Last night, as I do most Thursday nights, my mind turned to the coming Sabbath. I cooked, I baked…I should have been cleaning, but we won’t talk about that. What I shouldn’t have been doing then, and what I shouldn’t be doing now, is sitting here typing about something that shouldn’t have happened.
But something did happen, or could have happened, and partially did. Last night, on a road in Israel, Arabs threw rocks and fired at least one bullet at Israeli cars. One windshield was broken, one car was hit with a bullet. I don’t know the people whose cars were damaged, at least I don’t think I do.
Another car was hit by a rock in the same area. It was a white Subaru, one I bought several years ago, and my husband was driving it when an Arab who apparently believed that justice will be done, life will be better, if he picks up a rock, a boulder, a stone and hurls it at whatever target is at hand.
In some cases, the targets are military vehicles on patrol, and so I worry about our soldiers, and my son who is out there in uniform. Sometimes, they aim at buses, hoping to distract the driver enough to lead to a catastrophic accident and so when I am on the bus, I look to the sides of the road and wonder if my bus will be hit.
Sometimes, or really a lot of the time, they aim at civilian cars. When you’re driving and a rock hits your car while you are traveling at 60 or 70 kilometers an hour, you don’t have a lot of leeway and an accident is a very possible outcome, never mind the damage of broken glass flying through a car. And we won’t even think about what would happen if the rock itself travels through the glass and hits someone, as has happened. At least two children have died as a result of that very thing happening, several adults as well.
So my husband was driving on Route 60 and seconds after he exited the tunnel that connects Jerusalem to the area known as Gush Etzion, he saw a rock come hurtling towards the car and he heard the impact of it hitting the car. He was smart enough to keep going, lucky enough not to have been hurt, blessed that the car did not spin out of control.
He called me to tell me what happened; I told him to keep driving unless he saw soldiers or got to where he was going. I called the police and reported the incident. A short time later, someone from the army called, asking for more information. What he knew, that I didn’t know, was that other cars had been hit as well. He asked for my husband’s phone number so that he could speak to him and after I told him, I wished him a “quiet” night.
It is a euphemism for so much more. On really bad days in Israel, when something horrible happens, news broadcasters will often end the news with wishing us a “quiet” night. It is a desperate wish, a prayer, that nothing else will happen, no stabbings, no explosions, no shooting attacks, no stoning.
The funny part was that the army officer who called me wished me a quiet night as well. I smiled as I closed the phone. I was home alone with my rising dough. There are “code” words in Israel. A “quiet” night has never been synonymous with “good night”. It has always been what it is – a wish for a night of no violence.
Last night, an Arab came to confront my husband. One would walk away from the battle lucky. This time, with great thanks to God, it was our side, my husband who walked away without injury and so the Arab walked away unlucky. Or did he? Does he believe the mere act of throwing a stone at a passing car represents some great test of manhood? Some great victory?
I don’t know the answer to that question. I have never lifted a rock and intentionally attempted to harm another person with it. It is hard for me to fathom a society that has failed to achieve its wishes for over 60 years not understanding that it never will until it changes its methods. Violence isn’t working. Sure, they are hitting our cars once in a while, worse, they are breaking our hearts by murdering innocent people.
But if you look at the families of those we have lost, think of them not in the moments and days right after, but in the months and years that follow. Think of the Mandell family. Their son, Kobi, was brutally murdered, and today they oversee an organization that focuses on helping families overcome terror and bereavement with the Koby Mandell Foundation. Think of the Roth family. Their daughter, Malka was murdered in the Sbarro Pizzeria bombing and today, the Malki Foundation helps support families of children with disabilities.
Think of the amazing strength of the Litman family after losing a father and brother to terror, turning around and inviting all of Israel to join them just a few days later, at the wedding they were supposed to have all celebrated together before tragedy and terror struck them. And think of the Meir family speaking out with hopes for peace after their wife and mother, Dafna Meir was brutally murdered.
The list goes on and on. They have the stones and the rocks that they throw at us, the bullets they fire, the knives, the explosives. And despite it all, we keep driving our roads, building our families, our homes, our communities. We have hope, we have life. Even when they deliver death, we still have life.
I’ll keep saying this over and over again until it sinks all the way in. He’s home. He’s safe. What could have happened didn’t. Until they change their methods and their desire for violence over negotiation or compromise, we’ll keep praying for quiet. You can’t make peace with someone who measures the value of life by how far a rock can be hurled, how many people you can stab.
