How did my parent’s generation handle six years of World
War Two? After one hundred days of this war I feel stretched to my limit. My
father, z’l, used to say you can get used to anything, even hanging, if you
hang long enough. Well, I’m getting used to things I don’t want to get used
to.
Before I can start feeling too sorry for myself, though,
I think about the conversation I had with my daughter last week. I think she’s
a real heroine. She doesn’t agree. Yes, having a husband stationed is Gaza is a
true challenge, but that’s the deck she was dealt. She contends this war is
hard for everyone, those from the south, the ones from the north, the victims
of Simchat Torah, the bereaved families, the families of the hostages, all of
us.
She asserts that we’re all in the same boat, although
everyone’s vessel is different. For example, her pregnant neighbor has two
little children and a husband in the army stationed in a “safer” place. My
daughter has a kindergarten and a second grader who are relatively independent.
Sitting at the playground together the two women couldn’t decide whose lot was
harder. They both agreed that this not a competition.
They’re right. We all have to do our part trying not to
feel sorry for ourselves. I still think my daughter, my daughter-in-law, and
the wives of all the soldiers are true heroines. Maybe, if I stay positive and
supportive, I can be a heroine too.
No comments:
Post a Comment