Perhaps you have been hearing of the rocket attacks fired from the Hamas into the South of Israel right now. The war on Israel. Prayers for peace. Need for a peaceleader like Yitzhak Rabin z”l who whispered peace.

Now, Israel is on her own. We have no leader. All we have are pictures of a rubble-strewn living room with a blasted wall where the rockets entered.

In an apartment in Kiriyat Malachi, religious books are strewn around apartment by force of the blast. Bloodstained mattress where infant was treated for cuts from flying glass.

And nobody seems to care about these events. Nobody steps in to bring Israel to a state of peace.

In my memoir I’m currently writing, The Israeli Officer I was Never Meant to Be, I describe my experiences serving on army bases in the South – Gaza strips, army bases in the Negev and Arava desert – far away from the mass destruction of the Persian Gulf War. I was occupied with trying to have a good time and to survive and thrive.

War? I had no clue what that was even though I knew at the time, I had joined one of the toughest armies in the world.

Only years later, when I began to work as an English teacher of Israeli high school students, did I fully understand the effects of “Milchama” – war.

As a witness to these scenes, I felt helpless. I had an obligation to teach and try to help students understand as I describe in the scene below. I couldn’t understand myself. And the same feeling of helplessness I experience today. Only far far away through looking at pictures through Facebook.

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In the teacher’s room, someone flicks on the television.

Noises of sirens, ambulances and the newscaster Yigal Alon.

Pigua – A terrorist attack.

Deep groan. Deep sigh. Why?

I can say goodbye to my lesson plan, “normal” lessons.

Students saunter in and out of the teacher’s room, looking for teachers.

And then they lift their heads to the direction of the television.

They don’t need to ask, “what’s going on? They have already figured it out. Only they don’t have the decisions of what and how to teach.

Like the other piguim, (plural for terrorist attacks) is this one also worth mentioning for the sake of discussion?

Will I still be a ‘good” teacher if I decide to go on with the lesson?

The principal comes into the teacher’s room with her cup of whatever.

Teachers crowd around her and I stare and watch and wonder.