From Cemetery to Ceasefire
Yesterday was the 1 year anniversary of the fall of Ephraim Jackman, a friend and neighbor who died defending all of us in our war against terror. Ephraim fell in Gaza and I think most of us at the cemetery probably remember where we were at the moment that we heard the terrible news a year ago.
In the first two minutes of the ceremony at the cemetery, a large military helicopter flew overhead. It was such a startling reminder of the war that we are still fighting. I looked up while they were reciting Tehillim and just couldn’t believe the juxtaposition of our mourning, with the continued war and loss of life that we keep experiencing.
Ephraim’s officer spoke beautifully about him; about the person Ephraim was and the seriousness, belief of purpose, and character that he brought to the fight. He spoke about the night that he was killed, and then he listed the names of Ephraim’s friends and fellow soldiers who are now with Ephraim; and the list was so, so long. I silently prayed that this beautiful soldier who has taken so much on his shoulders, who has seen so much and lost so much, has gotten the support that he needs. And that he may have a long and healthy life. And I prayed that my own son, who has just become an officer with a similar responsibility, should never need to memorialize his soldiers in front of their family. What an enormous task; what an enormous burden we have given to these young adults of ours.
As I looked at the large crowd that had gathered for the memorial, I was touched to see so many of Ephraim’s peers from our community in Neve Daniel, from the army and from other aspects of his life. Many of these friends are still fighting, are home after fighting for months, or have recently returned to civilian life. It can’t be easy to come to the cemetery for their peer, for their childhood friend, for their fellow fighter both from an emotional standpoint and from an understanding of their own mortality, their own danger. I am forever in awe of our youth and the commitment they show to each other and to the memory of their peers.
As I left the cemetery and got into my car, I decided that the best way to honor Ephraim on the ride home was to start my daf yomi learning. Turning on the podcast as I exited the cemetery, I was struck by the dedication; a dedication by Ephraim’s grandmother in memory of him.
And then, of course, the news of the looming ceasefire and hostage deal filled the airways a few hours later. And I wondered how Ephraim’s family was feeling about the news on such a difficult day for them. And I thought about the agonizing year they’ve had and the daily posts I see on Facebook commemorating another 1 year anniversary for another fallen soldier. The posts, they just never stop.
With 840 soldiers who have been killed so far in this war, it is unimaginable to watch just a few families going through this loss and to extrapolate that pain to hundreds (thousands if we include the civilians killed on October 7th and in terror attacks since then). Were someone to take it upon themselves to visit the home of every fallen soldier in the course of a year, they would have 2-3 visits a day, every day for the entire 365 days with no breaks.
The numbers are staggering.
The pain, unending.
I do not feel able to fully comment on the upcoming ceasefire and hostage deal. There are far, far too many conflicted emotions to balance. I wish that we could go back to a smarter, safer, more prepared October 6, 2023. Since we can’t, and we can only move forward, I pray that these 840 lives can be remembered for the incredible sacrifice they gave to the country. And that they may lead to our many goals of safe borders, a strong country populated from north to south, the end of rampant terror, and the return of innocent people stolen from their homes.
Perhaps it is too much to hope for and some of the goals feel like they are in conflict with each other. But hope and pray we must to envision a better future and to stop the continued loss of life within our Land.
May it be so.