I will never forget Simchas Torah – October 7, 2023.
I have been an educator and tour guide for my entire professional career. I have taught thousands of North American Jewish teens. In my history class, I teach students that the Yom Kippur War of 1973 will be forever remembered. How many times had I wondered what it was like to feel fear at the moment of extreme calm? Hundreds of times, I’ve relayed the notorious stories of reservists being pulled from their homes and shuls, leaving their families behind to serve their country. Never did I think that I would experience the same feeling.
At 6:30 a.m. on the morning of October 7, I heard the first of the booms of rockets being fired and answering Iron Dome missiles. When I got to shul, I cleared out the miklat (safe room) that we would end up using six times during that never-to-be-forgotten t’filah. We all thought that another “round” of Hamas-Israel had just started, thinking that it would probably be a few more days of sirens and then back to normal. How wrong we were.
My son Matan, then seven months in the IDF and nearing the end of his basic training in the Golani Brigade, was about to get called up to the Torah. I had suggested to Matan that he should go home and get his phone…just in case. After enough persuasion, he agreed; after his aliyah to the Torah, he would go and get it. Just before he was called up, two soldiers – from his unit – came in. He gave them one look and pulled me with him towards them. He hugged his mother and brothers, and we raced home. I packed his bag, I gave him a brachah, and he was off in a car with his friends, doing 100 miles an hour to get to his base. Yom Kippur 1973, all over again. My b’chor was on his way to war.
Matan returned to his unit and completed his training by participating in the “masa kumta” (beret trek). IDF soldiers endure long and intense training to prepare them for any scenario they may face. For those in a combat role, this unique trek marks the end of their training and the beginning of their service as IDF fighters. A special ceremony is held, and the soldiers’ families are invited. October of 2023 changed all of that. No parents or families were invited. I served as a Golani combat soldier myself and had long awaited seeing my son participate in this special milestone. I had no opportunity to put that beret on my son’s head. Instead, a small ceremony was held. Matan was named “chayal mitztayein” (outstanding soldier), and his commander had the honor of placing the beret upon him in my place.
As of writing this, Matan has had one 24-hour leave at home in 53 days and is scheduled to be in the Gaza Strip for an untold period.
These are historically bad times. We are tired, drained, and heartbroken, yet strong, determined, motivated, willing to do anything it takes, united, and very passionate.
I tried to get called up myself, but after repeated efforts, I was told by my officer that “our time has passed, the younger generation is fighting this fight. Help in other ways – do everything else that you can.”
Like so many, I took that literally, and my life has since become a whirlwind of action and emotions: driving to the airport to pick up much-needed equipment (instead of groups like I am used to), delivering supplies to army bases and displaced civilians, tying thousands of olive green dry-fit shirts with tzitzit for soldiers to wear, going to funerals and shiv’ah houses, working to bring the hostages home in any way possible, and above all trying to inspire my family with the most precious of gifts, the gift of hope in the face of pure, unadulterated evil.
One other way I translate hope into action was traveling to Poland last week to guide a wonderful group of fellow Jews.
The Poland Journey has always been extremely meaningful, and emotionally challenging, while at the same time being nothing short of exhilarating.
And, yet to guide a group in Poland post-October 7 was exponentially more intense, overwhelming, moving, and therapeutic. How would I prepare for it? Was it right to leave Israel when my son is serving in the army and possibly in Gaza, and leave my wife at home with the other children? Was it right to leave Israel when my friend’s son was – and still is – a hostage?
Never had the words “Never Again” been with a question mark at the end when I guided this.
When I taught the Shoah, I always thought I understood it, but I realized as the trip developed that I hadn’t really internalized what it meant to hide for hours in a closet to avoid being found. When describing communities that were wiped out, I finally knew what that felt like. When thinking about anti-Semitism, it is alive and well, as it always has been.
There is a difference between what is going on now and what went on during the Shoah, and to compare them is not educationally correct. However, there is also no way to undo the unbidden connection your mind makes between them.
I feel we made a difference by physically being there, by promising to continue the story as it is being written, by promising to be active members of writing the Book, not just reading it. We sang in the pouring rain, prayed in the empty shuls, and brought them back to life, shouted “Keil Malei Rachamim” and blew the shofar, hung our soaked Israeli flag as a reminder of what we stand for, and of course always returned to HaTikvah, our beacon of hope then and now.
We did something very good, very powerful, very difficult, and very important.
I always quote a survivor who once said with nonchalance: “Never forget? How I wish I could!” Now I actually understand him.
By Betsalel Steinhart
