Volume 67, Issue 3

Jewish Heroes
By: Shalom Ozarowski

On the fourth day (in Israel) of Chol Hamoed Sukkot, I experienced one of the most memorable hospital visits of my life.  Together with a group of about 10 YU and Stern students in Israel for the Chag, I visited the Beit Shikum (Rehabilitation Center) at Tel Hashomer hospital in Tel Aviv.  Modeled after Torah Shield, our official purpose was to visit terror victims.  We coordinated our trip with a staff member from the hospital, and brought packages with soda and gift-wrapped blockbuster videos.  The fanfare was nice, but I found the visit to be more personal with a smaller, informal group.

At first, I found it a bit difficult to march into the hospital room of someone I don’t even know and start talking to them.  My Hebrew isn’t bad, but how could I relate?  What is life like for the injured, three months after the pigua?  The headlines demoralize us when we hear those dreaded numbers... 3 dead, 35 wounded... 6 dead, 86 wounded... But we all move on with our daily lives, both in Israel and in Chutz La’aretz.  The wounded, however, do not.  Many of those injured must live with their anguish for weeks, months, years, or even for the rest of their lives.  Even for one whose conditions improve, regaining use of one’s limbs and recovering from burns takes time- lots of it.  Unfortunately, this situation is what most people forget.  Besides being forced to adjust to a painful new life, imagine being stuck in a room, immobile, bored out of your mind for six months.  Some patients have devoted family and friends, but let’s face it: their hospital rooms do not have neon signs flashing “Visit terror victims here!” on the front door.  Seeing the face of a fellow Jew who cares can make one’s week, let alone one’s day (especially if he likes talking about politics). 

The first person we visited was Kinneret Bosni, from Tel Aviv.  She was injured in the bombing this past March on Rechov Allenby, at a cafe where she worked.  We could see that her face and body were still heavily burned, but she was in good spirits.  Her English is excellent, and she enthusiastically struck up a conversation with us.  She told us about how she has reflected on her personal journey of recovery.  Later on, after a long talk with a few girls in the group, she expressed her feelings: “when people come to visit... I only think to myself, ‘you have no idea what I’m going through; my skin still feels like it’s on fire, I can’t go outside during the day (its too hot even in the shade), and my skin itches like crazy and I’m not allowed to scratch it... The only way you can give me true support is if you move to Israel to live here as I do.”

Another patient we met was Avi Ben-Shitrit, from Kiryat Yam (near Haifa).  He was shot on the way home from his base in Sh’chem, and is now paralyzed from the neck down.  He couldn’t speak to us, but we had an extended, evocative conversation with his dad.  I could see on his father’s face how good he felt to ‘let things out’ and simply talk to us about what his entire family was going through.  After all, the process of recovery can be more agonizing for the parents than it is for their child.  He persistently emphasized how important it is for us to continue coming to Israel and to live there. 

From there, we continued down the hall to Tamir Kalfa’s room.  A Hesder student at Yeshivat Kerem B’Yavneh, Tamir was injured in Kalkilya while fighting in Tzaha”l; he has been hospitalized for more than six months with burns over most of his body and little use of his legs.  Together with his father and an uncle, he schmoozed with us about an array of different topics.  I learned that, earlier that week, KBY had moved their Simchat Beit Hasho’eva celebration to Tel Hashomer for Tamir’s benefit (as well as other patients, of course). 

Additional patients whom we visited included Ilan Yemini, a father of two from Kfar Bin-Nun (near Sha’alvim) who was wounded while in Milu’im, Shachar Fisloshini, injured in Gaza, and a handful of others. Part of our group departed to another wing to see Eyal, who was badly hurt in a bus bombing near Meron earlier this year.  He can no longer see or hear and can only sense his parents touch on his arm. 

I have visited patients in hospitals before, but the character of this trip left a more gripping effect on me.  As another member of our group commented, “I found the whole experience highly meaningful.  I had never before visited terrorist victims and I was taken aback; you don’t realize the extent of what it means until you see it.  It gave a face to what it means to be wounded.  I’m really glad I went.”  I think most of us reacted in a similar way.  Yes, we visited terror victims.  Good for us; it sounds nice in a newspaper article.  But that is not the point.  I felt that I had, in some small way, connected with Jewish heroes who gave half their lives fighting for our country or riding a bus.  I also learned that Israelis love a comedy routine by some guys names Eli & Marinos.  I will never forget that.

Anyone can do bikur cholim like this, whether patients are terror victims or not.  Plan a trip to the hospital on your next visit to Israel!  If you would like to visit Tel Hashomer, call Sarah Zeltzerman (our contact) at (050) 881-636 to arrange your trip.

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