Hey everyone. I want to introduce you to my good friend Shifron. He moved to Israel from India with his family before his first birthday. We served in the Israeli Army together and became really close. He is an amazing person and a great friend. Right now, he is under fire by Hamas much like all Israeli citizens, but he is stationed in/by Gaza now and deals with them directly. I want to tell you a short story about one of the most gracious things anyone has ever done for me. I was coming back from a day of running personal chores in the north of the country where I was living to my base in the south. The hour was getting late and I was switching from public bus to public bus to try to catch the last one back to base. I found myself unable to catch the last bus despite my efforts. I was in Beer Sheva, a city in the middle of the desert. I called my commander and told him I would not be able to make it back to base that night. He was slightly annoyed, but eventually agreed it was not my fault (a win in my book). It was decided that I would spend that night in a soldiers hostel. It was late at night by now. When I arrived at the hostel, I was informed that there were no beds left. I realized that I would probably just end up sleeping on the tile floor of the lobby sitting upright with my back behind my back to make sure no one would take it. I called my commander to tell him the situation. He responded what. You dont know anyone in Beer Sheva? I didnt. I didnt know anyone anywhere in Israel except for a handful of soldiers in my unit. Like Shifron. Shifron was from Beer Sheva. I felt awkward about asking, but I did none the less. I called him up late and asked in broken Hebrew if by any crazy miracle, I could crash at his place just until sunrise. I only needed a safe place for me to rest my head and keep my bag safe. He said of course. It was no problem. He told me to meet his brother at a location a short walk from his home. It was past 11:30 and I was expecting to lug my bag through the city trailing his brother, enter into his home and if I was lucky, sleep on a couch. When I got to the meet up point, I found Shifrons brother and father with a car. They spoke to me in English (with thick Indian accents) and welcomed me. They loaded the bag in the trunk. On the way to their apartment, they joked with me and made me feel comfortable. The brother carried my bag for me to their apartment. When I got in, I was astounded. Shifrons mother was cooking me up a feast. A kosher Indian feast. There were many dishes and flavors. Shifrons mother spoke with me about how proud she was to host me even just for a night and made sure I had my fill. The food was wicked spicy. I dont think they understood what an Ashkenazi American belly is capable of. His grandmother sat across from me and smiled a great warm smile. She couldnt have been much taller than 410 and Id be surprised if she ever weighed more than 100 pounds. But her smile was great. It was one of love. It was one that conveyed love. We didnt have much in common. We were different ages, ethnicity, cultures, and traditions. She still adorned the traditional Indian sari and I was in a T shirt. We just had Shifron and a love of Israel in common. If she spoke English or Hebrew, it wasnt very good; any time she wanted to tell me something, she had Shifrons mother translate. It was like being back in America with my grandmother, only slightly smaller and more Indian. After I ate and prepared for sleep, Shifrons brother showed me to my bed. It was already made and ready for me to sleep in. Surprisingly enough, the mattress was even long enough. Such a rarity is not an amenity a 63 grown man is used to out of America. The hour was 12:30 AM and I finally went to sleep. I had to wake up in five hours to take the first bus out and back to base. When I woke the next morning, food was on the table. The whole family was awake and ready not only for work, but also to see me off. It was a weekday. After the family made sure I stuffed my face sufficiently and the father told me how he and his sons had won their respective cricket trophies, I was ready to leave. But before I left, Shifrons grandmother approached me. She got very close to me and looked upward to me. She said very softly in English, please keep my grand-son safe. She must have practiced that one line. I promised that I would. And she hugged me. It was such a great show of love and I hugged her back. I think I did it partially to show my appreciation for all they had done for me in that six and a half hour span, but more than that it was to confirm the promise I had just made. It was a promise from a grandson to a grandmother, because I know that my grandmother back in America would expect no less from Shifron and would tell him to do the same for me if she had the chance. Shifron Waskar, I have no idea what you told your family when you called them to ask if i could sleep there that night, but I can only imagine. Why am I bringing this up? I think people should know that Shifron is a good kid. A great kid. Shifron and his family live in Beer Sheva. Every week, terrorists shoot rockets at Beer Sheva. Rockets that force the whole population into bomb shelters including Shifrons family. His family doesnt want Shifron to kill as many Palestinians as possible or butcher Muslims. They just want to live a normal life and keep their little brother, son, and grandson safe. So stay safe my friend. Finish this war and go home to your family. Give them my love and thanks. Then get your ass to America, so I can buy you a beer and introduce you to some pretty ladies. We support the fight for sustenance of a peace, normal life, democracy, and yeah, the occasional Cricket trophy.
Posted on: Thu, 24 Jul 2014 07:55:23 +0000
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