After an evening of rockets in Tel Aviv, we slept exhausted and woke to the news that the bombing of Gaza City, preparing the ground for their house-to-house search for terrorists.  All Gaza City is Booby-trapped and we’re going to suffer many losses.  I look around the shabbat table at the men and boys who are or will be going there, and I pray we will be able to celebrate hannuka all together in joy. 

And me, I’m talking about calming each other down and supporting each other, and all the while I’m thinking – why are they not eating my kugel, my moussaka, my chicken soup?  I’m finding little was to make little battles within me that will displace my anger.  

Aren’t I petty?  I was much more mature in kindergarten.