Dad promised it was the last war, but I know my children will go to the army • We built a solid wall, and today we look at fireworks with pride • An especially patriotic column for Independence Day

My dad, the most honest person I know - lied to me. He, who always educated me to tell only the truth, even to myself, was the one who looked at me with a disappointed look when I didn't keep my word, he, who punished me for scratching from scratch and rewarded me for my honesty.

This dad who asked "Who's here eating chocolate now?" And he didn't laugh when I said "I don't know" and Abel Pi carried a scent of cocoa to him.

He did not mean to lie, or to deliberately deceive me, but I believed him when he sang to me every night before bed;

"I assure you, my little girl, that this will be the last war."

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I was born into the first intifada, my brother was born to the Gulf War and my sister to the wave of terror attacks of the late 1990s. This man, who promised no wars, raised an elite unit fighter and two officers.

He taught us that promises must be fulfilled, but so were reserves.

So I wonder, if I'm not mistaken, that I have every reason to fear - my kids will go to the military, like my dad, like me and like the kids of Winter '73.

Because we have no power to stop the desire to drive us back into exile, and we cannot prevent radical Islam from sanctifying suicide bombings. We have no way of making anyone who murdered a family in her sleep a devotee of sanity. We can never talk to anyone whose mission is not to be here - that's the reality.

So someday, I hope that soon, I will bring children too, hope that most often. I will not assure them that they will not go to the army, but I will ensure that they have the best army.

Because all we could do was prepare for the next wars, and we did it my son, with dedication, excellence and talent in the heaps. Brick after brick, we built a solid wall, between you and your fellow seekers. Now it's your turn.

My son, we mark 72 years today, where mother, grandfather and all uncles cried on Memorial Day and wept in fireworks. Cry in pain for the price and cry in tears of Israeli pride. The next day they returned to prepare everything needed for future generations.

So I assure you, my little boy, that we did everything, to be safe here.

And more than that, you have a country ahead.

And you, Abush, I forgive you for not telling the truth, but I won't forgive the chocolate you didn't give.

Happy birthday.