My 13 year old came to me for a hug goodnight last night.
He said, “I am so depressed.”
I took his two hands, still pudgy with baby fat firmly into my own, looked him in the eyes and said, “We will not be broken. We have outlived all our enemies. We will outlive these Yishmaelim (Ishmaelites), too. Am Yisroel Chai.”
At first, he rolled his eyes, embarrassed as kids are when met with heavy emotion. But by the end of my little speech he was looking into my own eyes and really listening.
I felt I got through to him.
Two weeks ago, I announced at the Shabbos table, “Have Jewish children. This is the main thing. Have Jewish children.”
I looked at each one of them, each one of my eight sons in the eyes. They all nodded. They understood the gravity of my intention and the mission as it falls to them.
I have now lived in Israel most of my life.
This is the center of the world, where it is all happening.
I feel blessed. And sad and crushed.