The Tie That Binds

By Joe Hirsch

Those who have traveled to Israel on an El Al jetliner know that there is nothing more gratifying than the moment the plane finally lands.  The distinct sound of two hundred hands applauding in unison creates a stirring effect, and one can literally feel shivers of joy as the plane winds its way along the tarmac.  But when I visited Israel this past January as part of Operation Torah Shield II, a solidarity mission by students of Yeshiva University, the experience was even more powerful than usual. 

After weeks of planning and preparation, our team of 200 students had finally arrived, energized by a moving send-off at JFK International Airport and greeted at Ben Gurion by a swarm of reporters and bright camera lights.  For an entire minute, I felt glued to my aisle seat, completely taken by the moment.  To strengthen and become strengthened.  Our mission carried a two-fold purpose, and as passengers around me scurried to collect their carry-on luggage, the significance of our trip finally set in. 

We didn’t come to luxuriate at the Dead Sea or to marvel at tourist attractions; no, this trip demanded something much larger, even larger than ourselves.  We bore a simple but forceful message: That we stood firm with our brothers and sisters in Israel during their time of need.

And what a time it was.  In the fourteen months since the intifada had begun, Israel found itself locked in one of the worst recessions in more than two decades.  Saddled with debt and reeling from the loss of nearly $3 billion in tourism revenues, the country desperately needed a boost from Jews living abroad.  Not surprisingly, though, the daily outbreaks of fresh violence caused most Diaspora Jews to think twice about taking these visits, and many elected to stay home and support Israel from a distance instead. 

Their not-so-subtle message provided little comfort for the nearly 250,000 Israeli families affected by unemployment, and sent a powerful signal to Yasir Arafat and his terror regime that the Jews were weak, tired, and ultimately beatable.  Operation Torah Shield II, we hoped, would change the dark mood in Israel.  We would shatter the perception that American Jews did not care about the events taking place 6,000 miles away.  We would make a difference. 

Armed with candies, donated clothing, and letters from young schoolchildren back home, we set out on a weeklong journey that brought us face-to-face with the people of Israel.  Our first stop was the town of Shiloh, where we visited with the family of the slain Yehudah Shoham, a five month-old baby killed in a drive-by shooting.  His father Benny spoke movingly about the need to maintain faith, even in times of absolute sorrow. 

Next it was onto Eli, a rapidly expanding community of 350 families north of Jerusalem.  From our perch atop the mountainous range, we saw the land unfold before our very eyes.  The journey to Tekoa, just west of Efrat, reduced many to tears, as we visited the memorial of young Koby Mandell, a 13 year-old American oleh, who was found bludgeoned to death in a cave near his home.  His father, Rabbi Seth Mandell, a former Hillel director at the University of Maryland, recalled Koby’s devotion to Judaism and the happiness it gave him.  And when we toured the Muslim Quarter in the Old City of Yerushalayim, it felt like we had traveled back in time to the days of old. 

It’s hard to describe the thrill we felt when a soldier would thank us for our care packages, or when a young Israeli girl would grin at us through chocolaty teeth after we gave her a candy bar.  People kept telling us how much our visit meant to them.  There was the young mother from Eli who invited us into her home for hot drinks and snacks.  The ebullient man from Chevron who gave out his home phone number and insisted that we call for a Shabbos meal.  The irreligious filmmaker who admitted how spiritually uplifted she felt after spending a week covering our program.  You can’t buy experiences like these. 

After graduating high school, I spent two years studying at a yeshiva in Israel.  Those two years changed my life, and revealed a world that I never imagined before.  But as the focus on learning grew stronger, the external beauty of my surroundings slowly began to fade.  I left yeshiva without ever really forming a tight bond between the land and myself.  We took a few trips during the year, and even embarked on a 30-kilometer hike from our yeshiva to the Kotel, but those forays into the land never left more than a fleeting impact.  But by the end of our seven-day mission, I felt more connected to Israel than I did at any point during my two years of study. 

And when we arrived at the airport for our midnight flight back to the States, I knew why.  With only a few precious hours left to our unforgettable journey, the entire mission joined together for an electrifying melave malka in an empty terminal.  The singing and dancing filled the air, and our hearts.  People who usually passed one another in the halls without so much as a nod joined hands.  Unfamiliar faces locked arms in tight embrace.  We had arrived as 200 strangers – different backgrounds, different hometowns, different ambitions.  We left as 200 friends, joined by the common thread of our experiences.  The mission, billed as a solidarity effort, had succeeded in bringing us closer to the people of Israel – and ourselves.

Operation Torah Shield II taught me a basic lesson in sensitivity: that one Jew’s tragedy is every Jew’s tragedy, that the pain of one Jew must be shared by all.  As I danced alongside a perfect stranger, it became clear to me that there is no greater unifier among Jews than Israel.  It is the homeland to Jews of different colors and creeds, from near and far, religious or totally non-observant.  This crucial truth, which had somehow eluded me during two years of study, now became blazingly clear.  Climbing up the narrow staircase to board the plane, I glanced longingly over my shoulder one last time.  The air was cool, and a light breeze brushed against my face.  I collapsed in my seat with a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration, and immediately began to record the events of the past week in a notebook. 

We had been privileged to meet with some modern day heroes, people who have turned their personal losses into gains for the community, who have elected not to dwell on their personal horrors and instead lobby on behalf of victims worldwide.  Their faces and stories will not be forgotten.  The lights above me dimmed, and just as sleep began to set in, I paused to reflect on my newly acquired education.  In seven days, I learned much about Israel and its people, but learned even more about myself.

The writer is a sophomore at Yeshiva College.