The atrocities are painful to watch. Hamas has inflicted unimaginable agony and suffering on Jewish civilians.
Like millions of other viewers, at first, we couldn’t wrap our minds around how people could murder the innocent, including children, mothers, and even babies, kidnapping others (yes, a Holocaust survivor in a wheelchair!) with threats of filming how the terrorists would torture and kill them. But then, sadly, we could get it: the sad facts of history remind us, if we are only brave enough to open our eyes, how hate-filled humans can descend to the depths of evil to achieve their hideous goals—in this case, the annihilation of an entire people.
As was the case with 9/11 in the United States, acts of goodness and heroism shone in the darkness.
Like the story of Noam Tibon, 62, the retired major general for the Israeli Defense Forces. Hamas attacked the small kibbutz where his son, journalist Amir Tibon, and his family lived near the Gaza border.
“You have to be quiet. You have to be locked,” Noam instructed his son when he called from the home’s safe room.
“Trust me, I will come. This is my profession. Nobody, nobody, can stop me,” Noam told Amir in words reminiscent of a Liman Neeson movie.
Armed with only a pistol, the determined father and his wife, also a retired military officer, raced from their home in Tel Aviv to the kibbutz. Not only did he rescue his family, but he helped several other survivors of the Hamas attack as well.
When one of his granddaughters heard Noam’s familiar voice, she said, “Grandfather came!”
“These are maybe the best words I have ever heard in my life,” the retired major general said.
“That’s when we all just started crying. And that’s when we knew that we were safe,” his son said.
I rolled the little girl’s words over and over to myself, “Grandfather came!”
His family’s dilemma dwarfs anything I’ve experienced. My rescue missions to my grandchildren are playful scenarios, certainly not life-and-death situations.
“The baseball went into the bushes?” my grandson cries. “Never fear, PopPop’s here,” I say before crawling amidst the thorny shrubs along the fence row to retrieve the ball. Or, the words of another grandchild’s reluctant admission, “I’m scared to go upstairs when it’s dark,” to which I reply as I lift the little one in my arms, “Never fear, PopPop’s here.”
Maybe my grandchildren will look out during one of their school plays, ball games, or graduations and say, “PopPop came!”
I hope so.
But those events pale into insignificance in comparison to the retired general saving his family from death by Hamas’ violent hands.
And for that, I am grateful: grateful that for me showing up is enough for now; grateful that we live in a secure place for now; grateful that my grandchildren are free to compete in athletic events, excel in school, and revel in theatric performances if that’s what they choose to do. I hope I never have to rescue anyone with a handgun or any gun (God forbid).
As for the people in Israel, as well as the Palestinians who have had no choice but to suffer under Hamas’ rule, as well as live for years in an unenviable situation, I can show up with my daily prayers for peace; I can contribute to organizations that can help our friends in Israel.
And if I have to dive into a raging river, jump in front of a locomotive, or race into a burning building to save my children or grandchildren, I would—without hesitation.
For now—showing up at their ball games, school events, picnics, or standing by their side when all seems stacked against them—is enough for me.
For now, the best words I think I can hear are: “PopPop came!”