from my diary
Sunday was, as usual on the days when I am a soldier's mother, disable happiness. Add to that the number of missiles that were fired in our direction and the sounds of the alarm that echoed. The more it screams and it comes, our army doesn't stop and I had to, contrary to every maternal instinct that wants to leave my child with me, load her on a vehicle that will take her closer to the shelled areas. Every time she is on her way to and from the base, another year of life is drained from me, like in Count Rogen's torture machine in the movie "The Magical Princess" that he used to drain a year of his life from Wesley. At 14:27 I received a message from her: We are fine, red heart. And my heart is horrified. Because they haven't reached the base yet, that means they are shooting and they are in an open area.
Another long half hour, about six months passed until the white phone informed me that she was in a safe place. Then I learned how they stopped on the way, prostrated themselves on the ground and how three warriors stopped next to them. And how one of them ran to them, placed his helmet on my daughter's head and only then prostrated to protect his head with his hands.
and i cry
crying
crying
Even now, a few days later and the respite, I am writing to you in tears.
I have no idea who this child is, who is the child of other parents who worry like me. This boy who grew up too fast to be this soldier, who hears an alarm and before protecting his own life, he scans the area and decides that there is someone's life, that he doesn't know at all and will probably never meet again, that is more important than his own. In a moment's decision he decided to put her life before his own.
Having learned from previous wars and operations, I knew that the days before the truce would be even more stormy than they had been. In 2006 we moved to an apartment in Haifa in the last week before the break. The soldier was less than a year old and learned to raise her hands with frightened eyes when an alarm sounded. And now, 18 years later, I wasn't there to gather her in my arms and protect her from every guard, but a guardian angel along the way did it for me.
And if this is not hope, I don't know how you would define it.
In the lowest place in hell our children did not ask for it, they see hope and all they do is choose life. This boy, the soldier made of the country, in his choice gave me the greatest hope since the war began. With it I can see a pink dot in the gray sky. And I thank him with all my heart.
So I have hope, but as my good friend from across the ocean told me, yes to hope and not to illusion. I have no illusions about London or about world peace, but I have a living and kicking hope that a rainbow will descend on us from its cloud.
your,
Lily Milat
Dear Lily, what a wonderful article! A real, unusual, and moving "story" to the point of tears. (And I had tears in both my eyes). You managed to really move! May your dear daughter finish her military service in Israel safe and sound
And return to her parents in peace!!!
Amen Amen 🙌🏼🙏🏼
Thank you very much, dear Orna, for reading and writing to me. moves me very much.
Hoping for good and healing days 🫶
You wrote great. So moving. I identify with your every word.
Thank you very much Galia, have a good and calm week 🙌🏼
Xiaoli, what an exciting story. I swear I was sweating from my right eye.
You mentioned hope and the hope pumping machine and like in the magical princess I remind you that Wesley and Nurit at the end rode off into the sunset on white horses.
So life is not a movie, but there is certainly hope for the people that this is how their sons and daughters are.
Shabbat Shalom to you my dears there in the south of the lake.
Dear friend, you are Ofer,
Thank you very much.
And that's right, Wesley and Nurit forever ☺️🌈
You should always remember that.
Have a good and safe Shabbat 🫶