Unlike some other exchange of views (see below), this one was the kind of discussion that could take place even at the breakfast table, not needing the sense of acuity it would have had at a late-night pontification session when you’re trying to be profound but it’s past your bedtime, nor the sense of giddiness it might have had at a kiddush over an overload of assorted beverages. It would never have turned into an argument, since neither disputant felt the sense of certainty that turns a difference of opinion into an all-out war of words. It started out as an after thought about something that had happened the day before.

Sunday afternoon found me hunched over my iMac, putting the finishing touches on the article I was working on (the one I just published), when I heard the sound I never want to hear. It was the beep, beep, beep from my UPS (uninterrupted power supply) attached to my computer, alerting me that we had lost power. Barbara ran out of our apartment and insisted that the light in the hallway was also out, meaning it wasn’t just us; it was at least the whole building, a section of our neighborhood, or who knows how far.

I can’t work to the incessant racket from my UPS, so I turned it and my iMac off and found something to read. Two hours later when the power still had not been restored, to satisfy my own curiosity, I inspected the box with our circuit breakers and discovered the truth. Barbara, get up off the couch. We’re the problem. Our main circuit breaker is down.

We’ve had this happen before, so we knew what to do. Get the list of which circuit breakers go with what part of the house. Turn them all off. Then turn on the main ones. One by one, turn each breaker on until we get to the troublemaker, and everything goes off again. What’s this? #11, the outlet next to our meat sink? That makes no sense. With a little bit of investigating, we realized it wasn’t the outlet but the electric kettle plugged into it. Which reminded Barbara that she had cleaned out the calcium deposits in the kettle a few hours before. Maybe she had gotten water where it didn’t belong, and that was causing everything to short out. Let’s let it dry out overnight. Either it will work just fine tomorrow morning, or we’ll be heading to Lior in the mall to buy a new model.

The next morning, I carefully and cautiously plugged in the kettle, and when nothing untoward happened, filled it with water and turned it on. OK! We’re in business. Barbara was right about having gotten water in the circuitry. No need to head to Lior in the mall. Then, a few minutes later, something occurred to me. I told Barbara, Even if we needed to buy a new kettle, I’d rather we waited until tomorrow. Because of the strike.

While we had been concerned about our temporary loss of power – a minor problem at best – the news was spreading throughout The Land. Six of the hostages, all of them young, some of them on a list to be returned if a deal were to be reached, had lost their lives. They had been killed (or if you prefer, murdered, eliminated, executed, dispatched, massacred, put to death, assassinated, terminated, or simply offed) by Hamas shortly before they could be rescued by our troops, who were in the area.

And while I was testing to see if my kettle would work, a significant percentage of the Israeli labor force had themselves stopped working because the Histadrut had called a general strike, effective for a few hours in much of the country (not Ma’ale Adumim, a Likud stronghold). So, no, the new kettle, which we did not need after all, would have had to wait until the next day, because I would not have gone to our local Lior, which would have been closed if it were in another mall in another town. If that makes any sense.

But that chance remark, one that didn’t need to have been made, was the start of a conversation that we hadn’t planned on having and was similar to others we have had over the months. (Are you still with me?)

This may come as a surprise, but my better half had some thoughts, or at least some well-considered questions on the matter at hand, which she was – as always – more than willing to share with me. Aren’t these demonstrations showing our ‘neighbors’ just how divided we are? I think they’ve figured it out themselves by now without any help from our side. Plus they’re counter-productive. It wasn’t that long ago that there were similar demonstrations against the widely unpopular judicial ‘reforms,’ which my wife hadn’t object to. The large-scale demonstrations seem the same, but the issue at hand now is even more gut-wrenching. Equally as controversial, however.

There is a difference of opinion between Barbara and me about what the nation should be doing concerning our current ‘situation.’ The starting point for the most excellent wife is always to bring up the Gilad Shalit deal, in which Israel allowed some 1000 Hamasniks – including the Sinwar character – to once again walk the earth as free men in exchange for the release of one bedraggled Israeli, the aforementioned Shalit, the extent of that fiasco being obvious to anyone. In other words, don’t make the same mistake again is what Barbara keeps pointing out.

Here’s a tip for anybody out there. If you’re having a discussion, and the person sitting opposite you makes a good point, don’t just sit or stand there, say something as compelling in response. (Either that, or walk away, head bowed in defeat.) What do you think the families of the hostages and their supporters should be doing right about now? Should they be resigned to their loved ones suffering a slow, painful death at the hands of their tormentors? Because the army won’t be rescuing them anytime soon – or at all. Not alive, at any rate. Should the protestors accept a reality in which their loved ones are sacrificed for the welfare of the nation. Is that what you are suggesting? Better that than make an admittedly less-than-perfect deal to free the dwindling number left alive – which the protestors believe could be achieved – if only.

Imagine what you’re thinking if it’s your loved one in a dank, dark tunnel somewhere in Gaza. One friend of ours, sizing up the situation, tried to square the circle. Yes, he would be out there demanding the release of his special hostage, but at the same time, he would be hoping the government would pay him no mind. (No you wouldn’t. That would be cognitive dissonance on steroids.)

What prevents this difference of opinion from becoming acrimonious is the realization that we have more local issues to argue about. Like, why I can’t remember to turn off the light in the dining room when I’m finished davening. Or why I can’t push in my chair in the kitchen when I’m finished eating. (If we’re going to have a dispute, let it be about something we can resolve!)

But there’s something that we both realize, and that’s the dizzying diversity of opinions on this and similar topics, all of which are presented with equal vehemence and a sense of certainty. One person says that without the direct, ongoing involvement of the Americans none of the hostages would ever have been released. Another says that it was only the infernal meddling by these same Americans that has prevented Israel from completing its destruction of Hamas. Almost all the tunnels in Gaza have already been destroyed, says one person. You’re talking out of your hat, says another, we don’t even know how many tunnels there were to begin with, and our ideas to flood them proved ridiculous. ‘Total victory,’ says one. ‘Total victory,’ my Aunt Tillie’s left foot, says another. In many ways, we’ve already lost. All the while our borders have shrunk and whole communities are still camped out in hotels or in make-shift quarters elsewhere. I could go on, but I think you get the point.

I had a somewhat unnerving conversation at my favorite coffee shop with someone who had little good to say about a certain Exilic Politician, opining that said E.P. did not share ‘our’ (i.e., Israel’s) pain. I let the remark go, although I wondered how he knew that and if he thought that E.P.s opponents (E.P.O’s.) ‘shared our pain.’ One might wonder how many people out there – let alone world leaders – sufficiently ‘share our pain.’ Personally, I’d be content if more of them simply had our backs once in a while. Maybe we should content ourselves with sharing each other’s pain. Some anonymous person posted a large ad in, of all places, Makor Rishon, a local religious right-wing newspaper: (English translation) “What have you done? Hark, your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground.” (Many of you will recognize the source and understand the reference.)

Do you think we can let a Shabbat kiddush go by without the good folks assembled weighing in on these matters? No we cannot! Recently, one participant, exasperated that the person sitting opposite had a different opinion, cried out in frustration, YOU’VE GOT TUNNEL VISION! And what was my immediate response to these words of rebuke? No my friends, the hostages, kept underground these many months, they‘re the ones with tunnel vision.

Those of us fortunate enough to breathe the fresh air of Ma’ale Adumim, we see the world in a different way. Think of all the men with limited vision crowding around the elephant in the room, each grabbing a different part of the pachyderm’s anatomy. Every one of them, of course, will give a description in minute detail as to what the animal looks like, none of which will bear the slightest resemblance to any other account or even what the elephant looks like. All I can suggest to each of the participants is, while you’re proclaiming your certain knowledge, be careful where you are walking. The elephant has left something behind. Don’t step in it.

(Coming soon to the computer, tablet, or smart phone of your choice, the next episode of The Dreaded ‘M’ Word.)