As I write this, it’s 70 degrees here in Bet Shemesh. Much of America is facing cold weather; scraping ice off windshields. Not here. Days of shivering from the cold are a distant memory.
These days, we shiver here in Israel for different reasons. We shiver each morning before we check the news and after Shabbat, when we turn on our phones terrified of the bad news we are sure to read. The dreaded words, a name of yet another soldier fallen in battle. Another sweet face full of boyish charm who has given his life for our medinah in this terrible war. We shiver at the indignation of reading of international condemnation from our enemies and international pressure from our friends. We shiver at the thought of our hostages in cold tunnels deep underground and wonder how we will ever get them out. We stand holding Israeli flags to embrace yet another family as they depart for the military cemetery and we shiver as we think of the incomprehensibility of another son, or daughter, or husband or father who woke up to dance with a Torah and instead left to fight a war and never returned. We shiver at the thought of who might be next.
We shiver at the great privilege of being part of this great people living in this beautiful land and of the sacrifice, the depth and beauty of being here. Even now. Especially now.
And we shiver with anticipation, knowing it is specifically at our lowest lows that Geulah is just around the corner.
