It’s 2:30 a.m. and I wake up with a start. Where is he right now? Is my son safe on his base or is he navigating his way through some dark alley or half-exposed tunnel in Gaza?
My imagination, or maybe my mother’s intuition, has woken me from sleep to anxiety and dread. I have become one of the IDF mothers who can only pray and hope that all will be well and that I will soon hear my son’s voice again, telling me, “Don’t worry, Mom.”
He called before Shabbat to let us know he would be going in and that he would not have access to his phone. His father and I silently check off the hours and wait impatiently for the news updates. Sirens and alerts have little meaning for us. It is the news bulletins of soldier movements in Gaza which rivet us. We understand that he has a mission to accomplish and that we are in an existential struggle, but the enemy is cruel, without scruples and it is the child we love most in the whole world who faces this implacable foe. We cannot be there to help him, not this time.
Family members and friends call to ask how we are doing and offer their support. We could not keep calm and grounded without them. We try to keep busy with daily tasks to stop the irrational fears, to remember why we made aliyah and that Israel is worth all of this. We must stay strong and keep believing in the power of prayer. Tehillim groups [reciting Psalms] have been formed with our friends and shul [synagogue] group, and all the prayers and love we can send are offered both to our son and to all the other sons and daughters, both young and older, for we are all one family. We are the family of Israel.