the Romans called this land some bastardized version of Philistine that sounds like Palestine, it doesn't mean the Romans owned this land, or some people 2,000 years later could claim heritage because today they are attempting to use the same name.
Whatever historical claim they think they have...it doesn't come with the right to murder children, to stab grandfathers in their homes. And it doesn't come with the right to endanger my son or justify him having to tell me that I shouldn't go get him because the roads aren't safe.
I didn't go - point one for the terrorists. He's home safe - point one million for me.
Logic will tell you that your child is a grown man, armed and trained to defend himself and the country he serves. Your heart will break into a thousands pieces and you'll want to rush to your car anyway.
Don't come get me...it's too dangerous.
I'm approaching 11 years as a soldier's mother. I chose to write this blog from my perspective and not those of my three sons who have (and are) serving in the army of Israel. I have been to war, over these last 11 years, three times as a citizen and twice as a mother. I have heard explosions through the phone and seen missiles shot into the air.
I have seen first hand the devastation of a missile that did not miss a target and I have experienced the sheer terror of being pulled into a bomb shelter when your child is "somewhere out there". My youngest had left just 5 minutes before and was outside and as David pulled me into the bomb shelter, promising me things that he realistically could not know - that she was okay and finding shelter herself, I experienced terror at a level I never want to know again.
But hearing those words from David - "don't come get me...it's too dangerous" released so many emotions. I wasn't afraid because I knew he was safe and more, I have faith in his ability to defend himself (and yes, it is dangerous there...on his way home, he saw a bus that was on the side of the road, having been shot at moments before).
I'm angry that there are people who believe they have the right to inflict harm, pain, even death on innocent people because of some conceived notion that they are entitled to something they don't have (and in all honesty, don't deserve). Their grandfathers had a choice...as did mine.
Mine chose to accept half of what they felt they deserved to reclaim at least part of a 3,500+ year promise and thousands of years of yearning and hundreds of years of work and always, always, a presence and a belief we would return. We did. What was ours before, is ours again. What is ours now, no one will take from us.
Theirs chose to refuse half of what they felt they deserved. There was nothing to reclaim because they had never owned it before and didn't own it then. They were nomadic tribes and the wind blew them into this land. They may or may not be a people now, but there is no question they were not a people even 100 years ago. No, for goodness sakes, Jesus was not a Palestinian and if the Romans called this land some bastardized version of Philistine that sounds like Palestine, it doesn't mean the Romans owned this land, or some people 2,000 years later could claim heritage because today they are attempting to use the same name.
Whatever historical claim they think they have...it doesn't come with the right to murder children, to stab grandfathers in their homes. And it doesn't come with the right to endanger my son or justify him having to tell me that I shouldn't go get him because the roads aren't safe.
I didn't go - point one for the terrorists. He's home safe - point one million for me.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Sorry to require verification, but I'm tired of deleting comments in Chinese trying to spam the blog. Please bear with me and enter the code. Sorry.