An Unspeakable Choice

I was listening to the radio in the car on the way to work and stumbled on a talk show featuring people from Sderot (the southern Israeli city which has been under almost constant missile attack since the end of dissengagement). 

The format of the show was pretty straight forward: People from Sderot were calling in and being interviewed about how their lives had changed since the Qassams had started falling.

My sympathies have always been firmly with these Sderot residents.  It was pretty clear to anyone with half a brain and a map that once disengagement was completed, Sderot would come under daily bombardment.  It was also equally clear that the government wasn't going to do much more than posture thanks to the socio-economic make-up of the city's population.

Yes, you understood me correctly.   It has been clear for some time that the Israeli government places a higher value on the lives of Tel Aviv residents than it does on the lives of those who live in less, um, shall we say cosmopolitan communities around the country.

You can go ahead and argue this point 'til you're blue in the face.  But before you do, can you honestly tell me with a straight face that the IDF would still be sitting on its hands if hundreds of missiles had already fallen on Dizengoff or Azrieli? 

Gee, it suddenly got quiet in here!

Yes, our government seems to have an extremely high threshold for pain... other people's pain, that is... which is why I found this radio talk show at once moving and infuriating.  One after another I heard the angry callers yelling about their feelings of abandonment and isolation. 

As a religious setter I have some idea where they're coming from.

As I was pulling into my office parking lot a woman came on the line and was asked by the interviewer how her life had changed since the Qassams had started falling.

I was ready to turn off the car, but something stopped me.  Perhaps it was the tired sigh that escaped her lips while she was formulating her answer.  Maybe it was the complete lack of expected anger in her voice that caught my attention.  But whatever the reason, I sat there with the engine running, waiting to hear what she had to say.

After a moment she said something that didn't seem to make any sense.  She said that the hardest part for her was deciding where her children would sleep.

The interviewer also seemed confused by her response and asked her to explain what she meant.

As she began speaking, you could tell from her tone that she felt she was explaining something that should have been fairly obvious... as though she was telling a child why the sun came up in the morning. 

She patiently explained that there wasn't enough room in their 'armored room' * for her entire family.  It went without saying, she continued, that she and her husband slept outside the armored room.   But they (thank G-d) have a big family, and each evening she struggled with the terrible decision of which children would sleep unprotected in their bedrooms... and whether to spread them out around the house or put all of her 'precious eggs' in one basket.

Like a kick in the gut, it suddenly dawned on me that this poor woman is forced to play a daily shell game with her precious children, knowing that if (G-d forbid) one of the dozens of missiles fired each day lands on her house, she will have to live the rest of her life with the consequences of her unspeakable choice.

I can only hope that someone in the government was also listening to the radio on the way to work.

*  By law, all Israeli homes must be constructed with a concrete and steel reinforced room where the family can take refuge in an emergency.  These rooms tend to be rather small and are meant for brief occupancy... not to provide sleeping accommodations for an entire family.  Ours doubles as a library/storage room.