The Phone Call: Alive or Dead?

Memorial Day, Israel, 2010. Like so many other Israelis, I am haunted by images from the past, and I can sense that our oldest son, M, is following in his father's footsteps.

It's a little over a year since Operation Cast Lead, which was the first crisis in more than 25 years for which I had not been called up for reserve duty by the army. Also, it was the first time that our oldest, M, a paratrooper, would be going into battle. He called us before entering Gaza - he couldn't say why he was calling, but we knew the reason - and we heard nothing further for two anxious weeks.

Suddenly, at 6 a.m. the telephone rang. As my heart raced, M's company clerk informed me that M was alive and well, but his officer had died, and three other soldiers from his squad had been wounded.

M left Gaza days later and was soon home on leave, but his life had changed. The traumatic death of his officer, who died several feet away from M, will remain forever in M's memory.

Today, although we are not religious, M went to the local synagogue to pray for his officer. We both reflected on the young man's family - his parents, young wife and infant daughter - who would be visiting the grave located in the Mount Herzl Military Cemetery in Jerusalem.

I question whether I would be strong enough to endure a tragedy of this kind, which has traumatized thousands of Israeli families, who have lost their loved ones in war or as a consequence of terror attacks. I only know that when called to serve, M will again join his friends and not hesitate to put his life on the line, this being the price of freedom.

When the sun sets, Memorial Day will be over, and Independence Day will begin, but I have always had trouble with this radical transition from mourning to joy, followed by a return to routine, such as it is in this maelstrom country.