A Warm Corner in our Hearts

Image by congerdesign from Pixabay

I can’t see my son for another month, maybe more.

Today, I did the next best thing. I saw yours. Well, perhaps not your son or daughter, exactly, but someone’s.

Corona is impacting all of us in one way or another. For some, it’s a death sentence; for others, it’s months of lingering symptoms. For many around the world, it’s economic fear and pain; for still others, it’s the psychological ramifications of social distancing and lock downs that are taking their toll.

My oldest son enlisted into the IDF last month – with tearful goodbyes and hopeful blessings. With the second lock down looming, we had hoped that he’d make it home beforehand, but we were also hoping, of course, that the army could figure out a way to keep all of our children safe. So, it came as no surprise that they’ll be in lock down at their bases for the next month, or more, or less. Who really knows? While my heart is heavy (for so many reasons; whose heart isn’t heavy right now?), I decided to do the next best thing today to seeing my child serving his nation. And that was to see yours.

When I serve coffee, cake and cold drinks to your soldier, your child, at our Pina Chama in Gush Etzion, I hear you sighing with that relief we all feel when our child is being spoiled and loved. Maybe you don’t know exactly where your soldier children are today, but I’ve got them covered with a smile (under my mask), and encouraging words (said behind the glass pane), and some items to warm (or cool) their bellies.

I can’t solve the world’s Corona problems. I can’t single-handedly get Israel out of the dubious (and infuriating) distinction of having the highest infection rate in the world per capita. But I am soothing my achy heart, my own worries and fears, by serving your children – our children – as they serve away from you and their homes. And next to my home today.

Let’s hope you’ll be doing the same for mine when next you see him. Tell him his parents love him; his brothers miss him; tell him his warm bed and warmer food are waiting for him for next time he gets to leave. Make sure you’ve got your mask firmly over your nose and mouth when you speak to him and you stay 2 meters away. I want him home as much as you want yours by you – and the more careful we are, the faster we will make those dreams come true for all of us in Israel.

About the Author
Romi Sussman is a teacher and writer. When she's not at her computer, she's juggling raising six boys ages 9-20 and conquering daily life as an Olah. She enjoys blogging here and on her personal blog at http://aineretzacheret.com.
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