I spent most of the last week on another planet – in bed, medicated to the eyeballs after falling prey to one of the Small Noisy One’s random bugs. So last Saturday was designated catch-up-with-the-newspapers day. And, of course, there was only one story from the past week that really mattered....The Small Noisy One stands by my bedside. I’m not disposed very kindly towards him at the moment, given that his bug – which only made him cough and complain mildly for a couple of days – had knocked me out for the better part of a week. Still, he is my flesh and blood. And for once, he is – more or less – quiet, merely whistling out of tune....I flip through the papers. He stops me to points at a now iconic photograph.“That’s Gilad Schalit,” he informs me. “And that’s his daddy.”One shouldn’t be surprised by his knowledge, of course. It has been pretty much the only topic of conversation across the country for the last week....I point to the third person in the picture, who is lurking ominously on the sidelines. “And who is that?” “Ah, that’s the rosh hamemshala,” the Small Noisy One replies.Impressive. I certainly had no idea who the prime minister was the month before my fifth birthday.“Do you know what the prime minister does?” I ask.I’d like to report that my child said something about prime ministers doing nothing but taking all the credit for the few and far-between positive moments that we experience in this country. But that’s just ingrained prejudice speaking. In fact, the Small Noisy One replied rather thoughtfully, explaining that the prime ministers look after all the city mayors across the country...But now it’s his turn to ask the questions.“Daddy, who is Gilad Schalit?” Ah-hah. Where does one start with this? My little one, I’ve found, is pretty good at slicing through the verbiage and clutter of contemporary Israeli society, prompting on my behalf the questions that I can’t be bothered to articulate. For example, he asks why he can’t take pastrami sandwiches to his (state-run) kindergarten, and we end up having a surprisingly nuanced discussion about the lifestyle distinctions between (nominal) Jews, Muslims and Christians in the Holy Land.Then there was the day he came home complaining that someone in his class had called him an Arab. What does this mean in today’s Israel? And how is it that we’ve both internalized this as a not very nice thing to say? He keeps me on my toes, my child does.But back to the picture. Who is Gilad Schalit?
Ready for service?
In Israel, the army is a fact of life - soldiers are kidnapped and killed. Soldiers kill and do unpleasant stuff in the defense of their country.
