Reflection and Trauma
During the Days of Awe, my reservist son was fighting up North. Although I’d dropped him a Whatsapp before lighting Rosh HaShanah candles, when the three day observance ended, I saw that he hadn’t opened the message. This lack of contact could only mean that he was deep in battle. Like so many mothers, I could not/did not sleep. I checked the phone constantly, took long walks, ate a lot and badly, and prayed. When his voice message finally appeared, weakly uttering the words, “I’m alive and in Israel,” I exhaled for the first time in ten days. It did not matter that he was in an army infirmary with others, sleeping, healing and eating. Not every parent gets such comforting messages.
We closed out the year of shock, fear, trepidation and I was here. For many years, I traveled to the U.S. over Sukkot to visit my elderly mother but this year I could not find the will to leave my beloved Israel at such a poignant time. Because last year I assayed to return, desperate to be nearer to my son who raced to battle with other heroes. I ached to be with my husband, children, grandchildren, neighbors and strangers, all mercilessly under siege. I needed to be ‘under siege’ alongside the holy citizenry of Israel. It took one full week, 20,000 still-unaccounted-shekels, wet-wipe cleanses in public toilets, agonizing hours of short dozes on airport floors in Istanbul, Paris, Rome, Newark and Baltimore, and prayer. I thought I knew how to pray before October 7, 2023. I knew nothing. I know less now.
And if the massacre wasn’t staggering enough, the months that ensued brought new emotional paralysis. We couldn’t envision the euphoria that occurred by a smattering of hostage releases, only to be followed by more soldier fatalities, errors caused by ‘friendly fire,’ school closings, entire communities irreparably traumatized by the cacophony of blasts that relentlessly accompanied countless escapes into shelters and safe rooms.
Reflecting on the previous year, I can unequivocally state that the most remarkable trait of Israelis is “unity under fire.” Hotels that were closed due to a dearth of tourists, became home to evacuees from both the north and south. Entire communities made space in their classrooms for shell-shocked children who needed education. Pop-up weddings became the norm on army bases around the country, with khaki-clad brides and grooms listening to the ketubah (marriage contract) read along with the sound of rocket-fire in the distance. Until you’ve seen a veiled-kallah-wearing jungle-camo and Tavor assault rifle slung over her left shoulder, you haven’t seen anything.
Anyone with a washer and dryer has enthusiastically laundered filthy field-wear for approximately 7,000 lone-soldiers. We are baking and cooking and sewing, sending tons of home-cooked victuals to supplement occasionally bland army meals. Privately funded barbecues are de rigueur, lifting the spirits of selfless warriors. Service providers, whether yogurt or doughnut shops, movies and concerts, health clubs and spas, transportation providers, etc., offer free goods and services for our fighters. Facebook is replete with weekly invitations for any chayal (soldier) without a holiday or Shabbat meal to join respective families. Requirements are that they schlep a friend or three and bring along a hearty appetite.
Autumn ends and winter looms, rife with expectation. We prayed and beseeched and passed over that dreaded anniversary—the one that changed the landscape for Eretz Yisroel forever. With unity, love and clarity of vision, the months that stretch in front of us can provide hope and solace. G-d will do His part. The question remains: Will we?
New York native Andrea Simantov has lived in Jerusalem since 1995. She writes for several publications, appears regularly on Israel National Radio and owns an image consulting firm for women.
