The Mount of Olives is an ancient cemetery, often desecrated by local Arabs. From 1948 - 1967, the Jordanians held this area. When it was reunited in 1967 with the rest of Jerusalem, Israelis and Jews the world over were horrified to find that the Arabs had broken uncountable numbers of tombstones, turned them into a latrine, and rubble. 

What harm these centuries of dead Jews had done to the Jordanians and local Arab population is beyond understanding but they were an affront to Islam, a testimony to our historical ties to this land and so were smashed, broken, and damaged beyond repair. 

Slowly, for the last 40 years, we have been reclaiming, fixing, repairing new damage of ongoing vandalism and hatred, and burying our dead there once again. This was where our cousins chose to bury their father last year; where we came again in great sadness to now bury their mother. 

We saw many Arab youth working in the cemetery as we were leaving. They were laughing and playing tag as others worked with cement to repair some of the graves. There was no supervision; no one watching over them. Why? I asked Elie. It was not a respectful way to work in a cemetery in such an important place, but it was clearly for these Arab laborers, just a day's work...and an unsupervised one at that. 

"They break the stones at night," Elie said, "and then we pay them to fix them." 

And in the newly patched cement on some of the sides of the graves, I saw Arabic writing; even in this, there is disrespect. A marking of what is ours to somehow claim it as theirs. This too, goes without notice, apparently. Before the funeral, we met the train of cars in a busy intersection of "West" Jerusalem, the modern, bustling city near our offices. 

We waited a short while and then began driving to the cemetery together. On the way there, as we neared the Old City of Jerusalem and its ancient towering walls, a security jeep got in line at the end of the chain of cars. 

As we drove in what is commonly referred to as "East Jerusalem" by the media, we got stuck at a light, the train broken in half by the traffic light. The security jeep pulled up next to us and smiled reassuringly. The light changed and we continued; the security jeep pulled back to the rear of the trail. 

A few minutes later, we pulled up near one of the entrances to the cemetery. There are other entrances and we hesitated whether to turn in or not. The rest of the cars ahead of us were already out of site; the cars behind us waiting on our decision. The security jeep pulled next to us, signaled that we should follow, and lead us further down the road to the correct entrance. 

We pulled in and exited the car; the two armed guards in the jeep exited and took up positions watching as the mourners walked up the mountainside following my husband's aunt to her final resting place. 

Surrealistic that the guards were there; a testimony of the need for security even in death. The view from the Mount of Olives is stunning and beyond words. The ceremony was short and sad. Our cousins buried their father here not long ago, now they came for only a few hours, to bury their mother. 

She was an amazing woman, both in terms of how she lived her life and raised her children, but also in what she suffered to achieve it all. She was a survivor of the Nazi camps, of a horrible plan to rid Europe and the world of its Jews. It started in Germany, spread like the cancer it was to Poland and beyond. Relatively late in the war, it came to Hungary and to the Jews there. It came late, but it came with a vengeance and a determination that had been forged by years of hatred and murder. 

This hatred came to my mother-in-law's town in the early months of 1944. They took her brother and killed him. Elie bears his name, a living reminder that we triumphed and not them. They took my father-in-law and his brothers. One died in the forest, urging his cousin to leave him because he was too sick to go on. Shmulik bears his name, a living reminder that we survived and will never forget. 

They took my mother-in-law, her mother, her sisters. Her mother and young Gabriella were murdered. My mother-in-law and her older sister survived the initial selection. Kloty (her Hebrew name was Breindel, but everyone called her Kloty) had a problem with her hips. I think it was something that happened during her birth and so others hid her, afraid that Mengele would choose her for experimentation. No, I won't give him the honor of calling him Dr., though he was a medical practitioner. 

To me, calling someone a doctor is more a recognition of having achieved a certain level of knowledge or learning. So Mengele didn't get his hands on Kloty, though even without this, she suffered all her life from the pain in her hips. She had operations. She had difficulties and yet she always had a smile whenever I saw her and a positive attitude. Someone tried to console Kloty's daughter by reminding her that her mother had survived Hitler's Holocaust. But, I told our cousin as I met her near her mother's grave, that Kloty didn't just survive the war. She lived. She chose life. She chose to build a family and live. 

And now, she is gone and I am left with such sadness. My mother-in-law passed away more than 15-years-ago and still leaves a void in our lives. Her brother passed away a few years later, and now the last of that family is gone. Kloty was the oldest and it is hard to believe the day has come when they all are gone. We still have aunts and uncles, thankfully, on my father-in-law's side. For that matter, my husband still has his uncle's wife on his mother's side who is thankfully with us, but there was something about Kloty being here that kept a part of my mother-in-law alive for me too. 

People are saying that the survivors are dying; the generation that could bear direct testimony to the horrors that man did inflict on man is almost gone. Those who survived were children at the time; and each year we get closer to that day when they will all be gone. 

For our family, today was one of those days. With such great sadness, I realized as I returned to my office, they are leaving us and in their leaving, they are giving us a terrible and tremendous responsibility. They have carried the memory of what was done to them; they were haunted by it to the end of their days. They suffered in their health and fought to overcome. Now we have to remember. Now we have to remind the world. 

May God bless Breindel bat Yishayahu with all the riches of the world to come and all the good things she deserved. May He comfort her children and all of us. We are losing a generation who defined grace and life and taught us that no matter what others will do to us, it is what we do ourselves that defines who we are. They taught us that to choose life is imperative, but more, to live life is a triumph.

Four yesterday, several more in the past week. It's the build up before the action; it's the question before the answer. How long will the Israeli government allow our people to live under rocket fire? The answer, as always, is in the results. We are waiting, as we always do, for the rocket that doesn't miss, for the mortar that strikes true.

When it does, it will kill someone, perhaps, God help us, a child, a pregnant woman, a mother, a father, a much beloved grandfather, the grandmother who cooks for the whole family and makes it what it is. It might, again, be a few children playing in a yard. It might, again, hit a school just moments after the children have left the room. It might, again, hit a child, an only child of parents who waited to long to bring him into this world.

It will crush their lives forever. There is no tomorrow when you lose your today. So we wait until it happens, a bit angrier this time because we have been here before and even though we may have learned part of the lesson, in that we know what will happen, we haven't learned enough.

We are still stupid enough to care what other countries say, and other countries are as stupid and blind as they were in November, 2008. One hundred and twenty-four rockets and mortars "fell" that November. What a silly word - "fell." Of course they did not fall. They were intentionally launched at civilian areas to maim and murder our citizens. These rockets and mortars were not fired at military targets, but at schools, homes, synagogues, hospitals, the heart and soul of our people, our children.

Today 171 truckloads of goods entered Gaza via Kerem Shalom and Karni crossings, and 2 truckloads of flowers & strawberries entered Israel.

Yesterday, four rockets were fired at Israel. Today, one rocket was fired at Israel.

Exactly two years ago, as we were days away from my youngest son's bar mitzvah, I was facing the reality that my oldest son might not be there. He was stationed near Gaza, mere meters from the border and well within the range of the same kind of rockets being fired today. It was a nightmare from which I could not awaken. I spent my days in a daze of fear and tears.

For many months, even years, I had been trained to be thankful each time they announced that the rocket had hit in an "open area." Suddenly, in the middle of the war, I realized my son was stationed in one of those open fields. What am I supposed to pray for now? I wondered.

There are no words, even now, to explain what I felt during those horrible days. History will tell you it was really only about 18 days of war. My heart will tell you it felt so much longer. On the last day before my son's bar mitzvah, I got the call from Elie that they were releasing him and he could come home. I grabbed some food, my phone and the car keys and went driving down there, trying to drive slowly enough that I wouldn't break any laws, desperate to see him.

Most of the last few minutes were a blur to me. I remember taking a wrong turn and wanting to cry. I remember seeing him for the first time in weeks and thanking God for this most precious of gifts - a son safe and coming home. One of the first things Elie said to me on the ride home still rings in my ears.

"Ima," he said, "they didn't let us finish."

No, Elie and the other soldiers knew that their work was not done; that Gaza would fire more rockets. There were political reasons for stopping the war, not military ones. Barack Hussein Obama was coming into office and Israel was told to pull itself into order. I didn't hear Obama condemn the rocket attacks yesterday. I didn't hear Obama condemn them today.

Maybe he too is waiting for a child to die. Maybe only when our blood flows in the streets will our government understand that what wasn't finished two years ago, has come back to haunt us again. For one year after a soldier finishes his mandatory service, he is not called to the Reserves. The catch is that the army does call them that first year and the soldier has the choice of going or not (unless there is a war). Elie's year ends in a bit over two months.

I can't let myself think of another war yet. But five rockets in two days. The world has to understand -  unless they demand that Hamas stops, this will again be the build up before the action; the question before Israel's strong answer. And this time, this time maybe we will finish what should have been done two years ago.

It's a really important lesson we Israelis must learn - how to fight the publicity war. We make a huge error, though an honorable one and one I am not sure we will ever change. We tell the truth. There it is - the simple reason why we lose and they win.

Take today's reality. An Arab approached soldiers at a checkpoint and attempted to stab them. He was shot and killed before being successful. Now, anywhere else in the world anyone would think the soldiers should be congratulated for protecting themselves and their post from a direct threat. Anywhere...and anyone doesn't, apparently, apply to the Arabs.

According to today's news, the Arabs are condemning the incident as a "dangerous escalation." No, not the knife attack, which is common place enough, but the shooting of the attacker. BBC headlines their article with, "Palestinian killed at checkpoint."

Of course, BBC would proudly proclaim in the halls of all journalism schools that they had reported the truth and, in fact, they have. The slant, the angle, their agenda notwithstanding, the headlines, in large letters, proclaims, "Palestinian shot by Israelis at Checkpoint" - lest you think, for even a moment, that it was accidental. (http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-12104336)

The next line, in a much calmer font and size. "A Palestinian man has been shot dead after trying to attack Israeli troops at a checkpoint near the West Bank city of Nablus." BBC finally gets around to telling us in the first paragraph.

And the best example of BBC's ongoing, blatant anti-Israel campaign comes with the next two-thirds of the article has nothing to do with the incident at the checkpoint which by any stretch of normal was not a dangerous escalation or an unwarranted death. So, BBC wrote about an incident on Friday in which a Palestinian allegedly, according to BBC's sources (why give them any credibility) is said to have died of tear gas inhalation.

Radio reports say the Palestinians claim that this woman has been at similar riots and inhaled gas and was fine so therefore, according to the Palestinians, this proves that the Israelis used more powerful or greater quantities of gas. Not to be outdone, the Palestinians also insist that the gas was fired without any provocation, before any violence on the Palestinian side had even erupted. Of course, many reports and physical evidence (video and pictures) prove this is nonsense.

Even the reports from the Palestinian side differ and, as usual, they remain unwilling to produce a body for examination. One report says the woman was pregnant and stabbed - suggesting some deeper, perhaps societal reason for her death.

This is the way propaganda should be fought - we have no proof, yet, that Jawaher Abu Rahmeh was sexually promiscuous, had met a secret lover and was bearing him a child. But why waste time with the facts, could be one lesson we learn from the Palestinians. Perhaps our leadership should now announce this questionable rumor as fact and criticize the well-known and despicable "honor killing" prevalent among Arab society.

Evidence of the child she carried and the stab wounds would be enough. Of course, it won't work. This is an exercise in futility because such reputable news agencies as BBC would never allow evidence to be so presented...unless, of course, it puts Israel in a bad light.

A Palestinian got up this morning and decided to cross illegally into Israel. When he was stopped, he picked up a weapon and attempted to stab soldiers. This was an attack - it was answered as it would have been answered by any trained army in the world under attack.

Israel has truth on its side - it always has and it always will. So we won't tell the world that Jawaher was a shunned woman punished by her family for her many sexual escapades with her numerous lovers. We'll tell the truth - she came to a protest location that often turns violent - likely as part of her ongoing need to avenge the death of her brother, who similarly died in violent clashes with the IDF because her mother, who now says she wants her remaining children to live, didn't teach her two dead children that attacking soldiers is just stupid.

So what we have are two incidents in which Palestinians were involved in violent clashes with the IDF - one involved rock throwing - where a soldier lost an eye recently, and one involving an attempt to stab soldiers at a checkpoint when they were only doing their jobs.

BBC focuses not on the violence perpetrated but on the response. Only after the shock value, do they bother with the truth, the facts.

So how we fight the publicity war remains the same - we fight with truth, we fight with the facts. No, we don't expect the likes of BBC to suddenly start reporting the news in an ethical and honest way; just as we don't expect the Palestinians to use truth and words rather than missiles and rocks.

I don't know if Jawaher was pregnant; hopefully that truth will come out as it did with Aayat al-Akhras who engaged in a pre-marital sexual relationship with her fiancé and probably became pregnant with his child before she decided she could reclaim her integrity by murdering two innocent people and injuring 22 others. Then there's

Wafa' Idris who shamed her family by not only getting divorced but of apparently being barren. After nine years with no children (did they never hear it could have been HIS fault?) and a divorce, what better way to gain honor than murdering someone and injuring over 90?

Oh, and there's Hanadi Jaradat - another promiscuous one who felt better to die than be remembered for her sexual activities. She murdered 21 and wounded almost 50 in Haifa. And the one that personally makes me sick every time I think of her - Reem al-Riyashi. She murdered 4 Israelis and wounded 10 more because her husband caught her in an extra-marital affair with her Hamas handler. She chose suicide over mothering her two young children.

Slowly, these truths came out but they weren't enough for the likes of BBC as they will about today's attackers.

So, returning to the question of how to fight the publicity war...I guess I'll be honest, I believe we fight it with one truth at a time, one fact at a time, one person at a time. At some point, that was why I chose to continue this blog. So that the next time you hear about an Israeli soldier shooting a Palestinian, you'll think of Elie and Chaim, Yaakov and Shmulik. You've read about their training. You know they have been taught to be responsible for a gun and you know, if they pull that gun and shoot - it is after they have given warning; after they have exhausted all other options.

You know the truth - one truth at a time. Today, a Palestinian got angry for whatever reason. He wanted something and he couldn't have it. Too bad. There are reasons for checkpoints and reasons for permits. He did something violent and certainly something stupid. It was not a dangerous escalation - as the stupid Palestinian leadership wants you to believe; it was not unprovoked, as BBC's headlines might make you think.

A truth. One truth...and as the truths pile higher, they will outweigh all the lies and bury the media in its blinding light.Today, a Palestinian attempted to stab a soldier. That is the headlines that should have appeared today.

I had a thought today that made me very sad. In truth, I have always been one to fall apart after the crisis passes. I can't even begin to list the times I've handled something, only to sit down and fall apart when it was done or at least at a point that allowed me to release my emotions.

Moments after they announced today that all the large fires were out and that only smaller ones remained,  I sat in my office and wanted to cry. Mostly it was relief, though there was great sadness...and such feelings of gratitude.

There are so many thanks to give out:

Thank you to the firefighters who came from so many lands - for Bulgaria and Greece and Jordan and  Egypt. Thank you to France, Britain and Cyprus; and to Azerbaijan and Switzerland and Spain and Germany. Thank you to the Russians who came with such incredible resources and confidence. They knew from the start that we would conquer the fire.

Thank you to the Americans - the National Guard and the firefighters from New York. And Australia that is sending advisors and even the Palestinians and the Turks who sent firefighters (although they were quick to assure the world that this was in no way intended as a peace gesture...God forbid).

And thank you to our own firefighters who fought so hard and so long. There was a picture in the New York Times - I'm afraid to copy it for copyright reasons, but it was so special. It showed Israeli firefighters taking a break - about 20 of them, lying on the road in utter exhaustion. What was so special was that each was using another's leg as a pillow. "We did that," Elie said with a smile, "it's more comfortable."

And thank you to the men of ZAKA, who do the unthinkable. They find and prepare bodies for burial, dealing with the most gruesome of tasks in honor and respect.

And thank you to our air force and police, who worked so hard for so many days.

And thank you to the bank that offered an interest-free loan, and the car company that offered free car rentals, and the hotels who opened their doors.

And thank you to God, the protector of Israel - for bringing the rain, that even now is beginning to fall.

And thank you to the Jewish National Fund, who will replant and help us rebuild.

And thank you to all the nations and all the people who prayed for us in these difficult days.

And finally, a closing thought. I have driven those mountains many times, those mountains that now are charred beyond all recognition. I dread going there to see it, though I will in the coming days.

As I spoke with Elie, a thought crossed my mind. It is all gone - those 5 million trees, tens of thousands of acres, dunams...all gone. Even if we replant, and we will...it will take generations to come back to where it was just 5 days ago. There is such pain in that thought; such sadness.

I am trying to focus on our promise, our commitment to the land. From the ashes, will rise another forest, but it will take generations to really come back in all its glory. Such sadness.

I hope my children will tell their grandchildren that they remember the fire and the desolation. But more, I hope they will look about them and say to their children's children - this is as it was when I was a child...tall, green, beautiful and blessed once again.

May God bless the land of Israel and bring forth its healing.

The representative of Burma came and was so impressed by our wide open spaces with no trees, that he commented on how amazingly successful our deforestation plan was. In reality, according to history, our "deforestation" plan is thousands of years old, and never really ours. When the Romans came to our land more than 2,000 years ago, destroyed the Holy Temple and took many of our people into slavery, they salted the earth, to curse it and make it barren.  

There are many statistics. If I were trying to be thorough, I would do research and point to sites to prove the numbers I say here - perhaps later I will add them. For now, I'll tell you that I remember hearing that only Israel, of all the nations in the world, has MORE trees today than 50 years ago. We have no deforestation plan. It is our love of the land that drives us, year after year, to plant new forests and trees, to care for them, to cherish them.  We have lost over 5 million trees. 

The tragedy of this knocks us to the ground. If you are not Israeli, I do not know if you can comprehend the incredible agony of the heart that we Israelis are feeling today. We take such pride in our forests, our trees. They are an expression of our love. It causes such pain to watch them burn, hour after hour, day after day, as the flames are fanned by the winds. I could say the same and more at the thought of the 42 people who have been killed in this fire, the wounded, the homeless.  

More than trees, these are people and yet both the people and the land break our hearts. Two stupid, careless boys from a Druze village have been arrested for setting the fire. Some reports say there were burning garbage; others say they had a picnic at night and didn't bother to extinguish the fire. 

Was it deliberate? Probably not. After all, who wants to think that someone would intentionally cause such destruction, such incredible suffering? Elie calls it terrorism - it is his love of the land that brings this harsh verdict, but it comes after hearing that in the last 48 hours, there have been more than 20 arson attempts by Arabs to set fire to our land - the latest this morning near Jerusalem.  

They know that from all over the country, firefighting equipment has been sent north. Little remains to protect other areas. It is all we have to give. Countries around the world, even those that still call themselves enemies - Turkey, Egypt, Jordan...have joined the Greece, Cyprus, Italy, France, Russia, the United States - forgive me if I have forgotten someone, we are so grateful.  

The thought of so many coming to help us brings tears to my eyes. A part of me says it is only right - we have flown the world to help others, to Kenya, to Turkey, to Haiti, to Indonesia, and beyond. Again and again, it is only right that they come and help us. But this isn't about right or wrong. It is about the beauty of it all. They come to our land to help us. We are so grateful. Tomorrow will be time enough for politics and an accusing finger.  

Perhaps our government, this one and previous ones, should have done more. Perhaps this minister or that one. I don't focus on that now. For now, I listen only to reports from the north. I need to know all the details - are they safe, these firefighters of ours and theirs? Do they have enough water to fight this? Is the wind endangering them? How soon can the planes take to the air and help? Again and again, I check the news.  

The big fire in the north was not, apparently, terrorism, but these arson attacks definitely are. Again and again throughout the day, I heard of more arson attacks. I am left with one burning thought - if someone intentionally sets fire to the land, it is obscene for him to then claim that he loves it. You do not intentionally burn trees and acres and acres, dunams after dunams, of a land you love. Those who love this land, are those who have spent days fighting these fires. I see it in their eyes, as they tell the story to reporters. The overwhelming heartache, the sadness, the damage.  

And there is one more thing in their eyes - something the Arabs forget to easily, something they are blinded from seeing now...and for the last 63 years. We love this land. We will replant. We will rebuild. This was terrorism and for all of our lives, we have answered terrorism with the one thing that can stop it - determination. We will plant. We will build.