A12 HAMODIA

Feature

3 AV 5774

JULY 30, 2014

Israel

/ By Rabbi S. Binyomin Ginsberg

Spend a Shabbos in Sderot — Your Life Will Never Be the Same

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ou would think everyone would be scared. You would think the mothers would scurry through the streets with their children close by, their backs hunched against the near-constant sound of exploding missiles. You would think that people rarely smile, that they go about their business grimly, knowing full well that not more than two miles away reside roughly 1.5 million people who want them dead. The normal, purposeful, yet overwhelmingly calm atmosphere in Sderot is completely illogical, yet totally understandable in light of the residents’ unwavering belief in Hashem, in His protection, and in His unwavering promise that their lives belong to Him and He will take care of them. My Shabbos in Sderot, Parashas Maasei, was the most unforgettable, inspirational two days I have ever spent. I ate food that was, for the most part, yeshivah food, I slept on a bed no wider than a chair and thinner than most pillows, I had no air conditioning in 90° weather, yet I would not trade my Shabbos there for one in the most luxurious hotel. The phrase “Einah domah shmi’ah l’re’iyah — You can’t compare hearing to seeing” — is what I would use to encapsulate the experience. Nothing I can say (or write), no matter how prolific my pen or eloquent my words, can possible relate what I saw and the truly indescribable kedushah that was manifest there. I can only try to convey a fraction of what I experienced. About 50 people from America had come together to Eretz Yisrael to spend a Shabbos in Sderot and show our solidarity and unity with our Israeli brethren. The trip was organized through the Orthodox Union and could not have been more astoundingly perfect. Our first stop after leaving the airport was not Sderot, but one of the makeshift army bases that dotted the sweltering desert landscape. These bases served the soldiers who had recently been in Gaza, allowing them to eat, sleep, and regroup on friendly territory before returning to their grim duties. I was amazed to see dozens of cars at each base, with Yidden from every walk of life bringing the exhausted soldiers something to eat or to warm their hearts. The achdus was tremendous. Once in Sderot, we went as close as possible to the Iron Dome, getting within 10 feet of the gigantic missile defense system that fires at rockets at $60,000 a shot. Talking to the soldiers and hearing the missiles whistle and explode around me was surreal, made only more dreamlike by the sight of two young girls handing a tray of fresh cookies to a soldier and wishing him a cheerful (albeit shy) “Shabbat Shalom!” I asked one of the soldiers if he knew any of the 37 soldiers who had been killed, Hy”d. He replied that two of them had been from his unit, and that he knew them well. When I pressed him further and asked how their deaths affected him, the soldier’s answer was as shocking as it was illuminating. “Now, I am not going to feel. I can’t afford to feel the pain, to focus on my two friends who are now dead. If I did that, I would not be able to do my job because I would be depressed and crying. There is a time for everything, and mourning their deaths is not what I can do now. Now I have to fight.” It is initially hard to understand why anyone would live in a city that is under constant attack, much less voluntarily send

In front of the Iron Dome in Sderot.

A young boy in a trauma center for children are suffering from exposure to the frequent sirens.

their sons to a yeshivah in that city, yet these residents’ service to their country and to Yidden everywhere is the stuff of legends. Sderot is one of the closest cities to Gaza and represents the Palestinian’s inability to advance even a centimeter into Israeli territory. Without Sderot, the Palestinians would be able to slowly take land that is not theirs and eventually take over large swathes of Israel. Sderot residents are physically preserving the boundaries of Israel. I walked into the yeshivah on Friday night and barely noticed the lack of hats and jackets, or the color of the kippot. Who cares? What difference did it make when two soldiers joining the tefillos greeted each other with relief, having had no idea if the other was still alive after a week of battle? The ridiculous prejudices and separations among Yidden who dress differently and have different minhagim never seemed more ludicrous than at this Kabbalas Shabbos. The davening lasted for close to three hours, but we never wanted it to end. In addition to the nearly 500 yeshivah students, what seemed like hundreds of the 600 soldiers stationed in a makeshift army base on yeshivah campus in Sderot streamed into the beis medrash during Kabbalas Shabbos. Many of these soldiers had never observed Shabbos, much less davened Leil Shabbos tefillos in a yeshivah! When we sang songs with words like “Shomrim hafkeid l’ircha,” the emotion was

The makeshift base in the library.

palpable. Counter to the criticism that nonfrum IDF soldiers have no appreciation for Hashem’s involvement in their battles, these soldiers clearly showed that they knew with 100% certainty that Hashem was behind every bullet and movement. To see dozens of soldiers jumping high, pointing to the heavens and singing with all their might “Anachnu maaminim b’nei maaminim,” there is no doubt that they are maaminim baShem and look to Him for their very lives. I spoke to many soldiers with no Jewish observance to speak of who said, “We are in Hashem’s hands. Our lives are dependent on Him, and everyone knows that.” Try to picture that scene, hundreds of yeshivah students locked arm and arm with uniform-clad soldiers, rifles strapped to their backs, dancing and singing to welcome Shabbat Hamalkah. One image remains stamped in my eyes. Two young men stood with their arms around each other’s shoulders, their backs to me. One young man was from the yeshivah, wearing a shirt that said on it “Torah meganeh u’matzleh — Torah protects and saves,” while the other was a soldier with a rifle on his back. Both knew what was required of them. Both had a job, a mission, and were dedicated to carrying it out to the utmost to save Klal Yisrael from the hands of our enemies. Torah saves and protects the soldiers who carry out Hashem’s plans. On Motzoei Shabbos, I saw a soldier polishing his boots and asked him what he was doing. He replied, “I polished my boots

before Shabbos to welcome the Shabbos, and now I polish my shoes again to welcome the observance of another mitzvah — serving my country and keeping it safe.” The understanding that Hashem is the driving force behind the IDF keeps the soldiers going. To them, their actions are no less than a mitzvah and require the same concentration and dedication. After the Friday night tefillos, we shared a seudah with soldiers who had never experienced a Shabbos meal before. One soldier told me that he had been in Gaza all week and had barely slept, but the relaxation and rejuvenation he felt at this Shabbos table was more valuable than a full night’s rest. After the loudest night I had ever experienced, with bombs constantly going off, I awoke to silence, the result of a 12-hour ceasefire. I had the zechus to enjoy a Shabbos seudah with a wonderful family of eight children. I ate familiar foods and sang familiar songs, yet there was something unique about this family, enjoying Shabbos in wartime, so close to a violent battlefield. The eldest son, Aaron (name changed for privacy), was 15 years old and showed incredible knowledge of Torah and Gemara. When I asked him how the war affected his life, he recounted something that had happened to him this past week. Aaron planned to spend the day with a friend to enjoy their bein hazmanim vacation. He got a ride to his friend’s home in a different city and had taken a brief stop before continuing the trip. With both Aaron and the driver out of the car, but their possessions still inside, a missile whistled through the air right above the car. Luckily, it had been targeted by the Iron Dome and was blown to bits mid-air. Some of the shrapnel landed on the car, cracking the windshield and piercing Aaron’s siddur, which was lying on the dashboard. As Aaron related the story to me, there was not a trace of fear or “could-you-imagine-if” in his eyes. Of course they had been out of the car when the missile exploded, and of course they weren’t hurt! The understanding that Hashem protects him at all moments was a reality, an unshakeable truth that would not waver. While there was definitely a hole in his siddur, there was none in his belief. Throughout Shabbos the kedushah was tangible and Hashem’s closeness and love for every person there was profoundly felt by everyone. Over and over again, we heard from the residents of Sderot how much our visit meant to them. To the Israelis, especially those literally in the line of fire, we Americans are too busy with our malls, SUVs, manicures and the price of gas to truly be together with them in their battle to save Eretz Yisrael. While this may be far from the truth, the only way to show them our solidarity is to literally pick up and show them. Everything is so different when you are close, when you can shake hands and tell them that you support them. There are always a million reasons why you can’t/shouldn’t do something necessary, and the only way to get the task done is to grab an opportunity when it comes. If it is at all feasible, buy a ticket, get on a plane and get out here. More than the amount of chessed you can do by bringing a breath of warmth and caring to a city ripped open by war, your life will be changed and you will never be the same.