10 reasons I will never be offered an ambassadorial post

Last night I went to hear the Israeli Ambassador to Canada, Rafael Barak, speak. I really didn't want to go because I knew there was going to be a lot of other speakers who were going to say things that would surely upset me. But my mother really wanted me to join her, so since I am leaving Canada in less than a week, I felt accommodating.

According to the most recent statistics I could find (that's not saying much), there are approximately 1500 Jews in Halifax, a city of approximately 350,000. I did a quick count last night and less than 100 showed up to hear the ambassador speak. So, as you can imagine, when one of the hosts for the evening stood up and said "we stand with Israel", I couldn't help but wonder who "we" were. And then, when he said that "we" are going through a very difficult time right now in the history of the Jewish people, I heard myself say almost out loud: "who is he talking about?' The "we" who are are living in Israel under regular missile attacks from Hamas or the more than 90% of the Halifax Jewish "we" who are so concerned about Israel that they didn't even bother to show up last night.

I told myself that I had to sit quietly in my seat and pay attention, no matter what was said. I promised myself that I would not grimace (tougher than expected), nor roll my eyes (almost impossible) nor stand up and leave (my feet almost betrayed me more than once). In the end I was glad that I stayed.

The ambassador spoke beautifully and appropriately. I am not going to review his remarks; if you want to read them, call the embassy and ask for a copy. What I will say is that he was a true diplomat at heart. I really don't know how he does it and here are 10 reasons why I could never do his job, which is unfortunate because on paper it looks really interesting.

10. Let's get all the obvious stuff out of the way first. I do not speak four languages fluently. (I don't even speak two languages fluently -- although my Hebrew wins the admiration of 3-year olds all over my neighbourhood). Second, I have not taken the foreign service exams nor done all the jobs required to climb the foreign service ladder.

9. I would never be able to stand in front of such a small audience and make them feel good about their almost non-existent commitment to Israel. (Yes, as always there are a few who do a lot and almost everyone else does absolutely nothing). I would have been guilting them anyway I could.

8. I could never keep a straight face while I talked about how good a friend Canada is to Israel. I know this ambassadorial post is considered prestigious, I just can't figure out why. Yes, the prime minister is a huge supporter of Israel (thank heavens) but the Canadian people ... ah, I don't think so. I guess the ambassador doesn't read all the comments following pro-Israel articles in Canadian newspapers.

7. How he made 88 people feel like 880 people is beyond me.

6. He managed to smile and nod politely through a performance of Hava Nagila -- a song I have not heard sung even once since I moved to Israel. I could have sworn I was at an NHL hockey game -- Hava Nagila gets a lot of play time during hockey games. Who picked the song list? So many good choices were available and not one of them made the final list.

5. I don't have the generic "diplomat face" thing under control -- and I doubt I could ever learn it. He did not roll his eyes even once while the other speakers tried to discuss how "we" are all in this Gaza war together and "we" are all experiencing this difficult time. The self control of a saint, I tell you.

4. He also displayed remarkable self control while speaking to a reporter on the 5:00 TV news prior to the stimulating program I attended. Of course, since approximately 15% of the local population is now Muslim, it might have been his survival instincts shifting into action.

3. He stayed around for a few minutes afterwards and let many people practice their Hebrew on him. In all fairness, if they had tried that on me, it would have been a wasted effort.

2. He let me squeeze in next to him and take a selfie of us for my friends at home. And then he said: "Oh, a selfie" as if he takes them daily.

1. He seemed like a very charming and genuinely nice man. He's wrangled with the PA and the EEU, and yet, he still had the energy to tolerate last night.

Out of Israel

I have now been out of Israel for one week now. One very, very, very long week feeling totally disconnected from my life at such critical juncture in time.

I've been thinking about it a lot as I watch the local and national Canadian news; as I shop in stores where people don't even know where Israel is. As I go through daily routines without meaning.

It really hit me this morning as I sat in synagogue -- not my synagogue for sure. Approximately 60 people (compared to the approximately 500 I am used to spending my Shabbat with) were there and when the rabbi got up to give his morning sermon I suddenly realized the extent of the disconnect between my life and that of the Jews where I am right now. The rabbi, a very obvious Israeli export, was discussing this week's Torah portion in relation to the current situation. He talked about being a soldier in the IDF from a personal perspective and then he talked about the current Israel-Gaza war vis-a-vis the congregation.

It was a great sermon. But when I scanned the sanctuary I am pretty sure that almost no one was listening. He might as well have been speaking to a wall. Actually he was; a human wall.

Next the rabbi talked about how local Jews should deal with all the hatred swirling around them right now. He acknowledged the population imbalance -- the fact that 15% of the local population is Muslim while only .8% is Jewish - and how disconcerting that must be. (Gee, that must be sooo difficult.) He suggested that they take the opportunity to speak casually and non-confrontationally to the non-Jews with whom they interact everyday. It was a completely natural way to present the Israeli position and hopefully it would be food for thought for the odd person. Seemed like a plan to me.

Yet not an ounce of acknowledgement came from the crowd. No one nodded in agreement. No one turned to their neighbour to discuss it. (When there are only 60 people in a sanctuary that easily holds 500, it is easy to see who is doing what.) I have seen more activity in a graveyard.... on a day when no one was visiting. In our synagogue in Ra'anana we have more conversation than that during the silent meditation prayer.

I left the synagogue feeling really down and very alone.

Hours later, when I turned my computer on after Shabbat, there was an email from one of my friends in Ra'anana about how all the boys from our community who spent the past few weeks in Gaza, were all home and in shul -- and how wonderful it was. I was so envious that I was not there, I could have screamed.  I wanted to see them too. I wanted to say thank you and tell them how glad I was that they were all okay. I wanted to be part of something that really mattered.

Then it dawned on me that none of that morning's congregants were capable of presenting the Israeli position because not one of them actually understands what Israel's position is. And therein lies the disconnect. If there is one thing that Israelis do not suffer from, it is surely a lack of opinions on this (and any other Israel-related situation) and the reason why, sooner or later, there will be very little Jewish life out of Israel.

I really have to get home.

The Israeli war

I am old enough now to have watched my fair share of wars on television. I don't have a very clear recollection of Vietnam, but I have some TV-visual memories of all the big blow-ups since then. Unfortunately there have been many of them. Too many. But the one thing I am pretty sure of is that no country conducts its wars like the State of Israel and its governing overlords -- regular Israeli citizens (you thought I was going to say the USA didn't you?).

In the past day the army has issued several requests through television and radio news bulletins requesting civilians (they would say "demanded" but that would surely have the opposite effect) to stop visiting the military zone. Personally I don't even know exactly where that is, but apparently I am part of a very small minority, hence the problem.

The fact that the army has had to re-issue this statement several times tells you how effective they are at getting their message across to regular Israeli citizens. Civilians here seem to think it is their G-d given right to be on the physical edge of a major war, way too close to Gaza, giving encouragement to the soldiers.

The whole idea of supporting the soldiers cannot be argued. I am not even going to state the obvious. Every Israeli, with very few exceptions, is personally invested in this war. Our sons are fighting in Gaza; our countrymen in the South live in constant fear and danger; our very existence is being threatened. It is our war in every possible way. The most recent Israeli polls show that approval ratings for the war effort are at least 90%. Those are the kind of numbers any politician would kill to get.

That does not mean, however, that we should be dropping by the war zone. The last thing Benny Gantz needs right now is visiting delegations of ..... everyone.

The problem is that doing just that has become the norm. "Going to ______ (fill in the blank with your preferred dangerous location)" has become a daily activity for many people. No one even blinks if you tell them you were there that day. I think I am one of the few people I know who has not been near or at a Staging Area since the war began. Of course, if my son was in Gaza right now, you can rest assured I would be right in there with all the other worried Israeli parents and yes, not even the General Chief of Staff would be able to stop me.

I doubt that the Israeli mind understands this, but one can actually be effective outside the official military zone. Apparently the public request for underwear was so well received by the Israeli and non-Israeli Jewish public that the soldiers now have enough pairs of clean undies to last them five years. The same probably holds true for toiletries as well. And I will not even begin to discuss the food.

All of this is what makes this country wonderful. And all of this is giving the army an extra headache.

Here's a snippet of a discussion that took place in my house last night:

Person X (so no one has to deny this conversation later): "I just got a call from D. that the army doesn't want you to drive down to the Staging Area tomorrow. You are going to be in the way. The army cannot do its job if you are in the way."

Person Y (same logic as above): "I didn't hear that."

Person X: "Well, it was on the news more than once today."

Person Y: "I don't believe it. I just spoke to O (a reserved soldier at the border) and he doesn't think it is a problem."

Person X: "Did you speak to Benny Gantz?"

Person Y: "No, but O said it was fine."

Person X: "The army doesn't want you there. What isn't clear about that?"

Person Y: "A and D still want to go so I'm still going. Worst case scenario, you won't need so much fish for dinner tonight."

It's just an eye

We just got back from visiting injured soldiers at Bellinson Hospital in Petach Tikva. As usual, when my husband suggested it, I was nervous to go. I am not good with the unknown. What would I say to them? Did they want to talk to a total stranger -- particularly one who's Hebrew leaves more than a little to be desired.

Now that I am back, I can honestly say that I have never been so moved in years -- maybe not in my whole life. Nothing sticks out in my mind as being as important and memorable as the last two hours.

There were parents and friends everywhere, with the patients and milling around in small groups outside the soldiers rooms. At first glimpse it was more like the Food Court in the mall on Friday afternoon than a hospital. There were wall-to-wall people all holding food. There were friends bringing in pizzas and burgers. There were mothers with home-baked goodies. There were abandoned salads sitting on ledges.

It struck me, not for the first time, that Jews really do not know how to cope -- good or bad -- without food.

The first patient we visited happened to be our neighbour. We didn't know he was injured but I must say it made for a softer landing  into the labyrinth they call a hospital. Not to digress but Voldemort would never have found Harry Potter in the maze that is Bellinson. Okay, back on point, our neighbour is going to be fine.

Next we ventured out into the hallways, popping by rooms to visit other soldiers -- the non-English speakers. Every one of them greeted us with a smile and happily engaged, to the best of his ability, in conversation. Their parents and friends couldn't thank us enough for coming, but in truth, it is us who were (and should be) thanking them. When you say that -- particularly to their parents -- they hug you. It means so much to them that you truly understand what their child has given to keep you safe.

And then there was the guy who lost his left eye. He was surrounded by friends while his parents and sister were outside the room. His head is shaved on one side and you could see a very long scar that now traverses a significant section of his skull. The doctor who saved his life is a friend of mine. He told us that the difference between life and death in many of these cases is less than a half a centimeter. I almost fainted right then and there, but all I could think was "who am I to be falling apart on you?"

"It's just an eye," I said to my doctor friend, after we left the room. No, I would never say that to the kid who lost his eye -- he didn't look like he was feeling that way at all. His parents did. His sister did. His girlfriend did. But that observation really summed up our visit.

I wasn't being flippant. I was being a parent. A pragmatic parent.

It isn't that his eye doesn't matter -- it does. But, as any adult can tell you, life can go on pretty fully without an eye. You can still read the words on your ketuba. You can still have children and watch them grow up. You can still read to your children and to yourself. You can still admire your partner.

As my own son gets closer and closer to his induction date in March, I find myself having these crazy thoughts. "Well, you don't really need two (fill in any body part that comes in a pair)," I rationalize this sort of logic in the middle of the night. What the hell has happened to me? When did I start thinking like this?

I brought my children into the world with all their parts -- all working. I ran to the doctor countless times when they were small just to make sure that all their parts continued to work. And here I am looking at other mothers' sons so relieved that they have some working parts. "At least they are alive," I hear my subconscious whisper and I really mean it.

So there's the truth: I am just thankful that these boys are still alive. In Israel people understand these things. Girlfriends don't leave you because a little physical piece is now missing. Yes, it is just an eye, or just a leg, and just an arm. They are not the most important things that comprise a person.

These regular, yet remarkable boys, have served their country with great bravery. May they all go on to live very full lives knowing that their countrymen are safer because of what they sacrificed. I am honoured to have met them.

Moment of reckoning

So here we are. Exactly where we knew we would end up even though many of us had convinced ourselves otherwise. We knew the ceasefire wasn't a real ceasefire -- even before Hamas sent its first round of Enjoy-the-Ceasefire rockets within an hour of its commencement. They weren't consulted (yeah right) so they weren't playing.

We citizens of central Israel, meanwhile, have become very adept at integrating warning sirens into our day:

• We pick our grocery stores according to the best shelter arrangements by location (it's all word-of-mouth and is based on size, friendliness of store staff, toilet arrangements); 
• We decide when the best time of day to shower is so that we don't end up wet and running to the shelter in a towel; I know some teenagers who have this all figured out. I'm too old to care about getting caught in public in my towel.
• We get really peeved when the sirens go off when we are watching a good movie while riding the stationary bike at the gym; Ten minutes to get to the shelter, wait out the boom, and get back to the gym really disrupts the story line of a TV movie.
• We try to figure out if it is worth the drive to Tel Aviv to see a dance performance at 7:00 pm because that is another popular bombing time; I mean who wants to get dressed up just so you can pull over on the side of the highway, jump out of the car and lie on the pavement in your good clothes?
• We wonder if we need to wear pajamas in case we have to jump out of bed in the middle of the night for another shelter rendezvous. Okay, towels are one thing but nudity is a totally different story.
• And when the guy painting your house mentions that his son is one of the Iron Dome soldiers you want to kiss him and thank him for contributing his sperm to such a worthwhile project.

The problem is that very few of us olim really considered the implications of Hamas being so irrationally suicidal that the Israeli government might actually have no choice but to introduce a ground war. Don't bother saying you knew it was coming -- I am out there everyday with the rest of you and I can tell you that there was a lot of sidewalk discussion about soldiers sitting around twiddling their thumbs. Truth be told, we didn't mind.

And then it happened. 

I know I wasn't the only one refreshing Google News for the millionth time yesterday when the news bulletin popped up. I felt like I had just hit a brick wall going 90 miles an hour. Somehow you can feel total panic and numbness at the same time. And then as the numbness starts to subside, fear begins to fill the void almost instantly. Nature really does abhor a vacuum.

Then as you try to regain any inkling of clear, rational thought, you start to remember everyone you spoke to the previous week who mentioned that their son was sitting near the border with Gaza awaiting instructions. 

All of a sudden the war is real. All of a sudden you are scared -- not for yourself, but for the implications for all of us. All of a sudden your clever mental adjustments for sirens fall away and if you are me, you start to cry. I am not a big crier, but it just overcame me. I couldn't help it and I couldn't stop it.

So as we go into Shabbat -- July 18, 2014 -- I wish all of Israel quiet. I wish all the members of Hamas to be swooped up in the Islamic version of The Rapture so they can all go straight to their 72 virgins and I can go back to my otherwise wonderful life here. I really do not want to lie on the ground in my good clothes.