I can not even imagine the pain of it. How can one even fathom the gehinom (h-ll) of three years in limbo?
Gilad Shalit was, as my son is today, a few months past his basic training, a wisp of a man, only 19, when he was captured by Hamas.That day was three years ago. Try to consider being a mother of that son, living 1096 twenty-four hour days not knowing if your son is alive or dead. If he is healthy or not? Sane or not? Being beaten and humiliated or not? With hope in his heart or fear that he has been forgotten or given up as dead? How can one survive such gut-wrenching uncertainty... not for one tense week, not a month, but three years? Those of us with special-needs children, who have undergone surgery, and been perhaps even at times in a state of danger, know that fear. That uncertainty. But I want you to take that dread, and stretch it out for three years. Imagine the apprehension felt when even the Red Cross is denied access to your son. Does that mean that he is dead? That he is in such a poor state that Hamas can not allow the world to see?
Unfortunately, I do not believe that Israel should release hundreds of terrorists in exchange for Gilad. I understand if his parents feel differently. I surely would too if it was my son. I spoke once with my son, and we both agreed that releasing Hamas operatives to do more of the same is lunacy.
But I feel for Gilad’s parents, and if Israel would stop allowing Red Cross (and family) access to our prisoners, until the Palestinians cough up Gilad Shalit, yes I think I could agree to that.