I called Elie today to tell him that his youngest brother was fine but had fallen and probably broken a bone in his foot. Elie asked the how, the when. We talked and then said goodbye. Nothing more than that; a simple, normal conversation.
We didn’t talk about guns, about war, about missiles. We didn’t talk about checkpoints, about rocks and firebombs. It was a conversation any mother would have with any son and it was very nice.
He wasn’t home this past weekend. Had he been, he would likely have known what to do with his brother long before we figured it out (ice, elevate, wait). Instead, he will be home at the end of this week, hopefully by the time his brother is back on his feet. Things are quiet – routine. These are the quiet times for a mother; times when where he is are quiet (or at least I don’t see the names of Arab villages that are near his base in the news).
It seems like I mostly write when I’m worried or amused by things happening with Elie. Tonight, I decided to do something different – to write about what happens the vast majority of the time, and that is simply nothing. In the scheme of things, this is the norm for most families and truthfully, I have come to enjoy these times too. I don’t mind that there is little to write about because in all things that happen during these three years that Elie is in the army, there is really only one thing I want most out of his years, and that is him. I want him safe. I want him whole. I want him healthy.
Beyond those basics, I’d like him to be happy; I’d like him to feel fulfilled. I need him to know that what he does is important and that he is appreciated. But most of all, I want, I need him to be safe and that’s what a boring, no-news day means. So I’ll take that over all other days. He might find it boring, as most boys his age would. But someday, God willing, he too will have a son in the army and it will be for these days he will pray as well.
So, may God grant the soldiers of Israel (and America) a most boring day filled with nothing exciting, nothing to shoot at, nothing shot at them. May they be blessed with a cool breeze during the day, a restful night, perhaps even a soft pillow when they lay their heads to rest.
And may God bless the mothers of soldiers – all soldiers everywhere, that this day and this night, their sons are safe and at peace.