In another group of Jewish and Arab teachers from several years ago, Noa (not her real name), a Jewish teacher, spoke about her son who had just turned 14. He was waiting at the kibbutz gate for his girlfriend, also 14 who was on her way to visit him. She lived on another kibbutz and her mother was driving her over. He waited at the kibbutz gate. An hour passed and still she did not come. He walked home to try to call her but there was no answer. Then he found out that two terrorists had infiltrated into Israel through the fence from Lebanon, hid in the bushes next to the road, and shot and killed both the mother and his girl friend as they passed in the car.
Noa did not come to the next group meeting. When we (the facilitators) came to visit her and sat on her front porch looking at the green hills, so beautiful in the evening sun, so innocent. We listened and she shared with us the pain she and her son were experiencing.
A couple of weeks after our visit Noa returned to the group. After the movement she began to talk about what it felt like to have a fourteen-year-old son who just lost the girl he loved. She said she wants to comfort him but does not know how. He often tells her: ” Mother don’t get too close to me, because you may lose me too.” He visits his girlfriend’s grave every week and stands by the gravesite talking, while she, his mother, stands at the gate of the grave yard feeling helpless.
By the time she finished her story we were all weeping with her. Holding her close, with tears running down her face, was one of her good friends – an Arab teacher who was also member of the group…
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