In 2002, during the height of the second intifada, I spent a summer studying at the Weizmann Institute of Science. I earned a research fellowship there in their organic chemistry labs. Being idealistic and bookish, I organized a study group among the Orthodox undergraduate students. We gathered weekly to study Jewish texts on topics relevant to our surreal situation. It was then that I considered the question for the first time: Is the mitzvah to live in Israel suspended due to danger?
One might consider this to be a yes-or-no question, and indeed many analyze it as such. However, Rabbi Yehudah Halevi, at the end of the Kuzari, takes a more nuanced view. The essence of the question is: Is life better lived having assumed the risk, or having avoided it? In his estimation, the danger of a journey to Israel was no greater than the dangers many of his generation took for military valor or business ventures. Thus, the question is reframed as one of values. If you consider living in Israel to be important enough, then it is worth the risk.
But is it? Indeed, how is one to know the true value of any adventure, before undertaking it?
Since making aliyah to Efrat five years ago, I haven’t had occasion to revisit this Kuzari. This is because, fundamentally, I didn’t consider Israel to be unsafe. Even with the recent uptick in terror attacks this year, including the murders of our dear friends Lucy, Maya, and Rina Dee, the statistical likelihood of being injured by a terror attack remained extremely low. However, with the events of Simchat Torah, we have entered into a new reality, in which this basic assumption may be called into question.
In a war like this, the tragic realities are much more than theoretical. For me, personally, casualties have hit both my workplace and my neighborhood. One of my work colleagues, Amit, an excellent patent paralegal with a bright smile, lives in the kibbutz of Kfar Aza. She was last heard from on Shabbat morning, telling her family that she was barricading herself in a closet as the terrorists overran her neighborhood. When the army freed her home, she was not there. As of the writing of this piece, nobody knows what happened to her. We continue to cling to the small hope that she is alive. At home, Roey, the 21-year-old son of my neighbors next door, served in active duty in a base on the Gaza border. Roey was killed defending our country. Due to the army rabbinate being overwhelmed with bodies, his body was misplaced, and, as of Tuesday evening, his family did not know when they would be able to bury him.
When considering the risk calculus, though, I also have my experiences of the past week, which remind me of the incalculable benefits of being here, specifically during this trying time. The entire civilian population of the country – myself included – have extended themselves beyond their known limits, to support their neighbors and family members who have gone to war. I personally am serving as the replacement president of our shul. This shul, Zayit Raanan, has the largest building and most central location in the neighborhood, and thus serves as a gathering point for many ventures. This week, the unfinished expansion of the shul has been converted into an industrial kitchen. Dozens of volunteers are preparing meals day and night, and delivering them to soldiers stationed in ten different communities around Gush Etzion. Alongside these efforts, countless grassroots initiatives have sprung up, to supply soldiers with basic gear and with rides to their bases.
Perhaps the most touching act of simple heroism that I experienced this week was in the home of my bereaved neighbor. A young soldier from Roey’s unit, who was present during the attack, visited Roey’s parents. The soldier had an injured leg. He was wearing shorts, on a not particularly hot day, thereby revealing the bandage on one of his lower legs. His crutches lay next to his seat on the couch. This young man stayed for over an hour, and recounted his story for my neighbor and all those who were present. He theorized how the terrorists must have known that the base had fewer staff on Shabbat. He described how he managed, after the terrorists murdered his friend, to neutralize the terrorists who were trying to steal the body. He recounted how he managed to escape with his own life. My neighbor encouraged him to live a responsible life, to continue to defend the state of Israel, to learn from the mistakes that others made to enable this event, and to ensure that they do not happen again. This soldier’s maturity in engaging with his deceased friend’s father touched me deeply.
I now turn to our brothers and sisters in America to thank you for your support. Thank you for attending the pro-Israel rallies. Thank you for displaying the Israeli flag on your homes and on your social media profiles. We deeply appreciate your good wishes, for your donations, and your love.
I close with a request specifically those with children studying here in yeshivot and seminaries. I have hosted many of your children over the years, including over this past Sukkot, so I feel that I know them a bit. You may be asking the same question that the Kuzari did: Is it worth the risk? While only you can answer that question for yourselves, I hope your answer will be “yes.” I hope you will decide that encouraging your children to experience Israeli solidarity, in the way that we have, is a worthy educational goal. If you are planning to visit over the course of the year, please keep your plans. Reframe your vacation as a solidarity mission. You and your children will find meaningful ways to volunteer on the home front. When you do so, boast of your achievements widely, so that others can learn, as well, how noble this venture truly is.
