“Abba, what are those doors up there?”
“I’m not sure, I think it is some kind of a fence.”
“Can we go visit them?”
“No not tonight, sweetie, we are going home now.”
We are driving back from Tzur Hadassah, a suburb of Jerusalem within the Green Line (which separates Israel and the Palestinian territories). The quickest route back into Jerusalem (and into the beds of our two sleepy children) is past Betar Illit and kvish haminharot, the “tunnel road” which connects Jerusalem to the Gush Etzion bloc in the West Bank.
The “doors” my son is referring to are concrete slabs that are suspended overhead at an angle to protect passing cars from stoning and shooting by local Arab villagers.
“Why are there all the policemen, Abba?”
They are soldiers at two checkpoints actually. One that we pass to leave Israel proper and the other we pass through to re-enter.
“We are going inside and outside of Israel, sweetie.”
“Why are they carrying guns?”
Our 4-year-old is obsessed with guns and all other kinds of weapons. While we don’t allow any in the house, he easily turns his fiddlesticks into bows and arrows, and a shower rod into a sword. He likes to be protected from the “bad guys” at every turn.
“To protect us and to make sure that the bad guys don’t hurt anyone.”
“Do they use them?”
“I don’t think they do; maybe they would fire a shot on the ground to scare a bad guy.”
The conversation makes me realize just how much our son, Tamir, is taking in and trying to make sense of the world around him. He loves Israel and he loves Jerusalem, in the ways that any classical Zionist would be proud. His new favorite color is gold because “Imma, Jerusalem is the Golden city!” He then launches into a version of Yerushalayim Shel Zahav that only approximates what Naomi Shemer had in mind. He wakes up a week into our month-long trip here imploring, “Imma, can we go to the Kotel (Western wall) today, please?” And he points out all the “Tamir trees” (date-palm trees) that line the Jerusalem streets. In short, he feels at home here.
“I’m not sure, I think it is some kind of a fence.”
“Can we go visit them?”
“No not tonight, sweetie, we are going home now.”
We are driving back from Tzur Hadassah, a suburb of Jerusalem within the Green Line (which separates Israel and the Palestinian territories). The quickest route back into Jerusalem (and into the beds of our two sleepy children) is past Betar Illit and kvish haminharot, the “tunnel road” which connects Jerusalem to the Gush Etzion bloc in the West Bank.
The “doors” my son is referring to are concrete slabs that are suspended overhead at an angle to protect passing cars from stoning and shooting by local Arab villagers.
“Why are there all the policemen, Abba?”
They are soldiers at two checkpoints actually. One that we pass to leave Israel proper and the other we pass through to re-enter.
“We are going inside and outside of Israel, sweetie.”
“Why are they carrying guns?”
Our 4-year-old is obsessed with guns and all other kinds of weapons. While we don’t allow any in the house, he easily turns his fiddlesticks into bows and arrows, and a shower rod into a sword. He likes to be protected from the “bad guys” at every turn.
“To protect us and to make sure that the bad guys don’t hurt anyone.”
“Do they use them?”
“I don’t think they do; maybe they would fire a shot on the ground to scare a bad guy.”
The conversation makes me realize just how much our son, Tamir, is taking in and trying to make sense of the world around him. He loves Israel and he loves Jerusalem, in the ways that any classical Zionist would be proud. His new favorite color is gold because “Imma, Jerusalem is the Golden city!” He then launches into a version of Yerushalayim Shel Zahav that only approximates what Naomi Shemer had in mind. He wakes up a week into our month-long trip here imploring, “Imma, can we go to the Kotel (Western wall) today, please?” And he points out all the “Tamir trees” (date-palm trees) that line the Jerusalem streets. In short, he feels at home here.
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