As usual, I was at the super picking our weekly Shabat Challot. But this was no ordinary erev Shabat. A number of people also came into the store but they were dressed not in their Shabat finery but in their Tzahal uniforms. It was clear where they were heading. Some I knew from the ‘hood, others I didn’t recognize. I said Shabat Shalom to them, shook their hand, and wished them B’hatzlacha. Thinking of them, as well as my son who was also called up, I left the super – with a tear in my eye and a twinge in my heart. Shabat Shalom.