"Mom, I'm OK, but there was Terrorist Attack here in Jerusalem today..."

I was still snoozing at 6:30 this morning when the phone rang. I guessed it was a radio interview for my husband who arises early, and let him pick it up.  But soon he was calling my name--saying it was our son.

"Bad timing," I thought, assuming our 18-year-old wanted the flight information for his return home for Passover. But no.  "Mom, I'm all right," he began, and I bolted upright.

"There was a terrorist attack at the bus stop today, and I just wanted to let you know I'm okay."  My son is spending the year in Jerusalem studying at a yeshiva, a post-high-school program focusing on Jewish texts designed to set him on the right path spiritually for life. The only transportation he uses in Jerusalem is busses, and he rides them from one end of town--where his school is located--to the other, where we have friends and family.  Yes, my son told me, he stands at and rides by that bus stop often, including the day before.

"Well don't ride any more busses," I told him firmly, recalling placing the same restriction on our daughter when she spent 2004-5 in seminary there.

It's only moms who are far away giving such admonitions.  The rest of Israel, including all of Jerusalem, soon went about its business in normal fashion.  The modern, fast-paced nation doesn't let one incident slow it down, and in fact, the attitude is that a strong and vibrant culture will repel repercussions better than dwelling on injury.

And Israel is definitely strong.  Both men and women serve in the military, wearing their M-16 guns slung across their backs even when off-duty.  The sight of well-armed and well-trained youth on the streets brings a feeling of security.  As do careful inspections of trunks of cars as they pull into parking lots and structures, and watchful door guards at cafes and gathering places.

I'll never forget the sight at my nephew's wedding three years ago--his army buddies dancing around him link-armed in a circle, their long guns flapping against their backs as they jumped and high-stepped in joy.  This is a society that trusts in God, but knows that man must do his part as well.

So, there was a a bomb, perhaps remotely controlled to hit a passing bus, left next to the bus stop. A woman died, three are in critical condition, twenty are injured.  President Obama "condemns in the strongest possible terms" the bombing and in the same paragraph expresses "deepest condolences" to the families of 4 Palestinians accidentally killed in a Gaza airstrike aimed to stop the "dozens of rockets" that Benjamin Netanyahu says Hamas has "rained down" on southern Israel targets over the past several days.

I don't think the latest attack affected the safety situation in Israel overall.  The modern, achieving people in that tech-savvy country are aware that some of their Jew-hating neighbors want them eliminated.  They continue to carry out their usual activities, with a prudent sense of caution, aware that in the broader context, Israel has a very low intentional murder rate--2.1 per 100,000 population compared to the U.S.'s rate of 5.0 per 100,000 people. (Mexico and Russia both show 15 murders per 100,000 population in latest figures.)

As a mom, I'd rather have all my children close to me, and certainly prefer to have my son within my protective purview.  But I also know that this is a precious year for him, a year when he can gain independence within the structure of a grounded program that will reinforce solid values.  He likes his teachers and feels he's maturing and gaining insight.  So, happy as I'll be when he returns home for Passover, I also know that there's something worthwhile about this special time in Jerusalem, center of spirituality.

I don't relish unexpected phone calls telling me of very frightening events. But being a parent means that unless your kids are sleeping soundly under your own roof, you're bound to have a tinge of worry, and if they're old enough to be on their own, I'd rather their early morning phone call begin with "Mom, I'm all right..."  Somehow, I believe (though I continue to pray) that Israel will be all right, too.

Just Jetted in from Jerusalem, and...

Jet lag has me dizzy with dreamy head-bobbing, as we arrived home from Jerusalem just a couple of hours ago. It was thirty hours, door-to-door, from the Jerusalem Plaza Hotel immediately after Shabbat, on a bus to Ben Gurion airport, through three hours' pre-boarding checks, then ten hours in my first hermetically sealed tube across the Mediterranean and the Atlantic. Three grueling hours fighting hoards at various Delta Airlines lineups (remind me never to fly them out of JFK again!) and then, after an extra hour on the tarmac, another six to Seattle-Tacoma airport; another ninety minutes to retrieve our luggage before the half-hour drive home. The effect of such night and day travel is that I am still in Jerusalem; I nod into semi consciousness in which I'm in the hotel, with other tourists, viewing sites or riding on a bus. I am certainly not home yet.

Ten days in Israel was so filled with non-stop sight-seeing, family, strangers, friends, and events that I never even had a chance to buy any souvenirs. I never had the luxury of poking into my favorite shops on Emek Rafaim, or even choosing what to do with a particular hour.

And yet, this was perhaps the richest of my six visits to the Holy Land, for it was punctuated by extremes. Emotionally, there was the highest of highs and the lowest of lows--the depths of not just personal but national sadness on the mourning day of Tisha b'Av, followed two days later by the ecstasy of my nephew's wedding, gathering together seldom-joined family in the context of community and Jewish celebration. Tears of unbearable despair at Yad V'Shem holocaust museum (despite having been there before), where my hypersensitivity to such indescribable horror forced me to pull away from the narrative of our rabbi-guide. And tears of pride, as a 20-year-old hero who saved his Israel Defense Force platoon from a hand-grenade that landed in their midst by instantly pitching it back at the enemy, was feted with another tossed item--candy--at his "uff-ruf," his pre-nuptial honor in synagogue.

Contrasts in connecting: we traveled with a group of 200 people--a tour bonded in conservative values and love of Israel--within which were many long-time close friends and neighbors as well as strangers. The group united in auditoriums to hear famous speakers (to be discussed in a future post) then disbursed for personal comments. There were intimate moments alone with my husband, and the treasured completion within my often-scattered family, and the last ride to the airport when, boarding the bus, I recognized few of the faces, though we'd shared the week.

Opposing locations: We experienced the nadir of the Dead Sea, devoid of life and below sea level, with hardened beaches of salt-turned-stone, and the mountainous vistas of Israel's northern border, gazing into Lebanon from Kibbutz Misgav Am onto Arab houses flying the hostile Hizbollah flag. Crowded Tiberius, alive with the squeals of Arab and Jewish children, large families on holiday. And the thick. scorching air on Masada, where a Jewish community under Roman siege chose death over captivity or torture in defeat.

We confronted extremes in time, arriving on an El Al double-decker jet in bustling, modern Tel Aviv, and later scuffling through the dusty ruins of Shiloh, site of the Jews' tabernacle for 397 years, prior to their Temple in Jerusalem. My daughter downloaded lectures on Tisha b'Av on her laptop, within view of the walls of the Old City. We rode in air-conditioned buses to Qumran, where the Dead Sea Scrolls were found in caves near a mysterious ancient village.

I'm at ease with the laptop. Not so easily, the sacrifices. I can even read a bit of the Qumran scrolls' Hebrew, but I can't fathom traversing that oven-country on foot. I grasp passion for religion, but not antisemitism to the degree a nation could conspire to eliminate a scattered people. Conflict is palpable in Jerusalem, which makes living tense and intense.

There were many messages and lessons in this journey--but in my present hazy consciousness the most salient is that in the scheme of achievement and the span of humanity, I am insignificant. I'm astounded and humbled by what humans have accomplished (Herod's mammoth stones supporting the Temple Mount! Exotic fruits flourishing in drained swamps!) , and yet disheartened by peoples' mutual cruelties. I see how little one person means in the sweep of events, and yet, on Har Hertzl, potentially how much.

Aarrggh, it's just too overwhelming. I think I better take a nap. This jet lag must be getting to me...