Because Cookies

Think what a better world it would be if we all, the whole world, had cookies and milk about three o'clock every afternoon and then lay down on our blankets for a nap. 

—Barbara Jordan 

If you can't change the world with chocolate chip cookies, how can you change the world? 

—Pat Murphy 

I have spent three of the last five months doing army reserve duty. 

I have three sons. 

The three, when they reached the correct age, one after the other, were drafted into the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) and served as infantry combat soldiers. One was in charge of the machine gun, one drove an armored personnel carrier, and one was a combat medic. 

All three still serve in the army in the reserves. 

My oldest son was called for a month's reserve duty in late February. It was winter, cold and rainy. Because his wife was in the middle of her eighth month of a high-risk pregnancy, he was allowed to go home most days so she wouldn't be alone at night. He would (sometimes, time permitting) take his three kids to school in the mornings and then drive to his post (about an hour and a half away) and stand or walk in the cold until nightfall when he would make the trip back home. I was very glad my daughter-in-law wasn't alone at night, but I wasn't so crazy about him driving on the dark roads at night. Not that I was in the car with him of course. I was in the kitchen making cookies. If I could have walked in the rain instead of him, I would have, but cookies were about all I could do for him.

One night, a driver drove his car into a crowd of soldiers exactly where my son had been standing a few hours earlier. By the grace of God, nobody was killed (not even the driver), but two soldiers were wounded. My son was fine, he hadn't been there, but it was his friends who had been hurt. He spent the next morning in the hospital doing what he could to help. 

I made cookies. 

Four weeks later, at the brit (circumcision ceremony) of his newborn son (mazal tov!!), the two wounded soldiers both showed up. On crutches. 

I had brought cookies to the brit; I only hope they had some. 

My youngest son was the next to serve. He was stationed in the same general area as my oldest, but now it was June and hot. The first couple of weeks, he told me, he would be stationed in a 'feelbooks'. 

Me: Sorry, a what? 

Son: A feelbooks. It's airconditioned. 

Me: Sorry, can you say that again, more slowly? 

Son: Feeeelbooks. 

Me: 

Son: What you guard from. 

Me: A pillbox? like what the British had in World War 2? 

Son: I don't know. A feelbooks. 

Me: A pillbox. 

Son: What? 

Me: What? 

Son: 

Me: 

Son: I need to see if I have any clean socks. 

Me: I'll make cookies.

 

A Jerusalem Feelbooks

He shared his cookies with his squad and made sure to save some for his friend who was not stationed in the feelbooks with him.
Right in the middle of his service, however, four Israelis were killed while eating hummus, not far from him. He and his buddies continued to scan license plates and ID papers with wide-open eyes.

I made a few more cookies in anticipation of his return.  

My middle son was the last to go in. His time in the reserves overlapped that of his brother's and he was scheduled for late June. Just before he went in, he and his family came to our house for Shabbat. When they left, I smuggled him a few containers of cookies that were not to be given to the children. He put them, I think, in the bag with the dirty clothes. We figured the cookies might as well get used to it, as that's where they would be living when they were in the army. 

After a short refresher training period (the other two boys also underwent training), he was also sent to the same area – more or less – where his brothers had served. He arrived at his post the day his younger brother went home. 

Four days later, a different army unit was sent in to clean out terrorist cells not far from where he was stationed. His duties became a bit more deliberate, a bit weightier. 

I made more cookies, which we brought to him when he was home on a break. 

"Oh good!! More cookies", was all he said. 

My three sons are army reserve soldiers. They do not serve in elite units; they are not officers. They are IDF soldiers who are protecting their people. 

And I am on a quest to have cookies officially recognized as one of the languages of love. 

He Who blessed our forefathers Abraham, Isaac and Jacob -- may He bless the fighters of the Israel Defense Forces, who stand guard over our land and the cities of our God, from the border of the Lebanon to the desert of Egypt, and from the Great Sea unto the approach of the Aravah, on the land, in the air, and on the sea.

May the Almighty cause the enemies who rise up against us to be struck down before them. May the Holy One, Blessed is He, preserve and rescue our fighters from every trouble and distress and from every plague and illness, and may He send blessing and success in their every endeavor.

May He lead our enemies under our soldiers’ sway and may He grant them salvation and crown them with victory. And may there be fulfilled for them the verse: For it is the Lord your God, Who goes with you to battle your enemies for you to save you.