As I picked up the receiver a mechanical voice emerged: “You have a collect call from ‘Bezek’ (phone company) client by the name of ‘_______’. Do you accept the charges?”. In the pause I heard a male voice, with a definitely Arab accent say what was probably “Achmad”.
Realizing that the fellow had made a mistake, I hung up, effectively refusing the charges, and turned to go back to my task at hand.
It took no more than three steps before an icy fear grasped my heart.
Twice I had read of women receiving phone calls from their husband’s terrorist kidnapers, informing them that their husbands were victims of kidnapping. In one case the husband survived, in the other the man was brutally murdered in cold blood.
The image of my son David, the soldier, flew to me, and the cold fear that he might be the next “Gilad Shalit” swept over me.
Then I suddenly brightened, and reaching for the phone, I dialed my son’s cellular phone. Within moments he answered, and after a casual “HI, how are you?”, I tried to invent a reason for calling at that (busy) time of day.
“Mom, what’s up?”, my perceptive fellow asked.
So I explained his paranoid mom’s fears, adding “You know, that’s just the way Moms are.....”
At least he is safe.
I wish Gilad Shalit was.