Bullets, Bombs, and Bracelets

 After David...there, I can say his name now, returned from his first deployment in Gaza, the army held an evening with the soldiers of his unit. It was a chance to get together and socialize, unwind, and to some extent check that they were all doing okay.

During the event, they gave each soldier two bracelets - one silver...colored, and one gold...colored. David came home and gave one to his younger sister (she chose the silver) and one to me (I've always loved gold just a bit more). Perhaps my daughter was more fortunate, her not-quite silver bracelet faired well on her wrist. For me, soon enough the not-even-close to gold began to create a greenish line on my wrist. And still, for me it became more than a bracelet and the green line was part of the package. And yet, he was home and safe, studying and trying to catch up on the classes he'd missed. I wore it for a few days and then took it off and put it away.

A few short months later, when he was deployed the second time to the northern border (as in, OMG, right there), his sister and I took out the bracelets and put them back on. It was a prayer that he come home safe; it was a reminder, if such was needed, that he was there, far from home.

And again, when the time came that he returned home, I happily removed the bracelet and scrubbed off the green. He was back to university; I was back to remembering to breathe.

A few short months later, once again, he was pulled back. This time, it was Gaza again, and the bracelets returned to our wrists. For the last two months, I have worn the bracelet all day and night, every day, terrified that it would break (gold it is not). This time, perhaps all the green had come off already and so the bracelet and I managed to live in peace together. Bring my son home, I told the bracelet and you can go back to the drawer to rest. 

עֵץ־חַיִּ֣ים הִ֖יא לַמַּחֲזִיקִ֣ים בָּ֑הּ וְֽתֹמְכֶ֥יהָ מְאֻשָּֽׁר

In the book of Mishlei (Proverbs), there are sections that speak of our Torah, the first five books of the Bible. In the third chapter, it is written, "it is a tree of life, for those who grasp it and those who come close to it are fortunate". And so, while my son was in Gaza with bombs and bullets and grenades and more, I wore the symbolic tree of life on my wrist, a most appropriate gift from the Israeli army. It was, in my mind, a prayer and hopefully a promise that they would keep him safe and send him home to me. I am forever grateful that they kept this unspoken promise.

David came out late last week and today I return the bracelet to the box, hoping to never see it again. In truth, it is a lovely bracelet. Not gold, but perhaps even more priceless.