This morning I woke up to the news that Hassan Nasrallah, Secretary-general of Hezbollah, was killed in Lebanon during an Israeli air strike in Beirut. Nasrallah was an avid hater of Israel and was responsible for making much of the north of Israel unlivable since October 8, 2023. He was the head of Iran’s proxy, Hezbollah, a Shia Islamic terrorist organization based in southern Lebanon. A perpetrator of misery, I certainly wasn’t mourning him. However, I was displeased getting off the exit on a beautiful Saturday morning after dropping my son off at a friend’s to see three young men handing out candy to cars, wearing Israeli flags.
Most people didn’t roll down their windows, but some did.
I dropped off some groceries and told my husband and daughter, I have to run an errand. Lior looked at me suspiciously, “Where are you going?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Now I do want to know,” he said.
So, I told him. He rolled his eyes and asked me to please not to. But the man has been married to me long enough to know that I could not be deterred.
“I don’t want our kids seeing people celebrating death. At least I can say I tried talking to them. I know it will do nothing,” I said.
So, I walked to the corner, about 200 feet from our apartment. It is the same corner where there have been protests trying to save Israel’s democracy; protests begging to bring the hostages home. Now, here I was, wearing a purple “Bunny Rock Run 5K Egg Hunt” going to talk to these three guys.
I crossed two streets to the grassy median which housed their, to my surprise, chocolate wafers, not candy, and asked the leader if I could speak to him and if he could speak in English. He was about 5”10, had blond hair and blue eyes, was shirtless, and wearing the Israeli flag as a cape.
“It’s a glorious day,” he said with a wide grin.
“I see that you think that, but I don’t agree with what you are doing,” I said politely.
As I took out my phone to show him the Biblical verse, he said it in Hebrew at breathtaking speed. “Yes, I know, but this is not about religion, this is about my country.”
And then I saw. He and his friends were not wearing head coverings (kippot). They were not religious, as I had assumed.
“But don’t you think this makes your country look ugly by celebrating death?” I asked him.
“Listen, I have hated Nasrallah since I was a very little boy,” he said. “There is no one that I have hated more. Him being dead is the best thing that can happen. This is a glorious day. It is a day to celebrate.”
“It’s hard for me to understand,” I said.
His wide smile narrowed. “My father died in the Second Lebanon War. Nasrallah killed him. I’ve been waiting for this day my whole life.”
“I am very sorry for the loss of your father,” I said. “That must have been very hard.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I was told he was a good man.”
With those words, I looked down at the ground. I saw that there was a lot of trash from their boxes of wafers.
“Do you want me to throw those away for you?” I asked.
“No, you don’t have to,” he said. “The police took my ID number. They told me if there is even one piece of garbage I will be fined.”
I picked up the garbage and put it in the plastic bag that they had there and went on my way. I stuffed it in the garbage can next to where the protests will be tonight to bring the hostages home.
I should have recycled the empty wafer boxes, but I didn’t feel like it.
A few hours later, I brought my daughter to pick up my son. When we returned they were still out there handing out wafers.
My friend came right up to the car.
The kids became excited seeing the wafers.
I smiled and waved at him, but did not roll down the windows.
We do not celebrate another man’s death, and besides, we have ice cream at home.
