A Plea from Israel
Come, Obama, Change My Life
By EDNA CANETTI
November 6, 2008
Obama my dear, they tell me that you are going to change the world. Do me a favor, come and change my life personally.
Come to Israel, grab its stupid leadership by the throat and take its foot off the neck of another people. Come and force us to do what is clear, and written, and fitting, and necessary, come and get us out of the Territories, if necessary do it with a smile that reveals million-dollar teeth. If necessary bare your teeth and force us to do it.
Make it so that I don't have to get up in the morning â€“ I who hate to get up early, to go to the checkpoints, to watch and to weep. Make it so I will not have to see 19-year-old children who have been duped into believing that they are d efending the home front by pointing rifles at five-year-old children.
Make it so that when my daughters take a shower for half an hour I don't have to think about Ayad's family from Awarta that puts buckets under all the washbasins in order to reuse the water which is more precious than gold. Because the settlements need the West Bank's water more than the Palestinians do.
Make it so that when I sit in a traffic jam I don't have to think about the vast numbers of cars that are standing at the entrance to Tul Karem while each one is checked by soldiers and dogs because there has been a warning that they're about to blow up Tul Karem.
Make it so that when my sister urgently rushes to the hospital to give birth and when I rush my husband to the hospital practically with red lights flashing, I don't have to think about the women giving birth and the heart patients and the wounded people who are stopped at the entrance to Nablus because their vehicle has no permit to enter.
Make it so that when I see a soldier in uniform on the street I do not wonder what he did last night. What house he entered in a "Straw Widow pr ocedure",* what boy he beat up in the alleys of Hawara because he smiled the wrong way.
Make it so that in the morning I don't hear the satisfaction in the voice of the radio newsreader who relates tha t the IDF has killed six terrorists.
Oba ma my dear, this autumn I did not go to the olive harvest. It didn't work out. Please make it so that I will not suffer from pangs of conscience because I am not doing enough. That I am living my own good life, pursuing my career, while for the other people just to get home safely is a career in itself.
Please relieve me of this pain that I have all the time deep in my belly. It never lets up, I can never really enjoy life, children, friends or work, because my mind is preoccupied with the image of the shepherd in Baq'a standing by the locked gate and shivering with cold because the redhead with the key has not showed up, and the bound blindfolded boy, and the three-year-old girl who got hit on the head by the carousel at the checkpoint, and the barriers of dirt and the concrete blocks that stop the lives of so many people from flowing smoothly.
Come, Obama, come and save us from ourselves.
And if that is what they mean when they say you are not a friend of Israel, then don't be a friend. We have already had friends who arm us and justify every horror we carry out and save us from the international cou rts. Be a true friend. Save us from ourselves. And don't do it for the world, do it only for me, so I can have peace. You owe it to me. I do not believe in God but still I prayed for you.
This story contains 705 words.
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