Issue 70: Homeward Bound

139 days later, I returned to my family - but the journey "back" will take longer

“You don’t understand!”

My middle daughter’s face was red with embarrassment and frustration. Her fists were clenched. We were inches from the local pool - usually one of her favorite places - yet her body was tense. Tears welled up in her eyes.

I didn’t know what to do.

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On February 22nd, after 139 consecutive days of reserve duty, my company’s tanks were switched out on the front line. We relocated our tanks for repairs, participated in closing ceremonies, ate large quantities of meat, enjoyed our last cigarettes, reminisced about our war that was, and discussed the anticipated war to come against Hezbollah. We also engaged in several processing sessions designed to prepare us for the return to civilian life. “See you in a few weeks,” we half-jokingly parted with one another. Then we went home.

But nothing prepared me for my daughter’s desperate cry for help at the edge of the pool.

I should have seen the writing on the wall. She was disappointed with the snack I brought for pick up. We arrived at the pool too close to the start of her swim lesson and by the time she was in her bathing suit the class had already begun (she hates being late). All week she had voiced disappointment that her favorite swim instructor was being replaced.

What can I say, my Dad game is rusty. Instead of providing my daughter what she needed I downplayed her concerns. As she dug into her position, I too became more confrontational. When I realized my error, I pivoted and I apologized. Many times.

After 20 minutes she decided to join the lesson.

But definitely not because of anything I did.

In the week I’ve been home, I’ve experienced similar episodes with my wife and each of my daughters. Moments where we’ve misunderstood one another, or gotten upset with one other’s decisions. One night we were awakened by our youngest child’s screams. When I went into her room to console her she shouted at me, “No Abba! YOU. MADE. ME. SAD.” These incidents are a reminder that war disrupted my family’s internal balance - not just my own. And although the beginning of our healing process was celebrated by emotional hugs at the front door, there is no real going back to the world of October 6th; the next steps in our journey will be unfamiliar, and the “memory of darkness” will continue to weigh upon us.

What choice do we have but to rise to this challenge? This is the reward for being a family reunited during wartime.

But the war isn’t over. Hundreds of thousands have been displaced from their homes, tens of thousands are dead, and as of today 134 hostages still remain in Hamas captivity. Only when you consider the net number of people who have been affected by this war can you begin to appreciate the scale of human trauma that has been wrought upon the peoples of this land.

I will be writing a number of reflections over the coming weeks as part of an effort to process my experiences during the war,. Because my wife is always right, my next newsletter will try to explain why someone who participated in the 2023 anti-government demonstrations didn’t think twice to answer the call on October 7th. Until then, I leave you with a picture of a very grateful family reunited.