It’s hard to know what to do with yourself on a day like yesterday.
I was awoken at 6:30 a.m. to the buzz of the red alert on my phone.
While it’s not pleasant, this doesn’t strike terror anymore. I’ve sort of grown used to it, as have most Israelis.The phone kept buzzing, however, as I got ready to take the dogs for a walk on the beach. As each alert came, I’d notify my husband. “Stop it with the rolling news,” he pleaded.
“Please leave your phone while we take the dogs for a walk,” he said. I did.
That hour on the beach was probably the last hour of peace that I’ll have for the foreseeable future.
When we returned an hour later, I glanced at my phone and saw 99 rocket alerts. In fact, there were more, but the app only shows 99.
Unprecedented horror unfolding across Israel
We took to our phones to search for information at which point the unprecedented horrors began to unfold.
By this time, it was almost 9 a.m. and the kids started to appear from their rooms. Our son Rafi, who’s just finished his service came first. He’d been woken by a flurry of messages from his army friends, some of whom are still serving.
Before long, it was clear that the situation was so serious, that there was a good chance they’d all be called up for reserve duty.
I tried to force the thought from my mind. Having just managed to get over the trauma of his service, which in any view was difficult and dangerous, the thought of him going back was too much to bear.
As the day wore on, my phone buzzed continuously with reports of more rocket attacks.
And worse still, reports of kidnappings and killings of innocent civilians in Sderot and surrounding towns, as well as kibbutzim and moshavim in the area made us all aware of how grave the situation was.
In all probability, Rafi would be called up, along with the rest of his unit, to defend his country once again.
A phone call from a tearful friend, whose son, now in his 30s, had just been called up, all but extinguished the last glimmer of hope that my son wouldn’t have to go to war.
And then I knew.
As I stepped back into the lounge after speaking to my friend, I spotted Rafi and his girlfriend huddled together, chatting.
He’d been told to get his stuff ready, he said.
It’s hard to explain the panic and fear that I felt at that point.
Although nothing was certain, I had a horrible feeling that I’d be sending my son off to war later in the day.Orders came for Rafi to report to base in the afternoon and from then, on I swung back into action as a soldier’s mum.
His bag was packed with the assistance of his girlfriend, Julia, while his brother, Lev, who is currently serving in the army in a non-combat role, lent him some of his fatigues (Rafi had given his back; all he had at home were his boots), and I made him some food to take with him.
Although I’d offered to take him to the base, he managed to arrange a lift with a friend. All that was required of us was to drop him at a nearby meeting point, which my husband did.And then it was time for him to leave.
When he was in regular service, I’d always take a photo of the two of us when he left for base. On this occasion, however, he refused even to let me take a photo of him.
Instead, we went through his bag, making sure he had everything he might need. As we didn’t know how long he’d be gone for, it was impossible to know what he should take.
In the circumstances, he erred on the side of caution and took a large bag with supplies for a couple of weeks.I walked him down to the car, gave him a hug, and told him, “Stay safe – don’t try and be a hero.”
And then he was gone.
The next few weeks will be extremely difficult, not least because I probably won’t know where he is or what he’s doing.
All I can do is pray that he, and all our soldiers stay safe during the next few weeks, when doubtless they’ll be faced with some of the hardest challenges they’ll ever have to face in their lives.