Those Friday Phone Calls

For years, Friday has been the day on which I have made and received phone calls from ‘my people’ in Israel. In fact, the highlight of my week is often speaking to these loved ones – friends and family – residing in different parts of the country. Hearing their respective voices on Friday for more than a few seconds is a different experience than a hasty voice note or text during the week.

This morning, Friday, August 2^nd (and yes, I had to check the date as the past few days feel like a sleepless, anxiety-filled whirlwind), I made calls to my loved ones in Israel. But this week, it was deeply upsetting and unnerving to hear the content of the conversation as well as the tonality of the respective voices.

As I reflect on those I managed to speak to, I am listening to a mixture of Ishay Ribo and Harel Tal, their soft, meaningful songs and voices a small comfort at this very uncomfortable period, a reminder of our bigger Jewish picture as their words dial up our nation’s challenging story.

The phone calls this week only increased my already enormous anxiety level about the reality on the ground.

I instantly dispensed with asking ‘how are you?’ as this sounded both insensitive and stupid. I listened to what was said as well as what not said – a skill honed over my years as a market researcher. Not surprisingly, I heard the same messaging from each and every person with whom I spoke, although these individuals can usually be relied on to have divergent opinions on things.

Humbling and frightening that today this is not the case. Because this is unquestionably a terrifying moment.

My usually unflappable brother who is the eternal optimist and believer in G-d uttered words that left me shaking. I am actually afraid to jot these down here, but feel compelled to do so as they illustrate the depth of the anxiety experienced by our Israeli counterparts – even those who are usually calm and brave. To hear him – of all people – question whether he would still be ‘around’ tomorrow night, Saturday night, August 3^rd was excruciatingly painful and chilling.

Today, the childhood friend – blessed with a sunny disposition – with whom I giggled in kindergarten and attended high school, who was a popular fellow member of my Bnei Akiva Shevet (tribe) and the first of our friend group to get married was too stressed to pick up the phone when I called. Instead, she chose to leave a sweet voice note lasting about 21/2 minutes in which she thanked me for my care and concern and then shared the following: one of her soldier sons – for whom I was praying – just came out of the army yesterday and is simultaneously grappling with the honor and trauma of having retrieved the remains of five dead hostages last week from the tunnels of Gaza. I surmise that he may have been the one to lead the Kaddish for the dead in that dark, hellish tunnel as he was raised by the kind of mother and father who would have educated him to do so. The final piece of her message included I love you. …. And the timbre in which this was said suggested that she wondered whether this was potentially a final I love you because who knows what is going to happen? After all, when one of the Kings of Amalek threatens to retaliate harshly for the death of their terrorist hero, we take it seriously.

And my gutsy, irreverent, vivacious friend who made Aliya last year with a wicked sense of humor and a love of chocolate admitted that she had spent most of Wednesday, Day 298 of the war, this week in bed with a serious panic attack, unable to leave her apartment as the outside world just felt too unsafe. And the reality on today, Day 301, did not seem to have brightened her outlook. Instead, she chose to distract herself by engaging in a Cookathon for the guests she was hosting for Shabbat. The unsaid words had already been said months ago – before the April 13^th onslaught by Iran: would this, G-d forbid, be the last Shabbat ..?

This time, it felt even worse than then which was why there were simply no words available in her word bank to describe the over-the-top fear being experienced.

One of my other Friday regulars is the friend who made Aliya about 18 years ago – the one who used to live up our street whose son, Gidon, was best friends with my son. And, every Friday, over the course of 18 years, we have spoken to each other and discussed the week’s events – in the world and in our own backyards. Multiple conversations over the past 10 months have featured The War as well as other family-related matters. And yes, her son Gidon, was on my list for prayers for soldiers while he was on active duty. The truth is that I have refused to remove his name from the list as I figure that extra Tefillot can’t hurt anyone these days – wherever they are. This friend was now nervous about driving 20 minutes from her home to Jerusalem to celebrate her parents’ birthdays. Because right now, staying put in one’s own place is all she really wanted to do.

Even my deeply spiritual, Emunah-filled 7^th generation Yerushalmi Sephardi friend, Moty,  who is eternally praying for blessings for others at the Kotel called to ask me to say Tehillim for the entire Jewish nation. I assured him that I would increase my twice-daily Tehillim recitations and that I had already said some earlier today. And I began to fulfil this promise a few hours later: while waiting in a doctor’s office with a friend, I recited the 7 Tehillim that were being recited at 11a.m. EST globally today, Friday, August 2^nd.

I also tried to reach my lovely friend, Lynda from London, whom I have known for over 3 decades and who is – and always has been – the epitome of sweetness, kindness and selflessness. However, as usual, she did not pick up the phone as she is always busy on Friday morning taking care of her family members. How I wish I could have heard her dulcet tone today and sent her a big hug down the phone. Now I just hope I get to do so next week.

Another person on the list for a call was also my social butterfly 20-year old niece  who made Aliya and is in law school in Israel. Today I decided was not just a Shabbat Shalom texting day; I wanted to call her and hear her chirpy voice just because… She was delighted to hear from me and informed me that her original plans had fallen through. But ever-resourceful, she had pivoted and quickly found herself another invitation from a friend in Ra’anana as she obviously wanted to be with a family at this difficult time.

And then there is an aunt who has been particularly special and close to me since I was her bridesmaid when I was a little girl of six. And while I like to say that I am 38 plus or minus, the truth is otherwise… we have been connected in a unique way for over 4 decades!! So much so, that, as a young married, I moved to the same town in NJ as she lived in. And when she made Aliya over 20 years ago, we remained close, one of our ‘things’ being a Friday a.m pre-Shabbat juicy, ‘spill your guts out’ call!! A couple of weeks ago, she suddenly told me how touched and appreciative she is that I continue to make these weekly calls as it’s been 20 years of those Friday morning calls.  And I responded: They mean so much to me too because I love you very much. At the time, I remember thinking that she must have said this because she possibly thought that time might be running out to say it given the precarious situation in our homeland…

And last but not least, my darling mother, widowed just over 21/2 years ago. This kind, giving lady who has put a brave face on the suffering she has endured since my beloved father’s passing. The lady who has shown impressive resilience and strength even though she and we could never have imagined that she would have functioned without the love of her life at her side. I did not discuss the ‘Matsav’ as much with her as with my other interlocutors because I did not want to worry her more than necessary, in part because she is going to be alone for many hours this Shabbat – the solitude broken up by pop-ins from family and friends. I can’t bear to think of her living with this terrible fear and unprecedented anxiety because she is Jewish and living in a country surrounded by enemies. This thought is particularly devastating to me as her parents, my grandparents, escaped from Hitler’s Germany in 1939 and found shelter in England. Now she resides in Israel and has to endure threats because she is Jewish… even though this is our homeland where we are entitled to feel secure.

Those phone calls. The voices of my loved ones.
They have been ringing in my ears all day.

May Hashem hear all their calls and voices as well as ours in the Diaspora.

And let us all live to see, once again, the fulfillment of the words: Hashem Yilachem Lachem so that we can all call out seven times – with the utmost sincerity and conviction – at the conclusion of our next Yom Kippur: Hashem Hu Ha-elokim.