Eight Out of Fourteen Hundred

War is a special time to be in Israel. It seems in so many ways like a different universe from the way things were just a little over a week ago.  I don’t need to inform my readers of the awful events that we have seen and the very real threats we still face.  I live less than five miles from the largest Air Force base in the North, and the incessant sound of planes coming and going is scary (but also music to my ears, as I appreciate how much the IDF is doing to protect us).  I also don’t need to make you aware of the incredible coming together that most (see below) of the country is experiencing, in contrast to the terrible hatred and arguments that were tearing us apart till so recently.  The outpouring of Chessed and helping and aid from all parts of the Jewish world, both within Israel and coming in from abroad, the great increase in Tefilla and Torah in solidarity with the soldiers makes one proud to be part of this timeless people.

For all of us, life will never be quite the same after this trauma.  Of course, we all hope that Mashiach will come soon. (It is hard to see how some of the current issues, particularly the terrible nightmare of the many hostages, will be resolved any other way.)  As my father-in-law ע"ה  would say, “We need Mashiach – badly!” 

If, however, Mashiach’s arrival will not be as imminent as we hope. Amost all of us look forward to the time, hopefully not too far in the distance, when life will go back to some approximation of the way things were before Simchat Torah.  There are tremendous efforts being made to help the many survivors of the attacks rebuild their lives and, eventually, their homes and communities.  However, for over 1400 families (so far), life will never be the same; their loved ones will never come back.  It is absolutely mind-boggling: 1400 families sitting Shiva, each with their own world of pain to deal with. (A list of many of the shiva homes can be found here.) 

We are all mourning for our brother and sister

Over the last two days, my wife and I were inspired to try to visit a few of these Shiva homes.  Our first stop, in Givat Ela, was at the home of Major Ilai Zisser הי"ד.  As an officer and member of the elite Sayeret Matkal brigade, some high-ranking officers and a celebrity were present, in addition to many others, to comfort his parents, siblings, and friends.  We heard of his heroism in fighting the accursed Hamas, as well as appreciation for what a wonderful and modest person he was, beloved by all who knew him.  We received thanks and a hug for coming and tried to tell them that he was the son of all of us; we are all mourning for our son and brother. 

The next stop was at the home of Bar Shechter הי"ד, who worked as a DJ at the music festival in Be’eri.  We met his sweet wife and eleven-month-old son, who must be wondering by now why Dad has been away so long.  She said that Bar had managed to escape and drive away but stopped at a police barrier that turned out to be Hamas in disguise, complete with Hebrew signs.  That turned out to be his last stop.

We then went to the home of Maya Fodor הי"ד, who went to celebrate at the music festival with her friends.  A beautiful girl inside and out, she was known for being selfless and helpful and making the world around her brighter.  Her grandmother from Tel Aviv could not get over her sadness and shock and the excruciating pain that it was to hear of Maya’s fate since she was missing – they didn’t know if she was alive or dead or captured by those monsters.

The home of Staff Sergeant Omer Bitan הי"ד was more traditional – the siddurim were there from the Maariv earlier that evening.  Omer had just finished his basic three-year service recently and was on his first tour of duty in Miluim (Reserve Corp) in the base outside Gaza.  Present was the Army Rav (chaplain), a wonderful Jew whose son is now waiting to enter Gaza in a combat unit. He told Omer's mother what a sweet person the son she lost was, and how much he was relied on and appreciated by his comrades.  His father Shimon was trying to accept that it was a great Z'chus that his son died by Kiddush Hashem, but asked “Why did it have to be so soon?  Could he not have been allowed to accomplish some more things before leaving us?” We cried together for his pain and loss; he was so grateful for our visit.

The second day went similarly in the Haifa region.  This time, however, I was asked by the Rabbinical organization Tzohar to represent them.  They are trying to arrange for a Rav to visit every Shiva home in the country, a gargantuan task that I was pleased to help with.  We visited the home of Michal Reumi הי"ד in Nesher, whose talented and stoic mother felt less connection to Judaism but was happy for the solidarity with her daughter who wanted nothing more than to relax and enjoy the Chag with her friends in her own way.  The father of Corporal Amir Ayal הי"ד was gracious and welcoming, very proud of his son, and very unsure how life would go on without him.  He described the week that it took to absolutely identify his body among the many corpses at the overrun army base as torture for him and his wife.  Daniella Portnoko’s הי"ד mother missed her terribly and was appreciative that so many had come to be with her but knew that the difficult mourning would commence next week when she will be left alone with her memories and empty house.  At the home of Itai Bonjo הי"ד we engaged in a discussion of who say kaddish – the father, whose parents are BH alive and well, or his big brother, who felt terrible that he could not protect him.

It opened up for us eight worlds of pain, each of which was such a terrible tragedy in its own right.  And then one thinks that this was not even one percent of the over fourteen hundred (and counting) shiva homes, and one is overcome with grief and despair.

A lot of work still needs to be done to repair the rifts between us

Lastly, I must, unfortunately, report that despite all the talk about the unity that is being demonstrated at the moment, just beneath the surface, the same animosities are still cooking.  All Israelis, and especially these families, are seething at the colossal intelligence and planning failure that allowed for a disaster of such magnitude to occur.  There will be investigations, demands for resignations, and angry protests.  One libelous and nasty narrative being developed (that I heard more than once and, of course, did not respond to) was that this was the fault of Ben Gvir and Smotrich, and by extension Netanyahu, because they had put up provocative sukkahs in Arab areas in Samaria, and then moved the bulk of the forces there to protect the settlers, leaving a woefully understaffed force in the Gaza area.  One mother was so upset by (another) visit from a religious stranger that she physically threw me out of the house and slammed the door. 

I have no complaints against a grieving mother who had an emotional outburst.  This slanderous narrative is, hopefully, only being adopted by the most extreme on the left, who have never for a moment stopped attacking Netanyahu and the government, demanding that they resign now as they are unfit to prosecute the war that is “his fault”.  Most of the country has come together; there are signs all over saying  ביחד ננצח “United, we will win”.  But I cannot help of thinking of the Torah portion we read this week and the Generation of the Dispersion.  Even when there is great unity, it must be built on more than one shared objective to be truly lasting and transformative.  A lot of work still needs to be done to repair the rifts between us.

 

One thing is for certain.  This war has changed things forever.  No longer will many stoically accept that which they feel is harmful to the country and their families – they will demand that the dangers, as they see them, be dealt with immediately.  I deeply believe that although the secular/left is to blame for the great majority of the hatred on display over the last few months, the religious/right has much soul-searching to do, as I have written several times recently.  Bottom Line — unless all sides in Israel learn to appreciate each other more and demand less for themselves, we are in danger of undoing the one good thing that this war has brought about – an increased sense of unity.

May Hakadosh Baruch Hu give our soldiers strength and courage and protect them from harm; may He bring the captives back to their families speedily. May He bring a Refuah Shelaima to the many injured, and consolation to all the bereaved families; May He spread His protective wings over and have mercy on all of us.

A Simchas Torah Like No Other

Preparing this morning to go to shul for Simchas Torah in Beitar Ilit, there were a few muffled explosions, but I didn't think much of it – one often hears such noises.  But then, the air raid siren went off, and I began to worry as I entered the Mamad (Secure room).  

Eventually, I decided to venture out to shul.  The non-Jewish security guard said there had been a terror incident in Bet Shemesh, (information that turned out to be false).  But then, in the middle of Shacharis, the siren went off again – and we all crowded into the bomb shelter.  We ventured out, skipped Hakafos, said Yizkor, and then another siren before Geshem and Mussaf.  And another.  Eight sirens in all over the next few hours.  I never made it to Hakafos, although things seemed to settle down towards the afternoon.  Waiting to hear the news at the end of Yom Tov, my mind wandered to another Simchas Torah, 21 years ago.

It was 2002, during the terrible second Intifada, and we were in Bayit Vegan for Succot.  There had been many bombings, many families had suffered the loss or the harm of loved ones, and the mood of most of the country was worried and pensive.  However, the mitzvah of the day on Simchas Torah was to rejoice in our relationship with Hashem and His Torah, so I went for Hakafos to some of the local Yeshivos.  I found joyful, exuberant dancing and singing; there was fun, laughter, and lots of energy, as it should be on Simchas Torah.  I joined in for a bit, but I sensed something was missing.  I then went to Yeshivat Har HaMor, and found what I was looking for.

Yeshivat Har Hamor is one of the premier Dati Leumi (National Religious) yeshivot, and its student body contains many who have served in the IDF, or still plan to serve in some capacity.  Every bachur there had family or close friends currently serving in the army; many were close to terror victims.  And it showed.  The Hakafos were joyous; the dancing was spirited.  But there was a certain indescribable mood in the room: "We are dancing despite …".  And then, the final Hakafa.  The songs chosen were slower, and the themes included "Hashem save us from danger", "Hashem will avenge the blood of the victims", "Hashem gives us strength," and so on.  I saw dancing mixed with tears and hugs of compassion.  I deeply sensed that I had found what I had been looking for.

The difference, it seemed to me then, was not that one group was aware of the ongoing Intifada while the other was not – everyone was well aware.  But for one group, it seemed that the terrible chaos around us was not their immediate problem.  They, of course, wished great success to the army and police as they fought and suffered the difficulties, but they were not personally affected.  The world they inhabited was insulated and did not see itself as part of the State of Israel in general.  For the other group, however, it was far more personal.  The Intifada, and the fight against it, was a struggle that we, and the whole State of Israel, are going through, and personally experiencing the pain and difficulty as we try nevertheless to engage in Simchas Yom Tov.

Whatever the investigative committees will discover, one thing is clear — Hashem decided that we were not worthy of His special protection

Fast forward to this past year, 5782.  Israel is terribly divided as agitators have led a vast and ongoing movement to topple what they term a dictatorial, undemocratic, religiously zealous racist government.  Supporters of the current government argue back, and the tone of the arguments on both sides gets increasingly ugly; the opposition leaders threaten nothing less than civil war.  The animosity reaches a shocking low as secularist protesters attack Yom Kippur prayer services in Tel Aviv and other places.  Sinat Chinom – vile and deep hatred based on lies and distortions – threatens to rip us apart irreparably.

These were the background of this Simchat Torah morning.  In lieu of Hakafos, I read the Torah reading to myself.  

וַיְהִי בִישֻׁרוּן מֶלֶךְ בְּהִתְאַסֵּף רָאשֵׁי עָם יַחַד שִׁבְטֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל  

And He was King in Yeshurun, whenever the total of the people were gathered, and the tribes of Israel were together. (Devarim 34:4).  

Says Rashi, When Israel is gathered in a unified group, and there is peace among them, God is their King — but not when there is strife among them.  And I wonder, "We know something bad is going on, but do not know any details.  There is terrible strife amongst us now — what will happen if God is not our King at this time?

By the time you read this, you will know more of the unbelievably horrible situation in which Israel is now mired, with the huge number of dead and maimed and – worst of all – the many hostages in the hands of the cruel and merciless thugs of Hamas.  I leave it to others to analyze the question all Israelis are asking, "How could the military have been so taken by surprise, given their usual incredible level of intelligence?"  Whatever the investigative committees will discover, one thing is clear — Hashem decided that we were not worthy of His special protection.  

It does not take much to assume that it has something to do with the teaching of that Rashi, coupled with the well-known ruinous effects of awful Sinat Chinom that has haunted us for millennia, which has unfortunately reached a fever pitch.  Apparently, Hashem decided that the medicine we need includes taking our day of joy – as we celebrate Him and His Torah – and throwing it in our faces.

Where do we go from here?  Obviously, the military and governmental leadership has an exceedingly difficult job ahead, which may take a long time to resolve.  But we citizens, especially religious citizens, must take this terrible debacle as a severe wake-up call to unite again as a people.  It seems to me that besides toning down the rhetoric, stopping the blaming and shouting, our efforts ought to include two parts:

First, we need to make greater efforts to love those with whom we have differences.  We need to be more like the second group I saw on Simchat Torah years ago and concern ourselves with those outside our religious community.  We need to feel and demonstrate to them that we see them as brothers and sisters who may have very different views and habits, but are loved by us, nonetheless.  We need to understand that from their perspective, much as we might disagree with it, they are frightened about the country's direction.  Whenever possible, we must seek to reassure them that they have nothing to fear from the demographic change in which more people uphold Torah and traditional values.

Second (and this springs from the first), we need to appreciate and communicate our appreciation for the many good things they have done to build this wonderful country.  We are grateful for their fighting in the army and police to protect us.  We are thankful for the vast sums of money from the State that support our Yeshivos and Kollelim and support their families.  We may deplore their Halachic choices, but we are here for them in any way we can build a true sense of brotherhood together.

It should (but does not) go without saying that the prayer for the welfare of the soldiers of the IDF should be recited daily, together with the general אַחֵינו prayer.  Besides the fact that it is the right thing to do, it is particularly hurtful to secular Jews that those Chareidim who do not serve in the army "will not even pray for them", a charge I have repeatedly heard.

These changed attitudes would go far in closing the yawning gap in Israeli society.  It is not too late; the overwhelming majority of the secular public would get along fine with the religious public — and even welcome more tradition in their lives — if (a) it is done with no hint of coercion and (b) they feel a sense of mutual respect for what they have done to build the Land and its army and infrastructure and institutions.

Let us hope that this is the final war, and – if we merit it – the herald of the coming of Mashiach.