Each time Israel does something the Arabs do not like, there are two responses they issue. Sometimes, I feel like they reach into a hat and select one. It is always the same - either they are going to end the peace process...to which I desperately want to ask...WHAT peace process...or, they are threatening yet another Intifada.

For those unfamiliar with the term - an Intifada is a fancy word for mindless rioting and terrorism. Intifada is a code name for firebombs and stone attacks...but worse - suicide bombers in our malls, our buses, our restaurants. Intifada means - open season on murder...the more innocent, the younger, the better.

This week, the threat cards are being played for two reasons. The first is that Israel is daring to approve new apartments for families in our capital, Jerusalem. The new apartments would be in the north of Jerusalem (not the eastern areas as some inaccurate news outlets are reporting). The apartments would be built on unoccupied lands - open fields, directly adjacent to and within the area of Ramat Shlomo - a neighborhood I can see from my office window.

No, I'm not saying the Israeli government was particularly adept in how it handled the announcement, but there was more politics than reality in the US response and condemnation and a fair amount of stupidity in the US failure to understand the facts on the ground.

More curious, however, than the Ramat Shlomo fiasco...is the second reason why the Arabs are threatening yet another Intifada. In 1948, the beautiful Hurva synagogue was destroyed during our War of Independence. That was in May, 1948 after the United Nations voted to divide Palestine into two states - a Jewish one and an Arab one.

The day we declared the re-establishment of a Jewish homeland in Palestine and named that country Israel - five Arab nations invaded, promising they would push the Jews into the sea. They called out to the Arab residents and told them to leave their homes, to get out of the way of the incoming Arab countries and by and large, they did. They left...but the rest of their plan didn't work. Israel not only held onto the land promised to us...or most of it, we even captured much of the land that would have been an Arab state. This is the price of violence and war...when you choose war, sometimes you lose. They lost.

The synagogue in the Old City of Jerusalem was lost...as was the entire Old City. Where for thousands of years Jews have prayed...suddenly, we were denied access to our holiest of sites, the last remaining wall of the Holy Temple, last destroyed in 70 CE (actually the Western Wall is actually a retaining wall and not part of the Holy Temple structure itself).

There were no cries of religious intolerance from 1948 to 1967, no international demands that Jews have access to the Temple Mount. US presidents and Popes didn't decry our inability to worship...nor did they care that hundreds of graves, centuries old...were destroyed, their tombstones broken, scattered, and used to build latrines by the Jordanian army.

The Hurva synagogue lay in ruins...when Israel recaptured the Old City of Jerusalem in 1967, our leading general, Moshe Dayan, did a very stupid thing...stupid because the world took our generosity for granted, our sacrifice was for nothing. The Temple Mount is the site where our two Temples were built, the site where Abraham almost sacrificed Isaac. Christian belief says it is the site of the ascension and Muslim tradition credits Mohammed with ascending to heaven from there as well. On that fateful day in 1967, Moshe Dayan gave the Temple Mount to the Arabs because on the ruins of our Temple, they had built a mosque (a common practice that they repeat on top of many synagogues and churches to stake their claim).

In any case, after Jerusalem was again in our hands...we opened the city to all religions. For 19 years, we could not pray or touch the Western Wall and yet not even 19 days have passed where we have blocked Arabs from tending to the place. Sometimes, like today, when the Arabs are pulling their latest Intifada card and promising violence, there are restrictions -but still, thousands of Arabs are allowed where Jews are not.

So for the last 60+ years, the Hurva synagogue ruins have filled the place...but slowly a few years ago, Israel began rebuilding it - as fine and beautiful as it ever was. It is located in the middle of the Jewish quarter - a good 5 minute walk from the Western Wall and the Temple Mount...that is fact - I have walked the path many times.

From the site of the Hurva synagogue, you walk between numerous stores, down about 100 steps...perhaps even more. You walk across a large, open plaza...and only then do you approach the Temple Mount...and yet, the Arabs are threatening another Intifada because we dared to rebuild the synagogue.

They say we are trying to "Juda-ize" Jerusalem and I am torn between anger and amusement. There is no reason to make something that is inherently Jewish...Jewish again. Jerusalem - was founded...by the Jews, sustained and nurtured...by the Jews. It is our city, our capital, our promise, our destiny.

We have been prepared to share it and live in peace but where we were driven from it once, we never will be again. Tonight in Jerusalem, we celebrate the rebuilt and reopened Hurva synagogue.

For this, the Arabs threaten. Hamas even says it is grounds for war. End of peace process...Intifada...war - I wish someone would tell the Arabs that their ongoing threats are useless and prove their lack of credibility.

But more, I wish the world would tell the Arabs that it is violence that got them where they are today - trying desperately through hatred and terrorism to get what they could have gotten 60 years ago with a simple positive answer to the United Nations.

That boat sailed long ago - or rather, that boat was torpedoed by the Arab nations and lies in ruin below the sea. If there is a peace process, it will not be served by threats and if they do not learn to live with the Hurva synagogue rebuilt on the very spot where it stood 60 years ago...there is no hope.

There will be another war, another Intifada, another wave of terrorism. I am as convinced of that as I am that the US administration will continue to grovel whenever and wherever it can. I have seen one son go to war. It is more than any mother should have to see and yet I come to realize that it is very likely war will come to my family again.

I don't know when or why, but judging from the past, it is likely the reason will be as senseless as today's threats. We rebuilt a synagogue the Arabs destroyed 60 years ago...on land that is ours, always has been and always will be. The Arabs can learn to deal with it, or they can threaten us.

Just as there are always two responses from the Arabs to pretty much any occurrence in the Middle East, there are two realities they must learn. The first is simply that we will rebuild and, if we have to, we will fight. the second is that time runs in only one direction - forward. You cannot rewind the clock - not a day, not a month, and certainly not 60 years.

 

It is rare that life puts you in the same situation twice...even three times...while also giving you the opportunity to measure so easily where you are, where you were, how far you have come. If I hadn't written this all down the first time, I don't know that I'd be able to compare. Memory fades. It's been three years less two weeks. On March 25, 2007, Elie entered the army of Israel. My oldest son, my first soldier and my first real encounter with that massive machine known as the Israeli army.

Well, the day has finally come - arriving with a mixture of so many emotions and unspoken fears. Elie packed his bag last night - as ready to go as he has been for some time now. Perhaps over the weekend, he was a little more playful, a little more "around" us than usual, but this morning, it was all business.

This time it is Shmulik. He packed his bag last night with Elie's guidance. He's prepared to be gone two weeks, though we are relatively certain he'll be home in just 4 days for Shabbat. He wasn't around so much over the weekend. For more than two years now, he's been very serious about a young woman. They want to marry and likely will. He went to the local religious boys' high school; she went to the local religious girls' high school. We lived one block away. He was at her parents' house, though she came to visit us Sunday night for a birthday party for Shmulik.

We got in the car, found the place a short 20 minutes later. There were a few other cars parked in front of the building, each with a young man sitting in the front beside a parent. No one got out to talk to anyone else, each holding those last few minutes. You don't want to speak any great words of wisdom - there aren't any left to be said. You can tell him that you love him, but really, he knows it already. This isn't like school, where he can call if he needs me to come and pick him up. His experiences are now his own and we are left behind in real life, as much symbolized by his walking alone into the building after a few quick words and a refusal to give me a kiss (typical of a teenager boy). I sat outside with nothing to do but go back home.

This time, Shmulik's meeting point was much farther away - about an hour's drive. Last week and for the last few month's I've been working on a national conference of technical writers. It's the fifth conference in four years and was attended by more than 200 people...and as expected, it left me exhausted and even sick. I'm too sick to drive and take him...and so Elie volunteered. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. Give them "alone" time to talk about what the army is really like and cut the goodbye time. He doesn't need all that emotion. I spoke to him a few minutes in the morning and yes, I couldn't hold back the "I love you" but added "Give me a call later today" and "I'll speak to you tonight."

I didn't know what with Elie - that I WOULD speak with him later that first day. But Shmulik will have time to call and the army will encourage them. I don't know where he'll sleep tonight; when he'll be moved to his new base. I know he will be given a uniform today, supplies that he needs. Socks, undershirts, a belt. It will be okay - he goes in with a group of 9 other friends who have learned together already for almost two years.

In short, we know only what the army is ready to tell us - and this is how it begins and how it will likely continue for the next 3 years. My son is a soldier in the army of Israel. Why that makes me want to cry, I can't explain when it is something that I have accepted, something in which I feel pride. For now, the fear and worry that threatens to push the pride aside will be my personal battle in the next day and week and year.

I don't feel the need to cry this time and the fear is so much less largely because I know that I don't have to fear today and probably not tomorrow and probably not even for the next week or two weeks or even the first month. He has 8 months of training ahead of him - that's when the real fear begins...or so I tell myself this morning. I won't check the statistics that tell me that in the past year, after the Gaza War ended, we lost more soldiers in training than in attacks.

I won't think about that...I'll focus only on today...each day, for the entire length of his service. The relationship I have now with Elie is so different than the one I had when he went in. He is so much more thoughtful, patient and giving. He was a boy when he went in...impatient and often short-tempered. Last night, I came home from work and went straight to bed. It was Elie who came and asked if he could make me food and brought me tea. That was an outcome of his serving in the army and the relationship that came from his being away from home.

Now Shmulik leaves and I can only hope for the same. They are so different in personalities and it is the differences that worry me. Elie is a fighter and a leader. He learns his rights and makes sure he gets them. He analyzes, he thinks, he determines, he decides...and he doesn't suffer needlessly (nor does he suffer fools).

Shmulik is the gentle one in so many ways. Physically, he is a bit shorter than Elie - opposite Elie's blue eyes, Shmulik's are the darkest of browns, his hair almost black. We have never figured out where Elie got his blue eyes from (only reassured beyond all doubts that he was really ours when our third son was born with the same blue eyes), but there is no doubt Shmulik got his eyes from my husband's mother.

Beyond the physical difference, there is another that does concern me. Most children are very connected to their bodies and with the first, tiny bruise, they come running for a kiss and comfort. You'd need a magnifying glass for some of the "boo-boos" my children came to me with...but not Shmulik.

One Friday night, he came home with a brand new pair of beautiful pants...torn at the knee. I couldn't believe it. I gave him a hard time and told him to go upstairs and change. He returned in short pajamas...and only then did I see that his knee was cut and still bleeding.

"What happened?" I asked him, no longer caring about the pants. He's slipped on the grass while walking through the park with friends and landed on glass. I asked him why...why hadn't he told me. Who cares about the stupid pants? I told him, you have to tell me when you get hurt.

If Shmulik complains, he has a raging fever or a massive headache. I so much prefer the situation where the child complains on all things...to the one where the child complains not at all. That is my greatest fear, I think, with Shmulik.

I trusted Elie to tell me if he needed me. I would run to Shmulik every bit as fast...but I need to know he'll call me. I need to have that trust. So that is my challenge this time around. Last time, it was to battle the fear of the unknown. Now I know so much more...

My son is where I have always wanted him to be, doing what he must do. It is something that Jews have been unable to do for thousands of years - to defend their land and their right to live here. My son is a soldier in the army of Israel.

I took a few days and didn't write anything. I missed it a bit - thought about it a few times - and just left it alone for a few days. I took a day to attend my nephew's military ceremony appointing him as an officer, spoke at a Social Media conference in Jerusalem, traveled north to a client. This is what life felt like before Elie went into the army and it is a lull I am enjoying; a time I take for myself.

My heart and brain have been completely mine...inside me, whole. I haven't feared a phone call...or at least not any that a normal mother would not fear. I have listened to the news, but names and places blur. He isn't near Kalkilye; he isn't over there. I worry for the soldiers who are there...but it is back to the level of a normal Israeli, normal concern, normal.

Life is filled with before and after moments. Some we know and expect; others we can never imagine. Forever after, life is divided by that moment and yet, often, you just couldn't expect it, didn't imagine the impact it would have.

Before Elie went into the army - there was a huge black space in his future and mine that I really tried to avoid thinking about. There was nothing I could do and the day would come soon enough...and when it did and I realized I could no longer avoid it, it tested me, challenged me, and changed me.

It changed my relationship with Elie in a way I never imagined it would - we are closer and I appreciate the person he has become. I so desperately hope it will do the same with my next son as well. It changed my relationship with the other members of my family - some for the good and some for the bad and I have to work on that.

It changed my relationship with God...I can't really explain that other than to say that when you are afraid, you trust more, you believe more, you beg more and you understand that God is all powerful and that all things rest in His hands and so you pray...you pray that what is good for you is really for the good of all. And you fear...not just for the dangers that are known, but for the judgment that is not.

This blog, which began as a personal journey, has taken off and touched others and I am forever grateful that those it has touched have often shared with me their thoughts (while taking my worries, fears and joys as theirs as well). I have met people – amazing, wonderful, warm and loving people from around the world.

That was never my goal and yet it has happened and continues to happen. There are other bloggers and sites that take my words and spread them further and for this too I am grateful.

And there are the detractors – the nasty ones, like the one who calls himself/herself simply SK and after my last post wrote, “You think now you could end this?"

I thought about that question last Friday morning as I began preparing for the Sabbath. I’ve thought about the irony of taking Elie home exactly three years to the day after recognizing the journey I was starting. Often I’ve wondered if I should stop and each time so many have written to thank me in some way – for writing what they were feeling about their own voyages, for explaining something about a far off distant land that isn’t really like the way the media says it is, for showing a simple fact…that this boy who puts on a green uniform, remains a person.

In a very real way, I could not have gotten through the last three years without some outlet, some means of dealing with the internal thoughts that kept me awake at night. I wanted to keep them from Elie, couldn’t share them with others in the family who were also afraid or worried. So it was something I needed to do…but do I need to do it again, as Shmulik enters the army?

Probably not – though his unit will be doing different things, watching over different places; his role different during wartime. But I’m stronger than I was, I know so much more, and this time, I have Elie with me to interpret and understand the ways of the army when before it was two of us going in blind.

No, I don’t NEED this blog any more, though I do need the contacts I have made, the friends, the supporters.

Do I think I could end this now? Absolutely. It would be so easy. It did its job…but you see, I didn’t finish mine. Minutes after my youngest child was born, I turned to my husband with a thought…she was a few minutes old and my oldest child was fourteen, a teenager. Elie was going to enter his teenage years in a few months…and in those moments, I realized that for the next twenty years of my life, I would be dealing with teenagers (numerous at times). That was 10 years ago.

In a few weeks, Shmulik turns 20, I’ll have, for the first time in many years, only one teenager at home…another coming around the bend soon enough.

In less than a few weeks, Shmulik enters the army as Elie enters the Reserves. They won’t call him for a year…at least I hope they won’t. But as I have been a soldier’s mother for three years now, all that changes is that the apostrophe shifts…now I will be two soldiers’ mother, three if you count my adopted son Chaim, who will also be going into the army soon…and four if you count my adopted son Yaakov, who will hopefully return and may choose to volunteer as well. Five and six…and thousands and thousands if you understand Israeli culture.

Each is a son of mine, as mine is a son of theirs. I am part of a culture, part of a huge group of women here in Israel and around the world. A soldier’s mother…it is not a term of shame, but of honor. It is not a call to violence, but a prayer for peace. It is a commitment, as real as the one we make when we birth them, as life-altering as that moment was as well.

So, this blog continues, SK, because Yaakov and Elie remain soldiers and Shmulik and Chaim become ones. Because I chose to make my life here with my sons, rather than sit on distant shores and comment about life in Israel. I chose to live my life here and in so doing, committed my sons to their destiny.

I took a week off because it felt good to just feel my sons around me, but what life has made them, what this country requires of them, means I too remain on alert, on call, on duty.

May you all, my friends and readers and most of all, my fellow mothers of soldiers – my sisters…may you all have a blessed day.

I started this blog on February 13, 2007 - it was my first post and it was titled, "Starting Young."

    Starting from a very young age, Israeli boys (and girls) know that they are destined to go to the army. It's part of how they grow up, where they are headed, who they will become. For those of us who came to Israel as adults, it's something that is harder to assimilate. It's so easy, year after year, to deny that it will happen, to postpone dealing with it. So, here I am, six weeks away from when my son will enter the Israeli army, suddenly having it all become real. This blog is a soldier's mother's story.

    Elie is 19 years old. A handsome boy with the most incredible blue eyes. He's smart, a volunteer in the ambulance squad, and lest you think that I think he is perfect, he's got a mighty fine temper and his room's a terrible mess. Elie is the manager of the family, the one who analyzes everything.

It's been three years. Elie is 22 years old. He's a handsome man with the most incredible blue eyes. He's smart and will likely take a course in the next few months to become an ambulance driver. And though by now, you must know he isn't perfect, he's learned to control his temper most of the time, has learned so much, and promises to clean his room this very week.

Tonight, as soon as the Sabbath ended, Elie called me. We'd made plans that I would travel to pick him up from his base later tonight, but things shifted, his schedule changed, and it was possible for me to pick him up right away. I left half an hour later and now he is home. Three years to the day since I started this blog...Elie is home. He has another week of training for reserve duty and a day when he has to go turn in his gear, but he's home, he's done. He brought home bags and bags of stuff - his blanket, his running shoes. He's home.

On the way home, he explained why there were so many army vehicles on the road - waved goodbye to the soldiers at the checkpoint. He's home. It comes with such joy, such relief...and a bit of fear as well.

    So - Elie is all grown up now, a man about to go to the army. We got his "marching" orders last week - artillery unit, and already I am panicking. Not because I don't want him to go, but because I haven't had the time to accept it all. My daughter, Elie's older sister, is getting married in a few weeks and two weeks after that, Elie goes in. I've been up to my elbows in wedding plans and jitters. Dresses and caterers and invitations and most importantly, smoothing out the nerves of a happy and excited bride. And, in the middle of all this, quietly moving closer and closer was this date - end of March, 2007, my son will be a soldier.

Three years ago, it was my daughter's wedding that softened the days before Elie went into the army. This year, it is Elie coming out of the army that has softened the days before Shmulik goes in. We got Shmulik's "marching" orders...and marching orders they are. He will be part of the Ground Forces...Kfir Brigade...and already I am panicking...Not because I don't want him to go, but because I haven't had the time to accept it all. I have no excuses this time - he doesn't go into the unknown and yet even without the lack of knowledge, my heart still hurts just a little bit, my stomach dances just a little bit.

I have focused on this day, today, when Elie would come home. I've wanted it to come, terrified that in the days or moments before he would come home, something would happen and he would be hurt. When I started this blog, I was terrified that I would ever have to write my most horrible and terrifying thoughts. I have been blessed - frightened out of my wits plenty of times - but so incredibly blessed. And now, now I dare to ask God to bless me yet again, to watch over my Shmulik as he watched over Elie. What nerve I have to ask and yet, what else can a mother do?

Tonight, for the first time in almost three years, Elie came home without a gun. He has already returned it.

"How does that feel?" I asked him.

"Weird," he answered.

Weird. That too is a blessing. Tomorrow, he plans to get a haircut and clean his room. He wants to fix up the computer, empty and reorganize his closet. He asked if I needed his help in the office. He's already feeling at loose ends, a bit lost, I think. He knows his long term goals, but not his short term ones. For the first time, no one is telling him what he has to do, when. The rules are essentially gone and now he has to pave his own path. For him, it is probably even scarier than going into the army. I have to remember that he still needs my help and while I focus on Shmulik, I still need to watch and see what Elie needs.

Tonight, before I went to get Elie, I stood next to Shmulik as my husband recited the blessings that separate between Shabbat and the rest of the week. Soon, I won't know where he is, what he is doing. Soon, I'll write more on Shmulik so that you can learn about him and see how special he is...so different from Elie in so many ways, looks, personality...and more.

For now, I'll stop the worry for one night, perhaps even for a few weeks. Elie stands down after three years. His gun is back with the army, soon to go to another son of Israel. Tonight he sleeps in his bed, still a soldier for a few more weeks, but it is now a technicality. For at least a year, there is very little chance he will go on patrol, man a checkpoint, and have the responsibilities of command that have been his for so long.

Tonight, I close my eyes and will sleep deep and with the normal fears of a normal mother. I have no sons on the borders of Israel, none at a checkpoint or deep in the desert. I have two sons who are technically soldiers and neither likely to be called in the coming days.

I love my country, Israel. Long ago, I chose to bring my two sons here, knowing that some day they would serve. I gave birth to another son and knew all three would serve. I am proud that Elie served; that Elie defended his country and with a bit of shame, I am so glad he is home, so so glad to be done, at least for this round.

May the God of Israel watch over our soldiers this night and every night.

The army has a much coveted course that it offers to a limited number of soldiers. It can't offer it to all of them. For the most part, it is another benefit given to combat soldiers, though others are also able to attend when space is available. Elie was lucky - he got the course.

He was happy for a number of reasons - it meant a week at home. Each morning to rise and drive to the location where the course is offered; each afternoon to return home. Nights were his. The course lasted Sunday through Thursday, each day a new and challenging and informative topic. We gave him one of our cars, which left me stranded at the office. Each afternoon on his way home, he picked me up and drove me home as we talked.

I'm not sure I can remember all the topics, but let's start. On the first day, they spoke to him about what he can expect from the army when he leaves - an immediate grant of several thousand dollars; a fund that can be used at any time in the next five years for a variety of things - education, buying an apartment, getting married. The fund will sit and gather interest until he pulls it out. After 5 years, it is his for any reason.

They spent one day teaching Elie and the others interviewing skills - proper behavior, comments, questions. They did role playing with the boys and videotaped them so that they could see for themselves what the interviewer would see. They taught them about putting together a CV and about life after the army.

They taught them about budgeting - about understanding how much income they have, taken against expenses and how to balance your needs against your resources. They taught them important information about when you shop for an apartment - both to rent and to buy. What to look for in an apartment; what to look for in terms of a mortgage.

There were other practical aspects of this course that daily left me so proud of the government's recognition that these young men are about to face a new reality. Elie explained it to me as if it was something I didn't know.

"We've never been so free," Elie explained. They went from high school and their parents' homes to an even more restricted environment where almost every minute of their lives was determined, disciplined, controlled. Now, after three years, all restrictions are gone. They come back to their homes as men. I can't tell Elie how to behave, when to go to sleep, what time he has to be home. The thought is absurd - a boy left my home; a man returns.

And on the final day, they spoke of far off lands and what happens to too many of our young. After seeing war and terror and violence, after being so restricted, many crave freedom and air. They leave Israel for extended travels to far off exotic lands. Most return home safely; too many don't.

They spoke of drugs and showed them a video made by a young man who had traveled to India with friends. He'd never been involved in drugs, but with the encouragement of friends he was traveling with, began experimenting. Months past by, of which he has no memory. He doesn't remember how he got back to Israel, only that at some point, he came back to himself and was finally drug-free. Young man to young man, he warned Elie's group. Go, be safe, return home healthy and whole.

I don't think Elie will be among those who travel off to distant exotic shores. We've talked about him perhaps making a visit to family in the United States and traveling to see things there. It's distant, but doesn't hit the exotic and frightening on my scale.

He's thinking what he wants to do...no answers yet. Perhaps for a short while, he'll do nothing and that's okay with me too. He joked once that after the army, he would never wear green again...at least outside of his yearly reserve duty.

From the beginning to now, the army has amazed me. The fact that they take this time to teach soldiers about mortgages and interviews shows how incredible an organization it is. Their primary goal has always been to defend Israel, but they understand that they have the power not just to save lives, but to launch them on to successful paths.

I wish as a soldier's mother there was someone I could thank for the gift they have given to my son. In making him a soldier, they have made him a better, stronger, healthier, smarter man. I gave them a boy, much loved and handsome. He was smart, they made him smarter. He was too quick to anger, they taught him discipline. He was always analytical, they taught him to think. I gave them a beautiful boy, they return to me an amazing man.