4Isaac swung around, catching a brief glimpse of himself in the mirror. The image shocked him. Little over six foot and balding. His face was scarred, not from any real wound but from the everyday horror that was the Middle East. His khaki fatigues, belts, buckles and ammunition clips rattled. He leaned forward then turned suddenly on his boot-clad heel. Little Jacob was staring up at him. Once again he saw himself, this time through the wet, rounded softness of his son's eyes. Still an alien look, it too disturbed Isaac's sense of himself.
"It's okay Jacob. I will be back in a few days"
"But Abba . why? Don't go," the little one flinging himself onto his father as he pleaded.
Isaac was halfway out the door before he replied, "It is my duty son. You too will have your day". He offered the same lie that his father had given him, "One day you will understand".
The short walk to Hebron barracks was littered with the refuse of religious warfare; Zionistic and Islamic slogans scarred the barren, dusty landscape.
The barracks themselves seemed to be slumped in despair. His monthly visit was always a time of mixed feelings. The manic rambling of his commander made him proud of being a Jew but he feared the look of contempt that come from the eyes of his neighbourhood enemies in the streets. Sure, the hatred was always there, but with a gun in his hand their fears and loathing focused. His mission today, to apprehend Sinan Elbaz, a known Palestinian terrorist. He had seen the photos of this man's handiwork; bodies of innocents slumped on the grounds of their streets and markets. Any sense of doubt dissolved.
Isaac and the troops were driven to the search area. It was mid-afternoon. Isaac sighed in relief, at least he was away his home, from the people he knew. The orders for the position of the Special operations men were barked out. The reserves were told to wait for a signal before breaching the perimeter.
They waited.
The silence of the house was punctuated with the crack of automatic weapons and sledgehammers. The bulldozers started in the distance. The time was right. The signal came. Two men on each corner of the house, Isaac and his chief advisor, Joseph, came from the road. Isaac entered. Their task was simple, to "mop up" after the crack troops. The "real" soldiers loved their work and by the time Isaac entered the house had been torn apart.
With guns drawn, Isaac and Joseph crept inside. He signalled Joseph to check the lounge room as he checked upstairs. The stairs moaned and creaked at every shifting of Isaac's weight. An icy wind shrieked and howled through a cracked window in the stair well. Isaac looked across the parched landscape. The ridges were highlighted by the eerie glow emitted by the waxing crescent moon.
He lumbered unconcerned through the hallway, edging doors open and peering in as he passed.
He heard the staccato firing from a gun ring out from down-stairs and turned sharply on his heel to pursue it. By the time he reached the stairs, his radio crackled. The words "Man down, man down" screamed in his ear, blending in with the sound of more shots. He edged his way down the stairs. By the time he reached the foot, the gunfire had stopped. He heard sobbing coming from the living room and ran in, weapon cocked. A child sat crying and rocking, head nestled in his mother's still chest. Joseph, fatally wounded lay gurgling pathetically in the corner of the room.
Isaac laid down his gun and moved toward the child in sympathy. A sudden blow knocked him off his feet and sent him flying through the air. As he hit the ground he felt every muscle, tendon and joint screaming painfully at him. He leapt to his feet, only to be met with the whoosh of a knife narrowly missing his head. He ducked as blow-by-blow his attacker swung. He saw his gun out of the corner of his eye. Too far away.
Isaac turned and charged at his attacker. He grabbed his hand and stopped the frenzied slashing of the knife. He felt a sting in his jaw as his mouth filled with blood and his head snapped left. He linked his legs around the man and used both hands on the arm with the knife. They fought and scratched and bit and spat. Each fighter in a primitive struggle to survive, to control the weapon. It inched slowly one way then was forced back the other. Isaac glared deep into his opponent's eyes. It was Elbaz, this he knew, but it didn't matter now. Their brown eyes, cloudy from terror met painfully, so much the same, so different.
Isaac detected a slight pause in Elbaz's focus. He siezed on it, gained control of the knife and with his victim's hands enveloping his own slowly, almost carefully planted the long blade deep into the man's chest. The man wheezed, coughed and turned his head away. No screams. No terror. Isaac had won the battle for life but felt lifeless. It was then that he turned to face what Elbaz himself could not face; the wide-eyed stare of the boy.
His eyes filled with pain. A sob rose in Isaac's throat. Isaac glared into the child's soft blue eyes. A new image now faced him. This vicious cycle would continue for ever and ever until none were left and the two mighty towers of civilisation tumbled down. Though distorted with pain and confusion he saw his future and that of his people. In this child's eyes he saw pain that would soon become hate and confusion that would dissolve into the absolute knowledge that life had meaning in death.
And then he understood.