I thought, I hoped that maybe it had stopped, but I hear the sound again. The sound of airplanes flying over our heads and homes. The constant roar that won’t let me forget what’s going on. The constant roar that reminds me, “We are at war.” Yes, Israel is at war.
My phone rings. It’s my mother. “What’s happening?”
“Oh, nothing much,” I tell her nonchalantly, masking the anxiety that I feel. She tells me that she’s not listening to the news, that she can’t. In her case, I agree with her decision. I wish that I could say that I do the same. I don’t want to make her worry. “Everything is fine here. I stocked up on some canned foods and water. But you know, we’re safe, I just did it as a precautionary measure. The kids are fine. We are all good. Pray, but don’t worry.”
I hoped that maybe it had stoppedPray, but don’t worry. What a line! Where did I get that one from?
“On the day when I am afraid, I put my trust in You.”1
I’m known for my calm and tranquility. But now, as the planes roar over my head, I feel anxious and scared. What is happening?
I go to sleep early, collapsing into a deep sleep. My husband has been out of town for the past two weeks, and taking care of the kids and working has caught up with me. Other times, when he’s had to leave the country, I didn’t feel so overwhelmed. But in these past few weeks, since the brutal kidnapping and murder of our beautiful boys, Israel has been in a state of suffering. It’s hard to breath. I feel tired and heavy.
An hour later, a loud siren jars me from my sleep. I feel my heart beating in my throat. My children! I jump out of bed and run to the room of my sleeping children. They will wake up at the sound of a mouse, and yet with the piercing siren, they remain in a heavy, deep sleep. I throw my body over them and start reciting Psalms. Should I wake them? No . . .
“On the day when I am afraid, I put my trust in You.”
I feel so scared, and then something happens. As I embrace my sleeping children, I keep thinking, “Thank you, G‑d. Thank you for giving me these precious gifts. Thank You for giving me life!” Suddenly, I feel an overwhelming sense of appreciation. My internal calmness is restored.
BOOM!
I hear something, an explosion? Psalms once more!
The phone rings and rings and rings. Friends calling to check up on me. I try to get ahold of my husband. At last, I get through. I go back to bed and put my head on the pillow. My eyes stare at the darkness.
That is it for the night as far as sirens, but not for the airplane roars. I can’t sleep, and with relief get out of bed when I hear the garbage truck at 4:45 a.m.
A new day. The routine continues. I see the news and I listen to the night’s miracles. “A thousand may fall at your side, and then a thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you.”2
We go about our daily plans as usual. This one goes to school, this one to day camp, and this one to day care. I go to work. The radio is on. We hear sirens. I look at my co-workers. My hand clutches my Psalms tighter. “On the day when I am afraid, I put my trust in You.”
“It’s not here. It’s the radio. A siren going off in Ashkelon,” says a co-worker.
“Turn it off!” I plead with her.
An hour later, I am called to pick up my daughter. Camp has been canceled. And now a client calls to cancel. It’s not safe for her to drive to Jerusalem. Israel is at war.
I go to work. The radio is on. We hear sirensYes, Israel is at war, but don’t you see what is happening? The miracles, the prayer, the unity. My friend tells me, “Elana, all those prayers that everyone is saying? All the hafrashot challot (separating the challah) and Shabbat candles lit, all the charity given, they are protecting us. They are making an impenetrable fence. Don’t you feel it? Don’t you see it?”
“A thousand may fall at your side, and then a thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you.”
I do! I feel it! I ask you, precious Jew, don’t stop. Grab a book of Psalms. Pray for us after lighting your Shabbat candles this Friday. Know that your prayers, your charity, your good deeds are felt by us and are helping to protect us.
The airplanes. I hear them. My lips repeat the words . . .
“On the day when I am afraid, I put my trust in You.”
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