Rocket from Gaza Straight Into My Heart

I am hating this most recent iteration of the Arab Israeli conflict.  That is mostly because I'm not sure what is behind it all:  Muslim factionalism, hatred of Zionism and Jews, or something else that I don't yet understand. But I do know that way too many children are dying in this war, from the three young students found murdered on the West Bank, to the hundreds of small innocents being sacrificed in schools, hospitals, and homes in Gaza, in my opinion, for no good reason.  I have been sick at heart about this for weeks now.

And yesterday, as I attended the funeral of the mother of one of my long-time, dear friends, the war in Gaza took an unexpected and personal turn.  At the funeral, the large vociferous family of the deceased made what is so often a sad occasion into a stunning tribute to their mother, grandmother and great grandmother.  They spoke to her life as a celebration of love, and memories, and stories were shared, and there was much laughter among the tears, and it was a most loving time.  And there was much visiting and sharing among those attending, and I was able to visit with people who I had not seen in a long time. 

Among those I spoke with was my dear Rabbi, one of my long-time teachers, an adviser, and a mentor and a friend.  It has been some time since I have seen him, and I wanted to find out how he was doing.  It was a very hot day and we sat down in a cool place away from the funeral crowd to have a brief visit.

I have known him since I was 5 years old when he first came to our congregation in the early 1950's along with his wife and young family.  His oldest son and I are the same age and we are friends now for more than sixty years. Rabbi's son and I were classmates from kindergarten into high school, where he proved himself to be brilliant beyond the rest of us, and entered university at a young age. Rabbi's son and his family have resided in Israel for decades now, and he is a respected and internationally known scholar.

Rabbi is now close to 93 and, I noticed, walking with a cane. As we sat down together, he immediately shared with me something that obviously was at the top of his mind. Every time his phone rings, he told me, he is afraid to pick it up.  I could not imagine why, and then he went on to explain to me that his son (my childhood contemporary and friend) has a son who has been called up with the Israeli army, and is now, as I write, serving on the front lines in Gaza.  He also casually mentioned that his grandson's particular unit has taken the most casualties.  Rabbi is afraid every time his phone rings.

In a moment, a rocket from Gaza, made a direct hit to my heart, as instantly, the war became personal. An Israeli soldier, very much in harm's way, was someone I knew.  I have known generations of his family.  He has family members who are special to me. The new knowledge sent me into shock.  It took a moment to sink in, and then I gave Rabbi a supportive hug.  And though I don't usually say prayers, I promised him I would direct all my positive focus and energy to that very place where his grandson stands among those who seek his demise.

Ironically, at the celebratory funeral of  woman who lived a fulfilling and long life, I went home with sadness and feeling quite empty, as figuratively, "a rocket from Gaza had created a huge hole my heart".