Trip to Israel brings tears and strengthens resolve

Mark Greenspan has been spiritual leader of the Oceanside Jewish Center for over 15 years. Last week, he wrote about his arrival in Israel on July 20. This week, he continues the story of his visit, in an article that appeared first in the Oceanside Herald.

I am not a stranger to sorrow. I have officiated at hundreds of funerals and visited thousands of Shiva houses. But yesterday as I left the home of Effi and Naama Rahav, parents of slain soldier Bar Rahav, I cried. I cried for Bar who had his whole life before him. I cried for his parents whose lives will never be the same. I cried for his two younger brothers and sister who will follow in their brother’s footsteps, willingly serving the land and the people of Israel. And I cried for all of us because we have been denied such a simple and elusive thing — peace.

Bar Rahav grew up in Ramat Yishai, a small community in the northern part of Israel. Were it not for Bar’s death while serving in Gaza last Sunday, I would not have had any reason to visit this lovely little community. Bar’s family belongs to a Masorti synagogue, Congregation Sukkat Shalom. He was an accomplished athlete and a good student. He has two younger brothers and a younger sister. Ha’aretz devoted two paragraphs to Bar the day after his death:

Second Lieutenant Bar Rahav, 21, of Ramat Yishai, was killed on Saturday afternoon when he was struck by an anti-tank rocket fired at a Puma APC near the refugee camp in the central Gaza Strip. Mortally wounded, he was evacuated from the battlefield, but died of his wounds. Rahav is survived by his parents, Effi and Na’ama, and three siblings: his brothers Nir, 18, and Rotem, 11, and his sister Ron, 14.

A recent graduate of the officers’ course, Rahav was to have begun supplementary army studies. His uncle, Moran Binyamin, said that Rahav played water polo for Hapoel Kiryat Tivon. “Although he could have been an outstanding athlete, he chose combat service in the army,” he said. “We spoke on Thursday, and he said he was in good spirits. I was worried about him and asked whether he was protected, and he said he was all right. Then I realized that he had gone in. I was afraid for him because he always did whatever was required. I prayed that loss would not come to us. He was an amazing brother — a wonderful example for his siblings.

What else is there to say? Bar was a soldier and soldiers risk their lives. As Effie stood talking to us with his 11 year old son, I was overwhelmed. Like his brother, Rotem will eventually go off to serve his country. Nir, 18 years old, will soon be serving the State of Israel as will Ron. At that moment my own life seemed small and inconsequential. I don’t want to glorify war or romanticize what these boys (and girls) are doing. Every father and mother in the land of Israel is an Abraham or a Sarah, leading their offspring up the mountain where they might become an olah, an offering.

Near the entrance to the house stood a small table containing a Shiva candle, a birthday card, candles that were shaped as 21 (his next birthday) and a notebook so that friends and family could write letters to Bar. There was a picture of Bar in military uniform and beret with a boyish grin on his face. I couldn’t help but think of Natan Alterman’s powerful poem, The Silver Platter. I often read this poem to my congregation on Yom Ha Zikaron, Israel’s Memorial Day. Memorial Day in Israel is not about barbecues and parades but true mourning because there is virtually no one who hasn’t lost someone to terror or war.

Alterman’s poem concludes:

Then a nation in tears and amazement will ask, “Who are you?”

And they will answer quietly,

“We are the silver platter on which the Jewish state was given.”

Thus they will say and fall back in shadows

And the rest will be told in the chronicles of Israel.

The house was filled with people coming and going, people who have made such Shiva calls far too many times. There were piles of cake and cookies and other food on the table – more than the family will ever be able to eat. Outside on the patio sat a group of young people – no doubt Bar’s friends – quietly talking. In their eyes I could see that they have experienced far too much in their brief lifetimes. There was a look of knowing that made me shiver.

As I sat on the bus waiting to leave Ramat Yeshai, I jotted down this poem:

A Parent’s Lament

In memory of Bar Rahav who fell in Protective Edge

Parents live with the illusion

Of immortality, believing

Their children will carry on

Saying Kaddish for them.

Here, in the land of our ancestors

Parents know better

Raising their child, knowing

They can’t protect them

From the heat of battle

Or the roar of the sirens.

But that is not the end of the story. From Ramat Yishai we traveled to Park HaYarden where we visited Mahaneh Ramah-Noam, a special two week camp program offered for members of an Israel youth program. In addition to camping and outdoor skills the children learn about Judaism.

The children were in the midst of what we might call “Color War,” and the camp was filled with exuberance. But we knew the real war was not far from these children. Originally, the camp was supposed to be in the South near Ben Shemen, but was moved to the north to get out of rocket range. And virtually every child and staff member had someone in Gaza. They worried but they carried on.

And so the war continues.

There is talk about a cease fire, but no one knows what tomorrow may hold for Israel or for the Gazans. And if there is a cease fire, what will it mean for Israel? I am not sure Israel can afford a cease fire but I am not sure that Israel can afford to keep fighting either. Jerusalem is filled with life today: there is an arts fair going on downtown, the stores are filled with natives and tourists and there is the usual craziness that comes with Erev Shabbat in Israel. But there is a war going on that won’t end even if there is a cease fire.

Tonight and tomorrow in synagogues, I have no doubt there will be silent and public prayers for peace.