This war, more than ever, has given Jews around the world an attitude readjustment. Because those names, those lists we’re davening for, are us

Photos: Flash90

This week, thousands of families in Eretz Yisrael will have a missing place at their Shabbos table. Husbands, sons, brothers, sisters — nuclear families missing a piece of their picture as their loved ones have been called to the front. But while we tend to think of an invisible line between citizen and soldier, this war, more than ever, has given Jews around the world an attitude readjustment. Because those names, those lists we’re davening for, are us

This sunny Friday afternoon, the Landau home in Efrat has the frenetic feel of a day-care center. Plastic plates of Erev Shabbos kid-friendly chicken and rice cover the kitchen table, and several sets of energetic toddlers and babies belonging to married daughters and daughters-in-law vie for attention while an older sister valiantly organizes a playgroup outside on the steps. But this is no vacation kaytana at Savta’s house: It’s more like a companionship vigil. Bracha Landau’s five sons and two sons-in-law have all been called up to the front.

Suddenly there’s a buzz — Bracha’s son-in-law Yonatan, Chana’s husband, is on the phone and everyone jumps. Yonatan, who lives with Chana and their young family in the Negev town of Yerucham, is calling to wish good Shabbos. Hopefully there will be more phone calls from some of the others before candlelighting.

Bracha is the captain of this small empire, but today it feels like she’s steering a ship of uncertainty. She’s proud that the men of her family are serving the country they all love, but like any mother, she’s torn between the needs of her people and the tugging of her own heart.

Bracha, a computer programmer, and her husband Yitz Landau — a chemist for a pharmaceutical company — moved to Israel from Queens in 1992, first settling in Jerusalem’s Har Nof neighborhood and then moving to a large private home in Efrat. They lived through the Second Intifada, the Second Lebanon War, multiple military operations and countless terror attacks. Yet this time, Bracha says, the overwhelm is all-encompassing.

“On Simchas Torah morning, with all the air-raid sirens, we knew something serious was happening, although we were still pretty much in the dark,” Bracha relates. “But when I went home after shul and the phone rang a few times, I started getting nervous. The next time it rang, my daughter picked up, figuring it must be an emergency. ‘Hi, Chag Sameach. Where’s Menachem?’ It was my son Menachem’s friend. They were looking for him here, although he lives in one of the small yishuvim around Tekoa, not too far away. That’s how I realized they were rounding up the reservists. While only my youngest son is still in the army at this time and the rest are in various capacities in the reserves, at that moment I knew: Within a matter of hours all seven of my sons and sons-in-law would be called to battle.”

Bracha hasn’t slept much in the past week. She, like most people in the country, is glued to the news, searching, groping for some crumb of information that will make her feel calmer, help reduce the anxiety.

“Of course, I wish my sons would come home, but this is so much larger than our personal situation,” she says. “And as much as we want them home, we don’t really want that either. We mothers know what our sons have to do, and we also know at they’re incredibly motivated and they aren’t going anywhere. They love Am Yisrael. You look at the soldiers who come from the entire spectrum of Israeli society, some of them might have been marching in Tel Aviv and declared they wouldn’t serve in miluim while this government is in power, but today there is 130 percent response to the call-up. It’s everyone: the left, the right, the directionless — everyone’s in it together.”

Bracha knows she’s the one who sets the tone for the house, and that she needs to stay strong for her children and grandchildren. She won’t cry in front of them, but she says that in the past week, she’s broken down in the most random places.

“I went shopping for Shabbos this week, and I always buy what my kids like — until I realized that the men in my family would probably be eating rations sitting in their tanks. I had a breakdown right there in the supermarket.”

Bracha is part of a large extended family, and one of the cousins arranged a prayer get-together. “We were davening for the chayalim, and so I submitted my children’s names together with a brachah for the safety of all the chayalim. But then another cousin refused to list her own sons’ names. ‘We are davening for everyone. This is no longer a personal tefillah for ourselves, and not about my sons coming home,’ she announced, and all the cousins went along with her. I’ve been haunted by this all week: Did I do the wrong thing by submitting my children’s names? I still don’t know the answer.”