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How We Liveby Naomi Ragen (June 9, 2005)This is how we live: last week I went to a memorial service for Eitan Newman, the young soldier blown up in his tank last year as he patrolled the dangerous Philadelphi road that separates Gaza from Egypt and weapons smugglers and terrorists.
The memorial was held at Himmelfarb, a religious boys' high
school where my son went. It was packed with Eitan's family and friends, so many
young men and women, many of them married and wheeling baby carriages. Those
like myself, who had never met Eitan, spent the evening getting to know him, in
what was a celebration of his short, beautiful life, a life filled with kindness
and laughter and learning and giving. I looked at the videos of him and his
friends --such a handsome, charming, clever boy. Beside me sat Esther Waxman,a
friend of Sara's, whose own soldier son was kidnapped and murdered by Hamas
terrorists. She had come to participate in an evening that could not have been
easy for her. She had come to remember Eitan with love. Not a word of hatred or
revenge or politics was heard that evening. And we left feeling like family.
A few days later, I rode out to Gush Katif and spent an afternoon
speaking with Roz and Paul, friends who are farmers in Netzar Chazani. They have
eight kids, seven boys, five of whom are army officers. I sat in the house
they've built, saw the lettuce they grow in sand that brings in so many export
dollars, and spoke with them about how their government is planning to throw
them out of their house and land come August in exchange for....nothing. They
are filled with faith that it won't happen. Filled with love and forgiveness for
their fellow Jews, who they think are mistaken.
Last night I attended a wedding. The bride was the beautiful
young daughter of friends. I didn't know much about the handsome groom.
The wedding was held in an elegant hotel. It was special. The
dancing was amazing. Then someone said to me:" I don't know how she does it."
"Who?" I asked, puzzled.
"The mother of the groom. You must know, her daughter and husband
.. last year, Cafe Hillel..."
I thought about it a minute, and then it dawned on me. The bride
who had been killed in a suicide bombing the night before her wedding, along
with her father, a well-known physician, who had run the emergency room at
Shaare Zedek, saving the lives of so many terror victims. And now, a year later,
another wedding. The bride's brother.
I looked around the room. Many of these people had no doubt
gathered the year before to attend his sister's wedding, and had instead
attended her funeral. And now they had gathered once again, to celebrate with
joy, to make the bride and groom joyful, to dance and be happy.
I watched the groom's mother, girlish as a bride herself, as she
danced with the bride doing everything she could to make her happy.
I watched as the room swirled around them, everyone laughing,
rejoicing. And then I watched the young groom suddenly break into the women's
circle, taking his bride by the hands and dancing with her as the room exploded
with cheering, and clapping and happiness.
Whenever I think I can't go on one more day, that the cisterns of
grief are overflowing, ready to tip over and drown me, I never fail to be
touched by the extraordinary spirit of the people of Israel, the most humane,
giving, life-affirming people on the planet-- whatever sick propaganda you might
have read to the contrary.
I know we are truly God's people. How else can you explain what
I've just told you? Our enemies will never win.
I don't know how it's possible, but everyday, every hour, someone
else shows me how it's done. |
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Naomi Ragen
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