But He Had His Mother |
I can’t believe it. The tears won’t stop streaming. Another special young man, dead.
This time it’s not our neighbour, Ronel. The first-born to his doting parents, who radiated joy and light in his home, with twinkling eyes and a massive smile which his siblings adored. Ronel who lifted everyone up around him, whose energy was endless and laughter infectious. Ronel who was blown up in an army jeep with 6 other young men, in Gaza, last June.
This time it’s Ohad. The son of my baby’s childminder. The youngest of 4 boys, with warm brown eyes, and a gentle, kind smile. Ohad, who I’ve heard about all year – the excitement when he’s back for a Shabbat, the piles of laundry and the cooking, and then the worry and sleepless nights when he goes back up north. Ohad, who fell in Lebanon, on Friday.
The pain rips through my chest. The disbelief. It just can’t be true. Imagining his wonderful mother, opening the door to the angels of death. Hearing her scream. Watching her tears.........