When your child is in the army, your whole life revolves around knowing where he is in relation to what is happening. You hear of a terrible accident in which two soldiers are killed...and your heart stops. Where? North...where is he? Not there...
So then you become like all other Israelis, saddened about the news, imagining what the families are feeling. You learn who they were and you say a prayer that their families know they are not alone, that they will never be alone.
You hear of a terror attack. Where is Har Adar? Did they say north of Jerusalem...how close is that to where he is...different direction...far enough to know it wasn't his unit. And then, like all Israelis, you listen to the news, feel the same anger, worry for the wounded.
You hear that a convoy was stoned and soldiers were guarding them...close enough that it might have been his unit. You watch the video and realize that what you are trying to do is see the faces of the soldiers. If not, their body shape. He is too short...he is heavier than David. I don't even know if David was there and still I search.
On and on it goes, another day closer to the end of his service in the army. I long for the time to pass quickly, but most of all, I long for it to pass safely.
The closer we get to the end, the farther away it seems. He won't be home this weekend, but we had him for all of Rosh Hashana, so I can't complain...and we will have him for Sukkot as well - at least most of it.
I won't complain...I'm just happy we were able to have one meal in which all the kids were here...and all the grandkids too. It was wonderful to listen to all the chatter around me; to look up and down the table and see each of my children. Three are married; three with children. Such blessings.
Two remain at home...but they are all so grown up. How did that happen. Now the house is again filled with noise and movement but this time it is their children, my children's children. They come sit on my lap and give me hugs - it's such a strange thing to have children that are yours but not completely. That is a grandchild.
And there is nothing like the hug of a grandchild, how they squeeze you tight and rest their heads on your shoulder.
Slowly, I become more grandmother than mother...or perhaps that's not the right way to describe it. For now, we are nearing more changes. Aliza is in 12th grade. Next year, she will begin what is called Sherut Leumi (or at least I think she will). As a religious girl, she will do national service, rather than army service - that's the plan. And if that is what happens, David is my last soldier.
I'll still have to deal with reserve duty and more and more I learn that you never quite stop being a soldier's mother but we're getting close.
I'll have to decide what to do with this blog - to continue or to shift to another ...but that's for another time. For now, I focus on where he is, what he is going, and when he will be home again.
So then you become like all other Israelis, saddened about the news, imagining what the families are feeling. You learn who they were and you say a prayer that their families know they are not alone, that they will never be alone.
You hear of a terror attack. Where is Har Adar? Did they say north of Jerusalem...how close is that to where he is...different direction...far enough to know it wasn't his unit. And then, like all Israelis, you listen to the news, feel the same anger, worry for the wounded.
You hear that a convoy was stoned and soldiers were guarding them...close enough that it might have been his unit. You watch the video and realize that what you are trying to do is see the faces of the soldiers. If not, their body shape. He is too short...he is heavier than David. I don't even know if David was there and still I search.
On and on it goes, another day closer to the end of his service in the army. I long for the time to pass quickly, but most of all, I long for it to pass safely.
The closer we get to the end, the farther away it seems. He won't be home this weekend, but we had him for all of Rosh Hashana, so I can't complain...and we will have him for Sukkot as well - at least most of it.
I won't complain...I'm just happy we were able to have one meal in which all the kids were here...and all the grandkids too. It was wonderful to listen to all the chatter around me; to look up and down the table and see each of my children. Three are married; three with children. Such blessings.
Two remain at home...but they are all so grown up. How did that happen. Now the house is again filled with noise and movement but this time it is their children, my children's children. They come sit on my lap and give me hugs - it's such a strange thing to have children that are yours but not completely. That is a grandchild.
And there is nothing like the hug of a grandchild, how they squeeze you tight and rest their heads on your shoulder.
Slowly, I become more grandmother than mother...or perhaps that's not the right way to describe it. For now, we are nearing more changes. Aliza is in 12th grade. Next year, she will begin what is called Sherut Leumi (or at least I think she will). As a religious girl, she will do national service, rather than army service - that's the plan. And if that is what happens, David is my last soldier.
I'll still have to deal with reserve duty and more and more I learn that you never quite stop being a soldier's mother but we're getting close.
I'll have to decide what to do with this blog - to continue or to shift to another ...but that's for another time. For now, I focus on where he is, what he is going, and when he will be home again.
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