Style & Living

The safety of our chayalim is uppermost in our minds. This is always the case, but especially on a day like today when we woke up to the horrific news that 24 chayalim had been killed in combat. Each a world of his own. Each an unfathomable loss. We daven daily, multiple times, that they should return home safe and sound, in mind, body, and spirit.

Chagai Luber, a religious settler, is the father of Yehonatan Luber Hy”d, who was killed when fighting in Gaza, and the uncle of Hillel and Yagel Yaniv, who were brutally murdered in a shooting attack in Huwara. Last week, Chagai met with members of Achim LaNeshek, a left-wing group of IDF reservists who protested against judicial reform. The meeting went well and made headway in its goal to foster national unity. After two hours of productive conversation, Chagai told everyone that he must leave. It was time to daven, and he had to say Kaddish for his son.

At the outset of the war against Hamas, a record 360,000 soldiers were called up for reserve duty. The response was remarkable. Soldiers returned home from all over the world, some spending their entire flight sitting on the floor of an airplane. In addition to the inherent danger that is part and parcel of fighting a war, war also can adversely affect many areas of a soldier’s life: family, employment, and education, to name a few. Understanding the challenges that soldiers face, the army and government seek to provide them with assistance.

Residents line the streets waving Israeli flags to accompany a newly bereaved family as they head to the funeral of their loved one killed in battle. We enter the cemetery and pass the table where volunteers offer water bottles, tissues, and T’hilim cards printed with the p’rakim of T’hilim specifically recited during a funeral. We have become all too familiar with the military funerals of the IDF.

It’s been difficult. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you: the constant worry, the multiple fronts, the fear of opening the news and finding photos of the beautiful smiling faces of soldiers killed in battle, the hostages, the wounded, the skyrocketing incidence of anti-Semitism all over the world, the legitimization of calling for the genocide of the Jewish People. This is no joy ride. But we are not alone. You are with us. We feel it.

Last week, my husband and I attended the funeral of Rav Elisha Loewenstern, a 38-year-old chayal who grew up in Beit Shemesh, just killed in combat in southern Gaza. We stood in the dark with many others, listening to hespeidim that told of a remarkable man, cut off in his prime. As the father of six children, he was no longer required to serve in the reserves of the IDF, but he wanted to do his part in defending the people and land he loved so much. With heavy hearts, we left the funeral and went straight to a l’chayim for our friend’s daughter. The juxtaposition of the two events was stark. Bury the dead, switch channels, and affirm life by celebrating the building of a new Jewish home. We feel pain. We cry. We keep going.