The Heroes of Jerusalem
                                                 By Naomi Ragen

We walk through the raining bombs, hoping not to get wet.
We swim through the bodies of the fallen and dead, clutching hope to our breast that at least it is not one of our own, our child, our friend, our neighbor. At least, that.

And the morning after the ambulances, the fire, the explosions, the body bags, the blood that fills the holy streets of Jerusalem by those who in their arrogance assert their right to the holiest city in the world by slaughtering her peaceful, true citizens, I have see heroes.

They are all around me.

The mother in Jerusalem walking her little girl to school, the morning after.

The nineteen year-old girl soldier in Jerusalem, leaving home  with her green backpack, chewing bubble gum, waiting quietly for her ride back to her army base.

The high school students carrying books who stand at the bus stop, waiting to go to school.

The woman who owns the watch shop, whose glass was shattered by an exloding terrorist car, who opens the doors of her store to the public, the morning after.

The bandaged young girl in the hospital bed, struggling to breathe, to live, to overcome her terrible injuries, the morning after.

The young chassid, in his yellow  Zakah stripes, who appears on television after a night of gathering human remains so that they may be buried with blessing in holy ground.

The bus drivers, who keep to their routes in Jerusalem’s streets.

The policemen, fatigue-plagued, who continue to  scour Jerusalem’s streets, to put their lives on the front line, the morning after.

And my son, who answers me when I say:  You don’t have to go to school this morning, with: “I know.  I never have to go.  I don’t have to live here either.  I choose to.” Who takes his books, and heads into the center of our beloved Jerusalem.

Each act of normalcy, each tiny step, lays claim anew to this, the heart of the Jewish people;  the capital of Israel, the city of David,  the temple of  King Solomon.  For three thousand years, we Jews have honored her:  praying in her direction, sitting in ashes and fasting on the day of her destruction,  remembering her  with longing , love, and mourning with every prayer we say, every wedding we consecrate, every new born child we welcome into our fold.

There are heroes all around me.  Their courage, their willingness to sacrifice everything that is most dear on this earth to every human being in  order to cling to her soil, her promise, her sanctity; to preserve this treasure for the Jewish people,  is an act of  heroism.

I honor them.  I weep for them.  I pray for their well-being and their safety and their victory over those barbarians without conscience or a spark of human decency who never cease to press their counter-claims to this city with their bombs, their exploding human flesh, their flying nails, their chemicals and sharp metal objects meant to penetrate soft human flesh, hearts, lungs, skulls.  For them, it is so easy:   Unlike our Jewish bible, which mentions Jerusalem 669 times, their Koran never mentions it at all.  Like the false mother in the Judgement of Solomon,  they prefer to  destroy Jerusalem rather than allow those who truly love her to live within her  boundaries.   This destruction will be their victory over the G-d of Abraham, and his legitimate offspring, those who have chosen to follow in his ways.  The blackened rubble, the fresh graves, will be a cause for their rejoicing, as they rejoiced at the unspeakable rubble of melting steel and human flesh they created in the heart of another great city, New York.

May G-d bring His blessings on the heroes and heroines of Jerusalem.  May He comfort her mourners. And may He destroy her enemies – the enemies of all decent humankind- and all those who support them, understand them, plead their cause, and  wish them victory.