My Mishpacha column is due in two hours; I am trying desperately to finish it but am disturbed and troubled by the news of hundreds of rockets falling all over Israel. But life goes on and the column is overdue. I am alone at my desk and because I write better while listening to classical music the good music station is on playing Beethoven’s Ninth. And there is nothing better than good old Ludwig to get the creative juices flowing.
The phone rings: A mother from America whose son is in yeshivah here in Jerusalem. She is frightened she wants him to come home but he does not want to leave. Would I please talk to him? I understand her worry especially since she is not in the best of health and try to calm her fears telling her that things always look worse from a distance and that the media often exaggerate the crisis atmosphere. Nevertheless I promise to call her son and chat with him about the situation.
I call him. He is quite calm but his mother is unnerving him. He wants to stay; he feels that he is in a holy place and this is where he wants to be in a crisis. He asks me to call his mother and to calm her. I call the mother back we have a long discussion and I assure her that her son is fine that life in Jerusalem is quite normal that the crisis here is nothing new and that with G-d’s help all will be well. If she insists on it her son is ready to return. However I suggest that she wait several days to see what develops. She agrees to wait. I call the son back and inform him. He is relieved.
Back to my column. Now there is less than an hour before deadline. The music plays on. It is majestic. No wonder it is considered the pinnacle of classical music. It contains everything: power pathos melody passion sensitivity. I continue writing. Maybe I will yet make the deadline. The doorbell rings: the vaad habayis chairman. He wants to know if we have stuff in the building shelter. They are clearing it out “just in case …” Well they might. Last Friday night when the alarm sounded in Jerusalem all the men were in shul and the women at home found the shelter almost uninhabitable filled with the detritus of all the residents. So they spent the time together in the stairwell of the building.
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