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Notes from
Israel: The Reunion
From the
moment that Steve and the girls walked into Mom’s apartment, we
practiced the fine art of family negotiations. Who gets which
bed was simple; we’ve been doing this for years and so we all
know where to settle in. This time around, the computer was the
main bone of contention. For five people who are used to having
access to a computer whenever they want, sharing one can be
tricky. Poor Mom basically gave up her rights to the machine,
except for the tutorial sessions that Steve enjoys giving her
when he’s in Israel. In the end, Steve got on in the morning
when the girls slept, the girls were on half the night and I
muscled my way in whenever I could.
We also had
to coordinate each other’s morning schedules, since Lisa and
Mariel are both night owls who like to sleep late, and if we
wanted to go anywhere we had to get out early to avoid the
afternoon heat. On mornings when we set out for the beach, it
took us forever to get up and out of the house. Just the
sun-screening took up hours.
Because of
the heat, we pretty much stuck close to home. Lisa and Steve
went on a day trip to Haifa, my old hometown, which is about
half an hour from Nahariya. Mariel had planned to go as well; in
fact, she and Lisa had even found a place to go rock climbing
there, but a virus laid her low. I stayed home to escape the
heat and keep her company. She was determined to get well in
time for a trip to Akko, a city known for its Crusader castle,
walled old city and picturesque seaport. We had planned to go
during our last visit, but the war broke out. Mariel had been
waiting two years and no virus was keeping her home.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t really enjoy our favorite Akko
restaurant. Tucked in right outside the walls of the old city,
it’s a tiny place that serves all our favorites: felaffel,
hoummous, pita bread, chips and salads. We ate enough to keep us
going till our next visit.
We selfishly
enjoyed our private reunion while the country endured a reunion
of its own. Two years ago, just as the girls returned from their
trip to Jerusalem, war had broken out on Israel’s northern,
Lebanese front. Two soldiers, Ehud Godlwasser and Eldad Regev
had been taken by the Hizbullah and never heard from again. For
two years, Hizbullah dangled the possibility that they were
still alive while Israel worked to arrange a swap for their
missing sons. As Israeli Defense Minister, Ehud Barak explained
to the world,
Israel
will always act for the return of our soldiers, alive, wounded
or dead. We will do everything reasonable that is possible. This
is the covenant between the IDF (Israeli Defense Forces) and the
Israeli people.
Huge
pictures of Goldwasser, Regev and Sgt. Gilad Shalit, who had
been taken prisoner in Gaza by Hamas at the same time, were
posted throughout Israel as the entire country waited and
worried about their fate. After two years, a deal had finally
been struck for the return of Goldwasser and Regev in exchange
for 200 Hizbullah slain during the war and three terrorists,
including, Samir Kuntar, who had murdered Danny Smadar and his
4-year-old daughter Einat on the beach in Nahariya during a
terrorist raid in 1979, just a few blocks from Mom’s house.
On the
morning of July 16, we sat in front of the television waiting
for the prisoner exchange to take place in Rosh HaNikra, just
two miles north of where we sat. Hopes were high that at least
one of the soldiers would be alive. We chatted nervously while
the news showed pictures of crowds all over Israel waiting in
the streets, especially in Nahariya where Goldwasser lived and
the town of Motzkin that was the home of Regev’s family.
Finally a
Hizbullah spokesman emerged. Standing in front of a Red Cross
truck that held Regev and Goldwasser, he began a long speech but
the reporters cut him short shouting, “Just tell us, are they
alive or dead?”
Finally he
answered, “In a moment you will know the fates of the captured
soldiers.”
Despite the
heat, I could feel myself turn cold as I prayed that at least
one young man would walk out of that truck. Instead, two black
coffins were carried out. We couldn’t believe it. Surely they
couldn’t both be dead, but they were. We sat on the couch and
cried.
At their
funerals, Defense Minister Barak told the country, “We all
dreamed about embracing them after two sad years. This is not
the way we wanted to welcome you home when we prayed: Thy
children shall come again to their own border (Jeremiah 31:17).
Israel is a
small country, yet a big family. Every soldier is known by
everyone, belongs to everyone. The entire country mourned the
young reservists Goldwasser and Regev, just as they now wait to
see if Shalit is still alive. Yet somehow, despite the years of
war and murder, there is still hope. As Eldad Regev wrote on
Remembrance Day in 2006, two months before he was captured,
“Maybe there is eventual comfort, and hope and remembrance and
faith are not for nothing.”
August 14, 2008
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