I feel like my whole life has been spent dropping our daughter off.
I can still remember dropping her off at nursery school, kindergarten and grade school. We dropped her off at youth group events, at friend's houses and at the mall. We dropped her at high school, at her navigation and survival courses and at her pre-military academy.
What every one of those drop-offs had in common was that no matter what... no matter how focused, excited, frightened or ambivalent our daughter might have been about where she was going... she always looked back... just as she had on that first day of nursery school... and smiled.
Some kids look back to seek reassurance and courage from their parents. Our daughter always seemed to peek back over her shoulder in order to reassure us... as if to say, "Don't worry, I'll be just fine".
But nothing prepares a parent for dropping a child off at an army induction center... even in a place like Israel where service is compulsory.
This morning at 7:30AM, my wife and I dropped our little girl off at the IDF's Ammunition Hill induction center, to begin a challenge/adventure that will last at least two years, perhaps more.
When we arrived, there were dozens of other families already milling about outside with their draft-age children. And although many of the 'kids' knew each other and spent a lot of the time hugging old friends and trying to act like this was just another day, all the parents could do was look at one another and smile with our hearts in our mouths.
After about half an hour (after all, the army is all about waiting, right), a voice came over the loudspeaker telling everyone to come inside. As we filed inside, the 'kids' were asked to show their I.D. card and draft notice to a sergeant stationed at the entrance.
Our daughter's name was duly checked off on the list, and we went in and stood around waiting for her name to appear on a big electronic board.
Like all the other families, we took tons of photos... as if by capturing our daughter's image at this place and time we could somehow keep her in our pockets and by our side.
Before long, we heard her name called over the overhead loudspeaker, and her name, along with several other soon-to-be soldiers, flashed up on the electronic board.
We took our little girl through the crowd to the end of the large hall where her I.D. and draft notice were checked again against a list, she was handed a small book of Psalms and a wrapped piece of candy... and ushered through a door to a curving outside walkway.
And although we knew that up that walkway waited the beginning of the rest of our little girl's life, even if we had wanted, we couldn't join her... she had to go alone.
As I said, nothing prepares a parent for such a moment. How could it?
But as my heart was both breaking and bursting with pride, just before our little girl turned the corner and was lost from view, she looked back just like she always had... just a little peek to reassure us that she'd be just fine.
Godspeed
