And he's home...and gone. 24 hours of a war.

And he's home...for 24 hours, but he's home. Elie was an artillery commander who served in two huge operations. I refused, until now, to call them operations. I called them war. As far as I was concerned, my oldest son has been to war four times, and this is his fifth. He's 35 years old and has fought in five wars.

In truth, now that I see what war is, I would retroactively agree that the others were "operations". As a reservist in artillery, he was called once or twice a year, and for operations. Elie who now goes by Eli, as the spelling his wife prefers, has volunteered for Israel's emergency medical services - known as Magen David Adom (or MADA for short) since he was 15. He became a youth volunteer after taking a 60 hours first aid course.

He then trained to staff mass casualty events and continued increasing his knowledge and medical experience rising to be a voluntary ambulance driver, capable of administering emergency care to a much higher level. And a few years ago, he left artillery behind and became a reservist in an amazing new unit - MADA in the army.

For the last two operations and now this war, he is called from his phone and sent to the deep south where he response to incoming rocket fire by heading out to help those who are injured. In this war, with volunteer first responders being mobilized to their units, Eli has become a full-time, ambulance driver in a location constantly under rocket fire.

When others seek shelter, Eli and his unit ride out to help. It's terrifying. He has been there almost from day 1 (actually from the morning of day 2). Fourteen day ago, he left here. The death count was perhaps 600 but we knew already it would be much worse. His oldest daughter has remote learning - she is still dancing. The youngest were taken to school for a few hours - in case he didn't come home and to give him time to do his laundry and settle a bit.
I didn't videotape the reunion. of his daughter seeing him, her eyes lighting up as she ran and jumped into his arms. Of her smile and her tears. Of her sisters cries of happiness as a short time later, I picked them up from school and they spotted his car as we approached the house. 

I didn't film this happiness because even in such times of happiness there is the unrelenting sadness of the situation. So he came home, spent time with his wife and children. He did his laundry, spoke to his brother and sister. He ate. He slept a little and maybe ignore his phone and the rockets that continue to rain down on Israel.

We spoke and he told me of the agonies of war he'd heard about. The war crimes committed by Hamas, the civilians they tortured and murdered. 

He spoke of military things I will not write and the cunning of an enemy we will fight without any restraints. Restraints are gone for a nation violated as we have been. Restraints belong in a war where those same restraints are respected by the enemy.

Eli has been volunteering for MADA since he was 15 years old. What hasn't he seen? This is Eli's fifth encounter with war...something that touches deep inside my heart as something I never believed could happen. 

Today in the early morning hours, he returned. I'll take my own advice and only think about now, when a rocket hasn't been fired at us for the last 12 hours. Because Eli isn't here to drive his kids to school, I have taken over driving them as much as I can. I returned to my dining room table where I work for a company who has once again "gone remote". 

We have some conference room chairs that we acquired when my husband's company redecorated their conference room. They are incredibly comfortable and versatile and much of the time, we prefer them to the more rigid wood dining room chairs we have. So I sit in these when I work. Everyone loves them. Eli always pushes and locks the chair to the back position that only he loves. It drives the rest of us crazy, including his sister who has trouble releasing the lock.

This morning after he left, after his wife and kids were driven to work, I sat down on the chair and realized Eli had locked it leaning back again.

I now pray for the next time he's back to lock the chair again. Please God, may it be soon. For now, the empty chair symbolizes so much...the emptiness we feel for all those we have lost, the emptiness we feel when our soldiers are in battle. The worry we have with no idea when next they'll return.

Israel is again a nation at war. In Eli's first war, he told me at the end that "they" didn't let him finish. Then, the "they" was the US and the Israeli government. Now, I believe, I pray, Israel will finish the sacred job it has - to end Hamas and make this the last war.