(After five weeks in Gaza, on the way home for a short break)
Tzahal is doing a fantastic job in the war so far. Many terrorist facilities have been neutralised, and we are edging ever closer, every day, every hour, to a proud and deserving victory – thanks in principal to the brave, resolute forces and soldiers who are putting everything aside to submit themselves in humility and valour to our Nations’ safety, success, and prosperity. I wanted to share an experience that left a great impression on me.
I had the privilege, albeit a painful one, of visiting the dear Eliyahu family at the shiva of my soldier, Yedidya Eliyahu, in Yerushalayim on Wednesday. With a bag on my back and my weapon over my shoulders, I travelled directly there on the blessed 24-hour break I generously received from the military base at which I’m stationed. Thanks to selfless chesed from the mother of a friend, I had a smooth drive almost door to door, and approached the street which had become an almost familial haven of love and support for all those grieving. The number of visitors was so great that the family members sat separately, surrounded by people consoling and comforting.
There is lots to say about my experience there, but one striking element that trumps the others is the emunah, faith and utter positivity that the family embodied and tried to portray to everyone in the vicinity. Pain and tears were ever present, but amazingly, also utilised to speak words of faith and pearls of hope in describing Yedidya, the events surrounding his passing, and the vision the family look to in hope for the end of this chapter and the start of a brighter one. I spoke to some family members of my memory of Yedidya, and the same key qualities of inner peace, simcha and calmness in all circumstances were repeated many times, amongst other virtues too.
Whilst there, Miriam Peretz came to comfort the mourners. Miriam lost two sons and a husband successively in the IDF, and has become known as an influential speaker on the subject of bereavement. I listened, as did everyone in the room, astounded and inspired by the magnitude of faith and strength within one individual, tailored to the hearts and pain of the recently bereaved mother and wife of my friend. Through words of encouragement and citations of Torah sources and teachings, she held everyone rapt whilst instilling hope and emuna to dull the pain and lighten the discomfort.
After leaving to attend another shiva close by, I made my way to the bus station planning to travel home. However, as I walked in my uniform with my weapon slung over my shoulder, I heard a young, sweet voice shout in Hebrew, “It’s a real soldier!” I turned to my right to see a children’s kindergarten full of boys and girls running outdoors. I approached the fence and passed a hand through to say hello, and many rushed to greet me, talk and express their admiration in the purest way only children know how. I was so honoured to represent the IDF and give them a reason to get excited. I turned to leave, but the teacher there confirmed I wasn’t in a hurry and insisted I go inside.
I entered the gan (kindergarten) quite astonished, as she sat the children around and placed me in front of them, explaining to them how lucky they are to receive a guest of such honour, and asking them to give me a blessing for the IDF, for Am Yisrael and for our safety. After so many beautiful berachot and through various forms of hugs, high-fives and affection, we all sang some songs and I asked each child their name to thank them for the hospitality, smiles and energetic reception, along with the teachers there. There is a simplicity of such value and deep goodness that only children can portray, and I was simultaneously overwhelmed and elated to receive so much love from Am Yisrael in its cutest form. It was so heartwarming, I was rendered speechless at being so celebrated and showered with fondness by so many who’d known me for no more than 20 minutes.
After this special morning, I looked at the contrast between being at a mourners’ home and hurting with them, and being celebrated as a soldier protecting my country surrounded by children’s pure happiness. I came to appreciate that this is a wondrous element of our DNA as Jewish people. We are aces at adapting, and yet know to give each time and experience its proper place, whilst remembering the context in which it occurs. But even more so, I felt that the right attitude towards sharing in the pain of losing loved ones to the cruelest of people was a springboard; it immediately led to the simcha of hope, the celebration of our national defense forces, the triumph of children’s song and laughter over evil that even now still tries rearing its head to snuff out our Nations light from the world. I believe it a foundation of perspective that the tough times, given their space and appropriate existence, can well lead to brighter ones. We live and breathe these contrasts, these bridges; just as we celebrate Yom Haatzmaut in joy immediately after marking Yom HaZikaron in heartache.
For we know – in our hearts – that redemption is ever closer, that Good is the greater force, that a small Light expels much of the darkness, and that our life is a process of dynamic nature; providing us with opportunity to overcome the most agonising of hurdles to embody our truest values, staying solid in faith and strong in hope, and to be that One Nation of Israel the world knows, has known, and will ever know. Am Yisrael Chai, now more than ever, and the world would do a good job of paying attention – I have a feeling they can learn a thing or two. May G-d open their eyes and sharpen our own vision to see this essential truth so we can keep living, breathing and being this miraculous People of Unity, Emuna and Israeli pride.
