[Note: As has probably been observed, the intervals between posts will probably remain rather lengthy due my current residence in Jerusalem. Jameel
is doing such an excellent job keeping the news posted that I feel my time is better spent at places like the Kotel.]
There were fireworks over the Arab Quarter two nights ago. Flashes of red and trails of smoke drifting past the domes and over the Kotel.
The reasons hardly need more than a glance at the headlines.
All the Bais Yaakov's have cancelled the summer camps and programs. My friend is worriedly debating whether or not to go to a family bar mitzva in the north. They've found sucide bombers attempting to enter town again. The buses and stations are filled with soilders moving out.
I want to be angry at the Arabs, at the New York Times, who has the purile even-handedness of failing to even so much as distinguish between Kassam attacks and Israel's response on their maps of the current crisis. I want to be angry at somebody, anybody. Just to feel full of righteous indignation rather than indifferent weariness. The war does not seem real.
So at the Kotel, ringed by the hills and surrounded by dozens of mumered prayers and the shrill undulating cries of the mosque, I ask for peace, by missles or miricles or means mysterious and unknown, just peace and all our people safe in the thier homes again.