Yesterday, as the sun was going down and most were getting their menorahs ready for the first Chanukah light, my son and other volunteers were busy fighting an arson fire. That probably was not on any of your news sources but it's another form of Arab terror.
This past Shabbat was deemed The Captives’ Shabbat, inspired by the verse
in our weekly Torah portion, Vayeshev, chapter 37, verse 16, where Yosef
states, My brothers I seek. When I entered the synagogue Friday night I was
struck by two things.
At every seat was a placard bearing the name of one of the captives and a
brief description of them. Mine was Zachi Eden, the son of Dvora who was
kidnapped from his home in Nahal Gaza. He’s married with three children and a soccer
fan.
Leading the prayers was my youngest son who, along with his unit, was
released from service last week and we were privileged to host him and his
family for Shabbat. There are no bounds to my gratitude.
Yet, as part of me shed tears of thankfulness to have him back another part
cried for all the mothers whose children are still not home. I’ve added Eden to
my prayer list. We cannot any of forget them. Rather, we must storm the media
and the gates of prayer to bring them home.
All of them.
Last week, on
the day following taking my youngest son back to Gaza and visiting the memorial
site of the Nova festival, I found myself tied up in knots. I seriously
considered going for counseling until I did a mental checklist. Despite my
tension, I was fulfilling my obligations, relating well to my family and friends,
and generally coping, albeit constantly tired. I decided there was no point spending time and
money to hear that I am dealing with stress. The whole country is dealing with
stress. What I need to know is how to handle the stress. All this was on my mind
as I made my way to the Kotel. Once there I had an excellent therapy session
with The Master Analyst. It calmed me down and I plan to return for an additional
session this week. That's how I plan to handle the stress.
When I first
moved to Shilo we were a village of seventy families, and we all knew each
other. As we’ve quadrupled in size that is no longer true, however we are all
connected. Since the war began four of our Shilo boys were injured, all sons of
old-timers. Thankfully all have recovered or are well on their way to recovery.
And then on Shabbat another of our young men was seriously injured in a ramming
attack and we’re praying for Ophir Ben Shoshana Zipporah.
Meanwhile the
miracles continue. Thursday night my son’s tank ran over an incendiary device in Gaza.
It exploded but somehow neither my son nor his comrades were injured.
Along with my
prayers for Ophir are ones of thankfulness for my son. I pray that he and all
the other soldiers remain safe. I pray for the hostages, the evacuees, and the
injured to come home safe and whole. Please HaShem make it happen. Please make
the most major miracle of all and defeat the evil.
Yesterday was a hard day for me emotionally. Among other things, two of my sons returned to duty, one to Gaza, the other to the border. It’s nothing new. For fourteen months thousands of mothers, including myself, have had their children fighting in Gaza, Lebanon, and other hot spots. Why was I having a difficult time yesterday? Because we’re tired. The soldiers are tired. Their wives are tired. Their children are tired. Their parents are tired. Yet, we have no choice but to overcome our exhaustion and fight until we have total victory over evil and bring everyone home-the soldiers, the captives, the evacuees, and the injured. It’s not easy. Yesterday I turned to my faith, remembered all the good that I do have, and decided to move forward. Am Yisroel Chai. We want to stay alive!
My middle child
is back in the army stationed near Kissufim, one of the villages that was
overrun and nearly destroyed by Arab terrorists on Simchat Torah last year.
Friday he sent out this translated message on our family group: Anyone who
needs challahs, cakes, bags of snacks, drinks, or toothpaste is happily invited
to come here. The amount of donations doesn’t stop.
How heartwarming to
read that even after 405 days of war, our soldiers are not being forgotten.
What is even more heartwarming is that since many of the residents of Kissufim
and other nearby towns have not yet returned home, most of those donations came
from places as far as 60-80 miles away.
Of course, we’re
a country full of Jewish mothers who kvell to feed our children in uniform. If
only a chocolate chip cookie could win the war, we would have had total victory
months ago.
On another note,
that same son informed me that his unit enabled the transfer of truckload after
truckload full of flour to Gaza last week. The transfer was supervised by both
European and American observers. Is any other country in the world expected to
feed its enemy? I don’t think so. Apparently the world knows that the Jewish People
are special.
Yesterday I took a break from reality and strolled along the Mediterranean beach for a couple of hours. It was so peaceful and serene, except for the army helicopters on patrol flying overhead.
