The Hunger-Striking Terrorist

Remember the hunger-striking terrorist from Islamic Jihad, who was released from jail?

Well, I don’t know what happened since then, but I do know that he was supposed to be re-jailed for some reason, and tried to escape into the tachana merkazit (central bus station) in Be’er Sheva. Suddenly, there was a security lockdown. Everyone was confused and worried. Huh? What happened?

Oh, nothing happened . . . it’s just that there’s a dangerous fugitive on the loose, and he’s run in here.

Luckily, they found the terrorist after only a few minutes, and all was well. Thank G-d, no harm was caused.

This story didn’t make the news; I’ve checked. You know how *I* know it happened?

Because this morning, when Yitzchak was on his way to work, he happened to pass through the tachana merkazit in Be’er Sheva at the time this incident happened. I assume he was scared for himself. But instead, he channeled it into being scared for me.

Lesson: Don’t free terrorists, of any sort, and for any reason, ever.

On a different note, I hope that Uri Ariel succeeds in convincing the government to implement his suggestion. If there are harsh enough consequences, terror will stop. You murdered Jews on this road? No more Arabs can travel it anymore. Your son murdered Jews? All of you, *out*!

Safety In Numbers?

As a kid in America, I grew up hearing about safety in numbers.

If you have to go out at night, my mother said, go with a friend or two. The bigger the group, the better off you are. There’s safety in numbers.

My father never dropped me off at a bus stop unless there was another woman waiting there. Sometimes, that meant taking me almost all the way (or all the way) to school. It’s not safe to wait alone (or with a man). There’s safety in [female] numbers.

If you’re walking in an unfamiliar place, it’s better to be with a group. There’s safety in numbers.

If you get separated from me in the subway station, my mother told me, don’t panic. Find a worker, or a cop, and just sit tight. As long as you’re not alone, you’ll get back to where you started from. There’s safety in numbers.

Beaches during the day are safe, because there are plenty of people there. At night, when there’s no one, it’s dangerous. There’s safety in numbers.

I guess that worked, at least to some degree. Until terror came to America, and any large group of Jews was considered to be a target.

Until there were terror attacks on full buses. In 2001, there were lots of terror attacks involving suicide belts. Who wants to waste a suicide belt on an empty bus? There’s safety in *less* numbers.

I remember seeing posters asking for donations, to buy schoolchildren bulletproof vests. I always wondered what happened to their legs and heads, and why there couldn’t be bulletproof suits. I was in grade 7-8, I think.

Sbarro, the bombing in a pizzeria. A busy pizzeria. Maybe there *isn’t* safety in numbers. The less people you are, the less worth the explosives you are.

A tower with thousands of offices.

A concert.

A jam-packed restaurant.

A parade.

A school in Boston.

The streets of Paris on a Friday night.

A college in California.

Busy places.

There’s safety in numbers?

Only if the threat is mugging, robbery, or perhaps rape.

But there’s gang rape, don’t you know? And crowds of observers watch and do nothing.

There’s safety in numbers?

Somehow, I think not.

The quieter the place, the less people are around – the better.

There’s safety in *less* numbers.

Unless you’re on a road in Samaria. Then, being the only car is dangerous.

But so is being on a busy road when there are terrorists throwing burning tires, or waiting in ambush with rocks or guns.

Or walking in a mall, when there is an “innocent” Arab who’s just bought a kitchen knife.

There’s safety in numbers?

Perhaps not. The more crowded the place, the better a target it becomes for Arab terror.

There are no “innocent” Arabs anymore. They are *all* potential terrorists.

To be watched from afar, avoided, and possibly reported to the police.

Even an Arab nurse, even an Arab telephone technician, even the Arab kitchen worker in your school, who everyone likes and trusts.

Give them enough money, and they will turn on you . . . with a knife, a gun, a suicide belt, a tractor, a truck, or a car.

No Arabs can be trusted. Ever.

Except for those who turn on their comrades, and fight alongside us for peace.

But those who are quiet? They are terrorists in the making. Terrorists in waiting.

Preschoolers are terrorists in training.

“How will you kill the Jews?”

“With a knife.”

“Why do you want to kill them?”

“Because they stole our land.”

As Drizzt so eloquently writes, “Conditioned hatred is rarely a rational emotion.” [Long live Drizzt. But unless he is killed, he will live almost forever.]

There is no safety in this world. We can only pray that G-d watch over us,

and save us from the hands of our enemies, “friends”, and the international community.

Until we take out all the terrorists and their entire families.

And then we will all be safe.

Golda Meir, where are you?

Wow!! What a Great Judge!!

In a stunning and unusual move, a judge strips the mother of custody and transfers the children to the father. The mother is not allowed to be there at the moment of transfer, and is ordered to send all her children’s clothes and belongings to the children’s father.

And why?

Because, “the woman spent more than a decade trying to alienate them from their father.”

The mother’s “consistent and overwhelming” campaign to brainwash the children into thinking their father was a bad person was nothing short of emotional abuse, Justice Faye McWatt of the Superior Court of Justice wrote in her decision.

. . . McWatt stipulated that K.D. is to have no access to the children except in conjunction with counseling, including a special intensive therapy program for children affected by “parental alienation syndrome.” The mother must bear the costs.

Way to go, Judge!! May there be many more like you, and may this start becoming reality: Parents who emotionally abuse their children and brainwash them into alienating the other parent – lose custody.

I. Am. Impressed.





Do you guys know how common it is for a divorced, custodial parent to badmouth the other parent and brainwash the children that the non-custodial parent is evil?

Do you know how often such custodial parents are also emotionally abusive to their children in other ways?

Do you know how often children of divorced parents are turned into prizes? The custodial parent is *obviously* the innocent party, and the non-custodial parent is *obviously* the guilty party – because otherwise, the court would have decided differently.

Do you know how often children of divorced parents are used as tools, as weapons, with which to hurt the other parent?

I am SO glad that a judge has finally put a stop to this. I am SO glad that there is now a precedent for parents who spew evil about their ex-spouse to be told, “Get a life and stop poisoning your kids.”

If the child did not perceive the alienated parent as a threat, they may decide that their perception is wrong. This can cause long term damage; in addition, “the child can even begin inventing his or her own reasons for hating the other parent.”

And even if the divorce happened years ago and the children are settled, there is still hope: In this case, the judge ruled to transfer custody to the father after the mother had spent *ten years* brainwashing her kids to hate him. Often, parents in this situation simply “move on with their lives.” Kudos to this dad for not giving in.

No Time For Phone Calls

It’s not new.

For the past year or so – maybe even two years, I’ve hardly called anyone on the phone. Those who want to talk to me – call me.

I have a friend who calls me when she’s on the bus home. We always get cut off twice, when she goes through the tunnels. Often, she calls at the darndest times. But she is just too hard to hang up on. We usually talk her entire bus ride, until she arrives home and has to get off the phone. (She doesn’t *have* to hang up. But she and her husband have this *thing*. They only talk on the phone when the other isn’t around. One day, when I grow up, I will adopt that policy. I kind of wish we’d done that immediately after our wedding. It’s tougher now.)

Yitzchak’s mother, my grandmother, and countless others – all of them call us. Because the day goes like this:

Get up.

Get ready to go.

Leave the house.

Walk to gan.

[Go to work and/or

go shopping. And/or


Come home.]

Walk in the door.

Help baby take a nap.

Phew! Finally some time to myself, to get things done. Now I need to:

Clean up the house.

Do some laundry.

Maybe eat.

Maybe use the bathroom.


Oops! Baby woke up.


Play with baby (because you can’t do anything *else* with a kvetchy baby hanging off you).

Go downstairs.

Put baby in stroller.

Go get big boy.

Come home with big boy.

De-sand big boy.

Feed big boy, and maybe baby, too.

Use the bathroom.

Try to relax.

Try to keep things under control while

preparing supper

and waiting for Yitzchak to come home.

Yitzchak gets home.

We eat.

We talk.

Then it’s bedtime. Ideally,

one of us gets big boy to bed,

and the other one gets baby to bed. Sometimes,

one of us holds baby,

while the other gets big boy to bed,

and then takes screaming baby,

who wanted the same parent as big boy,

and gets screaming baby to bed.

Finally! Kids are sleeping in bed, and we can calm down.

And *then* Yitzchak and I talk.

And then we work –

on the house

on the computer

on whatever else.

When will I talk on the phone?

During the morning, when I’m running around?

During the afternoon, when I have both kids?

During bedtime?

After bedtime, when I’m trying to get myself back together, get some work done, and talk to Yitzchak?

I just don’t have time, and more than that, I don’t have the emotional energy.

Texts, I can do. Emails, I can also do.

But a phone call requires commitment. To quiet; to not doing anything else; to ten or twenty minutes of quiet; to being available non-stop for the entire time; to being able to speak into a phone, preferably the house phone, for the entire time.

With texts, you can start typing, separate big kid from little kid, and go back to typing. You can press “send” while saying, “You need to *try* to poop, even if you don’t think you have to.” Emails are even easier. No one expects you to answer an email within twenty minutes. Instead, they expect their answer anywhere between within a few hours to within a few days.

But if I shout, “Excuse me! We don’t run while we’re eating, it’s dangerous!” too many times while I’m on the phone, chances are pretty good that the person I’m talking to will be annoyed. Unless, of course, it’s either Yitzchak’s mother, or the person I’m speaking to is also refereeing while on the phone.

I’ve tried to make phone calls. I’ve tried calling two people a week. I’ve tried calling during naptime. I actually used to make my phone calls during Tova’s naptime. But that was when she napped every three hours or so. Today, she has a morning nap, and an afternoon nap. And it’s a lucky day that they both fall out during times when she can actually sleep in her bed until she’s ready to wake up. So with two naps a day, I need to be pickier about what I use the time for.

This morning, I planned her nap around the two hours that I needed to teach. This afternoon, I’m using her nap to write a blog post.

The only person I *do* call on a regular basis is Yitzchak. Surprised? Don’t be. Here’s what our conversations often sound like:

Me: Hi Yitzchak.

Him: Hi, Chana.

Me: What’s up?

Him: I’m working.

Me: Where?

Him: In X.

Me: Ah. How’s it going?

Him: Okay.

Me: Okay I just wanted to check and make sure you were okay. By the way did you get my texts?

Him: Yes. And I have to go.

Me: Okay talk to you later.

Total time: 4 minutes.


Or how about this:

Yitzchak: Hi Chana.

Me: Do you know where the teething gel is?

Him: I think it’s on the bookshelf.

Me: If it was on the bookshelf, I wouldn’t be asking. [baby screaming in the background] Any other ideas?

Him: No. Did you check the dresser?

Me: Yes, but I’ll check again.

[more screaming]

Me: Okay, listen, she won’t let me put her down and I can’t search with one hand. I’ll talk to you later, k?

Him: Okay.

Total time: 4.5 minutes.


Sounds terrific, right? Here’s one last example.

Me: Where’s the peanut butter?

Him: On the counter. I just wanted to tell you I made the bus.

Me: I saw that, you texted it. I gotta run or else *we* won’t make the bus. Do we have bread?

Him: Yes, we do. I think it’s still in the bag, on the floor.

Me: It is, thanks.

Him: Is Shlomo behaving?

Me: I don’t know what you mean by behaving. . . he’s okay, I guess. Where are you?

Him: At the Central Bus Station. Okay, I have to get off. I love you, okay? I have to go.

Me: Okay. Stay safe.

Total time: 3 minutes.


Who else can I call, if I can only barely spare 4 minutes to talk? No one.

Sometimes I *make* Yitzchak get off the phone, because I need him to be alert. It’s just not safe to talk on a cell phone in the street. You need eyes, ears, and the eyes in the back of your head to be open, alert, and aware of your surroundings. I’m pretty sure Yitzchak thinks I’m being paranoid, or maybe even controlling. But he can’t argue with my logic . . . so he listens.

If you wanted to speak to me, call me up.

I will call you one day, too. When I have babies who take frequent naps, and big kids in school. Or maybe when I have big kids in school, and bigger kids at work or at home with their own kids. On the other hand, when I have grandkids, I’ll probably still be busy . . . or busy again, perhaps . . . helping my kids take care of them. Right?

So perhaps I should say, “I’ll call you when I’m too old to be running after kids?”

Somehow, that doesn’t sound like it’ll work. But it does have a nice ring to it.

There are many people I want to keep in touch with. If I’m not calling, take heart. It’s me – or rather, my kids. It’s not you.

And I wish Yitzchak and myself many more years of running after kids and trying to work while the baby naps.

My Neighbor’s Miracle

Remember the family who watched Shlomo while Yitzchak and I went to the hospital for Tova’s birth?

So, the husband/father (let’s call him Manny) missed last night’s terror attack in Be’er Sheva. Here’s what happened:

Manny’s work often takes him abroad. He’s supposed to travel again next week. In preparation for this, Manny took a trip to Tel Aviv yesterday. He had finished his business in Tel Aviv and got on a bus back to Tel Aviv’s Central Bus Station, so that he could take a bus from Tel Aviv to Be’er Sheva, and then another bus home.

He got on the right bus, but going the wrong way. At some point he realized, got off the bus, and backtracked, landing in Tel Aviv’s Central Bus Station more than two hours later than he’d planned.

On the way, his cell phone died. Then, in Be’er Sheva, there was a terror attack. A terror attack, that every time we looked at the news – for at least two hours – the numbers kept going up.

Four people injured. Five people injured. Six people injured. Seven people injured, one dead. Nine people injured. Nine people injured, one dead. Two terrorists. One of the two terrorists may have been an infiltrator. No, the infiltrator wasn’t really a terrorist – we just *thought* he was. One terrorist. The person killed was a soldier.

Meanwhile, Manny’s family, knowing that his phone was off, and that he was supposed to be passing through the Be’er Sheva Central Bus Station at about the time of the attack was going nuts.

And I mean, going nuts. Biting their nails.



Is their father okay? Will they ever see him again?

When Manny finally got back to the Central Bus Station in Tel Aviv, he was told that he couldn’t take a bus to Be’er Sheva, because Be’er Sheva’s Central Bus Station (Tachana Merkazit, okay? It’s shorter) was closed off after a terror attack.

Manny promptly asked, “Do you have a cell phone I can use?” He borrowed a phone, and at around 10pm, called his family up and told them that he was fine – but he was still in Tel Aviv.

Then he took a cab to B’nei Brak, and took a straight bus (meaning, it didn’t pass through Be’er Sheva) home from there.


Miracle. Major miracle.

Thank G-d he’s fine. I hope we *never* have to go through that . . . because it’s really scary.

I hope *nothing* ever happens to them, or to us. As we say here in Israel, “[May we live] until 120 [years]!”

As an aside, about a week ago, Yitzchak didn’t show up when I thought he would. And his phone was off. So I called up the local police station and asked if they were bored, or if there had been any action. Of course, they had *no* idea what I was talking about, or why I was asking. And I’m sure my explanation – my husband’s phone is off and he was supposed to be back half an hour ago – gave them a good laugh.

Well, I guess as long as they’re laughing and I feel stupid, everything is okay. I mean, they can’t really *blame* me for being worried, can they?

Email Filters

I wrote this post almost a week ago, and it was scheduled to go up two days ago. At some point in between, I changed its status from “scheduled” to “draft”, because . . . it is SO not related to what’s going on now. Who cares about emails and annoying people? But yesterday I took a look at my home page and realized that there were two half-posts about normal life, and *everything* else was terror related. That’s fine – it’s a big part of life at the moment. But it’s not fine, because the purpose of this blog isn’t just to talk about terror. And so I present to you “regular” post.

For a long time, I’ve felt a need to answer every phone call, text, and email – right away.

I’ve gotten better about the phone calls. Shlomo sometimes tells me, when I’m in the bathroom, changing a diaper, or otherwise busy, that the phone is ringing. I tell him, “I know it, but I can’t answer the phone right now. If it’s Abba [Yitzchak], I’ll talk to him when I’m done. If it’s someone important, they’ll call back. And if it’s not important, there’s no reason to run to answer it, anyways.”

Usually, it’s Yitzchak – for the simple reason that he’s the one who calls most often. However, Yitzchak also knows that I miss a lot of phone calls. So he’ll either call the other phone (the house phone, if I missed a call on my cell phone, or vice versa), or text – or just wait until I call back.

All I can hope is that Shlomo learns this valuable lesson. Technology is there to serve us. We are not here to serve it.

Texts are harder, but I’m pretty good at those, too. Often, I read a text and think to myself that I need to text back – except that I forget about it until a day or two later. Oops. This means that when I’m not 100% into my tech-serves-me mode, I’ll text back, as inconvenient as that may be.

Email is harder. It sits in your inbox and stares you in the face. This is good, if it’s a business email that you need to respond to. But there are some emails that aren’t business, aren’t urgent, and are just . . . there. You know what I’m talking about.

Grandma who wants to chat. Dad who sent back a lengthy email, and I’m too tired to respond properly. The annoying relative who likes to stick her nose in your business. The person who, no matter, what knows how to drive you berserk with every benign email you try to send her – or don’t send her. Those ones.

Granted, you really should get back to 80-year-old Grandma, and Dad is definitely not at fault that you’re tired. But the annoying people . . . seriously? They can wait. But those are the hardest – because they push your buttons, you want to push back. It’s incredibly difficult to tell yourself, “Be the mature person. There’s no one to talk to. Just let her think she’s had the last word, and ignore the email.”

And maybe you should just delete those emails? No, of course you can’t . . . what if someone needs your help? What if there’s news in there that you want, or need, to hear? And if you delete the emails . . . you’ll never know what that person said . . . it’s much better to at least know, isn’t it?

So in walk the email filters. As an aside, we have several email accounts, and most of them are linked to two main Gmail accounts. From those Gmail accounts, we can receive (through forwarding) and reply (through alias) email that went to other, less-used accounts. This means less accounts to check per day, and less headaches, without giving up any of the accounts.

The two exceptions are my husband’s InsightBB account, and my Hotmail account . . . and they are exceptions because we haven’t figured out how to set up the forwarding/alias with them yet. But maybe it’s as easy as doing it with Gmail accounts. Maybe I should try.

Do I want to try? Maybe not.

Tonight, after an email argument with a person I shouldn’t have started an email conversation with in the first place, shouldn’t have answered promptly (instead of giving myself a few days to calm down), and shouldn’t have paid attention to her attempts to twist my arm – I set up my first Hotmail filter.

This is what I did. Hotmail filters are called “rules”. I made a “rule,” that all emails from will first of all go straight to the “X” folder, and second of all be marked as “read.” At first, I was thinking to simply send the emails to the X folder. But I knew that seeing an unread email in that folder would tempt me, so at the last minute, I added an “action” to the “rule” and told Hotmail to mark the emails as read.

I’ll still get the emails. I’ll still be able to see what they’ve emailed me.

But the pressure is gone. I won’t have new, unread, stressful emails in my inbox, staring me in the face.

When I have time, and I have energy, I’ll check my X folder and see if and what XPerson has sent. Maybe I’ll reply; maybe I won’t; maybe I’ll reply at a later date. But there’s no pressure, no worries about the fact that I’m being rude . . . because, after all, if it’s sat there for a week or two, it can sit there for another few.

I’ve made filters for other people, too. They’ve included labels, forwarding, and marking the original as read. But I’ve never made a label marking something as unread and removing it from the inbox to a folder.

It feels incredibly freeing.

Now the real test, is if I can forget to check the X folder for a few weeks . . . and forget about maybe being found out when someone who knows someone who tells someone reads this blog.

(As an aside, I remember clearly having a friend come up to me at a gathering and say, “You have a blog, right? You’re C and your blog is B.” And I had no idea what to reply, except for, “Um, yeah. Um, how did you know?” It wasn’t this blog, though. It was my teen blog.)

. . . And The Government Is Stupid

Closing off Arab neighborhoods in Jerusalem does exactly what these Muslim extremists want: It divides the city in two. This is the first step towards a divided Jerusalem, and it’s the real reason for the attacks on the light rail. The light rail helps to unite the city, and make transportation between all parts of the city easier – and safer. But this isn’t what these terrorists want. They want to drive us out.

And a divided Jerusalem is a step in that direction.

Besides for that, closing off the Arab neighborhoods of the city:

1. Doesn’t help the security situation that much, since there are roads to other areas of Jerusalem, and Arab villages only a few minutes’ drive away.

2. Ties up security personnel who could be put to better use somewhere else, preventing attacks.

3. Puts those security personnel in even more danger than they would be guarding the Old City.

In other words, stupid idea. And the worst part?

It’s just another band-aid, that will pretend to work until it falls off, and we discover that *nothing* has healed underneath. Band-aids don’t work when you need a surgery. And they don’t usually work on the cuts from surgery, either. But they do provide an illusion that all is okay.

And that illusion is probably one of the most dangerous aspects of this situation.

Here’s some proof (thanks, Janglo!) that the government is just not doing their job properly:

terror attacks in israel, statistics, palestinians kill jews, palestinians are murderers, palestinians kill israelis, muslim extremist terror, terror attacks in jerusalem, intifada terror attacks in israel, statistics, palestinians kill jews, palestinians are murderers, palestinians kill israelis, muslim extremist terror, terror attacks in jerusalem, intifada terror attacks in israel, statistics, palestinians kill jews, palestinians are murderers, palestinians kill israelis, muslim extremist terror, terror attacks in jerusalem, intifadaScary, isn’t it?

This is what we – my family, friends, and I – are living with. Every. Single. Day.

And then Kerry has the audacity to blame this terror wave on us – because we live in “settlements” in our own country, these “Palestinians” are allowed to murder us. Oh, but he didn’t really mean it that way. He just . . . kind of did mean it that way. How else can his words be interpreted?

And Obama – well, he can’t even blame these “Palestinians” for their own actions. G-d forbid they should be responsible for their own actions.

Please, Kerry – and Obama – just stay away from here. We don’t need you. We have enough on our heads. All you’ll do is cause more trouble. And hey, UN? You stay away, too. Just because Abbas wants your help, doesn’t mean that we do. We know that you’ll cause more insecurity, and more danger, to our citizens. We don’t want your “security forces” patrolling Jerusalem, aiding and abetting terrorists, and murdering Jews.

I guess all that matters in the end is that the world accepts Abbas’ words as truth. As the Bible of Moshe from Sinai. If he says that the “child” terrorist was “executed” (when was the last time Israel “executed” any terrorist?), it must be true. Even if that poor “child” is receiving excellent medical care – on Israel’s bill of course – and is set to be released from the hospital in a day or two. Even after that “child” and his 15 year old friend tried to murder innocent civilians – among them a 13 year old boy, whose only sin was riding his bicycle.

And wow, Lapid said something smart for a change! Moshiach (the Messiah) may be on his way, after all!

Smart Move, Rami!

Rami Levy is smart. I’ve been wondering for years when stores are going to decide to take this step. And I’m wondering how fast everyone else – small stores included – are going to follow suit.

In the meantime, Rami is being smart, responsible, and I like his foresight.

Want to know what he did?

He took knives off the shelves. If you want to buy a knife, you need to go to the Customer Service counter and ask them. And if you want to enter one of the stores, you will have to pass stricter security measures. I admit that security guards aren’t always an option – or even realistic – for smaller stores. But definitely, wherever you *can* put a security guard, you *should* put a security guard.

It’s a bit unrealistic to insist on only selling bleach and kitchen knives to sane Jews. But we don’t need to make terrorists’ lives any easier.

P.S. – This guy happens to be a saint. Hidden saint, that is. My he see only blessings.

IDF: Don’t Sleep On Buses

When I first came to Israel as a gap year student, we used to joke that the last row of seats on an intercity bus was the “soldiers’ seat”. Anyone who sat there was basically asking for a soldier to flirt with her.

[Note: there are female soldiers, too. So it’s not *definite* that a girl sitting there was asking a guy soldier out. But we were 19 year old girls. This was how we joked. Or how my friends joked, rather.

I digress.]

This last row of four seats was called the soldiers’ seat, because most of the time, you could find a sleeping soldier lying over all four seats. Even if the bus was crowded, and someone wanted those seats, no one would wake the soldier up. He’s in the army, poor guy. He’s been doing exercises and getting up at 4 in the morning the whole three weeks. Now he’s on Shabbat leave to see his family, let him sleep.

[Note: I traveled on Thursday afternoons and right after Shabbat. Same as the soldiers. The rest of the time, I was in my program. And they were on their army bases. Students and soldiers have similar schedules. Kind of.]

As I grew up a bit, I continued seeing soldiers sleeping on the back bench of a bus, but less often. Nowadays, you see them taking up two seats on the side of the bus, or sometimes just sleeping like the rest of us – with their head leaning on the window or their bag.

Cute kids. Good kids. Poor soldiers? I guess. But mostly, they’re cute kids. I like soldiers. Just out of high school, full of life, smiling, with dreams for the future. Not quite sure who they are, or what they want. Still figuring out what the world is and where they fit. Some of them are further along, and have matured. Some are dating. The more mature ones are recently married.

There are the career soldiers. Also nice. I admire them more. But they’re less cute, probably because they’re not kids. Ah. And the career soldiers sleep less on buses. Maybe because they have cars of their own?

And now the IDF wants to change this. They don’t want to lose soldiers. The security situation is bad, and getting worse. Who knows when it will get better? So they’ve changed the rules: Don’t sleep on buses. It’s not safe. They’re adding other instructions, too.

But I think one of the saddest, most poignant changes is that soldiers – cute, ignorant, innocent, immature kids just out of high school – are no longer allowed to sleep on buses. Because it’s just not safe.

Will You Marry Me?

You can’t really hear too well, but here, a police officer who is on duty in the Old City proposes to his [officer] girlfriend. He called her to the Kotel (Western Wall) for a few minutes and then, surrounded by his buddies, pulled out a ring.

The best part is how the buddies celebrate afterwards. You can hear them singing – typical Israeli wedding songs.

The video gives you 59 seconds of normalcy. They’ve forgotten – sort of – where they are, why they’re there, and what they’re doing. Sort of. Not entirely.

And hey, they’re just cute.

You can tell they’re a couple from the beginning of the video. When they meet up by the Kotel, they hug. Um. PDA.