Maof

In New York last week, I had occasion to be interviewed on NPR. It still  amazes me how many people listen to talk radio, and of those, how many find  the time to search the web in order to write email comments on what they've  heard. I was pretty flooded with responses to the interview  (www.wnyc.org/shows/lopate/episodes/11182002), and rather struck by one  particular theme that appeared in many of the letters. The following is  typical, I use it as the example because it was somewhat  less inflammatory than many of the others:

  "Listening to you on the Leonard Lopate show, I couldn't but be amazed at  your disregard for the lives of your children. When the neighborhood we were  living in deteriorated to the point that it was no longer safe to walk the  streets we moved. We could have stayed, worked with the neighborhood  association, joined the block watchers, etc, but in the meanwhile we had  images of our children coming home from school mugged, bloodied, or even  killed. It wasn't worth it to be heroes. . . . How  will you feel if one of those suicide bombers kills your child when you  could have avoided it by moving back to the States?  Israel does not need  you, it has many, many people who will fight the good fight, and in any  event the problems are caused by forces beyond your control.  Doesn't your  family come first? Richard"

  Well, Richard, I didn't answer that e-mail until today, because I didn't  really know where to begin. But today was the kind of day in Israel that  clarifies everything -- why we're here, why this isn't anything like the  neighborhood that you left, and why we're not killing our children, but  giving them something to live for.

  We were at a Bar Mitzvah at the Kotel (The Western Wall) this morning.  After the service was over, I grabbed a cab to head back to the office for a  meeting. The news was prattling about something that "even we were  unprepared for."

  Uh-oh. That was the first I'd heard about the attack in Mombassa. Details  were sketchy, and the only way the news could get any information was to  speak on cell phones to Israelis who were actually at the site. One woman,  just shy of hysterical, told the story of the explosion, and recounted how  it took just under two hours for the first Kenyan ambulances to arrive.  (Tonight, Israelis still can't believe that. We get to these disaster sites  in two to three minutes, though admittedly, we have a lot more practice.)  When asked what she expected would happen next, she said, "I assume Israel  will send doctors, medicine and soldiers, and then they'll bring us home."  And she was right. The news immediately cut to an  airfield, where five IAF  planes  were being loaded with the medical equipment and personnel that the Kenyans  couldn't seem to amass, and shortly thereafter, the planes and their cargoes  were on their way.

  You see, Richard, this isn't some dumpy neighborhood somewhere in the  States that makes no difference to anyone but those who can't get out of it.  This is what we call home. Muslim extremist evil knows no borders. We've  known that for a long time.  Remember Munich? Remember New York? Muslim  terrorism isn't about the settlements, or the "occupation" (which may or may  not be a bad idea, depending on who you ask, but certainly isn't the root  cause of all this terrorism), but about Israel  herself and about Israelis and Jews wherever they may be. (Truthfully, it's  about Western Civilization, which the Jews for some reason are seen to  represent.) And when Jews end up butchered in Mombassa, they know one thing.  Kenyan incompetence will not allow them to be stranded.

  We'll get there. And we'll bring whatever's left of them home. And then we  heard about the two shoulder-mounted missiles fired at the Arkia jet  carrying 271 people, and how they missed. And on tonight's news, even CNN  showed a home video one of the passengers had taken as the plane prepared to  land. Outside the window, IAF F-16's were flanking the jet, making sure that

 it hadn't been damaged and was safe to land. They were so close that from  the cabin window, the passenger was able to film the pilot and navigator  relatively clearly. And as the plane landed, the video caught the clapping  and spontaneous singing of "Heveinu Shalom Aleichem" -- a kitchy old Israeli  homecoming song that no one on that plane had sung for decades. But no  matter. There was no reason to be embarrassed by the kitch.  Six decades  ago, when people fired at Jews across the world, there was no one willing to  do anything.

  The F-16's outside the window showed our children, Richard, that we're not  disregarding them or their safety -- we've brought them to the only place on  the planet where Jews can take care of themselves. Of course, we're not  always successful, Richard. You're right. Sometimes, they get us.  In the  past two years, there have been 14,500 terrorist attacks in Israel. No  exaggeration. What's amazing is that relatively few have killed people.  Still, when two terrorists shot up a Likud Party  headquarters this afternoon killing six people (so far), it was the  culmination (though the day's not over, so one hesitates to use that word  definitively) of a rather horrible day. But no one's running away. The Likud  party primary didn't get cancelled or delayed. The polls stayed open. The  countries these terrorists "represent" don't have a single democracy to  their credit (save Turkey, if you call that  military-in-the-shadows-government-sham a democracy), but we do. They blow  up a hotel, try to shoot down a jet, shoot up a bus station and we still  vote. Quietly, peacefully, democratically. And in the midst of all the  sadness and grief, many of us are proud of that. I think we have a right to  be.

  You weren't proud of that neighborhood you left. Probably because it didn't  stand for anything too important. Because it reeked hopelessness. So you  left, and rightly so. But this place does stand for something important. And  even on dark days like today, in which everyone I know was sullen,  recovering from one bit of news only to hear another, this place pulses with  hope.  Those doctors flying to Mombassa are what this place is all about.  The F-16's shadowing the 757 making its way  home are what this place is all about. And the quiet, orderly voting is what  this place is all about. What kind of a person in their right mind would  leave this, Richard? This isn't a neighborhood. It's home. And with all its  faults, and there are many, it's a dream come true. Walk away from that? How  would we get out of bed in the morning and look in the mirror?

  The chit-chat over dinner tonight was fascinating. Micha, our youngest and  nine years old, was trying to understand the difference between Sharon and  Netanyahu. Apparently, today's Likud primary had been much discussed in his  fourth grade class. His older siblings were trying to explain. When they  told him that Sharon has said that he's willing, in principle, to see a  Palestinian state, Micha asked incredulously, "given them LAND?" To which  his brother and sister explained that "they" need someplace to live, too,  which is why Sharon says that. But then, they continued, "the Arabs probably  won't stop killing us for a long time, which is why maybe Netanyahu's  right." Elisheva and I didn't say much, and just listened to this rather  lengthy discussion.

  They had most of it right, some of it wrong.  But guess what, Richard? They  were talking about the future, a future they believe in. In just a couple of  years, our daughter will get to vote, too. (That, of course, would not be  the case if she lived in the Palestinian Authority. Or Lebanon. Or Syria. Or  Jordan. Or Saudi Arabia. Or Egypt.) And she'll vote about stuff that really  matters. The direction her country takes will be her choice, too. You're  right that we can't completely stop the terrorism, and you're right that  there's some danger here. But here's what our kids have learned: Life isn't  about staying alive. It's about  believing in something that matters while you're alive. And at the dinner  table tonight, watching our kids think out loud about how much you should  trust people who've been doing this to you for two years, but what you'll  have if you're not willing to risk anything, I realized that it works. They  actually still believe in the future. There wasn't a grain of hopelessness  in their conversation. I bet that wasn't true when people talked about your  old neighborhood, was it? And that's what makes all the  difference.

  Yes, Richard, our family does come first. And that's why we're here. To  raise our kids in a place that's all about them, about their history, their  future, their sense of being at home. To live in a place that unlike that  old neighborhood, matters very much.  Not because we're heroes, for we're  not. But because we know just a bit about Jewish history; and because we  have no right to expect other Israelis to "fight the good fight" if we're  not willing to.

  On the news this afternoon, they interviewed some alleged aviation expert  about the attempted attack on the Arkia 757.  He explained how these  missiles work, and gave a whole dissertation on the ease of operation of  heat-seeking shoulder-launched missiles. When he was done, the interviewer  asked him, "Then how did they miss? After all, a lumbering 757, barely off  the ground? How do you explain this?"

  His answer, I thought, was telling. He said, "I can't explain it. Either  they fired without priming the heat-seeking element on the missiles, or they  were faulty. But normally, there's no way to miss. It was a miracle."

  He didn't mean anything theological by the comment, of course, but today's  the day before Hanukkah. In your old  neighborhood, and in your new one,  too, it's Thanksgiving. I remember it well. College football during the day.  Beer and pretzels, and chatting with friends. Turkey and stuffing at night.  Not bad at all.

  None of that here. Just a regular old dinner. But not so tomorrow night.  Tomorrow night, when you look outside our living room window, in the windows  of virtually every other apartment within sight, there are going to be  Hanukkah candles flickering. Religious families, secular families. Left wing  families, right wing families. Native families and immigrant families.  American families and French families. Young families and old families.  Sharon families and Netanyahu families. They'll all have candles in the  window.

  Because Richard, somehow, in spite of everything, we still believe in  miracles. Some of them happened a long time ago. But others are still  happening. We understand them in different ways, and we disagree  passionately about how to keep them going. But after a day like today,  somehow we find ourselves still believing in them.

  It's a crazy, dangerous place, this neighborhood of ours, Richard. But it's  home. And it's a miracle. It really is. And from that, you see, you just  don't walk away. Now do you get it?

  Happy Hanukkah.

 (c) 2002  Daniel Gordis  The first four years of these dispatches, along with other brief essays on  life in Israel, have now been published by Crown Publishers as "IF A PLACE  CAN MAKE YOU CRY:  DISPATCHES FROM AN ANXIOUS STATE."  For more information, see  http://www.randomhouse.com/catalog/display.pperl?isbn=1400046130.  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------

 IsraelAreUs Group  
Group's home: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/IsraelAreUs  
Group's members: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/IsraelAreUs/members  
To post a message send it to: Адрес электронной почты защищен от спам-ботов. Для просмотра адреса в вашем браузере должен быть включен Javascript. (members only)  
To subscribe send a message to: Адрес электронной почты защищен от спам-ботов. Для просмотра адреса в вашем браузере должен быть включен Javascript.  
To unsubscribe send a message to: Адрес электронной почты защищен от спам-ботов. Для просмотра адреса в вашем браузере должен быть включен Javascript.

 Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/

Russian versia