Crossing the Yarden

By Yarden Frankl

A Day in the Gush

It was a beautiful day. The weather was nice and warm, a short-sleeve spring day. I felt a gentle breeze pass by as I walked to the synagogue and admired the view from the top of Neve Daniel. On that day you could see all the way to the Mediterranean. It's days like these that remind me how much I love living in Israel.

I went on a short bike ride after shul, along a trail bursting with spring wild flowers. It reminded me that not only do I live in Israel, I live in one of the most beautiful parts of the whole country. Days like this, you forget all the minor inconveniences of living in a nation which sometimes is run more like a dysfunctional family than a sovereign nation. On a bike, it is easy to forget the politics, corruption, and daily "Matsav" of the Jewish nation. You just fly up and down trails and enjoy being in such a wonderful place.

That evening, I coached my Little League baseball team. Believe it or not, the one activity I thought I would miss the most after making Aliyah was coaching sports. For years in Maryland, I had coached baseball, soccer, and basketball. I had taught gym class and was always ready to join the kids on the street for whatever game was in demand. Discovering a Little League in Israel that needed coaches was very satisfying. (O.K., the Little League needs coaches, equipment, fields, and more players, but it IS a league.) For those who know baseball, you know that there is no comparison to the feeling you get playing ball with the green grass under your feet and the blue skies over your head. When we finished I was tired but felt great. Israel just feels so perfect sometimes.

Driving home from Efrat, I often take the Northern road which runs alongside the outskirts of an Arab village. That evening, as I was thinking what a beautiful day it was, a woman from Efrat was driving home with her windows rolled down, perhaps thinking the same thing. As she drove along, a Palestinian threw a large rock through her open window knocking her unconscious. She swerved to the side, and her car rolled to a stop. The driver behind her ran out to help. When he got to her car (the courageous rock thrower having fled the scene), he said that her face was so covered in blood, she was unrecognizable.

When my seven year old daughter came home from school, she said that the woman who had been hurt was one of the first grade teachers at her school. The children all said tehillim for her (Esther Bat Zohara).

A first grade teacher? First Grade teachers spend their day making little children like my daughter happy. They teach children songs and read them stories. They show them how to turn cardboard into art projects, and show them how to add and subtract numbers for the first time. They make them smile and laugh.

So now, after a beautiful day in the Gush, a first grade teacher lies in a hospital bed far away from her little students, clinging for her life. Unable to sing happy songs with them because some bastard with a rock decided to make a "political statement."

No……No, no, no. Where is justice? How long must we live with people who are delighted to try and kill first grade teachers? Where did my beautiful day in Gush Etzion go? Will we ever be safe in our own land?

We will. That day will come. It must. I hope soon, but in the meantime, we will NOT lose faith, we will NOT give up. I close my eyes and think of the whole Yishuv standing and singing on the night of Yom Hatzmaut, "Ani Maimim:"

"I believe with perfect faith that the Messiah will come. And though he may take his time, I expect his arrival every single day."

It's not just a prayer, it's how to get through life here.

Shabbat Shalom from our blessed nation.

© 2007 Yarden Frankl