Baruch HaShem!
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Dear friends,
I know most of you in the US will not be paying attention to our part of
the wold today, but here,events of incredible poignancy and meaning are
unfolding by the minute and I feel an obligation to share them with all
of you.
The following piece is penned by my friend and colleague, Ilene
Bloch-Levy of Shaarei Tikvah. I hope you'll share in the joy of her
son's safe return from the war and feel the gratitude that we all
express for the sacrifices and efforts of all our soldiers.
from Jeusalem,
Judy Lash Balint, moderator
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My son came home
From: Ilene Bloch-Levy, Shaarei Tikvah. e-mail: ilenelevy@netvision.net.il
My son came home from Gaza just a few minutes ago. He came home as we
had sent him off, only more tired, worn and dirty. Thank you Hashem for
bringing him home. To his wife, his brothers and sisters and his loving
brood of nieces and nephews. All of us have been waiting patiently these
past three weeks to hold him in our arms.
Barely able to wait to embrace him, I ran across the highway where his
ride had dropped him off. I grabbed him in the middle of the road and
cars driving into my yishuv had to veer around this sight of me standing
on tiptoes reaching for my tall, handsome son's face. The drivers waved
at us. A few rolled down heir windows to say "todah -- thank you" to my
son. I whispered Todah again to Hashem.
I helped him toss his heavy bags into the trunk of the car. The heaviest
among them being the one weighted down with foodstuffs that Israel's
citizens sent to our soldiers. Tens of thousands of kilograms of food
poured into the bases in the south. Cartons upon cartons of instant
soups, nuts, pretzels, cookies and nosh of every kind. All sent by
individuals, families, schools and businesses from throughout the
country. We could barely lift his 'booty' and we both shared a laugh as
we flung it onto the back seat.
The words that had been in my heart for so long melted on my tongue. My
eyes drank him in, tall, bearded now and his face and soul, a bit darker
than before he left us that Sunday morning. He reached his hand to his
head and apologized for the fact that he was bareheaded. In the midst of
everything his kippa had fallen off. "No matter -- easy enough to
replace," I said as his hand slipped into mine. I reached up to grab his
neck and felt his lips touch my cheek, and I knew that his presence,
like this, was all that I had prayed for each day since he packed his
bags and left before the sun even rose that cold morning.
I pulled in front of his apartment, a few kilometers from my home, and
as we descended the steps I heard him speak gently and lovingly with his
wife at work, telling her how anxious he was to see her. He turned on
the boiler and laughingly told me "I'm not getting out of this shower
for the next hour." The bags fell to the floor and he leaned against the
kitchen counter to untie his boots swiftly flinging them aside and
letting his bare feet rest on the tile floor. He was exhausted and I
hesitated to start with the barrage of questions that had been streaming
through my head every day, every hour for these past few weeks. He
smiled as he opened the bag of goodies and told me about the elementary
school children from Mevasseret Zion who had attached notes with their
gifts. He spoke with three of them to thank them personally. One child
wrote a three page letter and the soldiers in my son's unit were
grateful to learn more of this 8-year old's daily life, his favorite
subjects and his fondness for playstation. When they called to speak
with him, he was overwhelmed and kept calling them "gibborim" heroes.
"Ima" he said, "I'm tired now, but I have to tell you how extraordinary
this nation is. The children who wrote to us, the people who sent their
good wishes with their packages of food, the businesses that sent
truckloads of goods. The soldiers I served with, each one caring deeply
about the other one. Zahal who made sure that we were well trained and
well equipped for our mission. But mostly. Mostly.
This was a war that was guided by the Hand of G'd. Everyday we felt His
presence -- whether deciding to enter a building by smashing down the
back wall rather than entering through the front door, only to discover
that the front door had been booby trapped, or searching rooms in a
house and uncovering a tunnel under a bed we had lifted where tens of
Hamas terrorists were hiding in the hopes of kidnapping one of us, or
dozens more stories."
I looked at this child's face and saw the extraordinary young man he had
become. Filled with faith. Feeling a passion for those values that have
held this nation together for thousands of years. And, his very
presence. His very modesty. His deep felt pride at being part of this
nation. All of this wrapped around my heart and left me humbled. Humbled
and grateful.
"And I will lift up my eyes unto the mountains, from where my strength
will come."
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The great day of the LORD is near, it is near, and hasteth greatly, even the voice of the day of the LORD: the mighty man shall cry there bitterly. Zephaniah 1:14
פרץ
Son's Safe Return
