A Sabra is an Israeli born Israeli.
I was born an Israeli thanks to Dad, but because I was born in England, thanks to Mum, I am not a Sabra. However, my husband and my children are Sabras.
Sabra is also Hebrew for prickly pear. It is said that like the fruit Israelis are tough and prickly on the outside, soft and sweet on the inside.
This generally holds true. The problem is how to get through that tough prickly outside.
After long, painful experience I am now able to peel the actual fruit almost to perfection, so that the recipient suffers no stray prickles in their tongue or throat.
The metaphorical Sabra is still a challenge. I manage to avoid most prickles either by careful handling or, in truly desperate situations, by just avoiding the Sabra all together.
Occasionally I still get stuck by a prickle which it normally more hair-pullingly irritating than painful, but most of the time I get to taste the sweet, soft centre.
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1 comment:
Oh Ester, I have missed hearing from or about you. Do not know if you remember me, but I am Auntie Glenna. I have been hoping you were Ok, knowing your closeness to the border. Love hearing about the children and my they are really doing great. I did library work when we were stationed in Turkey, in 1960. Back then we had cards not computers and I did the typing etc. Take care.
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