By Elisabeth Hinze
My friend Avi doesn’t fast on Yom Kippur. I didn’t expect him to. Probably because he’s in no way religious. See, Avi is a scientist. A brilliant one at that. And he’s decided at a young age that the logical reasoning of science simply doesn’t allow for the idea of an omnipresent Creator God whose heart yearns with love for humankind. Case closed.
The passing years haven’t done anything to persuade him otherwise. Avi is older now. Way past retirement age, he tells me. But he continues working. Because that’s who he is. Science is his passion. Without it he would be, well, lost.
But Avi’s lack of belief in the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob has nothing to do with him not fasting on Yom Kippur. He used to fast, he explains. Because to him, it was more a tradition than a religious thing. If you’re Jewish, you fast for Yom Kippur. And if not for tradition, then out of respect for those around you.
I can understand that. Because Yom Kippur, or the Day of Atonement, is unlike anything we experience in the West. It affects everyone, includes everybody and reaches everywhere. The country grinds to a virtual standstill. From sundown to sundown roads are completely deserted. Radio and television stop broadcasting. Cell phones are switched off. Jerusalem is eerily quiet. Except for the snatches of prayers drifting from the countless synagogues, offered in repentance for the year that was. Stores, restaurants and markets are shut tight. This is, after all, a day without the pleasantries of food or drink.
It’s been that way for generations. And will in all probability continue to be that way in time to come. But on 6 October 1973, things were different. Avi remembers the day well. He was 23. And he was fasting.
Air raid sirens pierced the Yom Kippur silence at approximately 14:00. Minutes later Israel Radio broke its non-broadcasting rule to deliver the news: Egypt and Syria chose Yom Kippur, the most holy of days, to launch a simultaneous surprise attack against Israel. Throughout the tiny nation, men, women and children sat glued to their radio sets. News reports came every 15 minutes. Code names transmitted between news bulletins called up army unit after army unit. Soon, the once deserted roads teemed with cars, busses and trucks as the army of Israel was dispatched to fight another war she didn’t want.
As in all her previous wars, Israel faced the enemy onslaught vastly outnumbered and outgunned. Nine Arab states contributed in some way or the other to the Egyptian-Syrian war effort. On the first day of the war, nearly 500 Israeli soldiers stared down the 600,000 man strong Egyptian army. Israel had 3 tanks along the Suez Canal. Egypt came with more than 2,000.
Things weren’t looking well for Israel. But the tide turned quickly enough. Israel crossed the Suez Canal and smashed the Egyptian army. It was a decisive victory. The Israeli army came within a mere 100km from Cairo before halting its offence.
Avi was amongst the first wave of paratroopers to cross the Suez Canal into Egypt. “So what does that have to do with your decision to give up fasting?” I ask, mentally preparing for a long, detailed account. He smiles dryly. “We received one ration pack before going over. A tin of sardines, crackers, jam. You know, standard stuff. Enough for one day. But with the whole mess of war going on, logistics could have gone better. In the end, we had to eat from that ration pack for three days. Sure, we picked some fruit. Nobody starved. But that’s when I decided: I would eat when I had food and fast when there was none. It was all tradition anyway.”
Avi falls silent for a moment. Then picks up the tale from a different angel. “You know what I find funny?” I shake my head. Because I don’t. “Right in the middle of Cairo, they have this massive bridge over the Nile. It’s called the 6th of October Bridge. The Egyptians built a bridge to commemorate a war in which we chased them all the way back to their capital. How can you call that a victory?”
It’s true. Israel had the entire Third Egyptian Army surrounded in the Sinai desert. Nearly 20,000 men sat immobilised. Without food, water, medicine, fuel or ammunition. “We didn’t have to do anything. It gets so hot out there that we could have sat back and waited. Not a shot would be fired. But we didn’t. Because we value life. All life.”
“It’s the Arab culture,” Avi explains. “They have to save face, have to claim victory. Defeat against Israel? Unheard of! And that is why they continue to come at us. And that’s why we have to win every single war. They have that luxury. To try again next time. We don’t. If we lose, there won’t be a next time. We’ll be gone.”
Avi looks old, suddenly. A frail and failing body housing the valiant young man who once fought so bravely. I pray that Israel will know peace. On Yom Kippur and all the days to come. And I pray that Avi will know something, or Someone, that is greater than science.
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