A Matter of Time...

On the difference between these and those during war.

bs’d

When we’re out with the flock, we regularly encounter Army vehicles.

And though we generally prefer not to engage with the IDF, we’re not so cold as to just ignore them outright as they pass by.

We usually wave; let them know we’re a friendly sort (carrying an M16), the better to avoid any potentially deadly confusion.

It’s rare that we chat, though, so this morning’s event was far from the norm.

The driver slowed, perhaps the better to check out our semitic bona fides, and opened with a cheerful Mah Koreh?

Baruch Hashem, I answered. Atem?

Hakol b’seder.

And I could have left it at that—they certainly seemed satisfied after seeing the peyot, tzitzit and hearing the chutznik accent from up close.

But the mischievous side of me wanted more.

Seen any Arabs this morning, I asked (in Hebrew).

Nope.

I see some. Take a look... Down there. I was pointing at the village of BXX FXX, situated below our hilltop, where it was possible to see a few groups of Mohammedans walking along the road.

Do you want to shoot them, I asked?

I knew they’d answer in the negative, but I wanted to hear something sympathetic. Don’t ask me why.

After a quick glance, one of them answered, they don’t have guns.

Hmm…

Not what I wanted to hear, but since I’d already started, I figured I’d push it a little further.

And what’s the difference between an Arab with a gun and one without a gun, I asked them?

The driver, who’d already had about enough of me, started rolling away.

Just a little time… I yelled.

There were four of them in the vehicle.

No one turned around.

No one responded.

Maybe no one cared—let alone agreed.

But the truth was offered them.

And it’s enough sometimes just to say it out loud.

Dean Maughvet