"I had a tough day today."

So begins the email Barak is writing to his cousins in NJ. Barak's only 10 and lives in Karnei Shomron. He knows the kids that were blown up last night in the terrorist attack at the Pizza shop in the mall in Karnei Shomron. He knows their parents and siblings, too.

His school had psychologists come visit the students today. Barak decided that he should take advantage of it. It could only be helpful.
He needed to sort things out.

What does all this mean?

He's not the only one with this question.

Pizza on Saturday night. At the local shopping mall. It's safe. Certainly safer than traveling to Kfar Saba or Raanana.

What's really safe?

Nothing. That's the sad fact.

Kids are supposed to be getting their Purim costumes ready. They're
supposed to be rehearsing their parts in the play and the lyrics to special songs.

Instead, they sit in circles, too close to bombed-out, windowless stores, reciting Tehillim and singing songs to give each other Chizuk – strength.

People talk of the miracles: the woman who accepted the insurance
broker's directive to install triple-plated glass in her storefront –so the glass shattered instead of exploding into her face and thus saving her life; the girl with the nail - from the terrorists bomb - a silly millimeter close to her heart, just off the mark. And yet, the teen with a piece of nail imbedded in her brain.

What does it all mean?

The friends get together to write a eulogy for their dead pal. Sorry, I know there are no rulebooks, but teens aren't supposed to write eulogies. One is brave enough to offer it at the funeral.

I used to live there. I used to eat the Pizza there. I had to return there today.

Another teen will be buried tomorrow. They're waiting for the grandparents to arrive from the States.

Ain't no rulebooks, but parents aren't supposed to bury children and
grandparents aren't supposed to bury grandchildren.

But in Israel there aren't any rules.

Barak asked me what I was doing visiting. I started giving him some bull about being in the area, needed a minyan ,etc. He looked at me like I was nuts. He looked a bit too wise for a kid of ten. When I confessed that I wanted to be with him and his family during this ordeal he began to open up. "Just give me truth and I'll be honest in return" was the clear
message.

So, ya gotta be honest with ten year olds about terrorist attacks in your back yard these days.

That's a new one for the rulebooks.

(By the way, "Barak" is a fictional name used to protect the wise and
no longer innocent.)


Ruth & Stuart Pilichowski, Mevasseret Tzion
stupillow@hotmail.com