At a wedding amid war, joy and terror intermingle

2:31

“How is Ahron* holding up?” I’m speaking with my sister-in-law Dini about her son who is here in yeshivah.

“He’s nervous. A couple of boys from his yeshivah are going home,” she tells me.

“It’s really stressful. I thought I was used to this, but this is worse than anything I ever experienced in all my years here.”

“Should I bring him home?” she asks. “I wasn’t planning to.”

“If he’s not asking to go home, I wouldn’t offer. It’s scary but under control.

“If he was in the south, I’d say get him out of there, but in the center, the main danger is the bombing and baruch Hashem, baruch Hashem, the Iron Dome has a close to perfect record of shooting those down. The few that get through are usually in the south, which gets such a heavy barrage that it sometimes overwhelms the system.”

5:01

The siren starts to wail. After over 50 uneasy hours of silence in Beitar, of constantly listening for the dreaded rise-and-fall, it’s no surprise.

I run toward the back of the house while taking inventory of my family.

Only my husband and one daughter are home.

I’m pretty sure my boys are with friends nearby who have apartments with a safe room, but my 13-year-old went with her friend to buy essentials to send to the soldiers.

Is she still in the makolet? Do they even have a safe room? Was she on her way home? Will she have the presence of mind to go into the closest building and not try to get home? Is she terrified? Why did I think it was a good idea to send her shopping????

My stomach is clenching in panic. My husband slams the heavy metal window shut. We murmur Tehillim.

Another siren.

And suddenly, the horrible thunderous sound of a missile landing. A high-pitched screaming explosion. The window rattles.

Another siren. And another explosion.

We look at each other in white-faced disbelief. Struggle to talk. To calm our pounding hearts.

This isn’t supposed to happen.

The house phone rings. It’s too soon to go out. My cell phone rings. I’d forgotten to take it in with me.

Is it my daughter? Or maybe my youngest? Is he not playing at his friend’s house like I thought he was?

My cell phone rings again. My husband races out and answers.

It’s my younger son. He’s fine.

No word from my daughter.