8 | OCTOBER 26 • 2023 J
N

from the front lines
Talking With the Soldiers I Drive to the War
M

any emotions are 
pulsing through 
my heart and soul. 
The most predominant is 
intense sadness. I cannot 
help but think about the 
innocent kidnapped victims. 
We have no idea 
if they are alive 
or dead, dying 
a painful death 
from a wound 
or a slow death 
from lack of 
food and water. 
 The sadness 
is compounded by one 
heartbreaking funeral after 
another. Listening to a 
12-year-old girl eulogize 
her 20-year-old brother or a 
70-year-old grandma scream 
in pain as the dirt hits the 
coffin is a vivid expression 
of the worlds that have been 
shattered. 
I am nervous for the safety 
of our son who was called 
up, the men in his unit and 
all the soldiers who have 
reported to protect us. Yet, 
my fear is tempered by the 
embrace of the common 
Israeli who has set aside 
differences that exist among 
us in order to offer support 
and comfort and strength. 
The Israeli flag that we 
held in protest is now the 
symbol of unwavering 
solidarity at funeral 
processions, at food oases for 
soldiers and on the windows 
of cars on the highway.
When the war broke out, I 
was overcome with nervous 
energy, couldn’t sit still and 
knew I wouldn’t be able to 
concentrate at work. I signed 
up to drive reservists to their 
army bases. Each morning 

was a different assignment: 
four times to the Golan in 
the north and once to the 
Egyptian border in the south. 
I met a 21-year-old 
Lone Soldier who made 
aliyah three years ago 
from the Ukraine. She 
was inspired by Leon Uris’ 
book Exodus, which spurred 
her to reconnect to her 
Jewish roots in the same 
way as Soviet Jews did in 
the 1990s. She didn’t fight 
in 1948 alongside the novel’s 
Ari Ben Canaan, but she’s 
doing so in his spirit today in 
the modern State of Israel the 
pioneers helped found. 
I drove a young Libyan 
Jewish soldier to his base on 
another day. After he heard 
that I work at the Holocaust 
Claims Conference, he told 
me he had attended an 
alternative agricultural high 
school and never studied 
history and knew nearly 
nothing about the Holocaust. 
He asked me to teach him 
what I could in the two-to-
three hours we would be in 
the car together. Over and 
over, he kept asking: Why 
the Jews? Sadly, that’s still the 
question today. To paraphrase 
the title of Dara Horn’s book, 
people like dead Jews.
Another reservist was 
supposed to get married this 
week, but the wedding had to 
be postponed. He helped me 
understand that rumors of a 
military equipment shortage 
for reservists is true. The 
army never anticipated 
that nearly a half-million 
reservists would be called 
up or would volunteer. As a 
result, reservists get the old 
“hand-me-downs.” 

The outdated equipment 
is better than nothing, but 
it certainly doesn’t protect 
them from our enemy’s state-
of-the-art weapons. That’s 
why there are so many 
campaigns to raise funds 
for much-needed vests 
and helmets and other 
equipment.
One reservist that I 
drove was called back from 
Africa one day into his 
honeymoon, which took 
place a year or two after 
his Corona wedding. Not 
an auspicious beginning. 
He told me how meaningful 
President Biden’s support 
was to his fellow soldiers. 
“The United States has 
Israel’s back” was exactly the 
message they needed to hear 
because “we Israelis often feel 
like we are all on our own.”

OUR SON’S SECOND WAR
Our son was called up. This is 
the second war he has fought 
in the 12 years since he made 
aliyah. He was initially sta-
tioned in the south but now 
is training in the center of 
the country. We’re happy he’s 
not near Gaza but nervous 
because it means he’s training 
for something … and in gen-
eral terms we know for what. 
The other night, my wife, 
Rachel, and I were permitted 
to visit him on his base 
for a few hours. We were 
comforted to see the care, 
concern and friendship the 
soldiers feel toward one 
another. If our son has to 
fight, we know he’s fighting 
alongside soldiers who are 
genuinely looking out for one 
another.
I’ll end with a cute 

coincidence. Rachel has 
been baking chocolate chip 
cookies all week so that I 
could give a bag to every 
reservist to share with her or 
his unit. For our son’s unit, 
she baked a cake in addition 
to cookies, but we left in a 
rush, and we forgot the cake 
on our kitchen table. The 
next day, I took a reservist to 
his base. I gave him the cake 
that was intended for our 
son. He later wrote to thank 
us because it turned out to be 
his logistics officer’s birthday, 
and he surprised him with 
a much-appreciated and 
unexpected birthday treat to 
make sure there was a proper 
celebration even out in the 
field.
A new week has begun. 
More kids are playing 
outside. More adults are 
working, albeit remotely. 
The grocery stores are better 
stocked. The reservists are on 
their bases. Now, it’s evacuees 
who have been moved to 
Jerusalem that need rides to 
doctor appointments. 
We know there’s a long 
road ahead. We are waiting 
for more bad stuff to happen. 
We are here for the long run. 
We aren’t going anywhere. 
In the words of the Israeli 
songwriter Ehud Manor, “ein 
li eretz acheret.” I’m here to 
stay. This is the place where 
the Jewish people were meant 
to stand tall, sovereign and 
secure, and all of us are 
doing what we can to make it 
happen. 

Rabbi Lee Buckman, the former 

head of school at Frankel Jewish 

Academy, made aliyah from 

Metro Detroit in 2008. He lives in 

Jerusalem. 

Rabbi Lee 
Buckman

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