They are coming home

No rational person would ever trust H*mas.

I don't trust our government either, nor America's, nor any other country on Earth.

I don't trust the news, and most of the time, what's reported isn't true or is twisted in lies.

The only one I really want to hear from is God.

My Abba, Eric Lankin, always says that here in Israel, prayer is a local call.

We are sitting at the feet of the kisei hakavod and it feels like Hashem spoke to us today.

I didn't believe the news last week that the hostages were finally all going to be coming home.

Too good to be true. The concessions too painful or too confusing to accept.

We've had many deals and lots of talk and lots of headlines- but for this to be over? For them all to come home?

I'm not the only one who has barely slept this week, acid in the back of my throat, nauseous, and agitated. It's all just too much.

But the news broke this morning that they are coming home.

Saturday? Sunday? Monday?

On Simchat Torah, the day they were taken?

And we kept saying, "Hashem's timing is divine. Only He knows. Only He could have coordinated 2 years exactly to the day."

But still- so much doubt. All these leaders and state actors, all with their own agendas- to coordinate it all- we've just been burned many times before.

But this morning I opened the news and social media and saw all the celebrating.

The former hostages joined together drinking l'chaims and thanking God, the parents and families of the 48 hugging and weeping with joy, dancing in hostage square, congratulations all around.

The hope that it was all true hit me so deeply, so painfully that I couldn't do anything but pray they and the rest of us here in Am Yisrael wouldn't be heartbroken again.

But then I heard a crack in the sky from the open window behind me, and that smell- you know which I mean- the first rain of the season- blasted through the screen as the skies opened up.

Yesterday, I noticed there was barely a cloud in the sky- a little whisp of a thing no more than a cotton ball.

But all of a sudden this morning many cities in Israel were hit by what I would have to imagine as a flash flood- there was no warning on the forecasts. The rain came so fast and so furious it flooded the streets, people running home from shul with their lulavinm and etrogrim saturated by water. Sukkot flooded. The loudest, heaviest rain you can imagine.

And as the sky cracked open, so did my chest, and all the tears I've been holding onto all week came flooding out.

I know I joined all of am yisrael with tears of heartbreak and hope and relief and joy- absolute joy at the thought that this could all be over- guided so directly by God's hand.

Because rain is blessing. Just a few days shy of when we return to pray for rain - it felt to me like a response from the heavens- the one we have been waiting for.

A sign that He is orchestrating the release of His people.

That we will soon be showered with bracha and healing.

I saw that there was a beautiful rainbow that showed up on the shore this morning after the rain - a sign that our ordeal is over?

A promise of never again?

Call me pollyannish. Right now, I'm so filled with hope that it's all I care about.

It's not over yet, not by a long shot.

But as long as we are in conversation with the Divine, there is always still a chance.