My Aliyah, and my Aliyah baby, have our tzav rishon today.
I’m not sure we’re ready, but we’re going to have to be.
17 years ago, my Aliyah arrived, cradled in a safe nucleus of fluid, of love.
It was protected, nurtured, safe.
And, over the years, it has learned to walk, to speak Hebrew, to interact with the world at large.
It has learned so very much.
But now, now comes another test of that Aliyah.
The tzav rishon, the first step to enlist in the Israeli army.
And as my Aliyah gets dressed this morning with slightly trembling fingers, and finds its way through the cavernous central bus station to the IDF draft office, it has a nation imprinted on its heart, on its soul.