The summer of 2014. That\u2019s when I became a social activist. I had always prayed for peace in synagogue, and once in awhile I attended a political rally. But as a mother of four, living in Meitar, a small suburb twenty minutes south of Beer-Sheva, juggling a job and raising a family, while trying to find time for Pilates, my life was consumed by everyday concerns.<\/p>\n
When Operation Protective Edge broke out my friends and I suddenly became terrified. My kids weren\u2019t so young anymore \u2013 my daughter was in the army and my son, Guy, was about to be drafted. My two younger kids were terrified by the constant rocket attacks close to home. Our next door neighbor said we should collect things for the soldiers. All the neighborhood women started bringing over anything they could think of that would help the soldiers at the front \u2013 underwear, grey socks, chocolate bars, shampoo. We lined up the cardboard boxes along the driveway and before sealing each one, dropped in a colorful children\u2019s drawing, expressing their hope that our brave soldiers return safely. It made me feel like I was helping, in some small way.<\/p>\n
My daughter Yuval was put on \u201cfuneral duty\u201d at her army base \u2013 she had to go to soldier\u2019s funerals and lay the official wreaths at the ceremony, then stand at attention. She had explicit instructions about that: \u201cWe\u2019re not allowed to wear sunglasses, Mom\u201d, she explained to me, \u201cand we\u2019re not allowed to cry.\u201d<\/p>\n
When the terrible news came that two soldiers from our tiny town had been killed in combat, I found myself standing in the tiny cemetery \u2013 twice in one week \u2013 next to the same women who had just collected underwear with me, staring in shock at the fresh graves. One of the boys killed, Noam, attended elementary school with my eldest daughter. I remember him as a little boy in first grade, the one with a mischievous look in his eyes. And curly brown hair.<\/p>\n
I think that was the breaking point for me….<\/p>\n