He Who blessed our forefathers Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob—may He bless the fighters of the Israel Defense Forces, who stand guard over our land and our cities of our God, from the border of Lebanon to the desert of Egypt, and from the Great Sea unto the approach of the Arava, on the land, in the air, and on the sea.
—Prayer for Israeli Soldiers
Avi was intent on making it home. Friends in the unit would be taken back for proper military burial, which was so much a part of life in Israel. However, Avi would make it home in one piece as he promised his mother he would. Unfortunately, Yosef, his younger brother, did not.
The Merkava tanks rolled over the hot desert sand on a trail once used by ancient merchants making their way north to trade for spices, silk, and dry goods. Avi marched alongside an armored Humvee on the Israeli side of the border. His mission was to rescue soldiers captured by Hezbollah militants and taken into Lebanon. He leaned forward into the dry wind, which was spitting sand in his face and eyes. His teeth and mouth were grimy with dirt. He trudged forward on a trail that three generations of Steins had marched on before him. The blood of twenty-five hundred years of fighting in the same desert shifted in the sand beneath his boots. Again the nagging questions he could not shake ran through his mind. Is it worth it? He heard a voice ask. Is there no other way? Will your son, a little boy now, fight the same enemy twenty years from now? Will the son of your enemy do the same? Is it your destiny to kill and to be killed? Is that your future? Is that what your son will do? Hasn’t there been enough suffering, enough blood spilled, and enough death?
“This is our land and I have been called...
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