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| The flag and the angel |
June 11, 2025. Nahariya, Israel.
Two
days ago, we sat in the hospital waiting room, waiting to be called
in. Willie is booked for surgery at the end of June. We've been
circling the departments, doing the bureaucratic dance of
pre-hospitalization.
From my seat, I looked straight into a glass-covered room, filled
with toys, where three small children played.
The
three, two boys and a girl, were banging hard on the toys with much
anger and strength. Despite the loud noise and their shouting, they
were not reprimanded. Most of my life, I heard people say that Israeli children are misbehaving. They have no decorum or
discipline. Other nations are better parents, and their children show
respect. My eyes roamed around the room looking for the adults
responsible for these children.
I
found them.
A
couple in their thirties watch the play. She had a soft look full of
love, care, and inner strength. He was very tall, with a tired look
and carried his gun. He must have taken leave to be with his kids at
the hospital.
My
eyes mist. A memory surfaced.
I
was ten. The Sinai War started. My father left with his truck. His
unit was one of the first to drive out and to arrive at Sharm
el-Sheikh carrying supplies to the front, ensuring the army had its
ammunition and food.
I
did not comprehend what I saw or heard, nor the explanation of my
father leaving for war. A while after he left, abdominal pain hit. My
mother rushed to me, trying to understand my screaming. Looking back,
I am sure the crying included more than the physical pain. By the end
of the day, I was taken by an ambulance to the private Asuta Hospital
in Tel Aviv.
“We
don't have room in the hospitals, they are full with wounded
soldiers,” explained the surgeon, “We will try Asuta.”
They
rushed me to the OR for an emergency appendix operation. It exploded.
“Asuta
is a good hospital”, said my mother to calm us both, “you were born
here”.
My
next memory was of my father, an Uzi hanging across his side, in soldier
fatigue, visiting me in the underground bomb shelter. I was sitting
on the cold, damp floor with my mother, smelling the strong, mouldy
smell of the small room, hiding from the bombs. My father bent over
me with tears in his eyes, “Don't cry, be a brave girl, Orith”.
When I did not stop, his frustration came to the surface, “Why are
you crying?” “It hurts,” I wailed, “It's my first operation”.
My
mother never forgot his frustrated expectation from that time. Never
forgotten, never forgiven.
Their generation, though, grew up in Palestine, lived through 2 world wars
and a holocaust. My father fought in the Jewish Brigade of the British Army in WW2, then alongside Begin soldiers against the British Mandate, then in the IDF in one war after another, as well as against the hate and
rejection of all of Europe. With all that, neither he nor his generation acknowledged trauma and wariness. They did not see the hardship their children suffered. If
they did, they had no way to cope with it. They and their children
had to be tough to survive. My childish trauma was pushed aside.
Willie
and I stopped by the strong, sad lady as we walked out of the doctor's
office. “Your husband reminds me of my father visiting me in the
bomb shelter during the Sinai war. I bless you, and pray for you and
your family to be covered by the love and health of God almighty”.
She smiled as I teared and thanked me. When Willie and I got
outside, we held hands and prayed a longer blessing over this young
family, adding all the young families of our soldiers to the prayer of protection.
Besides
love and patience, what else does a parent give to the fifth
generation of Israelis that hears the promise, “By the time you're
18, there will be peace and you don't need to go to war again”?
Our
war in modern Israel is 77 years old. At times, it is more intense, and
we give it a name and use more weapons, and give more orders to larger groups of young men and women fighting for the life of our
country. But in 77 years, it did not stop. Our children might not be
as respectful and disciplined as those in other countries, but when it is their time, they survive. They raise their offspring, set aside the promises they were given for peace, and go to war for their
country, willing to die on their land. They set aside the traumas and
heartaches and survive.
We
have our God, who gives the
strength of character and spirit of
discipline when it is needed. We believe in God, who respects life
and gives it more abundantly. We trust the God of everlasting Love
and Hope. Israel will continue to be, God sees to it. Amen.
