A Soldier of the People

Yom revi'i, 27 Av 5772.

As much as I love writing this blog, guest posts from my sons are still my favorites.  Here, Yeshiva Bochur (aka Exiled Warrior) shares some feelings about another aspect of being an IDF soldier.

"I'm not a role model... Just because I dunk a basketball doesn't mean I should raise your kids."    (Charles Barkley, 1993)

  EPIC FAIL 

Today, while walking through the stone passageways of the Old City in my uniform, I was reminded of something. Something that a soldier sitting on the lonely border, counting the hours before he goes home again, can easily forget: my job as an IDF soldier.

Of course, I know that part of my job is to guard the borders of Israel from possible attacks. I know that part of my job is that in case of war I must set aside my individual safety for the continuation of the State of Israel. These things we are reminded of everyday.

What I was reminded of today, however, was the other part of my job. Possibly the part I draw the most pride from.

On my short walk through the Old City, two kids asked me to be in a photo with me, at least five people asked me directions, and a few old Yerushalmi women threw me blessings for safety.

Even though I've only been in the army a year and have seen very little of what would be called "action," to those kids I was Yoni Netanyahu rescuing hostages at Entebbe; I was Ro’i Klein leaping on a grenade to protect his fellow soldiers. To them I was a hero, and they were honored to be standing beside me.

It doesn't matter that I've only been in this country two years -- to those "direction seekers" I was a reliable source of information, because of course, I'm a soldier, so of course, I know.

Our job is to defend these people. Whether that means giving our lives in the field of battle or giving a woman a hand with her bags, our job is to help our fellow Israeli.

We are part of the very fabric of this Land. We are your sons and daughters. We are your brothers and sisters. We are your grandkids.

We represent this country and every human being who sacrificed his life for it.

It doesn’t matter what I was before, what I will be after, or what I am when the uniform comes off.  When I don this garb, I represent sixty-four years of rebuilding the State of Israel, sixty-four years of bravery, sixty-four years of brotherhood.

It is this part of my job, we soldiers tend to forget. And it this part of my job the Old City reminded me of today.

Sleep well Am Yisrael. Your family has got your back.

A Day in Yerushalayim

Yom rishon, 16 Av 5768/17 August 2008, Sunday.

We picked a very hot day to see how people "do summer" in Yerushalayim. If hot, humid Baltimore would adopt some of these hobbies, life in that city might be just a bit more pleasurable, I think. Kids were playing in public fountains all over town -- and no one was yelling at them. In fact, there were fathers sitting and learning nearby. Families were enjoying outdoor barbecues in the parks.
We met some friends for lunch in a busy restaurant in the Ben Yehuda shopping mall. Once again, we were reminded of a positive difference in the dining experience in Israel: in the States, there is a sense of being rushed from one's table for the next customer. In Israel, one dines and shmoozes, and actually needs to accost the waitperson for the check. (Of course, there will always be exceptions. If you can find that sort of restaurant -- other than a serve-yourself establishment -- on the Eastern Seaboard, please let me know for my next visit.)
We stopped in at our favorite bookstore, M. Pomeranz Bookseller, on Be'eri. The books we had ordered had not yet arrived. But we had a lovely chat with the proprietor and one of his long-time employees. That held us in place long enough for a very old friend to stop in. More chatting, and another reminder that there are no coincidences. Call me biased, but this fact seems even clearer in the Holy Land.


In the Old City, an older man walking with a young man, both in tefillin, reminded us of the preciousness of being in our own Land. Was this a father and son, or a rosh yeshiva with a beloved talmid? It didn't matter. In the Rova, every kind of Jew can be himself, without feeling out of place. The shawls handed out to some women at the Kotel may have given them food for thought; but every Jew is welcome.

The main theme of the day was that life is about time with people and Hashem. When we Americans are working so many long hours to live the American Dream, it is sometimes impossible to take time for that reality. Israel can afford us the opportunity to enjoy a simpler life, if we don't try to recreate the USA here. There are no guarantees for an easy life; but I don't remember tripping over that option in the USA either. But Israel has allowed us to emphasize the things we cherish the most: human interaction, time to be ourselves, an increasingly central relationship with our Creator. I am so grateful that we have this privilege. I pray that Hashem will not take it away from us. I pray that more and more of our dear friends will be able to join us at Home.