Rabbi reflects on post Oct. 7 life, war and resilience - opinion

‘What’s wrong?” my wife asked me the other night at dinner. I didn’t have a good answer. I knew the amount of rocket fire Israel was incurring was troubling me, but beyond that, I wasn’t sure. Did I need more of a reason?

Thinking back, I can remember how unnerving the beginning of the Israel-Hamas war was. On the first Shabbat, we decided to leave the television warning service on for safety’s sake. Since many do not carry cell phones on the day of rest, Israeli news channels are left on a silent broadcast. As the need arose, a newscaster would come on screen and calmly report which town had terrorists roaming the streets. This meant the town’s inhabitants had to shelter in place until further notice.

That Friday night, as we read to our children, a news warning was issued. We immediately closed all of our window shades, double-bolted the front door, and ran for the shelter. After a few minutes inside, as our children were visibly disturbed, we realized we’d made a mistake. Although the news had mentioned our broader region, no alarm had sounded in our town. We had been overzealous and realized we should only rely on the local alarms.

Taking precautions

When we left the shelter, we rolled out an extra rug so that two of our four children could sleep on the floor in our room. Although this was a major deviation from our normal sleeping arrangements, the times called for flexibility. I was concerned this might be our reality for the duration of the war. In the end, that was the only night anyone slept there. But the rug remained just in case.

Fast forward seven months. Our daily life is basically routine. Iran’s attack was the only time recently that those of us in central Israel had run for shelter. But that time, things were different.

When my wife and I were awakened by the air raid siren, we rushed to get everyone into the bomb shelter only to find that our two girls were already waiting for us there. The elder had roused her sister and gotten both of them to safety. 

I grabbed the boys and closed the door as we had several months before. As we heard explosion after explosion overhead we prayed for the safety of all of Am Yisrael. When the requisite time had passed after the sirens ended, we all came out and went to bed. This time no one even asked to sleep on our floor. 

It’s amazing what children can become accustomed to.

On high alert 

AS MUCH as there was a lull in rocket fire before we entered Rafah, the subsequent return has been all the more intense. The Red Alert application on my phone that warns of rocket fire and hostile aircraft intrusions has felt unending. 

Whenever the application rings my children ask, “Where is it?” with momentary concern. I tell them it’s either in the North or South, and they promptly return to what they were doing. But lately, for some reason, it has become harder for me to return to my routine.

Perhaps it’s been more challenging because i24News has been reporting that a military operation against Hezbollah is “only a matter of time.” Or maybe it’s because there have been more and more casualties as a result of the rockets and drones. Perhaps it’s the news that Iran is weeks away from nuclear capabilities. Or maybe it’s because the bodies of four hostages were found in the tunnels after almost 230 days in captivity. 

As the news of the hostages broke, I found myself rolling up the rug in our room as questions ruminated in my mind. After seven months of being held back from completing this war, I wondered, “What if?” What if we had entered Rafah earlier, could we have saved these four hostages? What about all the rest of the captives? Are they still alive? And could this broaden into an all-out war with Hezbollah and Iran? 

These inquiries swirl the more news we hear, be it good or bad. Still, we pray for the swift and accurate actions of our soldiers to bring home the rest of the hostages alive and successfully defeat our enemies. And through all of this uncertainty, the only thing we know for sure is that there will be days when we are not ourselves at dinner. 

The writer is a rabbi, a wedding officiant, and a mohel who performs ritual circumcisions and conversions in Israel and worldwide. Based in Efrat, he is the founder of Magen HaBrit, an organization that protects the practice of brit milah and the children who undergo it.