Every morning I wake up and for a split second, before I’m completely awake, while my mind is still a bit foggy from sleep, I simply forget that life here in Israel has literally been turned upside-down. For that split second, I think nothing has really changed and life is just the same as it’s always been, normal, pre-7 October.
And then it’s gone, that split second of normalcy vanishes and I remember the reality I’m waking up to.
This happens every morning.
And I notice it every morning just because of that jarring reality check that brings me right back.
As soon as my mind clears, I get a sinking feeling in my stomach.
Oh yes… We’re at war. 1300+ people dead, thousands injured, 200+ kidnapped and 500k+ forced to evacuate their homes.
And that fleeting, split-second false memory, remains just a wish, a dream, a yearning.
I wish I could have that life back…
But this is the reality we’re in…
Saturday morning, a week after the massacre, my son in the army sent a message to say he’s going to be offline for a few days.
“Don’t worry,” he writes, “It’s just a few days and I’ll be back in contact.”
I’m usually very calm. I’m not the kind of Mom that stays up worrying when my kids are out with their friends or traveling overseas. I generally have an inner trust that things will be okay.
But in this crazy time, imagining a few days without being in contact with Idan, raised an anxiety that I’d never known before. My breath would catch and my heart beat faster every time I thought about him. I’d consciously stop for a moment and send out a prayer for his safety.
That first night, I decided to go for a run with my friends. It helped to get out and get moving, even though that was a bit of an adrenaline-raising experience. While we were running, we heard the booms, looked up and spotted 3 orange rockets shooting out above us. We ran for cover.
Thankfully intercepted by the iron dome, we managed to complete our run and return home safely.
Four days later, we received a message from Idan.
“We’re making our way back to base and you can come visit. Leave in about 2 hours and then I’ll be able to see you.”
This was better than we could have expected. Not only was he returning to base and relative safety, we’d have a chance to see him!
So what would any Mom do?
Bake, of course!
I was going to bake some of his favourite things – scones and date biscuits.
And we’d take something yummy for anyone else on the base who is missing some good home cooking – barbecued kebab rolls. Everyone loves a good barbecue! (Or braai, as us South Africans would say.)
We were spurred to action at the prospect of seeing Idan and in a short time we had a production line going, yummy food and snacks to take with us.
And off we went, a 2-hour drive down to the South of Israel. We spent a couple of hours together (way more than I expected!) and found a busload of soldiers who were super-hungry and grateful for the barbecue rolls we brought them.
The rollercoaster of emotions is something that we’re experiencing every day. From the real lows – a bottomless pit of heartache and loss – to getting into action to do some good somewhere, to the highs of experiencing joy at being able to hold your son and tell him you love him, face-to-face.
That same night, our friends (and Rabbi from South Africa) were celebrating the wedding of their son. Another example of the crazy rollercoaster of emotions. The son that was getting married, Yonatan, was injured, shot in the leg, and thankfully recovering well, while his younger brother, Daniel, is missing in action.
We’re learning to hold joy and pain at the same time. Our resilience, love, courage and strength keeps shining through.
Am Yisrael Chai 🇮🇱