From the heart of Jerusalem: My cousin Benji hy"d

Dedicated to the memory of my cousin Binyamin ben Daniel ve’Yehudit, Benji Hillman, hy”d, of blessed memory, a Company Commander in Golani’s elite Egoz unit who fell leading his men into battle in the Second Lebanon War on the 24th of Tammuz in the summer of 2006.
Sleep; such a precious commodity, and so hard to come by those days; I remember it was a glorious day, that Shabbat morning, and truth be told, if I had been left to my own devices, I probably would have slept all day. But he, of the mischievous eyes and a shy smile, could not leave well enough alone. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his older sister Abigail, who could not have been more than six, and they were impatiently waiting for me to wake up so I could pad into the kitchen and reach high in the cupboard where their mother kept the Shabbos treats. Even then, there was no stopping Benji when he was on a mission.
So many Shabbatot I‘d arrive at the Hillman doorstep, often unannounced from the army, with a pile full of dirty wash and a pair of dusty boots, and I always got that trademark shy smile from Benji when I walked in the door.
I remember how they loved to pick through my army gear, and how I had to hide my M-16 from two curious mischievous boys. And I remember how fine a picture they always were: Benji & Shimon, walking to shul with their father Danny.
But most of all I will always remember his wedding; we didn’t know it then but the entire family got together and had a chance not just to see Benji one last time, but to see him at the highest moment of his life. At a wedding, all the different pieces of a person’s life come together - the family and friends, the army buddies and the high school friends, the uncles and aunts who bounced you on their knees, and the cousins who knew your dreams from your earliest moments.
It was a storybook wedding; such a fine picture they cut, the handsome young Israeli officer in slacks and a white shirt, dancing with his young beautiful bride; it could have been a movie, only it was so much better than a movie, because it was real. They had been going out for so long, many of his friends did not even know Benji without Ayala in the picture, and the palpable joy that was etched into her smile was infectious.
There is a moment etched into my mind forever, of Benji, who decided to surprise his bride with a song that was part of their history together, and grabbing the mike began to sing, serenading her to the amusement of the hundreds of guests gathered around. And the image of him, with his shy smile and twinkling eyes standing in the middle of the dance floor, as everyone, and particularly Ayala, his bride, simply reveled in the moment, stayed with me long after the wedding was over. And I remember thinking: this is a poster.
And then, three weeks later, we had a chance to get together with the entire family all over again, only this time there was no dancing and no smiles, no twinkling eyes and no tinkling glasses. And Ayala was not smiling in a magnificent white wedding dress, she was broken, in black; Israel’s latest young widow.
I have lost many friends to military funerals over the years, some of them my closest comrades, but it has never been family. There is something about losing a cousin that is entirely different, because it’s not just a fallen soldier, its parents and siblings, uncles and aunts, cousins and grandparents and everyone in the entire family. It’s every family get together that we will ever have together, every wedding and bar mitzvah, funeral and bris; and even every family barbeque and birthday; none of it will ever be the same.
It’s every time I will ever see a shy smile like that anywhere, and every little boy jumping up and down in his uncle’s lap, and every time I look into my cousins’ eyes and know that they are not as bright as they used to be because he, Benji was part of that light.
And that is one family, and one boy who became a man who is now a legend. Multiply that by twenty thousand families, who all share that terrible price that seems too great to bear.
So how do you go on? How do you keep smiling? On the one hand, the question defies response, and yet, more than anything Benji represented to me the way our best and brightest have always responded: A shy smile, a determined look, a hug across the shoulders, and a load that has just gotten heavier.
Little Benji became a Company Commander in one of the elite commando units of the Israeli army, but he didn’t talk much about it; he was not a talker; he was a do-er.
I recall hearing about one particular Shabbat when Benji was due to go home on leave.
It’s difficult to describe, to anyone who has not experienced it, just how valuable a weekend pass is in the army. After weeks spent in the dreary life of olive grey and green, sleeping on cots, or in jeeps or even in sleeping bags on the dirt, eating army food which can sometimes consist of cold army rations grabbed in the darkness, and often going without showers and proper toilets for days at a time, the prospect of a weekend at home with mom’s cooking and a soft bed with real pillows is as close to heaven as a person can get in this world.
But that particular Shabbat Benji found out some of the men under his command who were ‘chayalim bodedim’ (lone soldiers who have no home here either because they have volunteered to serve despite the fact that they grew up overseas where their families still remain or because they come from broken homes) were staying on base for Shabbat because they had no-where to go. So he came home for a few hours and went back to base for Shabbat giving up his weekend pass to be with his men so that they would know that in his unit no soldier is ever alone.
In all the years I was in the army both in regular service and later in the reserves, I never heard of such a thing. I never heard of, nor have I ever met, a commander, who ever thought of, let alone did such a thing. Many people talk about the fact that we are all meant to be one, but occasionally one is privileged to meet someone who actually lives it; such a man was Benji Hillman.
Benji Hillman, of blessed memory, died leading his men into battle and fell as he lived with actions that speak far louder than words ever could. He leaves behind him a challenge and a legacy: few are those in this world who merit living up to such a bold and shining example of what Jewish leadership is all about: carrying the Jewish people and the State of Israel on his shoulders.
May Benji’s memory forever be a blessing for us all, and a source of comfort to his family and all those who loved him and will love him, forever.
Yehi Zichro’ Baruch.
Shabbat Shalom, from the Old city of Jerusalem

Note: In the aftermath of his death, Benji’s family decided to build a home for lone combat soldiers Bayit Shel Benji , to give them a home while they put their lives on the line to serve and defend the State of Israel. To find out more about how you can help in this worthy endeavor see www.benjihillman.org


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