Dad, they are tired of fighting. They want to play tennis.
When a mortar shell slammed into our tennis club building, from where we could see the first row of houses in Gaza, my six-year-old daughter said:
“Dad, why don’t we shoot back tennis balls with the club’s tennis ball launcher? Maybe they will want to play with us and then there will be peace.”
We went to the club. I found the tennis ball launcher next to a pile of mortar debris. It seemed as if it was waiting for me.
So I started firing tennis balls towards Gaza.
My little daughter jumped with joy.
They kept firing mortar shells towards us and I fired tennis balls towards them.
Then sometimes they fired back tennis balls.
They fired fewer and fewer mortar shells, more and more tennis balls.
Until they fired only tennis balls.
“Dad, they are tired of fighting. They want to play tennis.”
My daughter ran around in circles, then in zigzags, calling out: “War is over! War is over!”