For what it’s worth

It’s becoming a prickly Sunday morning phenomenon, the result of lazy, nap-filled Sabbaths that revitalize my body and soul. Two hours before the alarm is scheduled to buzz, I toss for the last time in a long, long night and opt to leave the bed. My schedule for the day ahead is impossibly full and I’m feeling anxious.

After hasty ablutions, I caught up on my various prayer group obligations with the recitation of backlogged Psalms. The scrubbed electric platter and drained hot-water urn that we used on Shabbat were returned to their storage places.  Still too early to begin the regular morning prayers, I walked the dog, folded laundry, weighed out my day’s proteins and woke the husband.  The chill in the air signified an onset of Autumn, a welcome change to the seemingly endless hamsins which resulted in exorbitant electric bills this summer.

Indeed, I’d stayed up too late the night before because once we’d finished the havdalah ceremony by which we exit the holy Sabbath, I furiously baked a slew of banana and zucchini breads, along with some carrot cakes.  Nine cakes in all, but not, as one might assume, for Rosh HaShana or Sukkot.  I have given little thought to those menus or what I might wear to synagogue.  My son is at the border.  My son is defending the land of Israel.  My son and his friends are laying their lives at the enemies’ doorsteps so that we might work another day, do another laundry, meet for lunch or consider which tablecloths will adorn our Yom Tov tables.  The cakes are for my son to share with his army unit.  

Sipping coffee, my husband remarks that I look tired, “You need more sleep.”  I nod in agreement and dutifully listen to his recap of a Will Smith movie he’d watched the night before.  We suddenly jump at the not-so-faint booms of rockets being fired somewhere. It wasn’t close but the sounds were unmistakable.  The Netflix narrative was aborted as we simultaneously grabbed our cell-phones and scanned various sites to determine what, exactly, we’d heard. 

I do English and he does Hebrew which means that, although I’m always a day late and a dollar short on keeping current, Ronney’s linguistic fluency means that he can access news and inform me in real time.  This time it was the Yemeni Houthis. Reports say that a considerable amount of debris fell over Modiin, Rehovot, Tel Aviv, around Ben Gurion Airport.  And we, in our humble South Jerusalem home, feel reverberations.

We take so much for granted, instead of feeling awash with gratitude.  Am I stunned and humbled when I open my eyes upon realizing that I’ve been granted another day? Automatically I offer blessings over bread and fruit but where is the delight when the water that flows out of the taps is both clear and potable?   Do I moan when checking another over-scheduled week ahead or do I thank God for a wonderful roster of clients who appear satisfied and return time-after-time?  And when I finish my monthly hospital treatment and munch falafel at the corner dive, do I wolf-down the deliciously greasy repast without taking the pains to credit great medical care, money to eat out, and the company of a devoted partner?

I and my co-patriots are painfully aware of the astronomically unbearable price that we are paying at this moment in Jewish history.  It behooves me to question:  Is my life, filled with innumerable blessings, the kind of life that is worthy of such ultimate sacrifice?  Can I look into the faces of parents, siblings, grandparents, children of the holy soldiers who have been irreparably maimed or, worse, perished in defense of our God-given land with clean hands and/or a clean heart?  

In previous years, my yamim noraim (Days of Awe) prayers have been hasty, perfunctory, presumption filled.  My mind wanders and the liturgy feels so long!  But this year, the prayers can’t possibly be long enough for us to fully commit to real teshuva; a determined desire coupled with continuous efforts toward bettering our observance, bettering our behavior, bettering our giving, bettering our kindness, bettering our gratitude.

We have an opportunity to approach this season of rebirth with the goal of dedicating ourselves toward becoming worthy men and women,  collectively deserving of what is being asked of our holy chayalim.  With tear-filled prayers for these soldiers, let us unite and storm the Heavens with prayers for the welfare of every holy soldier who is fighting to protect that which is worth fighting – and sometimes dying – for.

And as for being better in the year to come?  It’s the least we can do.

Shanah tovah u’gmar chatimah tovah!  

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Reprinted with permission of San Diego Jewish Journal, October 2024.