Yonason Goldson
Ethics Ninja and Hitchhiking Rabbi

My son, the lone soldier

The IDF has trained my son to respond to the unexpected, and navigate his way through life's obstacles
Illustrative: Israeli soldiers sit on a tank close to the Israeli border with the Gaza Strip on October 30, 2017, near Kibbutz Kissufim in southern Israel. (AFP PHOTO/MENAHEM KAHANA)
Illustrative: Israeli soldiers sit on a tank close to the Israeli border with the Gaza Strip on October 30, 2017, near Kibbutz Kissufim in southern Israel. (AFP PHOTO/MENAHEM KAHANA)

Parents worry about children. It’s what we do.

When they’re infants, we worry about every sniffle and cough. When they’re in grade school, we worry about bumps and bruises. When they enter adolescence, we worry about their hormones and teenage angst. As they become young adults, we worry about them finding their way in life.

So I understand it when people ask if I’m worried about my son in the Israeli army. But many of them don’t understand my answer.

All in all, I think he’s safer than he’s ever been.

It wasn’t part of the plan. After college, with a good job waiting for him in New York, he went to Israel for a few months of spiritual R & R in the Jewish homeland. But almost from the moment he arrived, he knew that he wanted to stay. And if he was going to live as an Israeli, he wanted to do his part to defend his country and his fellow Jews.

With barely a second thought, he became a Lone Soldier.

He found the unit he wanted — the Gadsar Reconnaissance Division of the Nahal Brigade. He was attracted by the division’s reputation for quiet determination, and he eagerly awaited the challenge of proving himself fit for an elite combat unit.

His first goal was to complete the gibush — a 3 ½ day selection trial of relentless physical rigor. Of the 15 prospective soldiers in his group, four dropped out after three hours. The rest made it all the way to the end. And in the end, he made the cut.

My son is five years older than most of the other guys — a huge difference at that age — and has had to obey and respect commanders much younger than himself. But he has also found that his age elicited among his peers an expectation of maturity. With that perception came a sense of responsibility to live up to what others expected.

The 14-month training proved always demanding, frequently tedious, sometimes painful and — on occasion — seemingly pointless. But he soon recognized the advantages of discipline and learned to trust the wisdom of his commanders. As his taskmasters drove him to do things he would never have done on his own and develop skills he never imagined he would want or need, he began to discover his own extraordinary potential.

He mastered weaponry, marksmanship, navigation, camouflage, demolition, and hand-to-hand combat. Above all, he acquired the self-confidence that comes from having been trained and tested — and, with it, the mindset for success in every aspect of life.

He came to value the camaraderie that comes from a shared sense of purpose. His worldview grew broader and deeper. He learned to sympathize with the plight of the Palestinian people and to simultaneously loathe the corruption of Palestinian leaders who exploit their own people by perpetuating a culture of terror for political advantage.

As a Lone Soldier, having left his own parents and siblings halfway around the world, he found himself in a strange twilight zone of independence without isolation. He enjoyed the warm affection of an Israeli family that adopted him as a son, and the security of knowing that his superiors were always looking out for his welfare. And from the comments of his fellows, he gained new insights about himself:

“You chose to come over and do this — that’s absolutely crazy.”
“What is it with you? You act like you enjoy being here.”
“Dude, you have really good table manners.”

In a world of distracted, spoiled, and self-absorbed adult-children who don’t know who they are and don’t care where they’re going, my son has been trained to look for opportunities, respond to the unexpected, and navigate his way through any challenges and around any obstacles that life may throw at him.

More important, he has cultivated a sense of personal and national identity, an awareness that he is not just an individual but part of something far greater than himself — which makes him greater than anything he could become on his own. He has learned to take responsibility for himself and has developed a desire to engage the future rather than merely wait for it to arrive. He wants to make the world a better place, and he understands that the best way to do that is by making himself a better person.

In many ways I envy him and his comrades the opportunity they have, and it saddens me that more young people don’t choose to similarly challenge themselves. Most of us don’t begin life well-prepared for life, irrespective of our schooling or our vocational training. We squander so much thought and effort trying to figure things out on the fly, trying to play catch-up as we struggle with our careers and in our relationships.

We are all soldiers in the army of Mankind, all warriors on the battlefield of life. I’m grateful that my son has what so few of us have — the training and experience to meet those battles, to step forward into life with skill and self-assurance. And I’m proud that he has discovered that true joy comes from commitment to a higher purpose and higher values.

So to those who wonder why I’m not more worried about my son, all I can say is this: what on earth do I have to worry about?

About the Author
Rabbi Yonason Goldson is a TEDx speaker and award-winning podcast host. He works with leaders to create a culture of ethics that earns trust, sparks initiative, and drives productivity. His column, The Ethical Lexicon, appears weekly in Fast Company Magazine, and he has authored seven books, most recently, "The Spiral of Time: Discovering new insights and inspiration in the Jewish calendar." Visit him at
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