I Stand with Israel (before, now and forever)
Friends,
I know it’s been a long time since you’ve heard from me. Many of you know my lengthy absence from my weekly Jaunts has been because I’ve been working on my book. And I’d love to tell you all about that. But not today.
Today, I’m having trouble breathing. Today I’m having trouble wrapping my head around the reality that is our world. Today is the third consecutive day I’ve walked around in a haze of shock, going about my day, but guiltily. Because I’m lucky enough to be able to. Because we Jews here were able to watch our kids go to Homecoming on Saturday night, because we were allowed the fun distraction of watching runners from all over the world beat records at the Chicago Marathon Sunday morning, because we were able to reach out to our children and our parents, our friends and our neighbors, knowing they were safe in their homes. Because we all woke up on Saturday morning and our entire world didn’t come crashing down on our heads.
When I was 22-23 years old, I lived in Israel. I loved in Israel. I fell in love with a man, I fell in love with the culture, I fell in love with the country. For those of you who’ve been there, you know what I mean. It’s impossible to be there and not fall in love. I felt a connection there I’d never felt before, a sense of belonging. It was my home for almost two years, and I came very close to staying permanently. My contemporaries at the time, although they were serving in the Army or had just finished their service, had a zeal for life that was contagious. At the time, I was envious of their free spiritedness. Those contemporaries today are kissing their sons and husbands goodbye and sending them off to war.
About a month after I arrived in the summer of ‘91, there was the annual music festival in Arad, the desert city in the shadow of Masada where I was living and studying. All my friends and I bought tickets for performances each night and we became hooked on the latest Israeli pop music, buying the cassette tapes of our favorite performers and memorizing the words to all the songs. We’d hike in the desert singing the songs of Gidi Gov, my absolute favorite artist. I became a groupie, traveling to see his concerts all around the small country. I went to many music festivals. In Israel, there was no greater fun than singing, dancing and relishing all that is good in life alongside my fellow Israelis. I can’t help but think that if I were young and there today, I would have been at that music festival. By now, you all know the festival of which I am speaking. The one where there was carnage, kidnappings, savagery. I simply cannot shake the sight of the young woman Noa being taken away on what appears to be a motorbike, fear in her eyes and crying for her life. Noa is me. I’ve never met her, she’s half my age, but I watch that clip and I am haunted.
Civilians, just like you and me, young and old, were enjoying their glorious holiday weekend when unimaginable terror struck. Horrors that have no place in a civilized world. It wasn’t an attack of war; it was sheer barbarism. News reporters and politicians who refuse to call it what it is should be publicly condemned. The scenes that play out over and over harken back to the Middle Ages or the Holocaust. Horrors that Israel’s very existence serve to protect us against.
This reminds me of horrors I’d heard about the time of Israel’s independence, when small bands of terrorists would infiltrate a kibbutz or a home, and murder. But there’s never been anything before of this scale. The numbers of deaths, casualties and captives is simply staggering. In a small and tight-knit country like Israel, every single person has lost a family member or friend or knows someone who has. It will take generations for their collective psyche to recover. To once again feel safe in the country they so vigorously defend; to feel safe in their own homes, their own beds.
I’m heartbroken for the friends I knew. For their children and parents. For all of their joy and security stolen. My heart is shattered for the country I love.