One hundred days after the war began, Roni returned to the office for the first time. Much had changed since the beginning of October—there was a new office manager, the coffee machine had been replaced, and a fancy contraption dispensed freshly squeezed orange juice in the kitchen—but overall, things were just the same. The projects waiting for him were those he had dropped when unexpectedly he was called up for emergency reserve duty, and although his inbox was now bloated with unread emails, it was as if he had never left.
“Roni, welcome back!” Gideon exclaimed, slapping him on his shoulder—a shoulder that ached from having carried a weapon nearly twenty-four hours a day. Gideon sat at the desk across from Roni in the developers’ open space. “How are you doing, my brother?”
“I’m okay,” Roni said, swiveling his chair into position. He pushed aside the welcome-back gift basket, with its “Thank you for your service!” note, expensive bottle of wine, and imported chocolate, and adjusted his computer screen.
“No, really, how are you doing?”
How was he doing? How was anyone doing? He was lying when he said he was okay, but he didn’t want to say anything more. Not to Gideon, whom he rarely saw outside work hours. Not to his boss, Moishe, either, or any of his colleagues. He hadn’t spoken with his parents about what he went through, when he’d visited them the previous Shabbat, so why should he open up now?
Read the rest of the story on The Jewish Fiction Journal.
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