“How long did it take you to qualify as a sharpshooter in the IDF?”
“Not too long. I had natural way with rifle. I start out at 15 meters, then up to 30, 50, 100, 400 then all the way up to,” she hesitates, “classified meters.”
Israeli soldiers are famously and appropriately tight-lipped regarding training and operational details.
Yael–not her real name for reasons of, yup, security–is an unbelievably beautiful young Israeli woman. Her mocha skin— flawless, like dark glass—testifies to a Bukharin father and Yemenite mother, a genetic mix I strongly recommend. She looks like supermodel Joan Smalls, only more beautiful—and um, lethal.
Yael sits ram-rod straight. Her neck is swan-like, and her fingernails—lacquered red as a Chinese vase—are sharp as switchblades. Melting over her head is raven hair with a sprinkling of bronze highlights, a post-punk babe.
It’s Friday night, Shabbos in Israel, my wife Karen and I are visiting our childhood friend Deborah. We all attended the Yeshiva of Flatbush together. Deborah married an Israeli and has been living in Israel ever since. Yael is Deborah’s daughter-in-law.
“Are you also proficient with a pistol?” I ask
“I qualify with polymer Jericho.”
“I understand you’re also a black belt in Karate.”
I look at Yael’s husband, an unassuming and bookish young man.
“What happens when you guys have an argument?”
“She wins,” he deadpans.
“When you shoot do you have such long fingernails?”
She glances fondly at her dagger tips, shakes her head side to side.
“No, of course not. When I shoot, these are gone.”
She folds her hands in her lap. Yael’s fingers are long and tapered, perfect little animals for trigger-pulling. I notice that she has the ability to stay still as a pilaster. Her stillness is taut, like a coiled steel spring, stillness that reminds me of a cobra.
“The Mossad try to recruit me to foreign countries to train special units in counterterrorist tactics,” Yael says.
“Tsk, tsk, I cannot say.”
“We know how to operate in urban environment, three-dimensional warfare. We have much experience,” she adds.
Hmm, I heard rumors that the U.S. had quietly brought over Israeli soldiers, consultants to help train our troops for the rigors and complexities of warfare in Iraq and Afghanistan, warfare against the IslamoNazi enemy.
“They were paying so many money,” she sighs.
“I decide to stay home. Take care of my man.”
“Yes, he is.”
Yael’s husband cheerfully nods.
Screenwriter’s question: “What was your motivation?”
“Moto-what?” Yael’s English is charmingly imperfect.
“Your reasons for becoming a sharpshooter?”
She shrugs, ponders a moment: “It was challenge. I just want to prove that I can do this. That I have the ta… ta.. what is the word?”
“That is it.”
“There has to be more.”
I’m a Hollywood screenwriter. I expect grand speeches about patriotism, fighting the IslamoNazi terrorists, protecting the Jewish state.
But Yael is a tough Israeli woman. She lives in a dangerous neighborhood. It’s all she’s ever known. The abnormal is an Israeli normal. Thus her motivation boils down to a somewhat casual, but down-to-earth approach to her craft.
“What about the future,” I probe.
Abruptly, Yael lunges forward in her chair as if zapped by a bolt of electricity. It’s the most animated she’s been since we met.
“Children. I want to be mother.”
Yael glances at her husband. He offers a crisp salute.
Like a little girl, the sharpshooter giggles.
Deborah’s husband, Yael’s father-in-law, fought with General Ariel Sharon’s brigade in the 1973 Yom Kippur War, the unit that crossed the Suez and enveloped the Egyptian Third Army, Operation Gazelle.
Karen and I walk back to our hotel.
We pass the Cafe Hillel.
A tiny gasp bobs from Karen’s throat.
We remember Dr. David Applebaum, his daughter, Nava and seven innocents who were butchered by an Arab Muslim homicide bomber.
Further down the block we pass another cafe that has twice been targeted by homicide bombers, but each time armed and brave citizens blocked the terrorist’s path.
Israel is ground zero for all murderous jihadist tactics. There is no difference between the Palestinian Authority, Hamas, Hizbollah and ISIS And when the world excuses Jew killing as somehow different, when the world willingly accepts lies and grievances as legitimate reasons to murder Jews, well, the terrorists are emboldened in every corner of the globe. They realize that any dumb, half-baked grievance will do, because grievances are a dime a dozen — thus the Islamist fascists are given the green light to kill anyone, anywhere.