Dear Parents of The World

Do you thank G-d every day when your children get home safely from school? Have you felt a dire need to do so? Does hearing that front door open on time with a, “What’s there to eat?” make your heart sing with joy?

Brachah - TOIMy daughter, Brachah, is twelve years old. Fifteen minutes before she was supposed to leave school today, a terrorist plunged his knife into a soldier on guard duty at the end of the road on which her school is situated. As if that weren’t enough, the terrorist had explosives wired onto his body. He also came with an accomplice.

Needless to say, Brachah didn’t come home on time.

But she came home. Thank you, G-d.

That, for now, is more than the mother of that precious 20-year-old soldier can say today. She was guarding the traffic circle during the toughest hours of the day, when both Jews and Arabs can be stuck for ages until the traffic thins out a bit.

Brachah Ruth is her name. Blessing of Ruth, named after a beloved great aunt who died with no grandchildren left behind. Brachah’s favorite subject is science. She is determined to grow up to find a cure for the brutal cancer that took her grandfather from her way too soon.

She’s twelve years old.
She loves to dance.
She loves to draw.
She loves to play the harmonica.

Like every other normal twelve-year-old girl, worldwide, she is energetic, optimistic and excited about life.

And I’m still doing the happy dance because she came home today.

Under two years ago, I sat on the side of her bed one morning, explaining that her teacher’s daughter, only one year her junior, had been stabbed right outside her own home.

And what, Dear Parents of the World, do you discuss with your daughters?

During the holiday only a few weeks ago, a very dear friend of Brachah’s was hit in the leg by a bullet when camping out in her backyard with her mother and sisters.

Are these scenarios in your lives?
What would you do?
What would you say?

How different are you and your children from me and mine? We all read bedtime stories; we all battle mountains of laundry; we all have hopes and dreams for our children.

Most twelve-year-olds still believe that the good guy wins.

So why, WHY is our current situation over here, in Israel, being so easily brushed off by nearly the entire rest of the world? Where is the concern? Where is the outrage?

It simply isn’t called for.

Some people are simply worth more than others, are they not?

In the international arena today, Jewish blood is cheap.
Jewish blood in Israel barely matters at all.

But oh dear, it’s not politically correct to say that. What a horrible point to bring up! It’s as awful to write as it is to read. Still, it must be clearly stated, because to the majority of the policy-makers of the world, however they may hem and haw in denying it, those lines are true.

Foreign leaders are going to look after Jewish interests in Israel just about as much as they’re going to tie my child’s shoelace the fourth time it comes undone tomorrow morning. It simply isn’t on their agenda. Not a single twinkle light on their horizon blinks because Jewish blood has been spilled.

It is high time we stop waiting for approval.  We must stand up for ourselves. If we, the Nation of Israel, are indeed to become a Light Unto the Nations, we must lift our collective head up high and banish the bent-down, don’t-make-Jewish-waves image. We must put that passive Jew aside. Call it “I am Jew, hear me roar”, if you will, but ROAR already!

About the Author
Aviela is a multi-tasking, public-speaking, work-at-home mother of six decently-adjusted, mostly happy children. A life-long Wisconsinite, Aviela lives in Migron with her British husband, Israeli kids and Peruvian guinea pigs.
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