I am really not a morning person. Like. Really. Not.
I had only managed to go to sleep shortly before 1 a.m., so I was somewhat surprised to hear my fourth son’s voice calling me a few minutes past seven this morning. Not only was I surprised, I was also puzzled and confused, to say the least. Especially since none of my five sons was in my house at the time. Quite the contrary in fact. Baruch Hashem all of my sons were peacefully at home with their respective wives and children, hopefully after having enjoyed a good night’s sleep.
However, because I heard my son’s voice calling me, I reluctantly cracked open my eyelids and peered at the bright red clock display: It read 7:06. Beside me, my husband was uncharacteristically sound asleep. We had both experienced a rather restless night, and he had confided in me several hours earlier that he was doubtful that he had fallen asleep at all.
My husband had just returned from an exhausting two-week trip to both coasts of the U.S. His trip had been quite grueling, including major sleep deprivation and a busy schedule, while shuttling through many different airports and time zones. And, instead of catching up on his lost sleep, he had undertaken quite a whirlwind of activity, mostly fulfilling time-sensitive obligations to his shul, since landing just over twenty-four hours earlier.
So, although I am really not a morning person, I hurriedly washed my hands, threw on some clothes, and quietly crept downstairs to the living room to daven Bircas HaTorah and spend the next half-hour or more reciting Tehillim and then reading a list of some two hundred names.
By now you are most likely convinced that I have totally taken leave of my senses. First I heard the voice of a son who was miles away, possibly sound asleep, and then I jumped out of bed and began davening. True, one of my grandsons was scheduled to arrive at 8:45 a.m. for many hours of Bubby-sitting in my home while his mother, a.k.a. my youngest daughter, was at work nearby, but 7:06 is a tad early for me even so.
Basically I felt like HaKadosh Baruch Hu was calling me, albeit in my son’s voice, reminiscent of a youthful Shmuel HaNavi reporting to Eli HaCohen several times during the night, during the era that Mishkan Shilo stood, many thousands of years ago. And although I am not expecting to become a prophetess any time soon (or ever!) I am extremely grateful for the unexpected but very timely Divine wake-up call.
This accursed war has been raging for over 300 excruciatingly stressful days, and like everyone else in our beautiful country, my husband and I had signed on to aid the war effort from the very beginning, and neither of us has missed a day since.
A wonderful congregant who belongs to my husband’s shul took upon himself the very beautiful but equally challenging mission of compiling a detailed list of all the chayalim and chayalot affiliated with our amazing kehillah who were called up to serve in the IDF, and ensuring that prayers and Torah learning were offered in their merit 24/7 ever since the war began.
He divided the 24-hour day into 48 half-hour shifts, and assigned a daily (or nightly) slot to all volunteers from our shul, as well as some friends and relatives in Europe and various other time zones. Aside from the hours lovingly spent on arranging this huge undertaking, he regularly updates the list of both soldiers and daveners as inevitable changes occur.
Long story short, I was assigned the 9 p.m. shift, and my husband has his mishmeret at 7 a.m. each day. And you do not have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that a 7 a.m. slot in the Holy Land translates into a 9 p.m. slot in Los Angeles (making us temporary twins!) and a midnight slot in New York. Needless to say, the 9 p.m. slot was a piece of cake, and the subsequent midnight shift was not exactly what the doctor ordered, particularly in his already sleep-deprived and jet-lagged state.
Which would at least partially explain why, when we finally got to bed last night, he inadvertently set his alarm for 6:30 p.m., rather than 6:30 a.m., and why he was uncharacteristically still deep in dreamland when my son’s voice woke me this morning, just a few minutes after my husband’s daily learning and Tehillim shift was due to commence.
I hope it likewise explains why yours truly hopped out of bed and into my clothes at the speed of a fireman, and made haste to begin my husband’s already slightly-delayed shift by reciting Tehillim and the long list of the soldiers’ names while he caught up on some much-needed and well-deserved zzz’s.
My little mazik man, a.k.a. my adorable albeit very mischievous grandson, arrived ahead of schedule at 8:40 a.m., but instead of being exhausted and depleted as I had predicted, I was baruch Hashem feeling blessedly accomplished and invigorated. (An extra-strong cup of coffee certainly didn’t hurt either!)
Thankfully my sleep-deprived husband merited an extra two hours of restorative slumber, until he had to wake up for the Shacharis minyan. And I started a very hectic day on a spiritual high, having had the opportunity to do an unsolicited chesed for my incredible husband, while simultaneously beginning my day by davening early and praying for the safety of our soldiers and hostages. All because I heard a Divine wake-up call, incongruously speaking in the voice of my beloved fourth son!
