Friday Musings

It's Friday in my beautiful country. Last night, another early warning of an incoming missile from Yemen. A few days before, we got the early warning alert but no alert specifically for us. Like last night, we were able to hear the sirens in the distance and then, I saw a flaming light, the missile, cross from my left across the skies towards Jerusalem and then extinguish.

Extinguished by our anti-missile system. And yet, I felt...violated. I hurt for my land as if it had received a blow. I felt their hatred in the skies above my land and understood their madness.

What would you say of a thief who tried to break into the White House with nothing more than a pocket knife. Long before he even attempted to enter, the guards are made aware of his presence and they watch in baffled humor at what the thief is attempting to do to what is probably the most guarded, secure building in the US.

We watch not in baffled humor but in baffled anger...their madness has been handed down to them in their mother's milk. It is in their blood, this hatred of my people. My God, my religion, my people, my land - we want peace.

When we didn't have the technology we have now to defend ourselves, they put us in ghettoes, they attacked us on the streets and laughed as we tried to protect our babies.

Now we have what we need to defend ourselves. Attack our land with missiles, we will shoot them out of the sky and then, no matter where you are, we will come to you. Attack our babies and there isn't a place on this earth you can hide.

There, that's better. Instead of feeling sad, I am angry. The anger is better though it burns in my stomach.

My house is filled with the fragrance of Shabbat - I'm nearly done. Chicken and salmon, kugels and more all ready. I long for the peace of Shabbat. It will come soon to my land. That too, you try to steal. Our children have become accustomed to being awakened in the night and shuffled off to the bomb shelter. They are too young to understand that there is a whole world out there where people don't have bomb shelters nearby; where evil nations build bunkers for their leaders to hide but not to protect their children.

In my home, I have a bomb shelter. In every home I have lived in since I moved to Israel, there was a bomb shelter. One was the old, old, old kind - harsh cement, a heavy door, a locked window with a heavy metal shield.

Today, my bomb shelter is filled with bookshelves and on the book shelves are the toys my grandchildren play with. It has a metal shield on the outside and a typical glass window inside. It has shelves and shelves of their favorite books and toys.

And when you are inside, you can still hear the siren wailing and the booms. The booms of our technology destroying their rockets.

Outside my living room window is a huge olive tree that grows in my backyard. It is the epitome of what is happening here.

To the western world, the olive branch from the olive tree is a symbol of a peace offering. To the eastern world, it is a sign of possession. "You should plant an olive tree," Nadir told me once. "That's how you show the land is yours."

"And do you have an olive tree, Nadir?"

"I have three," he said with a smile.

I miss Nadir. We have spoken a few times in the last 20 months. But really, what is there to say between a man who lost his livelihood on October 7 and a woman who lost any last belief that peace was possible between his people and mine.

If it were up to Nadir and me, there would be peace. He would show me pictures of his children and I would make him coffee. No sugar. He only takes sugar once in the morning.

But it isn't up to Nadir and me, is it? So there will be no peace...only missiles and rockets and hate coming from them day after day after day.

And so I start and end this post with depression and tears. The world lumps us with them and if it were Nadir and me, I would agree. But you see, we are not representative. They are represented by the followers of Sinwar and Nasrallah who prefer to die than to live in the service of Allah.

And somewhere in the heavens, my God wonders how they got it so wrong. He is willing to be called Allah but he is not willing to do what they say their Allah wants.

My God, my religion, my people, my land - we want peace. We want Nadir to come back. I have bought and thrown out several bags of Nadir's coffee...he can taste when the coffee's expiration date has come but if he comes tomorrow, I want to have coffee for him and so I buy every few months hoping this time, he will have a cup from this bag.

But only when Nadir can say - my God, my religion, my people - we want peace - only then will there be peace.

For today, I have to settle for the peace that Shabbat brings...it will have to be enough. It is enough. For today, it is everything.