Yesterday I joined a delegation of yeshiva students initiated by a charming young Haredi man named Eli Linker, together with the Dosim organization, to the Gaza Strip, to distribute packages of essential equipment to soldiers deployed on the front line.
The route we traveled, accompanied by a jeep with a formation commander, began at the southernmost point; Shlomit on the Rafah border, from there via Kerem Shalom Road, Saad and additional dispersal points, to Near Mordechai in the northern Gaza Strip.
What did we bring with us? Thousands of items of underwear, socks, deodorants, mosquito repellent sprays, energy bars and candy, and most importantly, dozens of fresh pizza trays straight from Jerusalem. The volume of goods is worth tens of thousands of shekels, donated by private Haredi citizens whose hearts go out to our brothers in arms, the soldiers who give their lives for all of us.
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It is difficult to describe the excitement with which we were welcomed, it is difficult to recreate the impressions, the experiences, the amazing people we met along the way, the hugs, even the tears. But as in a pre-established ceremony, one ritual repeated itself at every meeting point: the war of thanks.
Soldier: Thank you very much, I have no words.
Me: You're exaggerating, thank you, you deserve much more.
Soldier: No, no, we have to be here, it's our job, you come from the heart.
Me: Oh man, this is the minimum we need to do for you who are sacrificing your lives.
And so on and on, until the crushing embrace.
This recurring dialogue reminded me of the beautiful legend about the two brothers, one a hermit and the other a family man, who stole sheaves of wheat from each other's threshing floor night after night, because each of them felt only the needs and difficulties of the other. The hermit cared for the brother who was required to support his blessed family, and the family man felt the sorrow of his brother's loneliness. When they suddenly met one night and their shared secret was revealed, they fell on each other's necks, and the place where the sheaves of wheat fell, the legend concludes, was blessed with the building of the Temple. Yesterday I felt that if we wanted it, it was not a legend. This is the real reality that we all want so much, so why not actually?
And as if heavenly confirmation of my feelings, the radio played the words of Rabbi Elimelech of Lizansk as we headed back to the front line: "Rather, grant in our hearts that each of us may see the virtues of our friends and not their shortcomings, and that each of us may speak of his friend in the right and acceptable way before You, and may no hatred of one against another arise in our hearts, God forbid.".
I think it is symbolic that on the threshold of the Days of Intercession, which begin today and mark the destruction of the Temple due to gratuitous hatred, we were privileged to add a small part to the gratuitous love that we all need so much. I am sure that we will soon also see a ceasefire in the internal disputes. Because we are brotherly people.
