A Phone Call

 It’s almost two months since I last saw my son who is inside a tank in Gaza. Of course, when my father entered the army in World War Two my grandmother had to wait three years to see him. And there were no phone calls, only letters. It was a different world back then. Nowadays, I don’t think any of our IDF soldiers write letters home. They just call. That’s fine, except when they’re stationed where they cannot have their phones. That’s the situation with my boys but every so often they are allowed access. So, when I got a message from my son-in-law this morning I was thrilled. Later in the day, my husband’s face lit up seeing the number on our ringing house phone. It was our son! We both spoke to him, blessed him, told him how much we loved him, and wished him a Shabbat Shalom. What a wonderful way to go into Shabbat. The only way better would be to have him and all the others, the captive, the injured, and the evacuees, safely home.