Tonight, more than a hundred mommies sat in neat rows on the elementary school’s basketball court to watch the long-anticipated event. The year-end extravaganza featured lights and loudspeakers, plays and dances, impromptu costumes and heaping loads of pride.
For one particular number, spotlights spun, the beat quickened and the volume was pumped up. “… G-d is one, He is King… Watches over you wherever you go… The important thing is not to be afraid…” The choir threw their hearts and souls into this song. Not a practiced ditty, this was an internalized way of life. So, how does that happen with 10-year-olds?
There’s simply no choice.
A classmate, a neighbor, the teacher’s daughter was attacked and wounded on her way back from a youth group meeting two years ago.
The rabbi was driving down the road home, when his car was shot so many times that it could have been used afterward to drain pasta.
“Come and give me a hand, depend on the One G-d, He guards us on days like this…”
Last Saturday night, 20 Molotov cocktails were hurled over the fence, landing within meters of the homes of some of these kids.
A couple of weeks ago, one of these moms raised a blind in the kids’ room to wake them for school and found the window smashed, a bullet nestled in the frame.
“The Nation of Israel lives, right here in front of my eyes, with enormous hope for miracles…”
Are these precious little squirts, twirling and doing all their hand motions in unison, the extremists so many parties portray them to be? These first- through sixth-grade settler children are extreme only in coping, in being happy, in keeping up a hope and faith that someday, it will be exponentially better than it is now.