Children of the Land

by Moshe Dann (June 2012)

The bus station in Afula was packed with local Arabs, Russians and young IDF soldiers on their way to or from their bases, rifles slung casually next to heavy backpacks, the smell of roasted nuts, diesel exhaust and cigarette smoke.

Inside an L-shaped line of small stores selling fresh pastries, snacks, candies, nuts and newspapers, green inter-city buses pull into uncovered parking spaces where travelers wait to board. Standing at the entrance, surrounded by the pungent smell of turkey shwarma spiced with lamb fat, tumeric and cumin, and the tumult of various languages, I remembered watching TV after a terrorist attack in the same place a few years ago, the screams and cries of bloodied, helpless victims, the rage of those who survived.

The harsh mid-morning sun was already baking the flat parched fields between Megiddo and Afula, a crossroads battlefield where foreign armies clashed thousands of years ago. Recently, on the grounds of the sprawling state prison, near the ancient garrison town, Tel Megiddo, one of the largest and most important archeological sites in Israel, where Kings of Israel dwelt, the mosaic floor of a Byzantine-era church was discovered.

At the end of World War I, in September, 1918, British and Allied troops led by General Edmund Allenby defeated the Turkish Army in this smoldering valley, ending 400 years of Ottoman rule in Palestine and earning him the title, Viscount of Megiddo.

According to Christian tradition, the final battle of civilization, Armageddon (a reference to Megiddo), will take place here, when the forces of Good defeat those of Evil. Hopefully. The Final Showdown. The End of Days.

A sharp knife clenched between his teeth, Akiva knelt next to the goat, poured some water on his neck and rubbed gently to find the right spot.

One of the other men severed its head, cutting along bone and through sinew and then twisted it until it detached. Eliyakim stared.

A few chickens were also quickly dispatched, intended for lunch, baked with onions and potatoes. This is the way things really are, I thought, preferring to buy my chickens wrapped in cellophane on a plastic tray.

The goat had been strung up on the tree. Soon large chunks of meat were arranged in bowls on a table as one of the men began cutting out bones and parts that are forbidden to eat by laws of Kashrut.

Riding the Egged bus back home to Jerusalem at night, the driver tuned to pop Sephardi music and then, the news: reports of continued attacks by Hamas, Palestinian militias, and Fatah gangs. Hizbullah has rearmed in Lebanon, Syria has new, more deadly missiles and Iran threatens to wipe out Israel with nuclear weapons. I imagined a huge luminous mushroom cloud rising on the horizon. Who will survive, and who will not?

Among weary passengers on their way home, I thought about those lost in the Holocaust, who could not return, and those who sacrificed their lives to build the country. How close we are to annihilation, amidst the miracle of life. The whole world seemingly against us, who will survive, and who will cover our blood?

The author is a writer living in Israel.

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