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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