Over the years I guess I've heard many Six Day War stories. I didn't know it at the time but for a reason I won't go into now it proved to be a life changing event for me; even though in June 1967 I was barely a teenager who had just started high school in a place as far away from the war as you can get without leaving the planet.
Here's a great story from Eleanor who also was in a distant place at the time.
Not as distant as we might have thought, I suggest.
elinor אלינור
MY DAUGHTER AND THE SIX DAY WAR
In May, 1967 my daughter ran into
the side of an open door and cut her forehead on the thingy that keeps the door
in place when it’s shut. Ive heard it called a tongue. In any case, she ran
screaming into the family room, bleeding copiously from a scalp wound—which by
now we have discovered bleeds like unleashed Hell.
I tossed her into the car, rushed
her to the hospital and fortunately ran into the surgeon I had worked with
before she was born. Who-who-who? I articulated. I’ll get Frank, he said,
rushing off to find his junior.
Frank greeted me on the run, grabbed the child
and carted her into a small operating room which had no doubt seen the blood of
many, many Montrealers. No more than 30 minutes had passed since she’d run into
the door. I had no idea how frightening all the subsequent rushing and parents
yelling and wildly driving and horrid hospital smells must have been for
her. She was not quite four years old.
A nurse came in and cleansed her
forehead with Betadine—which looks exactly like blood, being composed of an
iodine solution. She took one look at the descending sponge and let out a
howl. She kicked, she tossed her head, she screamed, she moaned, she rolled,
she did every living thing a human can do to avoid being treated. I tried to
calm her but she was ‘way beyond reason.
Finally, the young surgeon said
You’ll have to leave so that we can tie her down. Oh my God—well, at least
they’re not going to tranquilise her. I
left.
Some minutes later my sobbing,
bandaged daughter was returned to me. Her scar healed beautifully and I was so
grateful to the young surgeon who had stuck with his
mission.
Several months later my daughter
and I met the surgeon on the street. Hey Frank, how are you? Oh, he said, I
feel quite rested now. Rested? What’s happened? Well, he said, as soon as the
Six Day War was declared, I flew over to Israel and signed up. I saw many
interesting and unusual wounds and learned a great deal about wartime
surgery—but we operated day and night. How was it? I asked
sympathetically. Bending to check my daughter’s scar, he whispered Easier than
her…
cross posted Israel Thrives
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Honestly mate, your not the brightest bulb on the tree. If you think I treat Israel as a toy you are even stupider than your posts seem.
It's an interesting exercise and my Israeli friends thought it was pretty cool. SO... tell you what, rant and rave at your blog and let me know how it turns out. Ok?