There are moments that seem to hang in time, lasting a life-time; moments that stay with you forever.
Dani was such a moment. His twinkling blue eyes beneath wavy, blonde hair still look across the hall at me, enjoying watching my mouth drop open…
I had just recently completed my first stint of infantry and tank basic training and Sergeant’s course in the Israeli army, and was enjoying a six- month leave before returning for Officer’s course. Dani was definitely one of the reasons I made it through. A couple of years earlier, he had taken this green, gullible , American kid and taught me the ropes, making sure I got to know all the guys I would be serving with, forcing me to break my teeth and learn Hebrew , without which I don’t know how I would have survived basic.
The Yeshiva program I was in, allowing boys to study before and during their army stint, was full of guys like him; larger than life, boys who wanted only to sit and explore their Jewish roots through the study of Torah, and yet willing to put it all on the line in the Israeli army. He stood out as one of the best of them.
I still remember accepting his offer to study together at 1:30 every day, fully appreciating that he was one of the most popular and sought after study partners in the class, and thus willing to sacrifice my 1:30- 3PM break every day, the only time we had to relax in a very long daily schedule, only to discover he meant 1:30 in the morning, the only time he had free!
I still remember the seemingly endless hours of discussion and challenge, late into the night and the wee hours of the morning, as I broke my teeth on Hebrew to debate, challenge, explore and journey together in Jewish philosophy and bible, Talmud and ethics.
But most of all, I remember that moment, passing by the phone in the hallway, seeing Dani, obviously talking to a girl on the phone, and seeing his eyes twinkle in amusement, as my mouth dropped open in realization of the fact that he was speaking perfect English!
“Why did you make me break my teeth in Hebrew all those nights, if you speak perfect English?” I recall asking, a few moments later, when he got off the phone.
“How else would you have learned Hebrew before the army?” he responded… And I remember the feeling wash over me of what it meant to have a friend who cared that much.
Those memories come pouring back now and again, especially when I see the picture of him that marks the place we sat and learned together, in the hills of Gush Etzion, so long ago.
Dani was killed in an ambush in Lebanon, during our second stint in the army, in 1984, but he has never really died. He is with me still…
Loss; such a powerful word. What is Loss? Why is it so powerful? And how do we respond? Why do we feel so painfully the loss of a friend? And even more, why are we at times so challenged, so grieved by the loss of those we may not even know?
Jewish tradition teaches us that every human being is a world, and the portion we read this week, Noach, presents us with the first world we ever lost, in the aftermath of the flood.
The verse tells us
“Va’Yishaer Ach Noach…” “Only Noach remained.” (Genesis 7:23)
Interestingly, it does not say Noach survived alone, because Judaism believes, with faith, we are never really alone. G-d, Hashem, is always our silent partner.
Yet, Noach was, really, the ultimate Holocaust survivor. It is hard to imagine how deafeningly silent it must have been, when Noach first stepped back on to dry land, to discover that everything was gone. No one was left; no people, animals, even bugs, anywhere, save those whom Noach had brought in to the ark.
The