War Heros a dime a dozen

This week my husband and I went to Tiberias to pay our rent. Our landlord is a third generation Israeli whose great grandfather immigrated from Argentina. Our landlord owns an Argentine resturaunt. We've rented from this man for more than 4 years. Each month we go into the back room which looks like something out of a mafia movie, to pay our rent. Each time he is hospitable and friendly. This time, as always, our landlord greeted us, gave us drinks, and asked about our well-being. He asked how is our son in the army. I told him that the recent act of defense in the news; the killing of a criminal Palestinian, was done by my son's unit. He began to share war stories with us.

He told us that he'd served in three wars! in one of those wars, his was one of only seven tanks to survive out of over 40! He told us of many miracles he'd seen being in the wars, and how his sons and nephews now all serve. One recently surviving the Gaza war. He told us about one family member who is "crazy" because of the intense training. That of 300 men, only a handful are still mentally capable of regular life. They are so programmed that normal life isn't possible. Now as he told us all of this, his tone was much like talking about the weather. It wasn't extraordinary to him. It is real life. Normal life.

I've often noticed as I adapt to this new culture and people, that there is a hardness on the outside but a softness on the inside. The constant death and threat of death causes somewhat of a coarseness. Seemingly desensitized to life on the surface, but deeply sincerely compassionate to the core.

Our clothes washer broke recently and the repair man came to diagnose the problem. We also had a similar conversation. He told me of his service in the army, and his son who is now due in two weeks to also serve. He told me that he was in Miluiim during the Gush Katif evacuation. (Miluiim is reserve service required of every Israeli man for one month a year until they are old). He told me that he'd refused orders to expell Jews from their homes, from Jewish land. That instead he was sent to prison. I jokingly said, "well at least the food is better there." I also went on to tell him he was a hero, and that my son also would never "dismantle settlements" and I was proud of that. I imagine that many many more war heros in Israel go unnoticed. I am proud of them all. Most of all, I am proud of my son, who works hard to protect this country every night and every day.

M16's and Army Greens

Who would have thought that a Chicago born Jewish girl would end up living in an Amish community in TN? Our years in the Amish community were beautiful. Memories I cherish and hold dear in my heart. The stillness of nature, being surrounded by tens of thousands of acres of forest and wildlife. The sounds of birds singing, Clippity clop of horse drawn buggies trotting down our dirt road. The sound of the creeks rushing waters. A whipperwil bird sang me to sleep each night. The smell of the freshest air you could ever breathe. The beauty of lush green fields and rolling hills. The taste of fresh picked organic blueberries. The feel of a soft muzzle of a newborn goat or foal. The excitement to see that I could actually plant something and care for it, watch it grow and serve it on my table. Fresh (free) spring water, organic milk from our cows and goats. Canned and dehydrated or fresh produce from the sweat of our own brow.
My days activities were full of making homemade bread with fresh ground wheat, homemade yogurt, caring for animals, garden, children, and homeschooling. I loved my life. And now somehow I find myself in a whole new world many chapters ahead in my life's story. My Little House on the Prairie days are over. Six thousand miles away in a new culture, new language, a whole new life. It seems the honeymoon of living in Israel has worn off, and the reality that I aint in Kansas anymore has soaked in.
Many ask why? Why take your children to a war-threatened country in the middle east, far from your comfort zone? Why leave family, friends, a wonderful farm, and all that is familiar and beautiful? Words don't come easy to explain it. I could tell you that it is a commandment in the torah (first five books in the bible) to return to the place of our father Abraham. I could tell you that God put the desire in our hearts to go where we are needed. I could say that if we hadn't come, we might have been swallowed by a whale! I could say that sacrifice of things of our flesh help build character and faith. I could say that Israel is where it all began, and where it all will end. I have front row seats to see the Messiah enter our hurting and broken world.
Our life doesn't own us. We have a purpose in this world and we want to fulfill that to the fullest. Our physical life is short. I want to raise my children to make the most of their lives, wherever that may be, doing whatever they are called to do. We were created to make a difference for the better and I expect nothing less from them.
When our oldest son entered the IDF (Israel Defense Forces) and was put into a combat unit, I thought I'd fall apart. I cried for two full months. I missed him. I hated to see him suffer through basic training. I worried. Yet I trusted that this was God's plan. Soon after he entered the army, I gave birth to my seventh child. I would be up all hours of the night with the new baby, praying for safety for my oldest, who was likely awake guarding a border in (Samaria) the West Bank. My thoughts returned to the "perfect" life we'd left behind. I remembered my oldest son's days of catching crawdads in the creek, or his driving 4x4 in our back field. I wondered what would life have been like for him had we stayed in America. I looked at my tiny new baby and wondered what adventures lay ahead for him. Would he ever know the other side of the globe? Would he ever know the joy of fishing in the pond or riding horseback through the forest?
Having a son in the IDF brings a whole new chapter to our lives here. I wasn't expecting such a shift in our whole family's being. Everything changes. Our schedules revolve around when he comes home. And now I've become like many Israeli mothers, hanging the army green uniforms out on the line on Shabbat. When I drive down a road now and see army greens hanging out the windows or off the balconies, I have a new respect. I say a prayer over those soldiers, those uniforms, those families. I have a new perspective of my country.
The new baby is one now. He sees our oldest enough to know he is part of the family. One of the things I love about Israel is that they let the soldiers come home on weekends. Saves money for the army as they eat good at home, get their laundry done, and refresh their minds and bodies. One of the strange things about having my oldest come home with an M16 around his neck, is that the youngest sees this as something normal. The first thing he reaches for is that gun! There is something surreal to me to see my toddler reaching for an M16. Yep, our Little House on the Prairie days are over.