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HaDassah Sabo Milner

Of War and Roller Coasters

The phone rings. It’s my son and his beautiful bride, video calling from Israel. I am so excited to see their faces and hear their voices and just feel the love between us. 6000 miles doesn’t seem so far when you can see each other face to face.
My son says “Ima, just calling to let you know I have been called back up.” He’s a reservist, and after October 7 he served for a few months and then was back to being a civilian. My heart sank to my stomach. I wanted to ask where he was going, for how long, when is he coming home, hasn’t he and his brother done enough already (His older brother served 11.5 months after October 7). But I said what I always say to my loves when saying goodbye on the phone or as they leave the house. “I love you, be safe.” He’s going into war and I am telling him to be safe……
Later on, after he’d headed back out to the army, I asked my daughter-in-love where he was going – South or North – not that either is a better option. I thought that knowledge was power. Nope. Fear is the same, no matter which direction it is headed.
A couple of days later I received a text “I love you Ima, I’ll call you before I have to give my phone in.” Any parent of soldiers knows what that means, giving in your phone. I got that call at 4 am my time – I wasn’t sound asleep, just dozing, because having a soldier at war is not conducive to sleep, and I have my phone in my hand just in case – “I am just calling to say I love you and it’s going to be ok.” It was a very short conversation – I got to tell him I love him, he was heading into a war zone, yet he was the one reassuring me…
I cannot describe the abject fear, the anxiety, the worry, the catastrophizing, the places your mind goes when you know your child is in danger and that the enemy’s sole raison d’etre is to kill him and all of his fellow soldiers. The praying is constant – I feel like I have an open line to God and I am just repeatedly asking him to keep all of our soldiers safe and bring them and the hostages back home safely.
What these soldiers are doing – they are such heroes. Our pride is immense. It truly is. But it does not override the fear. I wish it did. It does not stop that feeling of abject terror when your phone rings, or when there is a knock at the door. Most people know to text me first.
I have trained myself not to look at the news sites – it increases the already ridiculously high level of anxiety. You try to live your life, to go to work, to come home and be a wife, and a somewhat decent mother to the child still at home. But it’s always there. And you’re constantly waiting to hear that your soldier is back on Israeli soil, even though you know it’s not for long, because they have to go back in, and that just because they are back in Israel it doesn’t mean they are 100% safe.
You finally get that call “Hi ima, I’m fine, love you, speak soon.” And you feel like a million bucks but you cry buckets of tears out of relief. He’s back, he’s safe (ish) and he’s whole. But you know that in a day or two you have to repeat that whole process again. He’s trained for this, he knows what his tafkid (role) is. But none of this was in the parenting manual.
Being the parent of a soldier at war is a roller coaster, and you are not in control of when it stops and starts, and when you can get off. You just have to strap yourself in, swallow your Xanax, and go along for the ride.
About the Author
HaDassah Sabo Milner is a Welsh Jew who lives in Monsey NY. She is a paralegal, a writer and a lifelong foodie, and works in the local court's system. She's married with four sons who provide her with much fodder for her writing projects. HaDassah's oldest son made aliyah in Aug 2013, and her second son joined him in July 2014. Son #3 made Aliyah in August 2016. - All 3 served in the IDF. Son #4 is a volunteer EMT and an entrepreneur and has yet to make any Aliyah plans.