"It was all worth it— just so that young children can grow up here"
ITwas the pronounced limp that gave him away. The weather-beaten man in his seventies was sitting in the shade of a jeep at the top of the Tzor’a Ridge, a hill overlooking Beit Shemesh, and playing chess with a slightly younger equivalent when I walked past with my wife and toddler.
At the intersection of back-country trails and with a view stretching all the way to Ashkelon, Tzor’a draws teens on ATVs, families on Yom Ha’atzmaut barbecues, and people losing themselves in the sunsets.
The last clearly included the man who limped toward us to say hello.
“I’m a veteran,” he said by way of greeting, gesturing in explanation toward his crippled leg.
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