Not the Simchat Torah I expected

Just got a call from my daughter who’s getting married PG in less than a month that she and her fiancé have been placed on a list to be possibly drafted as volunteers … I’m both fiercely proud and concerned, and I’m still processing those feelings…

For those of you in Israel, these experiences are far from unique. The perspective that follows is more intended for those supporting us from the Diaspora. I’m sure you’ve been exposed to many posts from those of us fulfilling the Zionist dream in Israel with all the joys and burdens this privilege brings. Here is mine…

As you may know, when there’s news in Israel, the word gets around quickly, even on Shabbat. Since many people need to be connected 24/7, when something happens, it doesn’t stay quiet for long.

The first signs that something wasn’t right came early on Simchat Torah (which was also Shabbat), when I went to an early sunrise service. There were a few faint booms in the distance but I didn’t think too much of them.

At around 7.30am as we were about the begin hakafot, the gabbai stood up and announced that a “ma’arechet” (military campaign) had begun. If a siren went off, the kids should go to the shelter and the rest of us should lie on the floor and cover our heads with our hands. It seemed unlikely, but better be safe than sorry.

Now, in the past, for us in Bet Shemesh, we very rarely experienced rocket alerts. And if we did, it would typically happen hours after the beginning of any fighting. So the news was unsettling but certainly not a cause for panic. But then news started to trickle down that what was unfolding was something different. There were alerts happening all over the country. It wasn’t good.

The booms got louder and I went outside with some others to see what was going on. I started wondering if I should go home. But the noises seemed to be coming from the south – i.e. Gaza – which seemed “normal”. No need to go home now and miss the rest of the service. No one else seemed to be going anywhere. Anyway, it was still early in the morning so there was no need to wake everyone up and get them panicking.

The service progressed as usual with hakafot, dancing, honouring the chatanim – those called up to complete the Torah cycle and then begin it again. (At this early minyan they don’t have the custom of calling up everyone to the Torah). Then, as is the practice in Israel, the service continued with Yizkor and the prayer for rain. As the Musaf amida was about to begin, my two boys walked in. My wife, instead of going to the later service as she had planned, had been woken by the booms, had started preparing the safe room and sent the boys over to be with me.

We davened Musaf together, with chazan doing the repetition without the extra singing we would normally expect to give honour to the day. The cohanim washed their hands and went up in preparation to give the priestly blessing. As is the custom, my boys came under my tallit. The cohanim recited the preliminary blessing and as they were about to recite “yevarechecha”, we heard the first siren.

The younger kids were ushered to the safe room and the rest of us lay down flat on the floor, with our hands over our heads, still covered by our tallitot. As the siren continued to wail, someone began singing “תהה השעה הזאת” from Avinu Malkeinu, which we last sang on Yom Kippur. Before long, we were all singing together.

Imagine a whole room of people lying flat on the floor – in 2023 – covered in their tallitot, sirens wailing, and unified in song, praying that now should be an auspicious time for compassion before the Holy One Blessed be He.

The sirens stopped, we stood up and before the Cohanim could resume, there was a second siren and we dropped to the floor again. Finally, the Cohanim blessed the congregation and we finished the service as usual. My boys and I hurried home where Devorah and the others were waiting for us.

Over the course of the next couple of hours, four sirens went off, each time forcing us into our small safe room, which normally serves as my work-from-home office.

There are more anecdotes from that day, like watching the young men on our street come out in their army uniforms – in the middle of Shabbat – saying goodbye and driving off to join their platoons. There’s the anxiety of the special needs kids in our family who hid under my desk for hours on end. But it all pales in comparison to the real action that was happening a mere 40 km away – a stone’s throw from where my daughter Ayelet & I had walked along the beach promenade in Ashkelon less than a week ago, enjoying the unity of families going out for Chol HaMoed.

Let me end this post with the prayer:

אָבִֽינוּ מַלְכֵּֽנוּ תְּהֵא הַשָּׁעָה הַזֹּאת שְׁעַת רַחֲמִים וְעֵת רָצוֹן מִלְּפָנֶֽיךָ:

Our Father, our King! let this hour be an hour of compassion and a time of favor before You.