A group of us just came back from an emotional and moving day. It was organized by one of our friends in Maale Adumim, Yehuda Tatelbaum, who has a brother on a base about a mile from Egypt and a few kilometers from Gaza. About 20 of us, neighbors in the Mitzpe Nevo neighborhood of Maale Adumim, traveled in six cars, each loaded with food, sweets, meats, charcoal, fruits and vegetables, personal care products, and letters from children letting the soldiers know how much they are loved and appreciated.
Home baked goods could be found in almost every trunk. One car was likely the favorite, as it carried perhaps a dozen zippered canvas bags of shnitzel sandwiches: 500 of them! They were prepared by a crew that began their work at midnight and made sure to have everything prepared by the time we left.
Our first stop was an army base near Gaza, where we were warmly and enthusiastically welcomed by the many soldiers stationed there. We saw tents, packed gear, backpacks, and foam rubber mattresses all over the lawns. Far from the comforts of home, these men and women were proudly defending the land and people of Israel. The loving reception was to repeat itself twice more during the day. Namely, we came to say thank you to our soldiers, and they thanked us even more for thinking of them and their needs and for actually coming out of our comfort zone into their war zone. It was quite incredible.
We knew we were going through a dangerous area. Most of us have the “red alert” app on our phones, and every time it went off, we had to make sure to respond appropriately. Thank G-d, no rockets were sent our way. Before we got to our second base, however, while idling in traffic waiting for the go-ahead to enter the base, we could hear loud booms and feel the thud of contact even sitting in our cars. When I asked a nearby security man about the noise, he said it was Israeli planes striking at Gazan targets. It was real, it was unnerving, it was scary, and we had to decide as a group whether to continue ahead or turn around. Given that there were no sirens sounding, and understanding that our soldiers deal with much worse and we were here for them, we forged ahead.
At the second base, we saw many tanks and other armored carriers, and many soldiers, including one who lived in Baltimore but whose family made aliyah a few years ago. He was from the last class at Rambam, Yaron Trink, and we took a picture with him, which he knew would make his parents very happy. We embraced the soldiers and told them in any language we could how much we love them and appreciate them and wish them every success in their mission. Some had already fought in Gaza and were waiting for their next orders.
The third base was the one closest to Egypt. By that time in the afternoon, there was a lull in the action, and we heard and felt nothing. A truck with several soldiers came to take the remaining food; there was still a substantial variety of goodies for the soldiers. The guard in the booth at this base was from the former Soviet Union, and when I asked him where we were, he collected a few English words and said wryly, “We are at the end of the world here.” Indeed, to the untrained eye, there was not much to see for huge distances in any direction. This was where our friend’s brother was stationed for the time being. He was extremely appreciative and expressed the sentiments of his fellow soldiers stationed much deeper on the base than we were allowed to enter.
* * *
At a pit stop between bases, one of our group leaned against his car and seemed on the verge of tears. I went over to comfort him and asked what he was thinking about. He said he and his family had made aliyah from Pittsburgh recently, and he was thinking of how he would be sitting in his office in his hometown now, if not for their aliyah, and of how grateful he was for trading in that life for a life of purpose in Israel. He was overwhelmed with emotion at the privilege of being with the soldiers who were protecting him and his family, a feeling made even more poignant by imagining that not everyone he had met that day would for sure make it home.
One of our delegation was a woman who had made aliyah with her family recently; she was moved to come for many of the same reasons the rest of us made the journey, but she had an extra reason: Today was her father’s ninth yahrzeit, and she knew that spending the day doing acts of kindness and compassion was a sure way to bless and lift his soul in heaven. When I asked her to share her feelings, she struggled to get any words out. Her past, her present, and her children’s future in a safe and secure land had all come together to create a wellspring of emotion that could find no articulate expression. She was feeling more this day than she ever imagined was possible in the middle of a war.
* * *
Right before we left the last base, I got a call from Jay Bernstein, host of Shalom USA radio for a pre-arranged interview. He asked where I was, and when I told him I was right outside Egypt and Gaza, whatever questions he may have had about the current situation gave way to asking me to report on what we saw, what we felt, and what my projections were for the future. I spoke about the unequivocal need and obligation to defend ourselves from the terror and evil of our Israel- and Jew-hating neighbors in Gaza. Indeed, as all of us experienced in just a few potentially terrifying hours, this was no way to live. Jay gave me all the time I needed to heap lavish praise on our outstanding soldiers, who, with G-d’s help and through His revealed and countless miracles during this war, will do their best to eliminate the threats of rockets and tunnels. They put their lives on the line every day. We saw it and felt it under our feet, and it left many of us moved and transformed.
On the way home, several of the group went to Soroka hospital in Be’er Sheva, where the wounded are being treated. We came home safely, thank G-d, and I pray that our soldiers defending the land and people of Israel be privileged to do the same.
Rabbi Adler is the former rabbi of Moses Montefiore Anshei Emunah Greengate Jewish Center.
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Letter from a Soldier on the Border
What’s happening here in the staging area is beyond comprehension, not rationally and not emotionally. It begs the imagination. Almost every hour, a car shows up overflowing with food, snacks, cold drinks, socks, underwear, undershirts, hygiene supplies, wipes, cigarettes, backgammon, and more. They’re coming from the North and the Center, from manufacturers, from companies and private businesses, from prisons, from chareidim and settlers, from Tel Aviv and even Savyon.
Every intersection on they way down here we get stopped, not by the police but by residents giving out food. What is amazing is that the entire situation wasn’t organized; everyone is coming on their own without coordination. They’re writing letters and blessings, how they’re thinking of us all the time. There are those who spent hours making sandwiches to be as perfect and comforting as possible.
Of course, representatives of Chabad are here to help soldiers put on tefilin and distribute ChaTaTs (Chumash, Tehilim, Tanya) for every troop transport, and Breslov are showing up at the border and dancing with the soldiers with great joy.
The chareidim are coming from their yeshivot to ask the names of the soldiers, with their mothers’ names, so that the whole yeshiva can pray for them. It should be mentioned that all of this is done under the threat of the terrorist tunnels and rockets in the area.
Soroka Hospital (in Be’er Sheva) looks like a five-star hotel. A wounded friend who was recently discharged told us how the Master Chef truck is parked outside and is preparing food for the wounded.
It goes without saying the number of prayer services going on. On the religious front as well, there are lectures and Torah classes, and all the food is obviously kosher. Shacharit, Mincha, and Maariv with sifrei Torah. They’re giving out tzitzit and Tehilim by the hundreds. It’s become the new fashion! The Rabbi of Maglan (Special Forces unit) told me that almost the entire unit has started wearing them, because the Army Rabbinate has been giving out tzitzit that wick away sweat. They’re gaining both a mitzva and a high quality undershirt. We’ve started calling them “Shachpatzitzti” (a portmanteau of the Hebrew terms for body armor and tzitzit). We’re having deep conversations late into the night – without arguments, without fights, and we find ourselves agreeing on most stuff.
We’re making lots of jokes at Hamas’ expensive and without politics. There is much more to add, but my battery is running low, and the staff has been requesting someone give a class on Likutei Moharan (Breslov).
How happy is the nation that is like this!
