Learning to live together in our world

Developments in Israel have co-opted Rabbi Freedman writing time, so we’re reprinting his column from the week of Parsha Noach in 2012.

He looked like a teenager, until he began to tell his story, and then his face took on a sadness that aged him. Avi (not his real name) had only recently finished his regular army stint in the IDF, and was due to fly to South Africa as part of a special educational mission to work with less-affiliated Jewish teens in South Africa.

The night before his flight, he received a phone call with emergency call-up orders, and the next morning, instead of buckling his seatbelt on an airplane, he found himself on the Lebanese border at the beginning of the second Lebanon war in the summer of 2006.

For a few weeks his battalion was kept in reserve. Finally, the commander gathered them together and announced they were being given a 20 hour leave to see their families; it was clear they would be heading into Lebanon the next day, and they all went home with heavy hearts and much anticipation.

For Avi, it was one of the most intense experiences he had ever had. The abrupt call-up had left him without any chance to say goodbye to his friends and family, including siblings who had been away from home, and when the family heard he was coming home for an evening, everyone dropped everything, and the evening turned into a mass reunion.

It was clear to all present that this goodbye was different from anything they had experienced before, as they might never see each again. How, indeed, do you say goodbye to your son who is headed back to combat in wartime?

The following morning, Avi’s father insisted on driving him up to the border, and was uncharacteristically quiet the entire drive up; Avi understood his father was trying to keep it together, and neither of them wanted to “let the floodgates open.”

When they arrived at the base, Avi’s dad got out of the car to say goodbye and give his son a farewell hug, and it was then that Avi saw the tears in his father’s eyes. How, after all, do you say goodbye to your son, knowing you may never see him again? And how do you say thank you to your father, for a lifetime of love, when you only have a moment to say it?