He's Home

Sometimes the simplest of posts carry the most important message of all. He's home...that simple. He left base before dawn, took an army bus to another bus. The bus to a train. The train from one medium-sized city to one very large city. A bus from the train to Israel's capital, Jerusalem. A bus from Jerusalem to our home. Travel time...hours.

I've been missing him all of Passover...he was home the weekend before, but not for the Seder, not for the intermediary days. Not for Shabbat...I asked him to send me a picture and then specified, "of YOU". Otherwise, he sends me beautiful pictures of the scenery where he is. One of favorite places...but I'd still rather have a picture of him, or better, have him home.

He gave me an estimated time of arrival long after he'd left base. It's Passover in Israel. A holiday that carries so many meanings - one of which is freedom. Today, for a short while, he's free from the army, free of responsibility. As always, he walked into the house hungry. I don't always succeed, but I try to make sure there is food ready for him.

Hot potato pancakes are a special treat for Passover, Pesach - as we call it in Hebrew. They are called "levivot" in Hebrew, "latkes" in Yiddish, and "chremsels" in the house of my mother-in-law, may her memory be blessed. And so, chremsels they are, in my home, and chremsels he smelled as he walked through the door.

He hadn't eaten; he had barely slept. Food first, a bit of unwinding, and then off to sleep. Free.

He's home. It doesn't get better than that for a soldier's parent. Your heart beats a bit more calmly; you don't really care where your phone is or how much battery power it has.

He's home.