- Might the Turkish Military Intervene in Syria?
Dr. Can Kasapoglu
- Two States With a River Between Them: Mudar Zahran
David Haivri
- The Poor Palestinians
Ted Belman
- Jewish Liberals Denigrate Christians, Enable Islamists
Matthew M. Hausman, Att'y
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Defense/Security 12:15 AM 2/14/2012
Defense/Security 9:34 AM 2/14/2012
Inside Israel 1:12 AM 2/14/2012
Dr. Can Kasapoglu
David Haivri
Ted Belman
Matthew M. Hausman, Att'y
News & Call-In with Tamar Yonah
Walter's World
Paula R. Stern is CEO and founder of WritePoint Ltd., a leading technical writing company offering documentation services and training seminars. She made aliyah in 1993 when her oldest son was 6 years old. In March 2007, her son Elie entered the Artillery Division of the Israeli army and Paula began writing about her experiences as A Soldier’s Mother. The blog continues as Elie begins Reserve Duty and her son Shmulik is now a soldier. She recently opened a publishing house, helping other authors fulfill their dream to publish.
Links to the Author's blogs:
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Shevat 6, 5772, 1/30/2012
Beating Demons through the GenerationsIt's just after midnight here in Israel. I should be finishing a project; I should be sleeping. Instead, my mind is drawn to the fact that it is my Aliza's 12th birthday on the Hebrew calendar. She's asleep in her bed; excited by the plans we have to celebrate this week. Tomorrow, she and I will steal a day away. We'll go out for breakfast and then go to the Western Wall. It is, in many ways, a symbol of all that we are as a people and so we'll go there, as we have taken her brothers and sister so many times. Later, we'll do some shopping and come home. She is my baby and I have to keep reminding myself that she is growing so fast, reaching beyond, upwards. There is such wisdom inside of her, such gentleness. She is named after my mother-in-law and my grandmother. Two women who were hounded by hatred from their homes - one in Hungary in World War II; one from Russia after World War I. One was put in a gas chamber, but miraculously pulled out to live and raise a family. One caught in a horrible pogrom in her town. She was in the synagogue when the local Ukrainians came and set it afire. She too managed to survive and live to raise a family. Of all that they would have wanted for Aliza had they known her, I cannot help but believe they would have wanted her most of all to live the very life she lives here. And like the women from whom she came, little Aliza has fought off demons as well. Their demons and Aliza's have much in common - the Ukrainians, the Nazi, and the Arab cousins that butchered a family and terrorized a nation. I forgot the depths of the fear she has conquered until I stumbled on a blog post I had made only a few short months ago. I guess the blog serves as a reminder to me as well as to others. In honor of her birthday, I'm reposting the story of how a little girl has lived up to the women whose name she carries. With thanks to them and love for her.... Beating Demons - October 17, 2011For those who don't know, my youngest daughter is 11 years old, 11 and a half really. A few months ago, on a Friday night, two Palestinians sneaked into the Fogel home in Itamar and there they murdered...butchered...two parents and three children. Their bodies were discovered by their 12-year-old daughter, Tamar, when she returned home Friday night from youth group activities. While much of Israel was caught up with the agony of this young girl and her two remaining brothers, suddenly and violently orphaned, I had my own bit of drama and trauma here in my home. My daughter identified with Tamar and became terrified that the same would happen to her. Nothing comforted her at first. She was afraid, for the first time in her life, to be alone at home even for a few moments; she was afraid of the dark; afraid of open windows that would allow terrorists to enter our home. When I tried to tell her we would protect her, she answered too wisely for her age, "Tamar's parents couldn't protect them; how can you?" Indeed, Udi and Ruti apparently did manage to protect two small boys sleeping in another room, and so, at least Tamar has those brothers, though the Awad cousins did manage to murder her other two brothers and her baby sister. Aliza seemed to be getting worse for a while. It wasn't enough just to assure her that the front door was locked; she wanted her bedroom door to be locked too. It wasn't enough that we have bars on the windows; she wanted her window closed and her shades drawn closed against the dark. She had nightmares that I thought signaled things were getting even worse, but according to the school counselor, this was actually a good sign in that it meant she was starting to find ways to cope. That her subconscious was sort of taking the trauma out and examining it and learning to deal with it. Whatever the reason, there were nights she came to my bed, shaking and crying and spent the next few hours with me. I consulted people, psychologists, etc. and went with my instincts. I allowed her to fear and answered each fear. She slept with a fan rather than an open window. We put a window alarm on the window as well. She slept with a light on; she locked her door and checked the house locks too. Slowly, so painfully slowly, all that she has added on, she has removed. She can now sleep in her room with the door unlocked - except Friday nights. The lights are off again; the windows open again. And then came a special challenge. We are now celebrating the holiday of Sukkot in Israel. Our front porch has been enclosed with bamboo mats and a fragile roof has been added. Decorations line the walls and the "ceiling." But a simple rain would easily pass through, strong winds...even gentle ones...set things aflutter in the sukkah. The point of the sukkah is to remind us that life can be precarious at times and it is our faith that strengthens and protects us. There is a custom to not only eat in the Sukkah, but to sleep there as well. To sit there as often as possible during the days and nights, to almost live there. Aliza wanted to sleep there. There are no windows, no doors, no locks.
I was awakened by the dog barking and I listened to see who approached. She slept peacefully and sleeps still as I sit a few meters away writing this. Aliza doesn't know about the agreement to release over 1,000 Palestinian prisoners; doesn't know that dozens will be released back to their homes in Jerusalem and nearby. She doesn't know that a vicious killer named Ahlam Tamimi will be released to Jordan, to the hills I can see from my window. But she has beaten the demons that have frightened her these past months. She has put them back and away and perhaps the next time she has to face them, she will see them for what they are - cowards that sneak in the night, slither in the dirt while she lives in the light. http://israelisoldiersmother.blogspot.com/2011/10/beating-demons.html |
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Shevat 2, 5772, 1/26/2012
How Does it Feel to be Hated by Millions?How does it feel to live in a country hated by millions of people all over the world? NOT because its a jewish country (as you would like to believe), but because of your country´s hatred, racism, war crimes and evil acts. America, Africa, Europe, Asia, Australia... How does it feel? How does it feel to live in a country hated by millions of people all over the world? Well, not great but if you've been hated for hundreds...no, thousands...of years for all sorts of stupid reasons, you kind of accept that it isn't going to change and you also understand the base root of the hatred. So, if the reason millions hate us is because our country is responsible for all you claim - you wanna explain why more than 6 million Jews were murdered by the Nazis - before the State of Israel was re-established in 1948? You wanna take a stab at explaining the Crusades, the Pogroms, the Spanish Inquisition? How does it feel? It feels great to live in my own country and know, for the first time in 2,000 years, we are in control of our destiny. We know that we can protect our own. We know that if you hijack a plane and separate the Jews out, this time, the Israeli air force will fly in to save them, as they did in Entebbe. We know that if you threaten your Jewish population, we will fly in and bring them home to Israel, as we did in Yemen and Ethiopia; we'll challenge dictators and tyrants, as we did with the Soviet Union, to release our people and give them refuge. We know if a Jew is lost in a horrible tsunami, Israel will send a team and while the team is there, they'll search for his body. We know if there is an earthquake in Turkey, Israel will be among the first to send in rescue teams and the Israeli team will send off a small group to dig in a building to find the Israelis. We know that no matter where our people are - anywhere in the world, we will stand against the true reason why millions hate us simply because of who we are, and we won't be fooled by rhetoric into thinking the cause is anything but what it has always been. So how does it feel to accept who you are, where you live, and what your country must do to survive? How does it feel to finally be in control of your own destiny, to be free in your own land? To raise your children in the place where they belong? How does it feel to have sons and daughters who are proud of their country and choose to defend it...and more, have the option to choose life - for the first time in 2,000 years, and the power to make that option reality? Pretty darn good. Thanks for asking. Tags: Anti-Semitism ,hatred |
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Tevet 27, 5772, 1/22/2012
Thoughts of a War...3 years laterFollowing is a post I made three years ago called Thoughts of the War. Elie was home; the bar mitzvah of my youngest son just over. I was concerned, almost consumed, with the thought that deep inside Elie there would be remnants of the war - there still are today; and perhaps psychological scars - there really are none. There are memories but there was and there is an acceptance. This is what he had to do, as he did it. Those that died there were the inevitable result of Hamas' firing rockets and a war that had to be fought. There is peace in his heart as he prepares to take a wife and begin building his family. Above all things beyond health and safety one could wish for one's son - there is peace. Thoughts of the War - January 26, 2009After long talks with Elie, here are my thoughts (and his) on what came out of this war: What came out of this war: A sense of unity, of a well trained army working together. The army worked as a unit - each part doing their share and protecting its flank. Artillery was there, every step of the way, and their role was critical. For fear of writing too much, I will write too little. But I will tell you that the war was run as correctly as possible, each part doing what it was supposed to do. The credit for this brilliant campaign may be taken by the politicians, but they are not the ones who coordinated - they are only the ones who will take credit. What was accomplished was done so by the planning of generals who finally focused on their goal, one that had to be done. Politically, it is not easy to bomb a mosque. Militarily, they had every right to do so - it was not a mosque, but an arsenal with a minaret. In this war, the generals won and thus Israel won. We bombed the mosques with rockets, the schools with missiles and for once we held Hamas accountable. If you do not care about your own people, Israel told Hamas, it is left to us to do our best to protect them. So we dropped leaflets warning the civilians to move away from the terrorists, to leave certain areas. I know this to be true - I have such a leaflet with me now because so many thousands were dropped over Gaza that with the wind, many blew the short distance into Israel and Elie caught one. "Save it, Ima," Elie told me. Perhaps he too feels the need to remember that we fought a just war, a fair war. We did not target civilians. I'll save it because my son felt the need to hold on to it in the middle of a war; to bring it home. He knows. He knows that civilians died in Gaza, possibly by his own hands - certainly by his orders to fire. But every shot that he and his unit fired had a specific target. Not once did they simply release such devastating weaponry without thought as to where it would go. Sometimes, they did it to destroy their weapons, their strongholds, their "army." And sometimes, they did it to protect our own. To help our boys get in or out under the cover of our artillery. In all cases, their targets were true, their aim proper. Civilians were warned - I have the proof and I will save it for my son. What came out of this war: A sense of spiritual faith, strengthened and grateful. Elie told me that during the war, hundreds of pairs of tzitzit - a four-cornered garment with strings that men are commanded to wear - were distributed. The army simply could not keep up with demand. Elie told me that five pairs of tefillin (phylacteries - a religious article that is tied to the arm and to the head during the prayers - typically in the morning, that contains parchment with words from the Torah), were donated to his unit and it was in constant use throughout the day. One boy who is not religious at all - put on tefillin every day of the war. These are the shields of Israel, a vital part of who we are and as our sons faced this war, they understood this. From the most religious to the most secular - even perhaps those who say they don't believe - still prayed for the safety of our soldiers and our southern residents. What came out of this war: A sense of pride in being a nation that cares about others...even if this is not recognized. Throughout this war, we shipped in humanitarian aide to our enemies - name me a single other country in history that has done this. When other nations besiege, intentionally attempt to weaken the enemy by surrounding and cutting off their food and water supplies, Israel - even under fire, shipped in thousands of tons of humanitarian aide - food, water, medicines. We took our enemies into our hospitals and gave them better care than they would ever get in Gaza...because we invest tremendous resources in our medical equipment, personnel, technologies. Israel is at the forefront of research and development - because we care enough about ourselves and others. What came out of this war: Men who were boys; men who had learned war. I can't write about this because Elie doesn't really talk about it. It is too deep to explain to one's mother; too serious to talk about with someone who can't understand. I've never shot a bullet, let alone a cannon. I've heard the explosion - but only in training or over the phone. Elie heard these explosions thousands of times. More, Elie helped create these explosions. He knows exactly how many times his unit shot. He's brushed off, nicely but firmly, my attempts to get him to talk too much about this aspect. He'll tell me what he did - because there is no shame, none whatsoever. He knows what he shot at, and the results of this shooting. But he won't talk about himself or what he feels. "Does the army have you talk to people?" I asked him, hoping he would open more about it. "If someone wants to," he answered. And again, my son was not in the war in the sense that he was not on the ground in Gaza. He can see the results of what they did - he knows of the destroyed buildings, the devastated neighborhoods and the need to rebuild. But he is at peace with all that he did, all that he was called upon to do because he knows that from these buildings his unit destroyed - his nation was attacked. From these devastated neighborhoods, Hamas choose to fire at Israel. When a vicious enemy hides among his people...how much of an obligation do you have to do all you can to avoid hitting the people? The answer is all that Israel did. Some people left comments that my son was a murderer. Not even close. My son has never murdered anyone, though in this new reality that Hamas thrust upon us, there is a good possibility that my son killed. He knows this. He lives with it. Not with joy, but with determination. He came back from this war whole in body and in spirit. There is a world of difference between killing and murdering. The commandment in the Bible says we are forbidden to murder. My son and the army of Israel did not violate this commandment. The Bible commands times that you must kill - the army of Israel killed. We killed those who would have killed us, murdered our innocents. And yes, it is likely that in hiding behind their wives and children and mothers, the Palestinians caused their deaths. If Israel killed Palestinian civilians, it is Hamas that murdered them. And so, what came out of this war: with incredible gratitude to God, was my son and the boys from our neighborhood - and most of the sons of Israel. We lost sons there and many were injured and are still fighting for their lives. My youngest son explained to his little sister that this was a "milchemet mitzvah" - an obligatory war and that even a groom is commanded to leave his wedding ceremony to fight such a war. This is what happened in this war. Aharon Karov is a soldier of Israel, a beloved son. On the Thursday night before Israel's ground forces entered Gaza, Aharon got married. A boy in Elie's unit asked to leave the unit to attend the wedding of his friend, but was denied. They needed him there, in Elie's unit, ready to fire, and so he missed his friend's wedding. Elie's soldier knew, Aharon knew, his new wife and his family knew that Aharon was likely to be called to fight in this war. And that's what happened. Within hours after the ceremony, Aharon, a commander in the paratroopers, was called for a briefing. He was allowed to return to his new wife for the Sabbath and the celebrations for his wedding. But, in the early morning on Saturday, Aharon was called away from his new wife and went to war. He entered Gaza with his men, as he had been trained and as he had trained them. As is the case in the Israeli army, he said, "Follow me," and the men followed. He fought with his men, led them on mission after mission. And then, three days after entering Gaza, Aharon led his men into a booby-trapped house in Gaza. Aharon (his full name for those who wish to pray for him is: Aharon Yehoshua ben [son of] Chaya Shoshana) was critically wounded. He was evacuated by helicopter to Beilinson Hospital in Petach Tivkah, where he underwent six operations during the course of 12 hours: on his head, his eyes, ear-nose-throat, mouth and jaw, chest, and an orthopedic operation. It is a story that has touched many in the world. Some with great pride - that such a young man would give of himself and join his men in war. Some in anger - how could you take a man from his new bride and send him to war? But Aharon's father answered that very question before his son was hurt - under the wedding canopy, surrounded by friends and family, knowing that soon his son would go to off to war. Aharon's father, Rabbi Zev Karov said, “In the main wedding blessing, we say, ‘G-d sanctifies His nation Israel via the wedding canopy and betrothal.’ Why don’t we say that He sanctifies the bride and groom? We see that the personal building is a part of the national edifice. This is the main point, this is what we are brought up on, and now is the test when we show that it is not just talk, but it is how we really act.” This, perhaps is the main lesson of the entire war for all of Israel and for the world. The Arabs have tested us time and again - they tested us again now. And each time we answer. It is how we act - the bravery to go to war, to fight a war, and to fight it as humanely as possible against an enemy that will hide behind its own children. What came out of this war is an Israel that is much stronger than the one that went into Gaza a month ago. We are not stronger because our enemies are much weaker (though they are). We are stronger because we conducted ourselves according to "what we are brought up on." With bravery, with courage, with fortitude, with compassion, with grace, with strength - Israel went to war. Hamas has claimed that they killed 1,583 of our soldiers. Hamas has claimed victory. Then again, Hamas claims we are the ones who are inhumane, the ones who aim at civilians. Hamas claims...and the world laughs at its lies. The victory - if there can be victory in war, goes to Israel because, even in war, we continue to fight for peace. When the Arabs can claim the same - there will be peace here in the Middle East. |
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Tevet 11, 5772, 1/6/2012
A Sabbath in the MakingLife has a way of happening. Three years ago, I dreaded the Sabbath coming. It meant radio-silence and 25 hours of not knowing what was happening to Elie, to the south, in Gaza. It was agony disconnecting from the phone, from the computer knowing that the Arabs would continue to fire rockets, that the battle would continue, perhaps even intensify. Since that time, since the war ended, closing down means that much more to me. When I can gather my children near me, I am most happy. Even when they aren't here, the peace comes to my home with the lighting of the candles. It is truly that simple and that instant and long after the candles burn out, the peace remains. It's 8:05 a.m. here in Israel. I had an exhausting but fruitful week with work - new clients, new appointments, new projects, a new class starting on Sunday with a really wonderful new group of students. A new challenge - a remote class starting as well, and more students there. I'm planning a wedding and a bat mitzvah and a national conference all in the space of a two month period. I got home last night and crashed. My body needs the sleep it was denied all week and, conversely, is unable to sleep for very long periods of time. I was up by 5:30 a.m. So here I sit, the challah is rising in one corner of the kitchen, near the burners where the soup is cooking. I still have more to make, but it's quiet; it's peaceful. I have so much to do on so many fronts but the one inevitable and wonderful fact on a Friday is that the clock ticks down to a time when I'll put it all aside. The house is filling with the smells of Shabbat. My oldest daughter is bringing in the Shabbat in the home she has built with her husband and now her baby. Tonight, my middle son will be eating with his wife in the home they are building, and will come share lunch with us tomorrow. My older son and his future wife are spending Shabbat together in Jerusalem with friends. In some ways, it is a prelude to the home and the Shabbatot (Sabbaths) they will make after their wedding. I honestly don't know how others live without this day in their lives. I once had a secular friend tell me that I was so lucky I had Shabbat. I was astounded. She could have it too, I thought. But the truth is that only that which you save, do you have. Only that which you guard, remains yours. In Hebrew we say, "l'shmor" on the Sabbath - to guard it. If someone is observant, they are called "shomer shabbat" - one who guards the Sabbath. In guarding it, in keeping it, you keep it holy and you keep it yours. It is a double prize, a two-edge sword. If you think it restrictive, and at times it is, you have to understand that this very element is, in part, what makes it so incredible. Those who feel they can choose to follow or not, as the whim comes, end up letting it go too often. Life, they will tell you, forces their hand and they lose something precious. By believing fully that the choice to keep Shabbat isn't a choice at all, you know that it is always there, always coming. I grew up not religious. I once arrogantly asked my brother-in-law if he could open a light on Shabbat. When he answered that he could not, I responded that I could, but chose not to - as if that was in some way superior. He smiled a bit as he thought about it and then asked, "but can you really?" He was right - after years of choosing to keep the Sabbath, it had become as ingrained in me as if I had been born to it. I know longer think I can turn a light on; I no longer believe it is my choice. And, amazingly enough, I am happier for that decision. Shabbat will come today, in a few hours, and I'll close the computer, shut the phone. I won't go driving, won't even think about work. I'll sleep, I'll eat with friends and family. I'll walk in this beautiful city, in this beautiful land. There are those who believe that peace will never come to this land. In some ways, I am among this group. I do not believe the Palestinians will settle for anything short of the full destruction of my country and since that is something they will never get, there will always be a battle. Aren't you tired of fighting? People ask me. As if I had a choice...as if I chose to fight. But what they fail to understand is that we do live in peace - more peace than you can imagine. Every Friday, there is bread rising in my kitchen. I could buy a machine to knead the dough - I prefer to do it with my own hands. It rises and is baked, and the smell announces that the Sabbath is coming. One of my children fills the candelabra with oil - beautiful colors - purple, turquoise, gentle orange, several shades of blue. More signs that the Sabbath is coming. We will soon greet each other with "Shabbat shalom" - the peace of the Sabbath. The white table cloth on the table - that much of the week has a computer on it - is another sign. The fragrant smells of soup and chicken and more. It's only hours away... Peace is coming to my land. It is inevitable; there is no choice. Shabbat shalom. |
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Tevet 2, 5772, 12/28/2011
Theodore Herzl's The MenorahFollowing is part of an essay written by Theodore Herzl in 1897 about how the menorah effected him and the role he believes it provides to the Jewish people. I came across it years ago, and each year promise myself I will take the time to type the article into the computer. It is actually several pages long, but so far, I was only able to find this short excerpt online to post here... The Menorah - By Theodore Herzl There was a man who felt deep down in his soul that he needed to be a Jew. His outward circumstances were not unsatisfactory. He had a sufficient income, and a pleasant profession in which he could create whatever his heart desired. He was an artist. His Jewish origin, and the faith of his fathers, he had long ignored. Then the old hate arose again, disguised with a fashionable title. ... Out of mystifying ideas he came to a clear thought which he uttered aloud. The thought was that there was only one way out of Jewish misery and that was the return to Jewry.... Briefly he traced the intellectual consequences of this decision, the desire to separate the assimilative habits current in his home life from the primal Jewish ideas. His children could be made to see a new viewpoint. These at least should be educated as Jews. The thought of the Maccabaean festival presented an opportunity. He purchased a Menorah, but when he held this nine-branched candelabra he became depressed. In his father's house, in his distant childhood, these little lights too, had flamed and there was something sad and sorrowful about them. It was tradition bound. He examined the Menorah. Its shape suggested that its design had followed the lines of a tree with extended branches. Our man was an artist, and he thought to himself, is it possible to revive this dried Menorah, to nurture its roots like a tree?... Then he considered the form and decided to design a Menorah that shall be a cluster of burgeoning buds. So passed the week. Came the eighth day when the whole row of lights were flaming, also the loyal ninth, the servant that serves merely to light the other eight. A great brilliance spread from the Menorah. The children's eyes glistened. To our man the illumination appeared as the flaming up of the nation. First one lit candle. It is still dark, and that one light looks sad. Then a fellow traveller joins it, one more and more. The darkness must yield. First the young and poor are enkindled, then gradually others, who love right, truth, freedom, progress, humanity and beauty. When all the candles burn one is astonished and happy over the completed task. And no task affords more happiness than to be the servant of light. |