Our Place in History

I haven't shaved since being called up on that fateful shabbat and holiday morning. In Judaism, not shaving is a sign of mourning; first-degree relations don't shave for at least thirty days after the passing of a loved one. And there are too many loved ones to mourn; murdered families and children who don't even have first-degree relations left to mourn for them.

In the world of sports, which I have always had an affinity for (albeit dwindling due to current priorities and perspective), growing a beard means something totally different. Players often grow 'playoff beards' when their teams make the playoffs and shave only after they win the championship or are knocked out. Growing a playoff beard is a sign of focus, of ignoring trivial things like dress and appearance and concentrating on the all-important task at hand: winning.

On Friday night two weeks ago, before we made kiddush at our command post and after an alert sent us into our trenches, I read a poem by my paratrooper heroine, Hannah Szenes:

''A voice called and I went.

I went because a voice called''.

Since joining the civil guard as soon as I turned 16, at the height of the second intifada, I've been listening to the voice and waiting for the call. For Hannah Szenes the call came during the Holocaust, calling her to parachute into Europe in order to help the few Jews actively fighting the Nazis. For previous generations the voice called to fight the Babylonians, Persians, Greeks and Romans. Voices called in Warsaw in 1943 and more recently here in Israel in 1948, 1956, 1967, 1973 and frankly every year right up through 2006, 2014 and through September 2023.

Then the massacre of October 7th happened. A shabbat and holiday morning. There were whispers in shul (synagogue) and I decided to go home and check my phone. 5 missed calls from my friend and comrade, Yossi. I called him back immediately and he said that we haven't been called up yet but I should be ready and take my phone back to shul with me. Just as the congregation chanted the special 'Amen' signaling the beginning of the annual prayer for rain, the voice called for me.

Cars kept leaving the religious community, where cars generally do not drive on shabbat. Men called up to southern units, central units and northern units. 70% of the men in my community have been called up. As I pulled up to park on the side of the highway near my arms depot, droves of reservists hiked up to the gate, wishing each other 'shabbat shalom' and 'chag sameach', embracing each other like the brothers they are, aware of the resolve needed; the voice and the call bringing them together.

The people of Israel have been through tough times of late, with the fragile social fabric being pulled at from all sides, with media, social media and online rhetoric contributing to the inability to listen, compromise and be considerate. Hubris on each side and by the nation as a whole.

And we have committed more sins. We, the people of Israel and we, the entire western world. Rabbi Elazar in the midrash says that those who are merciful to the cruel, end up being cruel to the merciful. We aspire to be like God. He is merciful so we try to be merciful. Imitatio Dei. But He is also just. And we have not been just. We have let mercy to enemy combatants and civilians cloud our vision for years, and our peace-loving brothers and sisters have paid a terrible price- a horrific price, because our leadership and judicial system let terrorists and so-called civilians lull our security forces to sleep in the name of human rights and freedom of speech.

And now the voice calls us. The bell tolls for us.

It is with a heavy heart that I left my family three weeks ago. The devastation and atrocities are unbearable to hear and bear. But bear them and bear witness we must.

It is with an even heavier heart that I realize that our generation will probably not build the third temple, just as King David was not permitted to build a house of peace, given all the blood he had to spill.

I pray that the blood we need to spill at this time in defense of our children will enable them to be the builders of a House of Peace for all Nations, just like the legacy that King David left for his son to complete.

My place in history is here and now, defending my family, people and homeland. This piece in history must be written with blood as it's ink. That is where our focus must be. These are our playoffs. The real thing. Not 'win or go home'. Win or die.

I know my place in history. Do you know yours?

Maj. (res.) Betzalel Friedman