Update Post - For Those Who Correctly Know the Media Won't Isn't Doing Its Job

The thing about having a soldier in the army is that you have to be careful what you say. Locations. Units. Identification. Pictures. They can all be picked up by hateful people meaning your child harm. So you learn, think, worry, think, and hold inside.

I drove my son south today to rejoin his unit. We drove to a place that was attacked on October 7. I've intentionally avoided the area. Some say they want to go to "bear witness". But in my mind, October 7 is the most documented crime/attack/holocaust in history. It happened live before our eyes. Even those who observe the Sabbath lived through it live. First, we heard the missiles and sirens and booms. Second, when we tuned back into the news, we were shocked to hear that there were 100 people murdered. 

I remember gasping and saying out loud, though there were none to hear. One hundred. An incomprehensible number. An hour later, they moved it to 200 and dread settled permanently in my stomach. Soon it was 300...then 400. It was as if they knew we couldn't handle them saying 1,500 and maybe more. To some extent, they were right.

And so the number grew as the sleepless night wore on. The mind became focused on the agony as pictures began to be seen, as the hunt continued to find the terrorists. In the end, the 1500 would be reduced to about 1200, as three hundred were "only" terrorists. Most of the terrorists were easily recognizable but others were confused as victims in those early hours.

Fifteen months later, I went down to drive my son and still felt the agony of the day all around me. The gates of the villages are strangely familiar, though the last time I saw them was in vivid color on my computer monitor. I watched terrorists ram gates, smash through, shoot their way onwards. I watch them rampage, captured by security cameras and their own head cameras taken from their thankfully lifeless bodies.

Today, I saw people walking around. A woman walking a dog. She came over to speak to some soldiers who had congregated as a group just outside the gate. She asked if they were going in, or just coming out. I didn't hear the rest of the conversation.

I listened to the booms in the distance, to the sounds of jets and helicopters flying above us. I tried not to think of all the things my son hears while he's in that place of hatred, that place that spawned the monsters who came to this little village and others.

I didn't go inside. I could have. Some people have returned. But they don't need me to see what was done to them. I know. I've seen. They've lived it. Instead, I stood near my son holding these moments in to myself. I saw him greet another soldier and another. I saw army vehicles come and go; soldiers going in, soldiers going out.

My son going in...it's all too much after 15 months. But we have 100 people inside there and terrorists still firing rockets at us - 17 hours ago, and 22 hours ago, and perhaps soon again. And today, a horrific attack on a bus. Three people killed and 6 injured (initial report) in an Arab village through which an Israeli road (Route #55) when 3-4 terrorists opened fire on a bus and two cars.

The terrorists escaped and in nearby villages, a call went out for residents to gather around, thereby potentially hindering the search and identification of the terrorists. How do you treat people who aid and abet terrorists? Should not these "innocent" civilians be arrested as well? Perhaps it is long past time to have their village moved, if they cannot tolerate the road around which they build their homes and stores?

Isn't it time to demand a measure of humanity and decency, even from these villages?

And moments ago, confirmed rocket fire from Gaza towards the Israeli city of Sderot...I was literally there yesterday.