There is a video circulating of a well known Rav who was asked about all of the soldiers who have been killed in the war. Shouldn't we be נושא בעול? Shouldn't we feel the pain? [It was clear that the questioner - a very Charedi Rav himself, felt that way].
His answer was very distressing to me. He basically said the following: 1] Eretz Yisrael vomits out sinners [as the Torah teaches]. 2] We need the ruchniyus of Torah in EY. Even Mike Huckabee said that we need ruchniyus. 3] The army is no place for a Charedi boy for various reason [שבת, גילוי עריות and something else he can't say publicly (???)].
I can't argue with anything he said. But he didn't answer the question..... Literally not one word or even a hint to the pain of the fallen soldiers.
So instead of being מבזה תלמיד חכם [as is מנהג אינטרנט - and this Rav was duly raked over the coals with no restraint רח"ל] I will be מלמד זכות that he was talking to Yeshiva Buchrim and he is terrified that the boys will succumb to the pressure and enlist [there is a massive campaign going on to strengthen the boys in their resolve to resist the draft]. If he says a good word about the Tzadikim who have been killed it would encourage the boys to identify with and possibly join the forces and that is the LAST thing he wants. So he avoided even saying the *most pashut* thing that everyone with a beating Jewish heart knows at the very core of his being: OF COURSE we are tremendously pained by the loss and sacrifice of our brothers. Their parents lives are ruined forever. Many have also left grieving widows and very young orphans. It is a tragedy. Actually - hundreds and thousands of tragedies. Each Chayal who dies is getting a portion in Olam Haba that nobody here will get [עי' בבא בתרא י-ב]. Not because he was a soldier per se but because he was killed for being a Jew and as he was defending klal yisrael [including all the yeshivos]. Our hearts are broken for the loss of such young lives and if our hearts are not it stems from apathy and indifference for which we must do Teshuva. Maybe if we would daven harder, learn better, say more Tehillim, give more Tzdaka, work on our middos, care more etc. etc. it would provide zchuyos that could save lives.
All of that is simply axiomatic. Not b/c I say so or think so but b/c it is clearly stated in our sources with no debate. But he didn't say that out of fear that it would weaken the resolve of his listeners to avoid the draft. So he said what he said and totally avoided the question. I prefer not to believe that he is so callous and cold hearted and doesn't care. Of course he does. If you ask him in private he would tell you so. [Rav Schach and other Gedolim also had different stances in public than in private].
At least three well known Talmidei Chachomim have been publicly vocal in their support and נשיאה בעול - namely Rav Shaul Alter, Rav Yitzchak Zilberstein and Rav Asher Weiss.
הרמ"ה [סנהדרין ק"ג] כתב שמי שנלחם מלחמת חובה, השתדל בהצלת ישראל והצטער בצער ישראל, אינו נידון בגיהנם. וכך כתב הפלא יועץ [ערך הצלה]: "יש רבים מבני ישראל שנראים לפנים כלים רקים, אבל יש בידם מצווה זו של הצלת ישראל, שבזה הם מכריעים ועוברים את החכמים והגדולים שבישראל, והן אמת שאין הקדוש ברוך הוא לוקח שוחד מצווה כנגד עבירה, ומשלם להם עונש על כל העבירות שעושים ועל כל ביטול מצווה שמבטלים, אבל גם כן יש לו שכר הרבה ליתן להאנשים האלה שטורחים ועמלים בכל כחם להציל ישראל מיד גויים ולהציל עשוק מיד עושקו, מה טוב חלקם ומה נעים גורלם".
If we have הכרת הטוב to Goyim who protected Jews during the Holocaust, shouldn't we have הכרת הטוב to JEWS, our own brothers, who are preventing another Holocaust [בס"ד of course]? Simchas Torah was a pogrom that would have expanded throught the country [בדרך הטבע] if not for the swift and crushing response.
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I would like to share with you a story involving my revered mentor, the universally accepted leader of Orthodoxy and Jewish law, Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach ob”m:
Every day, someone would drive Rabbi Auerbach from his home in the Sha’arei Chesed area of Yerushalayim to his yeshiva in the suburban neighborhood of Bayit Vegan. The rabbi would occasionally ask the driver to make a detour for a few moments outside Har Herzl, the burial site of Israel’s fallen soldiers, which was on the way to the yeshiva. There he would pray, reciting Tehillim for important matters concerning the Jewish people.
What motivated this venerated sage to choose Har Herzl for his prayers? I think the answer lies in the following story which is so revealing of his and the Torah’s outlook on your question.
A student once approached Rav Shlomo Zalman and asked for a short timeout from his studies so he could travel to the north of Israel, where many holy, righteous Jews of old are buried, to pray at the graves of these tzaddikim (righteous people). Rav Shlomo Zalman looked perplexed but didn’t immediately answer. Sensing hesitation from his rabbi, the student elaborated, explaining he had some important personal issues to think through and he felt praying at the graves of the righteous would help him to receive the insights and guidance he was seeking. Rabbi Auerbach replied that he fully understood what the student wanted to do and why he wanted to do it, but could not understand why he would travel for hours to a faraway place to pray at the graves of a few tzaddikim when there were thousands of tzaddikim buried on Har Herzl (the graves of all the fallen Israeli soldiers), just 5 minutes from the yeshiva!
It is with such awe and humility that we speak of the holy individuals who have given their lives for the sake of their beliefs and their people.
The revered dean of the Mirrer Yeshiva (the “Harvard of yeshivos”), Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz ob’’m, in a public lecture once famously compared the fallen Israeli soldiers to the “Harugei Lod.”
He was referring to the martyrs of Lod, of whom the Talmud relates they were granted the highest place in the next world in the merit of their martyrdom. The story had to do with the inhabitants of the city of Lodkia, or Lod, who were falsely accused by their Roman mayor of killing his daughter; hence the death penalty was decreed upon the entire Jewish community. Two righteous Jews [some say that they were not originally so righteous - listen to their Greek names], Papus and Lalineus, stood up and stated that it was they, not the community collectively, who were responsible for her death. They accepted the blame in order to save the remainder of the community. They were in turn killed (and so was that mayor whom they cursed before their deaths, by a bandit).
The Talmud comments that the portion of Papus and Lalineus in the next world is one that even the greatest of tzaddikim could not hope to even peer into, let alone receive. Rav Shmuelevitz was teaching his students that they should have the same view of those Israeli soldiers who have given up their most precious possession, their very lives, in order that the rest of the Israeli population can remain alive. He said that their sacrifice is similar to the sacrifice of Papus and Lalineus and that they receive a similar reward.
Our rabbis are teaching us there is a special place reserved in the heavens for those who give up all they have for the sake of Am Yisrael, the Jewish people, regardless of their level of observance.
Rabbi Yerachemiel Fried
Dallas, Texas
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Many years ago when I was a relatively young yeshiva student I had the opportunity to study with one of the great rabbis of the previous generation. His name was Rabbi Yisroel Zeev Gustman and he may have been one of the greatest rabbis of the 20th century. He was certainly the greatest “unknown” rabbi: While he fastidiously avoided the limelight and was therefore unfamiliar to the general public, he was well known to connoisseurs of Torah learning.
His meteoric rise from child prodigy to the exalted position of religious judge in the Rabbinical Court of Rabbi Chaim Ozer Grodzinski at around the age of 20 was the stuff of legend — but nonetheless fact. Many years later, I heard Rav Gustman’s own modest version of the events leading to this appointment: A singular (brilliant) insight which he shared with his fellow students was later repeated to the visiting Rav Chaim Ozer, who invited the young student to repeat this same insight the following day in his office in Vilna. Unbeknownst to Rav Gustman, the insight clinched an argument in a complex case that had been debated among the judges in Rav Chaim Ozer’s court — and allowed a woman to remarry.
One of the judges adjudicating the case in question, Rabbi Meir Bassin, made inquiries about this young man, and soon a marriage was arranged with his daughter Sarah. When Rabbi Bassin passed away before the wedding, Rabbi Gustman was tapped to take his place as rabbi of Shnipishok and to take his seat on the court. Although Rav Gustman claimed that he was simply “in the right place at the right time,” it was clear that Rav Bassin and Rav Chaim Ozer had seen greatness in this young man.
Rav Gustman escaped, though not unscathed. He hid among corpses and in a pig pen. Somehow, he survived.
While a long, productive career on the outskirts of Vilna could have been anticipated, Jewish life in and around Vilna was obliterated by World War II. Rav Gustman escaped, though not unscathed. He hid among corpses. He hid in caves. He hid in a pig pen. Somehow, he survived.
For me, Rav Gustman was the living link to the Jewish world destroyed by the Nazis. I never had to wonder what a Rav in Vilna before the war looked like, for I had seen Rav Gustman, 35 years after the war. At the head of a small yeshiva in the Rechavia section of Jerusalem, Rav Gustman taught a small group of loyal students six days a week. But on Thursdays at noon, the study hall would fill to capacity: Rabbis, intellectuals, religious court judges, a Supreme Court justice and various professors would join along with any and all who sought a high-level Talmud shiur (class) that offered a taste of what had been nearly destroyed. When Rav Gustman gave shiur, Vilna was once again alive and vibrant.
One of the regular participants was a professor at the Hebrew University, Robert J. (Yisrael) Aumann. Once a promising yeshiva student, he had eventually decided to pursue a career in academia, but made his weekly participation in Rav Gustman’s shiur part of his schedule, along with many other more or less illustrious residents of Rechavia and Jerusalem.
The year was 1982. Once again, Israel was at war. Soldiers were mobilized, reserve units activated. Among those called to duty was a Reserves soldier, a university student who made his living as a high school teacher: Shlomo Aumann, Professor Yisrael Aumann’s son. On the eve of the 19th of Sivan, in particularly fierce combat, Shlomo fell in battle.
“They are all holy.”
Rav Gustman mobilized his yeshiva: All of his students joined him in performing the mitzvah of burying the dead. At the cemetery, Rav Gustman was agitated: He surveyed the rows of graves of the young men, soldiers who died defending the Land. On the way back from the cemetery, Rav Gustman turned to another passenger in the car and said, “They are all holy.” Another passenger questioned the rabbi: “Even the non-religious soldiers?” Rav Gustman replied: “Every single one of them.” He then turned to the driver and said, “Take me to Professor Aumann’s home.”
The family had just returned from the cemetery and would now begin the week of shiva — mourning for their son, brother, husband and father. (Shlomo was married and had one child. His widow, Shlomit, ave birth to their second daughter shortly after he was killed.)
Rav Gustman entered and asked to sit next to Professor Aumann, who said: “Rabbi, I so appreciate your coming to the cemetery, but now is time for you to return to your Yeshiva.” Rav Gustman spoke, first in Yiddish and then in Hebrew, so that all those assembled would understand:
“I am sure that you don’t know this, but I had a son named Meir. He was a beautiful child. He was taken from my arms and executed. I escaped. I later bartered my child’s shoes so that we would have food, but I was never able to eat the food — I gave it away to others. My Meir is a kadosh — he is holy — he and all the six million who perished are holy.”
Rav Gustman continued: “I never had the opportunity to sit shiva for my Meir; let me sit here with you just a little longer.”
Professor Aumann replied, “I thought I could never be comforted, but Rebbi, you have comforted me.”
Rav Gustman did not allow his painful memories to control his life. He found solace in his students, his daughter his grandchildren, and in every Jewish child. He and his wife would attend an annual parade (on Yom Yerushalayim) where children would march on Jerusalem in song and dance. A rabbi who happened upon them one year asked the Rabbi why he spent his valuable time in such a frivolous activity. Rav Gustman explained, “We who saw a generation of children die, will take pleasure in a generation of children who sing and dance in these streets.”
“I think about those shoes every day of my life.”
A student once implored Rav Gustman to share his memories of the ghetto and the war more publicly and more frequently. He asked him to tell people about his son, about his son’s shoes, to which the Rav replied, “I can’t, but I think about those shoes every day of my life. I see them every night before I go to sleep.”
On the 28th of Sivan 5751 (1991), Rav Gustman passed away. Thousands marched through the streets of Jerusalem accompanying Rav Gustman on his final journey. As night fell on the 29th of Sivan, 9 years after Shlomo Aumann fell in battle, Rav Gustman was buried on the Mount of Olives. I am sure that upon entering Heaven he was reunited with his wife, his teachers and his son Meir. I am also sure that Shlomo Aumann and all the other holy soldiers who died defending the People and the Land of Israel were there to greet this extraordinary Rabbi.
On December 10th 2005, Professor Robert J. Aumann was awarded the Nobel Prize in economics. I am sure he took with him to Stockholm memories of his late wife Esther, and his son Shlomo. I suspect he also took memories of his Rabbi, Rav Gustman.
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Note: Neither Rav Gustman nor Rav Shlomo Zalman sent their students to the army. On the contrary - both were insistent that the boys only learn if possible. But that didn't stop them from respecting the fallen soldiers.
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The Torah is דרכיה דרכי נועם וכל נתיבותיה שלום. Hashem is a רחום וחנון. It says ורחמיו על כל מעשיו. If someone lacks mercy and compassion that means that he is far away from Hashem - and then what is all of his Torah worth?? When a widow of a fallen soldier goes to sleep alone in her bedroom, crying herself to sleep, and her children do as well, the שכינה הקדושה weeps with them [סנהדרין פרק ו משנה ה]. NOTHING can change that.
We should weep, too. If we don't it is probably b/c we are too self absorbed and Teshuva is the order of the day.
