The mourning after

Judaism, for those who observe it, comes with a very clear set of rules of how to mourn the loss of a family member. Seven days of shiva, 30 days of the shlosim and a year of avelut. Each has its own set of restrictions and behaviours that, in their own way, bring great comfort to the mourners.

But what does one do when the mourning is not for a family member, yet not a stranger either? This is the situation in which many Israelis find themselves right now.

We are not the immediate families of the three kidnapped boys who were discovered dead outside Hevron last week. But we are also far, far, far from being complete strangers. Many of us feel like they were the next best thing to our own sons and the situation in which they found themselves could have been the horrifying situation in which any one of us might have found ourselves. Emotionally, it hit waaaaaayyyyyyyy to close to home even though we never met them. We all have children, friends, or friends of friends, who did.

We can't help ourselves when we read every last morsel of news that might shed some clarifying light on the situation. It's not because we are voyeurs but rather because we are trying to understand how something like this could happen. Many of us have cried ourselves dry of tears with each new piece of information.

Even the Jews outside of Israel, who were originally saddened by the turn of  events, have gone back to their routines. You can't blame them. It wasn't their loss. But it was ours.

Personally, I feel uncomfortable about getting back to my blog routine. Normally -- when innocent Israeli blood isn't being shed -- I have more than enough happy and funny content to fill these pages at least once a week. Life here never ceases to amaze me.

This past week, as we all continued to do our best to be happy at the simchas we attended and with the guests around our Shabbat tables, the conversation was never more than 30 seconds away from the boys and the predicament in which we, Israeli Jews, find ourselves right now.

It's not like we can discuss it with others outside our little world. As I said last week, no one really cares or cares to understand.

This past Shabbat I bumped into the daughter-in-law of my neighbours. She, her husband and their very cute little baby live in the Arab quarter of the Old City -- a risky and idealistic venture at the best of times. The riots of the past week have left them homeless. They went out for a quick dinner with the baby (thank heavens) and literally could not get back to their home -- at least not alive. So here they are, stuck in Middle Israel, with the clothes on their backs, a roof over their heads, and not much else.

It's really not time to stop mourning yet.

I have never felt so sad, so helpless or so angry

Rule number one in public communications: do not speak when you are in a heightened emotional state. Rule number two: plan your words and speak carefully. Rule number three: do not attack your opponents; try to see the world from their perspective.

Rule number four: SCREW THE RULES

Rules are for civilized people dealing with other civilized people. What good are the rules when you are dealing with the lowest scum of the Earth?

You lefties have a problem with that? Bring it on. I am so, so ready for you.

The worst possible thing has just happened. The IDF has found the bodies of the three, young, innocent, sweet kidnapped, Israeli yeshiva boys on the outskirts of Hevron.

I heard the rumour first from my daughter and I ran to my computer. There was no news and I was hoping she was wrong. She's 14; what could she know? She, in the meantime, called my son in Eli and apparently he confirmed our worst nightmare.

This is all before one word hit the internet.

I just checked again – NOW that the boys are dead, the media has a story. NOW Newsweek, HuffPost, USA Today, and all the other media cretins will be coming out of the woodwork with their angle on this tragedy. NOW this is interesting.

The bottom line is that Jews are only interesting to the world when they are dead. No one likes a living Jew – at least not enough to take any interest in what is happening to some young, innocent boys who's biggest crime was ..... um, nothing. Three teenage boys trying to get home for Shabbat are kidnapped by an enemy that the world insists we let live in the only real safe place we Jews have. Nothing interesting there.

But now, take the Arabs – they are interesting all the time. The Arabs say something and the world takes notice. Those poor, poor Palestinians. Those poor, unfortunate Syrians. The Sunnis said this about the Alawites. The Shiites did such and such to the Sunnis. Did you ever stop to consider that all these Arabs are the authors of their own misery? Of course not, because that's not the story the world wants to hear. It only becomes a story  when it involves Israel because the world is comfortable believing that Israelis are the bad guys keeping the Arabs down. If it wasn't for Israel, according to the world, everything in the Middle East would be great. All the Arabs would live in peace and harmony. 

The fact is that the only ones keeping the Arabs down are the Arabs. They let madman, lunatics and scumbags run their lives and they get what they deserve. Unfortunately, we Israelis also get caught in the crossfire and we don't deserve to be part of their sub-human game.

So world, I really hope you are happy tonight. Years and years of enabling the Arabs, by joining their boycotts of Israel, by financing their made-up causes, by buying into their stories of victimization, and by justifying their barbaric behaviour, are finally paying a sweet, little dividend. May you all go to bed with the blood of these boys on your hands tonight. It belongs there. And in my heart of hearts, I hope the stain never leaves you.

It will never leave Israel and it will surely never leave the three families who have suffered this incomprehensible personal loss. Baruch Dayan Ha'Emet. May these families never know more sorrow.