I place my fingers on his waist and lift him way up high
He flings his arms around my neck and looks me in the eye
“I love you”, says the little boy, solemn and sincere
Then suddenly his face lights up; he grins from ear to ear
A favorite song* begins to play; I’m shaken from my trance
The little boy looks up and asks, “Mommy, want to dance?”
He takes my hand in his, and then he hugs me tight
We move around in circles, swaying left and right
I hold him close, the little boy – my lips against his hair
Unable to contain my joy – an answer to a prayer
“I love you too,” I whisper, and kiss him on the head
He snuggles in my arms as I carry him to bed
* The song is called “Angels Collide“, by singer-songwriter Paul Abro.
I’m curious Liz, because you said we could ask questions, about the elephant in the room.
Hi d. Please feel free to ask anything you like. The only reason I haven’t written the post yet is because I’m hoping to get a few more questions (I’ve gotten several via Facebook, but would love to get more).
[…] I’ve been vilified (I think the best insult I ever received was when someone wrote in a comment that I was spreading ideological AIDS and that the Israeli government needed to decide whether or not I should be locked up for treason) and called everything from stupid to naïve (for having the audacity to think that I live a normal life, when I actually live in a war zone and should be teaching my son how to use an Uzi, and perhaps carrying a weapon of my own and wearing a bullet-proof vest when I go out for cappuccino). I’ve been praised and received some pretty impressive compliments (including one from last week a website called Tripbase that absolutely blew me away – “Liza Rosenberg’s writing is breezy, innovative and pithy – applied to the subject of Israeli living, we are treated to one of the most unique journals to come out of the country.”) I’ve dialogued with and earned respect from those who disagree with my beliefs, and alongside that, I’ve also made quite a few people pretty angry. I’ve learned that I can write myself into an emotional crash and burn, and I’ve learned that I can also write myself out of it. […]