I had mixed emotions watching this clip.
How could parents bring their children to a place where riots are likely to occur?
Let me rephrase that:
How could parents bring their children to a place where they are likely to be used for target practice by scary Muslim mobs?
On the other hand, if we fail to bring our children to our holy places, we might as well pack our bags and move to Uganda.
And think what an impression this experience will have made on these children! They will tell the story to their children and grandchildren, perpetuating the legend for generations to come. The story will go like this:
I remember when Papa took us to the Temple Mount just after Pesach. I was so excited, thinking of visiting our holiest place. It would be as close to God as we could possibly get! I trembled at the thought.
But when we arrived, screaming hordes of Arabs surrounded us. They threw boulders at us, garbage! I kept my head down and watched spittle land on my shiny new shoes, purchased for the recent holiday.
There were policemen all around our little group, encircling us, but we didn’t feel safe.
The fact is, we were terrified.
But (and this is the important part) in our hearts, IN OUR HEARTS, we gained knowledge we would not have truly assimilated in any other manner. We learned the importance and centrality of this place in our personal history. We learned that Muslims covet our holy places. We learned that they hate us because we are Jews: The Chosen People.
We learned to fear no one but God.
After that visit to our holiest site, I knew I could face anything. Bankruptcy? It’s just money. Twelve hours of labor? Piece of cake.
The only thing that is important in this world is the fight for truth and its preservation.
No matter how many people throw rocks.
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