I woke up, and for a second I had forgotten it all.
I forgot there was a war, I forgot the faces of the hostages, I forgot the screams, the cries we all saw.
I opened the window of my pretty room in a Tuscan hotel and tried to breathe in, and then I remembered. Suddenly, all the beauty around me had no color, no sound. I saw all the prettiness around me, but the soundtrack playing in my head was just cries and prayers.
I closed the curtains, sat on the bed and cried.
Everything had changed in a moment.
We had the most beautiful Sukkot holiday with my family in Italy in a hotel in Forte dei Marmi, a place filled with memories of my childhood where we spent long summers by the beach, we biked, we laughed, we ate, we sang.
Shabbat morning I heard a weird sound at 5:30 a.m. I thought there was a problem with the a/c, the phones were off. I got up and tried to find the source of the sound. I followed it. It was coming from my husband’s phone.
I woke Yossi up: “There’s a weird sound coming from your phone, but it’s off.”
He sat up on the bed, half asleep. We had gone to bed late and had drunk and eaten a little too much the night before at the Shabbat meal.
He listened for the sound to come back, and then he looked at me “There are missiles over Israel,” he said.
“It can’t be,” I said.
The sound kept beeping. “This is not good,” he said.
“Turn it on; we must know,” I said.
We didn’t. We waited for the sounds to stop, wanting to believe that nothing happened, and fell asleep.
That last bittersweet, innocent sleep.
I walked around town in the afternoon after reality hit us through the TV screens of the reception area of the hotel, where we basically spent the rest of the day, even though it was Shabbat.
THE MAIN shopping road full of glossy stores, that just the day before had made me dream, now didn’t interest me at all.
Those little coffee shops so inviting and cozy felt cold and pathetic. Even the sunlight peeking through the trees in a perfect straight line was annoying.
I felt out of place.
This cannot be true, this can’t happen now. I looked around me, people strolling calmly with their children, walking their dogs, holding hands with their loved ones, smiling, laughing, and chatting. I tried to look at them – do they know what is going on in Israel? Does anybody here care?
This time, though, it’s different. It has to be.
Yossi got called back to Israel and managed to get on an El Al flight. As much as it was hard for him to leave, he was aching to go already and be back in Israel. I was stuck there in Italy with my heart torn, one side of me wanting to go back and just do, help, be there with my people. On the other hand, my children were happy there. There was no school, no sirens, no pain. Why rush back with them?
I waited for them to go to sleep at night, and that was when my day started. I felt so much energy inside of me. I wanted to go on every Italian channel and scream and shake up the people. I wanted to write day and night, I wanted to run. I couldn’t sleep, anyway.
I wanted to be there with every mother crying, every family who is aching. I wanted to bring food to soldiers, I wanted to do so much and felt so useless there.
As I left the little town in Tuscany on the way to Milan, my hometown, I stopped in a small cafe to get an espresso before the three-hour drive. A place in the middle of nowhere. My first thought was that they probably don’t even know where Israel is.
The place was empty. There was a man behind a big wooden desk who served me a perfect espresso. As I drank, lost in my thoughts, a man came in and asked for coffee. They started chatting, when I heard him say to the barman that he heard incredible stories from a soldier who is serving on the front line. I almost choked on my espresso. I turned my face toward him and gently asked, “Which front are you talking about, sir?” He said, “Israel.”
Shocked, I asked him if it was his son.
He said it was the son of a good friend of his from Milan. I told them I was Jewish and that my husband was on his way to Israel to serve. “Rispetto (respect),” he said to me. “You Jews are the chosen nation; you must erase Hamas.”
Today I got my inspiration for the day from a small cafe in the middle of nowhere from two non-Jews drinking espresso.
Finding unity, joy can make a higher power respond
WE HAVE a long way ahead, but from so much darkness there will come so much light. As I lay my head on the pillow at 3 a.m., I watched a huge rally in New York where people were singing and praying for Israel.
The Rebbe of Lubavitch emphasized the idea that when people unite in joy, faith, and love, a higher power responds positively. Strength that comes from unity and faith transcends the limitations of the natural world.
Division and hatred erode the fabric of a nation, making us vulnerable to external pressures or conflicts. The importance of unity, love, and living in the context of the Torah and its values can overcome darkness and adversity.
We shall be a light unto the nations and set an example for others through unity, resilience, and the strength of faith. Despite the unimaginable pain and loss we are experiencing, truth will prevail; and joy, rooted in deep faith, has the power to overcome what seems to be an impossible challenge.
We rose from the ashes of the Holocaust, and we built one of the strongest nations in the world. The time has come to show the world who we really are.
May Hashem watch over our soldiers and our children, give strength to aching mothers and families, and may we greet Moshiach and build the Third Temple.
The writer hosts the ‘Real Talk’ weekly talk show on Arutz 7 and heads the Keren Nava Ruth in memory of her daughter z’l, to help families in distress with a sick child or parent. She lives in Jerusalem with her husband and four children. hadassahchenproductions@gmail.com