By Elisabeth Hinze
Dear Brave Israeli soldiers
I saw you yesterday at the train station. The train doors opened and you poured out. Your usually oh-so-neat uniform in disarray. Your shirt stiff with days and nights of sweat, untucked, hastily buttoned. Your cheeks probably much gaunter than when you left here only a few weeks ago. The stubble hides it well. I looked into your eyes for a moment and gauged you anywhere between 19 and 90. You sighed, hoisted your backpack higher and off you went. I hope you are home for Shabbat. That your family will treat you like the hero you are. I wanted to run after you then, put my hand on your shoulder and tell you something. But that would have been odd. So I didn’t.
I saw you this afternoon on my way to the park with Bella the basset hound. You walked past, paused, turned around. You didn’t ask if you could stroke her or if she would bite. Without a word you crouched to stroke her ears. I stood, Bella stood and you crouched, stroking, stroking, like Bella was something so ordinary, so innocent. And you wanted to be part of it. She loved the attention, slobbered all over your uniform. That made you smile. I wanted to tell you something then, but you got up and walked away. So I didn’t.
I saw your picture on the news late last night. You are the 33th Israeli soldier killed in Gaza during Operation Protective Edge. You were older, my age. There are pictures of you, your wife and your son on his second birthday. Your wife is pregnant again. You were a lawyer. And I wondered if anybody had taken the time to tell you, if you knew.
I used to see you guys everywhere, in groups touring Jerusalem, in twos or threes having coffee or on your own, hurrying home from the base for a few days of leave. But now your country is at war. And there is something that I want to tell you. I’ll never do it in person. You’ll probably never read this, I know. But still…
Firstly, I want you to know how much your country loves you, how highly they value you, how firmly they stand behind you. I know, because I see it everywhere, in everyone. Signs popped up outside every store and on every street corner: “To our soldiers. We stand with you.” At most of the restaurants you’ll be able to eat at a discount. Some will even feed you at half price. I see the young people on Zion Square selling sunflowers to raise money for you. Some of them have choreographed little dance routines. Nobody walks past without contributing. They certainly aren’t giving money because of the awesome dancing if you get my drift. They are giving money to you. You matter to them. Donation boxes stand outside the shuk and the grocery stores. They are filled with cookies, chocolates and all the other treats that are probably not on the army’s menu. Your people want to treat you, to make sure that you have something sweet. I see the people praying for you. I hear their prayers. And I want to make sure that you know about these things, that you know what your people are doing to show that they care. Because you are not here to see it.
Secondly, I want you to know that Israel is not alone. Yes, I know. I know all about the international criticism and the outcries against you. I know about the horrendous choices you have to make. I’ve heard the stories of Hamas charging at you with a gun in the one hand and a child in the other. I’ve heard. But I can’t imagine. I know how you have to fight against an evil that can’t even be imagined or understood by our Western mindsets. Yet you have to confront it head-on. I know about your bravery. About going from house to house, wondering if this one is booby trapped, if you will hear an explosion that will end your life. I know about the tunnels. About having to crawl in there to clear it out of the weapons raining down on your people. And I know about your kindness, your humanity, your willingness to risk your life to make sure that those who wish you dead can have a chance at life. I know about the extra-ordinary lengths you go to. I know…
And I know that despite your impossible sacrifices, despite doing everything in your power and putting your life on the line… I know that the international community wants to accuse you of war crimes, of killing women and children, of being bloodthirsty, cruel, inhuman. I know about the blatant hypocrisy, the flagrant injustice of silence in the face of what is happening in Syria, in the Sudan, in the Ukraine. Yet you are the ones being singled out, despised, jeered. I know that it’s not a humanity thing, because if it was, you would be the hero.
I want you to know that I know all these things. And that I’m not the only one. Far from it. My government might be against you. My press may call you a monster. But there is another voice as well. It might not be as loud as the one you hear through the official channels. But it is there. And it will not be silenced. Our voices will mingle with those of your people. We promise to pray for you, to tell our friends and family about you, to speak out on your behalf.
To every brave Israeli soldier. As you get off the train, bone weary, as you crouch to appreciate the simple beauty of a basset hound, as you face atrocious choices, crawl through the darkness and fight like a warrior on behalf of your people. You are not alone. Somewhere, even in the remotes locations that you might never visit, there will be someone on your side.
Why? Simple. You fight for Israel. My God calls Himself the God of Israel. See where I’m going with this?
Brave soldier of Israel, I salute you (probably very, very badly). Stand strong. I wish you shalom.
Elisabeth
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