Schedules being what they are in Israel, it is difficult to find perfect moments too often. Perhaps that's what makes them so special; they simply happen at a time and place when you most need it. Perfect moments are different for everyone, personally defined by need or reality.
For me, perfect moments are those when I have my family with me, when there is no other place I'd want to be, nothing I'd rather be doing, than sitting in that one place, being together and knowing that, at least for that moment, all is right in my little world (if not in the larger one in which we all too often find ourselves).
Perfect moments in Israel are those that happen when there is "relative quiet," a term the media uses most freely to imply a change in the Palestinian society's actions or beliefs, but we Israelis use less often. For us, relative quiet relates more to personal safety issues than to the last time a terrorist attack succeeded.
Unlike the media, we do not ignore those suicide bombers that did not make it past the army's surveillance. For us, relative calm is when the word is sent from Damascus or Gaza that it isn't in their political interest to attack us today and so we have a brief opportunity to stop waiting for the next bomb or rocket. Perhaps some European politician is visiting and would be embarrassed, perhaps some UN official is busy praising the Palestinians for pursuing peace and it isn't in their interest to prove him wrong.
For Israelis, our relative calm occurs most often when there is a closure, when Palestinian workers are stopped from entering Israel and so terrorists are less able to slip in hidden among them. Most closures happen because we are on vacation and while we aren't working, we seldom need foreign workers to labor, be they from Thailand, the Philippines or from Palestinian areas.
This week, as Israel celebrates the holiday of Sukkot and many take time to simply enjoy the last moments of summer as it fades quickly into winter, such a closure was announced. And, under hopes of a quiet week, I found my perfect moments in the north. On the shores of the ancient city of Acco (Acre in English) and kayaking down the Jordan River with my children. No computers, no clocks, no school, no news, no army, no soldiers, no rockets, no fears.
For my youngest, amazingly enough, it was the first time she had entered the great Mediterranean Sea. We have taken her to rivers and lakes and many natural streams, but these were small by comparison to the vast body of water that makes up much of Israel's western border and for her, it was a new world to discover. "It's huge," she kept saying in Hebrew. "Huge." Sand and shells, water, waves and sunshine.
The Mediterranean is our calmest border, not touching enemy land. We do not sit on the shores of the sea and imagine snipers and enemy armies, as we do when we are close to Lebanon and Syria, or even Jordan and Egypt.
Another perfect moment was found kayaking on the Jordan River, where we raced to the finish and found ourselves going in circles. And then, in the middle of a shallow part, we, like many other kayaks, got stuck briefly. Not to waste the time, the men from several boats climbed out and joined in the afternoon prayers. Only in Israel, I thought, would strangers stop in the middle of a river, face Jerusalem, and pray together.
With the beauty of the north surrounding us, it was easy to forget that the whole area is still traumatized emotionally and financially by the summer's war. They still remember the sirens that gave them one minute's notice of a possible incoming rocket attack.
As my children floated in the water and delighted in the last moments of pre-winter warmth, even in October, I contemplated our life in Israel. Ultimately, it is these perfect moments - when your family is around you, when no rockets and bombs are exploding, when people are simply enjoying life - that you must remember and relish. In a few days, one child will leave for university. In a few months, another child will enter the army. Both are no longer children.
Already, my son, enrolled in a pre-military religious academy, has learned to shoot an M16. I have never held an M16, nor do I want to hold one. He is about to enter a world that I have never known. A friend whose son is only two years older called recently. We didn't talk much in the last few months, not at all during the war. Some part of me was afraid to call and ask where Oren was; and now I know. It is a mother's greatest fear, my biggest concern about having a son enter the army.
Oren spent much of the war in Lebanon, fighting alongside his army brothers. He was in Baalbek, Bint Jbeil, and Maroun Al-Ras. His unit attacked and was attacked, but with the grace of God and his parents' prayers, Oren escaped injury. Some of his friends did not; one died in his arms. There won't be any perfect moments for some time for Oren and the many soldiers and their families who lost friends during the war, as they learn to deal with their grief and their memories.
In the north, we met many Israelis still putting their lives together. Some focus on the damage, the fear, and the belief that the Lebanon War Part II was not finished and that Part III will be coming soon enough. For these Israelis, too, there aren't many perfect moments now, as they struggle to come to terms with their experiences.
And then, there were the Israelis who have accepted the war as part of life here. We live among enemies who will not stop in their quest to destroy. These Israelis, like those who have survived countless terror attacks in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Netanya and elsewhere, and those who survive daily rocket attacks in Sderot, will not let our enemies succeed in depriving us of the perfect moments.
More precious than ever, these perfect moments give us the strength for what lies ahead, the ability, despite all, to still pray for peace, for a time when we don't have to fear our sons going to war. A time when we can watch our children float on the Jordan River or splash in the Mediterranean, and simply enjoy the moment.
Our enemies can take away our summer vacations by launching wars against our borders, but they cannot take away our belief in peace, our faith that we will not be taken from our land, our love of our country, our special times with our families. No matter how determined they are, we remain more determined to seek out and enjoy our perfect moments.
For me, perfect moments are those when I have my family with me, when there is no other place I'd want to be, nothing I'd rather be doing, than sitting in that one place, being together and knowing that, at least for that moment, all is right in my little world (if not in the larger one in which we all too often find ourselves).
Perfect moments in Israel are those that happen when there is "relative quiet," a term the media uses most freely to imply a change in the Palestinian society's actions or beliefs, but we Israelis use less often. For us, relative quiet relates more to personal safety issues than to the last time a terrorist attack succeeded.
Unlike the media, we do not ignore those suicide bombers that did not make it past the army's surveillance. For us, relative calm is when the word is sent from Damascus or Gaza that it isn't in their political interest to attack us today and so we have a brief opportunity to stop waiting for the next bomb or rocket. Perhaps some European politician is visiting and would be embarrassed, perhaps some UN official is busy praising the Palestinians for pursuing peace and it isn't in their interest to prove him wrong.
For Israelis, our relative calm occurs most often when there is a closure, when Palestinian workers are stopped from entering Israel and so terrorists are less able to slip in hidden among them. Most closures happen because we are on vacation and while we aren't working, we seldom need foreign workers to labor, be they from Thailand, the Philippines or from Palestinian areas.
This week, as Israel celebrates the holiday of Sukkot and many take time to simply enjoy the last moments of summer as it fades quickly into winter, such a closure was announced. And, under hopes of a quiet week, I found my perfect moments in the north. On the shores of the ancient city of Acco (Acre in English) and kayaking down the Jordan River with my children. No computers, no clocks, no school, no news, no army, no soldiers, no rockets, no fears.
For my youngest, amazingly enough, it was the first time she had entered the great Mediterranean Sea. We have taken her to rivers and lakes and many natural streams, but these were small by comparison to the vast body of water that makes up much of Israel's western border and for her, it was a new world to discover. "It's huge," she kept saying in Hebrew. "Huge." Sand and shells, water, waves and sunshine.
The Mediterranean is our calmest border, not touching enemy land. We do not sit on the shores of the sea and imagine snipers and enemy armies, as we do when we are close to Lebanon and Syria, or even Jordan and Egypt.
Another perfect moment was found kayaking on the Jordan River, where we raced to the finish and found ourselves going in circles. And then, in the middle of a shallow part, we, like many other kayaks, got stuck briefly. Not to waste the time, the men from several boats climbed out and joined in the afternoon prayers. Only in Israel, I thought, would strangers stop in the middle of a river, face Jerusalem, and pray together.
With the beauty of the north surrounding us, it was easy to forget that the whole area is still traumatized emotionally and financially by the summer's war. They still remember the sirens that gave them one minute's notice of a possible incoming rocket attack.
As my children floated in the water and delighted in the last moments of pre-winter warmth, even in October, I contemplated our life in Israel. Ultimately, it is these perfect moments - when your family is around you, when no rockets and bombs are exploding, when people are simply enjoying life - that you must remember and relish. In a few days, one child will leave for university. In a few months, another child will enter the army. Both are no longer children.
Already, my son, enrolled in a pre-military religious academy, has learned to shoot an M16. I have never held an M16, nor do I want to hold one. He is about to enter a world that I have never known. A friend whose son is only two years older called recently. We didn't talk much in the last few months, not at all during the war. Some part of me was afraid to call and ask where Oren was; and now I know. It is a mother's greatest fear, my biggest concern about having a son enter the army.
Oren spent much of the war in Lebanon, fighting alongside his army brothers. He was in Baalbek, Bint Jbeil, and Maroun Al-Ras. His unit attacked and was attacked, but with the grace of God and his parents' prayers, Oren escaped injury. Some of his friends did not; one died in his arms. There won't be any perfect moments for some time for Oren and the many soldiers and their families who lost friends during the war, as they learn to deal with their grief and their memories.
In the north, we met many Israelis still putting their lives together. Some focus on the damage, the fear, and the belief that the Lebanon War Part II was not finished and that Part III will be coming soon enough. For these Israelis, too, there aren't many perfect moments now, as they struggle to come to terms with their experiences.
And then, there were the Israelis who have accepted the war as part of life here. We live among enemies who will not stop in their quest to destroy. These Israelis, like those who have survived countless terror attacks in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Netanya and elsewhere, and those who survive daily rocket attacks in Sderot, will not let our enemies succeed in depriving us of the perfect moments.
More precious than ever, these perfect moments give us the strength for what lies ahead, the ability, despite all, to still pray for peace, for a time when we don't have to fear our sons going to war. A time when we can watch our children float on the Jordan River or splash in the Mediterranean, and simply enjoy the moment.
Our enemies can take away our summer vacations by launching wars against our borders, but they cannot take away our belief in peace, our faith that we will not be taken from our land, our love of our country, our special times with our families. No matter how determined they are, we remain more determined to seek out and enjoy our perfect moments.