Carrying the burden because the Commanding Officer said so

This week, in America, you will read the double portion of Acharei-Mot-Kedoshim which, translated literally, means “after the death of the holy ones,” a meaning that was all too appropriate last week when we were reading the same double portion, as it fell on the Shabbat immediately following Israel’s Memorial and Independence days: Yom HaZikaron and Yom Ha’Atzmaut.

Memorial day followed by Yom ha’Atzmaut (Independence day) in Israel evokes so many emotions all coming together in a whirlwind of intense, meaningful, powerful and even joy filled moments that have no equal the rest of the year and perhaps even in the rest of the world.

At precisely 11 A.M., standing over the graves of Dani Moshitz and Chaim Avner who both fell in Lebanon in 1982, time stopped, as the sirens all over the country went off. The entire country came to a standstill as Israel remembered all those who fell in defense of the State of Israel and the Jewish people. If you have never been in Israel on this day, and never experienced this moment, you owe it to yourselves, to your children and even to those who fell and to their families, to be here in Israel one year on this day and at this moment, when time stops, and we all, with all of our differences, become one.

For most of us, even with all the painful memories of that day and the tears that often flow freely as we think of close friends who will remain 19 or 20 forever, eventually, Memorial Day gives way to Yom Ha’Atzmaut or Independence Day, and we tuck those memories and tears away to celebrate, dance and sing with abandon in celebration of what many call Chag Atzmaut or Independence Holiday.

Indeed, Yeshivat Orayta joined us in Efrat this year. As the sun set over the mountains of Judea, and the students heard one more story of one more soldier who gave everything that we might have a State with which to celebrate, we suddenly arose on the edge of the forest where we were having a solemn kumsitz, to dance and sing the Hallel (thanksgiving and praise ) prayers. We took stock of how blessed we all are to live in a generation where a Jewish army defends a Jewish State, where Jewish children study in Hebrew, and Jews from all over the world sleep securely knowing they have a place they can call their own; a home they can come to in the event they ever need a place to welcome them in….

The bands start to play, the fireworks and the celebrations begin, and time moves on.

But not for everyone. For the past couple of years, Danny Hillman, father of my cousin Benji Hillman, an elite company commander in Golani’s Egoz elite recon unit, (who fell leading his men into battle in the second Lebanon War), came to speak with us on the eve of Memorial Day.

After telling Benji’s story, he opened the floor for the boys to ask questions, explaining that there probably was not a question they could think of that he had not already been asked and that he wanted them to feel comfortable asking anything and everything….

Eventually, one of the boys asked Danny if losing his son had affected his faith. The entire room went quiet; you could hear a pin drop. I leaned forward in my chair; despite how close I feel to Danny and Judith and their whole family, I had never asked any of them this question; I would probably not have had the nerve. I was expecting a treatise on the challenges of suffering and its impact on our relationship with G-d.

Instead, Danny, a person with a Kippah (skullcap) on his head who defines himself as religious, in his matter-of-fact, English deadpan manner simply replied: “Not at all.” And again there was silence in the room.

“Actually,” he said, “I feel sorry for people who have to struggle with this without faith; it must be very difficult; at least in my world there must be some plan, some reason, even if I cannot imagine ever understanding it…”

Those words have been in and out of my head ever since he said them. On the one hand, I can understand them intellectually. A colleague of mine once shared with me that while his wife was in labor with their first child, he was extremely stressed seeing his wife, whom he loved so dearly, in such pain during labor. His wife, sensing his distress, said to him: “You know, I am in pain, but I am not suffering, because I know there is a purpose to this pain. Suffering is when there does not seem to be any purpose.” So I can understand that people like the Hillmans, who are able to believe that everything has a purpose, (even if we are not necessarily capable of or even meant to understand it in this world) are somehow able to transform their suffering. But they are still left with the pain.

And I am in awe of such people who bear that pain with such dignity and gravitas.

Cheryl Mandel, whose son Daniel was an officer in the elite recon unit of the Nachal Brigade who was killed on a mission to capture wanted terrorists in Shechem (Nablus) in 2003, also came to speak with the Orayta boys just a few hours before Memorial Day.

Daniel was killed on the day before the eve of Pesach (Passover); Cheryl was in the kitchen cooking and getting ready for the Seder when the IDF officers showed up at her door with the terrible news. The Seder table was already set. The next night, having come back from Daniel’s funeral just a few hours before, no one had the heart to remove his place setting, so his chair sat empty, his wine glass unfilled, and Haggadah un-opened through the seder that Daniel’s brother Jonah once told me was more like Tisha B’Av than a Pesach Seder….

At the end of her presentation, after answering the boys’ many questions with the same thoughtful openness as my cousin Danny the day before, she told us a story.

At the end of their training period in the Nachal recon unit they had a ‘masa mesakem’ or final trek. This 90 kilometer (50 miles) march is one of the most difficult experiences in the Israeli army and is a test of endurance as well as will power. The soldiers are gradually being prepared for this grueling experience from the beginning of their army service with the treks beginning at 4-5 kilometer baby hikes to 10, 20 40 and eventually 60 or 70 kilometer hikes, so that they are ready for the 90 kilometer trek when it comes. In addition to the gradual training of long distance walkling and running sometimes with open stretchers carrying wounded, they are also trained to carry additional gear. Each soldier, in addition to his gun and gear, carries an additional piece of equipment such as a jerry can, stretcher, grenade launcher or radio. One of the heavier items (known as a ‘pakal’) is the heavy MAG machine gun known in slang as the ‘Mag.’ The Mag is always given to a larger, solidly built soldier since it is very heavy and difficult to carry; as such it also is an honor to carry. The soldier who carries it has been training with it through his entire army service and is ready to carry it for 90 kilometers having trekked with it through all of the previous treks. But the particular solider tasked with the Mag on this march was sick, and collapsed a few kilometers into the march. Daniel, who was nearby, immediately ran to his aid when he collapsed, and his commanding officer said to him “Mendel (Daniel’s nickname in the army): Kach et haMag” (”Daniel take the Mag”).

Now Daniel, a gifted musician, was not a very big boy, and was not trained to carry this heavy load. But if your commanding officer says “Mendel Kach et haMag,” you take the Mag. So Daniel hefted the heavy machine gun on his back and proceeded to carry it for the remaining 80 kilometers. He succeeded in finishing the trek, after which he promptly collapsed and ended up in the hospital; but he finished the trek and became a legend in his unit.

Cheryl looked at the boys in Orayta with whom she was sharing this story and said, pointing heaven-wards with her finger: “my Commanding Officer (G-d) has given me a great burden to carry. Hashem has, for some reason I will never comprehend, looked at me and said “Mendel: kach et hamag.” I was never trained nor was I prepared to carry this burden; but if your commanding officer says “Mendel Kach et haMag,” you take the Mag. So I am carrying this heavy burden and will, till my last day on earth carry the burden of having buried a son who fell in defense of Israel. It is not a burden I wanted to carry, and I would gladly give it up, but I will carry it, because that is what I believe my Commanding Officer is asking of me.”

For so many families in Israel who carry this painful burden, they will continue to struggle with it every day, and in every moment, long after the sounds of the Memorial Day sirens have faded into memory. And the rest of us, who can only stand in awe at the strength and courage of their silent, dignified conviction, owe it to them, and to all those who fell, to be there with them as best we can, and to never let, even for a moment, the tremendous sacrifice they make every day go unappreciated or forgotten.

Acharei-Mot-Kedoshim which, translated literally, means ‘after the death of the holy ones.’ After their sacrifice, we can only contemplate the portion you will read next week, which we in Israel will read this Shabbat: “Emor” which literally means to tell over: we must make sure to tell their stories and contemplate how we will make sure their sacrifices were not in vain.

Shabbat Shalom from Jerusalem,

Binny Freedman

For those who would like to see photos and films of Benji Hillman and DanielMandel and learn more of their stories, as well as how to make a difference in the lives of the Hillman and Mandel families, you can visit www.benjihillman.org and http://daniel-mandel.co.il/ .

Rav Binny Freedman, Rosh Yeshivat Orayta in Jerusalem’s Old City is a Company Commander in the IDF reserves, and lives in Efrat with his wife Doreet and their four children. His  weekly Internet ‘Parsha Bytes’ can be found at www.orayta.org