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October 10, 2015 | 27th Tishrei 5776
Israel Support

  1. This morning, I paid a shivah call to Sara and Michael?s house, the parents who lost their wonderful son Eitan when his tank went over a bomb in the Gaza Strip last week. They buried him last Thursday, after his comrades, under constant fire from terrorists, combed the dangerous streets to bring his holy remains and those of his comrades? home.

    As I neared [their] home, I saw army men standing in small circles, talking quietly. Some wore beards and knitted skullcaps. Friends, religious and non-religious, came and went in and out of the home, fulfilling one of Judaism's most honored rituals of comforting mourners for seven days after the funeral.

    Sara and her husband sat on low chairs, as is the custom, surrounded by friends. I introduced myself. "I want to talk to you..." Sara said softly. I pulled up a chair. "I understand that you write to many people around the world. And this is what I would like you to please tell them for me. Many people have asked what they can do, how can they help. Please tell them to go out and buy something that was made in Israel. That's all. Just help us, we are going through such hard times. Everybody can do that."

    I felt quick tears come to my eyes, wondering at this woman who sat clear-eyed and full of courage and faith, her mind focused on what else she could do to help the country she loved, a woman who had just given her country and her people her handsome, bright, intelligent, wonderful young son. Who had given her son. I nodded, wordlessly.

    I told her about a conversation I had just had with my own son, who is being drafted in November. "Maybe you could go into anti-aircraft," I urged him. "Your brother did that, and your father." There was a slight pause at the other end of the line. "Look Mom," he said patiently, "I might as well tell you the truth. I'm not going into the army to strike a pose. I'm going because I want to do something, protect people from getting killed by terrorists. And the only way to do that, is to be a foot soldier." He wanted to go into Givati, he said. The same unit as Eitan.

    "This is how we brought them up," I told Sara. "I'm very proud of him. And I'm terrified."

    She put her hand over mine. "When my son died, he was surrounded by people he loved and respected and trusted. He was on his way back from a mission he'd successfully completed. He died instantly, with no pain. I would rather he went that way then stabbed in the back by some skinhead far away from home." Would I please, she urged me, send out her message?

    When I left [their] home, I walked up the winding stone staircase that one finds in Jerusalem's hilly neighborhoods. A cool wind was blowing, and the sky seemed strangely cloudy for spring. As I reached the top I saw a friend coming down the road. She too was on her way to the [Sara?s and Michael?s home]. I hugged her, and both of us wept.

    And now I am home at my computer, doing what Sara asked me to do. I'm asking you to please go out a buy something from Israel. If you can't find it in your stores, you can find it on-line I'm sure. And if you'd like to send Sara and Michael some words of comfort, please send it to


  2. We live here [in Israel] and mostly just live. Our lives are full of day to day, everyday life. Going to school, after school activities, work, enjoying each other. We are planning a trip to the cherry groves to pick cherries and we have more than two busses full with another two weeks to the trip. Our life goes on. But terrorist attacks stop us in our tracks and we mourn for those who are our family, friends and neighbors. That someone who has lost the most precious of gifts, her child, can ask for something so simple is enough to give us strength to go on and continue living our day to day lives as we do. So...go out and do what Sara asks.


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