It's Friday in Israel...

It's Friday in my country. I used to write something about how wonderful the house smells, with soup cooking, chicken roasting, but it's hard right now. I have two ovens in my kitchen, both are full. I've been up for hours because the Sabbath comes in early and this week, we'll have some of our children and grandchildren to celebrate a birthday.

By 4:20 p.m. or so, I'll be lighting the candles to bring in Shabbat. It's a time that I love because we are cut off from the rest of the world. Life is about the moment, family, food and rest. It's about going to the synagogue and being with friends. It's about ignoring the world. Whatever is happening beyond the scope of my sight, doesn't exist. Or, it was that way until October 7.

On October 7, the sky told the story even before we heard the booms and the sirens. There were streaks made by our jets...and puffs made by the iron dome impact against a missile fired in our direction. There were young men walking in a religious neighborhood wearing the prayer shawls, tallitot. But the picture was wrong. They were speaking on their telephones as they rushed into their homes, putting bags into cars we don't drive in on Shabbat. And then driving quickly out of here on a day where we walk slowly.

War...war...war...that is what I was seeing in the skies and hearing from people. Since then, Friday is a day of concern....soon, I will be cut off again. What will happen.

If Hamas does what it loves to do best, psychologically torture us, they won't release the names on time. We will light the candles tonight, I will light my candles and pray. Pray that a ruthless, barbaric, savage, terrorist organization will keep its word and give us the names of four more to come home after 475 days in hell.

And over Shabbat, I will think of those who remain...if the four come home, it will be 90. Estimates say some are alive; most perhaps not. With today's list, we are also supposed to receive the list and condition of all of the remaining 26 hostages that are part of the 33 to be released in this ceasefire agreement.

We have been promised that the Bibas family is on that list but the fact that the names of the children were not on the very first list terrifies us. If Shiri is on this list today, that terrifies us. Our hearts beg for Hamas to release us from the agony of not knowing the fate of Kfir, who turned 2 years old this week and Ariel, who was kidnapped 15 months ago in the arms of his mother. He was 4 years old.

And Yarden, what of Yarden. He was told that his wife and children were murdered. Does an organization that perpetually lies ever tell the truth? How can we know?

So, as the potato kugel cooks in my oven, one to take to the synagogue, one large one to my daughter, two each to my married sons and one for here, my mind tries to focus. In truth, it can't.

It's Friday in Israel and the skies are filled with clouds. But this time, they are good clouds. Clouds of rain not clouds of war. So much left to do. Time flies so fast on Fridays.

And a birthday cake for a son who came home from war and can't concentrate. He's got a brilliant mind. He well might be the smartest of all of us. He's returned for his second hope of finishing his final year.

"How was your week?" I asked him yesterday on the ride home.

He's like his father. He expresses a wealth of things in one word, "good." And with that I know it wasn't good. Nothing is good. Because in the best case scenario, when we finish Shabbat and tune back into the world, we will find 90 still held hostage by madmen who have no honor, no sense of right and wrong.

So all we can do is focus on the four. We suspect we know the woman who is called a civilian. And we know that when two of the young female soldiers are released, two will be left behind. We will celebrate the four, as we celebrated the three. And cry for the 90, as we cried for the 93.

Usually, I long for Shabbat to come. It's more than a day off work - it's a day away from a hate-filled world who assumes the absolute worst of everything we are, everything we do, and worse, finds us guilty for things we don't do - while our enemy does those very thing without ever being blamed or even recognized.