Arutz Sheva reported recently that an Israeli vehicle was stolen.
In the brief article describing the event there is one tiny pronoun, “her,” which elucidates who was driving, who was targeted by three thugs: a woman.
Several thoughts are buzzing around but the most immediate is, “Thank G-d they only stole her car.” Others include, “I’ve driven on that road,” “I know how forlorn and empty that road can be,” “would I have hesitated to shoot someone after being forcibly stopped,” and lastly, the one thought I don’t need to consider, “I’m moving my hot-pink ear muffs from the trunk of the car to the front.”
If it happened to me I hope I’d think to roll down the windows (why waste money on new windows) and perhaps simply seeing me with hot-pink ear protection would be a deterrent. (Perhaps any woman driving alone ought to keep a pair of hot-pink ear-muffs in the front seat.) I don’t need to think about my weapon -- the weapon is an integrated part of my reality.
I might not hit an approaching man directly in his center but I’m certain to cripple his right leg or groin. (I consistently shoot to my left and a bit low.)
The staff at “Caliber 3” are wonderful and I go every 2 weeks because I am determined to lose any lingering fears, to stop anticipating loud booms, to keep a better grip with my left arm, to remember to lean in and not away . . . and so on. There are a plethora of miniscule muscle movements I have yet to master.
Anyway, I would hope just seeing an armed woman would end an attempt to harm me. That’s the story I’d prefer to read,
“Armed Woman Scares Away Carjacking Assailants.”
With regard to my own ongoing, often humorous, experiences carrying a handgun, here are the recent highlights:
I stopped wearing dresses because I don’t feel like wearing a gun where the whole world can see it (what would be the point of wearing a gun under a dress). So it's skirts, skirts, skirts. Although my mother, in California, likes the look and a sales lady in Beit Shemesh also thinks it’s “Awesome.”
At the train station in Kiryat Gat the guard asked if I have more than one weapon (“Yesh lach od?” Me, “Od?” Him, “Od ehad?”). I wanted to ask, “What would I do with two pistols,” but I just showed him the spare magazine and he was satisfied.
A female security guard in Ramat Gan asked if the weapon was mine. I cannot imagine anyone illegally carrying a handgun and voluntarily going through a security check.
At a Costco-like store near Sderot, as I was entering with one of my armed soldier sons (you can’t conceal carrying a mircro-tavor), the guard started reaching for his military ID, saw that I was also holding a weapons ID and just waved us both in.
At Supersol in Ashkelon, the female guard is the very first person who immediately knew where I carry, as she is the first person to visibly zero-in on my waist after examining my ID.
Supersol in Katzrin in the Golan Heights has a guard with an honest-to-G-d handle-bar mustache and he started to recognize me.
One day I drove a son and two other soldiers from Jerusalem to a base near Katzrin because they all needed to schlep from Gaza to the armory in The Golan (why? the army truly functions on miracles). While waiting to drive them home I decided to go swimming in the Kinneret. With my handgun. I tried providing some protection from the water but, apparently, ziploc bags are not water-proof.
When driving both of my soldiers with two others my son piped up, “We’re all armed!” One of the guests said/asked, “Your Mother has a weapon too?!?”
(And you are welcome to pray for my sons, among the 1,000s of other young men deployed along the Gaza border; I think I had a healthy amount of white wine last night or I wouldn’t have slept a wink.)
That same child told me I’m not aggressive enough when I hold and aim, but the instructor I’ve been blessed to work with kindly told me I’m plenty aggressive.
My dermatologist (who lives somewhere near Betar Illit in Gush Etzion) had quite a few questions about my Smith & Wesson and about how I handle it around children and how often do I go to “Caliber 3,” and so on. I certainly looked her in the eyes and said, “Do it; get a handgun.”
Our attorney saw me enter his office and said, “Whew, you don’t have your gun with you.” And I answered, “Of course I do. What’s the point of owning a weapon if you don’t have it with you.” (Angels aren’t going to start visiting us the night before a tragedy and say, “Oh you better carry your handgun tomorrow . . . . “)
Almost every security guard in the city of Betar wants to talk with me about the handgun, then my sons, the soldiers, and when I finally manage to walk away we’ve been thoroughly showered with blessings.
That’s all of my most recent weapon wearing, gun-totin, adventures.
I continue to believe we, the women of Israel, ought to all have a weapons permit and a handgun we feel comfortable using. Hopefully your Rabbi agrees with my crazy-Haredi rabbi. And, I understand and know, not everyone qualifies to apply for a permit -- perhaps someone can modify the law. It seems like the entire country sees random acts of terror -- wouldn’t it be a relief if anyone over the age of, let’s say, 35 is allowed to apply?
To highlight the current absurdity -- a close friend's grandparents were legal handgun owners for 20 plus years. They moved to Ashkelon and now they aren’t allowed a permit. Honestly -- people who have owned weapons for over 20 years are suddenly unarmed? Does that make sense to anyone.
G-d bless you all and G-d bless all of our soldiers and may we see an end to all violence, terror and war very soon.