Shabbat morning, Shemini Atzeret, the day we say Yizkor for our parents and begin the wintertime mention of rain in our prayers … enough reasons for even a stay-at-home like me to go to shul.

He makes the wind blow, He brings the rain down.

6:30 AM. Early. Plenty of time to stay in bed after a hectic Sukkot holiday. Is that a siren? A drill from a nearby base? Can’t be; they don’t do that on Shabbat. False alarm; mistakes happen. No, not again. Twice isn’t a mistake. And, it’s closer. My husband is up now and … OK, Modeh Ani, washing hands … here we go.

He makes the wind blow, He brings the rain down.

Again, blasting in our ears, run to the safe room. Count to … Boom! Iron Dome did it again, thank G‑d. We can still sleep a bit more after coming home late last night from Hakafot. Back to bed. Wait; here it goes again.

He makes the wind blow, He brings the rain down.

This went on for hours. No way of going to synagogue. The sky is like a polka-dotted tablecloth: perfectly symmetrical little white clouds, souvenirs of rockets that were shot down. Met a neighbor, two sons just reported for duty. Where is my son now? Rumors …

He makes the wind blow, He brings the rain down.

So, morning prayers—still only mentioning dew—at home. Sirens from further up north, clouds of smoke, a hit. What’s doing with the kids and grandkids? They don’t all have safe rooms, just simple shingled roofs.

Yizkor, Mussaf, prayers for rain, at home on my own.

He makes the wind blow, He brings the rain down.

Watching the minutes tick by, almost like a fast day, counting down to when I can use the phone. But wait, it is Simchat Torah, the Rebbe taught us that joy breaks all boundaries. With joy we’ll overcome. We’ll get through this.

At 7:00 PM, the phone. Thank G‑d, all are safe. Fitchie, my son, has been called for duty, leaving behind his six children, the youngest just three weeks old. I shuddered for the first time and not because of another heavy barrage of rockets overhead. He’s off to his post.

He makes the wind blow, He brings the rain down.

Another day goes by, stories abound. We hope, we pray, we trust in G‑d and we cope.

Then, a drop, a trickle, a drizzle. It’s raining! He hears, He listens, He’s with us!

He makes the wind blow, He brings the rain down.

The author's son, Fitchie, father of 6, the youngest of whom is less than a month old, is currently on active duty.
The author's son, Fitchie, father of 6, the youngest of whom is less than a month old, is currently on active duty.
The author's grandsons, dressed in uniforms of the 'Army of Hashem,' while their father is away on active duty.
The author's grandsons, dressed in uniforms of the 'Army of Hashem,' while their father is away on active duty.