Crossing the Yarden

By Yarden Frankl

No More Empty Chairs

I love Shabbat in Neve Daniel. My son and I always go to a small minyan where everyone sings Kabbalat Shabbat. While a different person "leads" the davening every week, everyone knows the tunes by heart and we sing loud enough that it feels like our voices project high over the rolling Judean hills. What I especially like is the feeling of unity when we sing. We are a very diverse group here in the Yishuv, but when we sing Lecha Dodi, I feel we are all one, united in a desire to live our lives here in our ancestral homeland.

I was very excited last week because friends of ours from America were staying with us for Shabbat. I would finally be able to have old friends experience what I love so much.

I am sure they enjoyed themselves, but for me, it was not the same feeling. This minyan is usually packed. So much so, that many people stand outside and daven through the open windows. Yet last Friday, there were empty chairs. Thirty men from the Yishuv and many more of the teenagers were not in shul Friday night. Their regular lives had been interrupted, and they spent Shabbat in the heat and dust of Lebanon. Instead of Lecha Dodi, it was the sound of artillery that permeated their Shabbat experience.

The loudest voices in the minyan are usually the young people. But many of them were fighting so that the rest of us could enjoy our Shabbat Shalom, our Shabbat of peace. Yet, how could I sing Lecha Dodi and joyously welcome another beautiful Shabbat, while so many people were facing great danger?

Although I have a terrible feeling that the war is not over and that within a short time we will have to do this all over again, I am very relieved that the reservists are home. My neighbors and thousands like them are not professional soldiers. They have already given the Army at least three years of their lives. They are now teachers, and radio commentators, and lawyers. They deliver orange juice and drive trucks. Moreover, they are husbands and fathers and sons.

While some of my neighbors were involved in the thick of fighting and others spent their days guarding our border, when the shooting started, none of them were given the opportunity to check in and see how things were going with their families. They missed their jobs, family dinners, and maybe a child's birthday.

I know of someone who was given his orders on the day he was supposed to move. Others were pulled out of shul or called at work and had barely time to say good-bye. Yet from all accounts, they ran to protect us and our country. They did not ask for time and they did not make excuses. They did not call their stock brokers to discuss the best financial moves. They put their uniforms on and joined their units.

Israelis like to praise those of us who have made Aliyah, especially those of us who "gave up" America to make our homes here in Israel. A few years ago, soldiers used to even meet the Nefesh B'Nefesh flights and carry the bags of Olim Chadashim. While I appreciate the honors, that system is wrong. Most of us Olim came when we were too old to serve and the closest we come to defending the State is when some of us do shmirah in the middle of the night. (And although the concept of shmirah sounded pretty exciting before I came, it's not quite enough material for an Arnold Schwartzenegger movie.)

We Olim Chadashim owe all those who serve our gratitude. It is we who should be carrying your bags.

Guys, its good to have you back. It's almost time for Kabbalat Shabbat. Let's pray for no more empty chairs.

Shabbat Shalom from our blessed nation.

© 2006 Yarden Frankl