He sounds so tired. So so tired. He’s good. He’s fine. Trying to save his battery by keeping the phone off as much as possible.
“How are you?” I asked him several times.
“Good,” he answered. “Fine,” and “busy.” All one word responses. This is a conversation I need more than him. I know that and yet couldn’t close the phone. I don’t know when I’ll speak to him again, never mind when I’ll see him.
I didn’t ask him about when he thought he might get home; he can’t possibly know.
I didn’t ask him if he was sleeping enough. “I’m fine,” was all he would say.
I told him about the 3-hour ceasefire from our side, “Really?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s to let the people in Gaza go buy food and stuff.”
“Ok,” he responded; clearly too tired to think of anything else.
On the scale of 1-10, this phone call won’t go down as a great conversation to remember, but I talked to him and that has to be enough, more than enough.
“Have you gotten my messages?” I asked.
There was noise in the background; I could hear talking and radio static.
“Ima?” I heard him say and so I repeated my question. Yes, he’s been getting my messages.
“Try to send me a message sometimes, just telling me you are OK. OK?” I asked and in a tired voice, such a tired voice, he agreed that he would.
I wish for my son…safety and health…and sleep.
Behold, the Guardian of Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. (Psalm 121:4)