I came home that night after midnight, and the thrill of my first genuine escapade into the night since becoming a mother over five years ago still danced in my veins. I felt proud of myself and excited to tell everyone that I left both kids with my husband and took the night off to go dancing at a music festival with my two sisters and a friend I hadn’t seen in years. I was so young, hip, and cool.
Throughout the night, I texted my husband to see how everything was, and he kept comforting me, saying that I should just enjoy my time and everything would be fine. I was surprised because I knew how my daughter doesn’t like to sleep without me by her side. Nonetheless, I took the opportunity to enjoy this newfound freedom.
As the clock proclaimed midnight’s arrival, a sense of satiated freedom nudged me homeward. The impending dawn loomed with the promise of our children’s early stirrings and the daunting task of facing the day on scant hours of sleep.
As I walked back to my car, I sent a message to my sister-in-law and told her how cool I was, staying out until midnight. I had the cheekiest smile plastered on my face as I pressed send.
I walked in the door, thinking about how nice it was to let loose and go out without the kids, enjoying the lack of responsibility.
My husband rushed down the stairs to the sound of the back door opening. He looked startled, and his eyes were painted with something cold and worrisome.
“What happened?” I jumped to conclusions. I assumed the worst. Someone must have died. One person. Not multiple.
“Something unimaginable.” He responded.
“What?” My mind raced to the darkest corners, anticipating tragedy. But nothing could have prepared me for the stark reality he relayed.
“Don’t go on social media. Don’t even open it. Hamas broke into Israel and has already killed hundreds and taken hostages. The numbers keep going up. They are all over the south.”
Tears bubbled up in my eyes, “What?” That was the only word I could muster up.
“It’s going to be okay.” The classic Israeli response.
“Is your family okay? My family?” I held my breath.
“Eylon, Yuval and the twins are still in Sderot. They can’t get out because there are Hamas terrorists everywhere.”
The stark contrast to my night of freedom painted a grim portrait of guilt and helplessness.
At that moment, the weight of the world seemed to rest squarely on my shoulders, the joy of the evening tarnished by the stark reminder of the fragility of peace. The cost of my freedom, measured in the suffering of others, was a price too steep to bear.
