Five years.
Five years ago we were at Camp Ramah in Wisconsin—me, Sarah, and Sidney. Sidney was all of one year old. She would wake up each morning and come to breakfast with us and then she met her babysitter and would be taken around the rest of the day. We always knew we would see her later; there was never a thought as to the contrary.
This Shabbat marks five years. We recite a mi-sheberach each week for him and I count the number of days he has been a prisoner of war. This weekend marks a sad anniversary in that counting.
Five years ago Gilad Shalit was taken prisoner—captured by terrorists who have kept him hidden and away from proper medical care and assistance. Five years ago was the last time he spoke with his parents, his family, his friends. Five years ago he went out on patrol, probably spoke with his parents before leaving, and has not been heard from since. Imagine not knowing if your son or daughter was sick or healthy, in need of help?
Our family has traveled extensively in the past five years. We have lived in different cities, different countries, made new friends, celebrated birthdays and comforted those who have experienced death.
Five years. 1,825 days. 43,800 hours.
During the past five years we elected a new president. Michael Phelps won medals. Our shul moved into a new building in Franklin Lakes. A teenager who graduated from eighth grade five years ago is already off to college. Fidel Castro stepped down from power.
Think about what you have done over the past five years. Where have you been? What have you experienced? What made you happy? What made you sad? Who came into your life? Who is no longer a part of it?
Five years goes by quickly.
Unless you are Gilad Shalit.
Or his parents, Aviva and Noam.
Or the country that continues to not forget him.
Or us as we pray for him each Shabbat and every day.
