My husband just made me cry. He requested that I write a guest blog, of my thoughts on his impending milum, so I wrote something rather light-hearted. He then read it (as is his prerogative – it is his blog) and commented on its light tone. I told him that my method of dealing is denial. If I think about it too seriously, it will consume me, until he is safely back in my arms. I then took the dignified step of bursting into tears.
Despite many pleas of parents and friends over the last 4 years, I have refused to allow myself to be intimidated during the intifada – I have continued to go to cafes, restaurants and dancing the night away with friends. My attitude always was, and will be, I will not be bullied. This was a mixture of being 17 when the intifada broke out, so no one could make me bend to their will (sorry parents), not even suicide bombers. I also strongly felt that the terrorists would win if we, their targets, acquiesced to their demands, and stayed inside. So how ironic is it that I'm terrified to have my husband go on miluim. It's the classic example of those who drive at breakneck speeds when alone in the car, but the moment there is a passenger, their driving style changes completely. They have someone else involved. Well, now I have someone else involved.
I have a twin brother, who is currently serving in a combat unit in the army. He recently finished a few months, where almost every night was spend “cleaning up” Jenin. He wasn’t allowed to tell us about his missions unless they had been published in the media. My mother reacted by crying every time she spoke to him. I reacted by cracking jokes about ducking. I suppose this is a defence mechanism created over time – what I can’t control, I minimalize. Sure, my brother was under enemy fire almost every night, but my thinking about it wouldn’t change a thing. So I didn’t.
Sure, my husband is going to be involved in what his commander called “the human line of defence between the terrorists and the citizens of