(Truthfully, it’s about Western Civilization, which the Jews for some reason are seen to represent.) And when Jews end up butchered in Mombassa, they know one thing. Kenyan incompetence will not allow them to be stranded. We’ll get there. And we’ll bring whatever’s left of them home.
And then we heard about the two shoulder-mounted missiles fired at the Arkia jet carrying 271 people, and how they missed. And on tonight’s news, even CNN showed a home video one of the passengers had taken as the plane prepared to land.
Outside the window, IAF F-16’s were flanking the jet, making sure that it hadn’t been damaged and was safe to land. They were so close that from the cabin window, the passenger was able to film the pilot and navigator relatively clearly.
And as the plane landed, the video caught the clapping and spontaneous singing of ”Heveinu Shalom Aleichem” — a kitchy old Israeli homecoming song that no one on that plane had sung for decades. But no matter. There was no reason to be embarrassed by the kitch.
Six decades ago, when people fired at Jews across the world, there was no one willing to do anything. The F-16’s outside the window showed our children, Richard, that we’re not disregarding them or their safety — we’ve brought them to the only place on the planet where Jews can take care of themselves.
Of course, we’re not always successful, Richard. You’re right. Sometimes, they get us.
In the past two years, there have been 14,500 terrorist attacks in Israel. No exaggeration. What’s amazing is that relatively few have killed people. Still, when two terrorists shot up a Likud party headquarters this afternoon killing six people (so far), it was the culmination (though the day’s not over, so one hesitates to use that word definitively) of a rather horrible day.
But no one’s running away. The Likud party primary didn’t get canceled or delayed. The polls stayed open. The countries these terrorists ”represent” don’t have a single democracy to their credit (save Turkey, if you call that military-in-the-shadows-government-sham a democracy), but we do.
They blow up a hotel, try to shoot down a jet, shoot up a bus station and we still vote. Quietly, peacefully, democratically. And in the midst of all the sadness and grief, many of us are proud of that. I think we have a right to be.
You weren’t proud of that neighborhood you left. Probably because it didn’t stand for anything too important. Because it reeked hopelessness. So you left, and rightly so. But this place does stand for something important. And even on dark days like today, in which everyone I know was sullen, recovering from one bit of news only to hear another, this place pulses with hope.
Those doctors flying to Mombassa are what this place is all about. The F-16’s shadowing the 757 making its way home are what this place is all about. And the quiet, orderly voting is what this place is all about.
What kind of a person in their right mind would leave this, Richard? This isn’t a neighborhood. It’s home. And with all its faults — and there are many — it’s a dream come true. Walk away from that? How would we get out of bed in the morning and look in the mirror?
The chit-chat over dinner tonight was fascinating. Micha, our youngest and nine years old, was trying to understand the difference between Sharon and Netanyahu. Apparently, today’s Likud primary had been much discussed in his fourth grade class. His older siblings were trying to explain.
