Remembering Maoz
In the months leading up to Rosh Hashanah 5784, my family had a number of significant milestones. I turned 50 years old; our youngest child celebrated her bat mitzvah; and my husband Eitan and I celebrated 30 years of marriage and living in Israel together. We were moving on to a new stage in life.
Eitan and I met in Israel when we were both very young and we began our married life here. We were naïve and idealistic and that probably helped us deal with the difficulties of living in a foreign country far away from our family and most of our friends. Very quickly, we felt that Israel was our home. As a young bride of 20, I’m not sure how much thought I gave to sending my sons to the army, but it is the way of life here and, one by one, our sons went to serve in the Israeli army.
Eliezer went to Golani and a couple of years after he finished his service, Shachar followed in his footsteps and joined the Golani Brigade as well. A few years after Shachar finished, our son, Maoz, decided that he wanted to serve in the Elite Paratroopers Unit and after a few months of difficult training, he was accepted. While each son was serving, I would worry, endure sleepless nights, and, eventually, breathe a sigh of relief when they finished their service.
On October 7, Maoz was in the middle of his active duty. He happened to be on vacation for the weekend and was away with friends celebrating Simchat Torah. At about 8 a.m., he heard some rumors about what was happening in the country, quickly drove home, packed up his equipment and drove to his army base. By 1:30 pm, his whole unit was flown down to the Gaza border to help protect the communities there.
Back home, I was terrified about what was going on with Maoz and, of course, all of Israel. Reluctantly, our family sat down to our holiday meal. A few minutes later, our son, Shachar, got a call from his commander from his reserve duty unit telling him to pack up his equipment and come up north to help protect Israel from Lebanon. About an hour before the holiday ended, our son, Eliezer, got a similar call and packed up his equipment, kissed his wife and two children goodbye and left to protect his country. By the time we recited Havdalah, we had three sons fighting, in the line of danger. This was not a scenario that I had ever imagined in my worst nightmares. Three sons, off to war, at the same time.
Of course, I was not alone. Almost all of our neighbors had multiple children called up and among the younger families in our community, husbands and fathers left for months at a time. Some families had both father and sons fighting. A couple months into the war, a friend of mine asked me if I wanted to join an online support group for mothers of soldiers. I figured it couldn’t hurt. It was quite helpful and we were able to support each other, sharing strategies to help deal with the stress and anxiety of having children fighting and in danger.
Eliezer and Shachar, who were on reserve duty, were able to call home and keep us updated. Maoz was not able to call. From the day Maoz went into Gaza on November 4th until his three-day furlough from December 21st-23th, we spoke to him only once. Those were very difficult weeks. I found it very difficult to listen to the news each day and hear the names of the soldiers who were killed. Normally, I would feel a responsibility to listen to the radio and watch the news to find out as much as I could about each fallen soldier – to connect and to feel their family’s pain. But because my son was in Gaza, risking his life, I felt that I had to protect myself. I stopped listening to the news. I didn’t read about the wonderful soldiers who were killed. This was how I was able to go about my day-to-day activities and function, at least somewhat.
When Maoz returned to Gaza for the second time, the army provided phones that allowed the soldiers in his unit to call home once or twice a week. Things settled into a routine. Our older sons had returned from their reserve duty, we were able to speak to Maoz and we stayed away from the news. We got through the next few weeks, and I started to feel that all would be okay. Maoz was due to come home for a couple of days beginning Monday, February 19th – eight weeks since the last time he had been home. I planned on taking a few days off of work so that I could spend time with him.
At about 12:30 p.m. on Thursday, February 15, I got a phone call informing me that Maoz had been seriously wounded in battle in Gaza. The officer told me that he didn’t have any more information but a car was coming and would take Eitan and me to Soroka Hospital in Be’er Sheva. A few minutes later, the car arrived and Eitan and I left with our escorts to the hospital. It is a 90-minute drive from our house to the hospital. We spent the first 20 minutes on the phone with our older children letting them know what was happening and ensuring that they would be the ones to tell their younger siblings. Once that was taken care of, all we could do was worry and pray.
When we got to the hospital, the head of the ICU met us at Maoz’s bedside. He explained that Maoz had a head injury, and he allowed us to see him. He then took us into his office and informed us that the brain damage was irreversible and inoperable. It was a matter of hours or days until Maoz would succumb to his injuries. We left his office heartbroken.
But then, the army’s liaison for families of injured and fallen soldiers took us aside and gave us some sage advice. She explained that most families of fallen soldiers get a knock at their door and are informed that their son has been killed. We had been given a gift. We had the opportunity to hold Maoz’s hand and hug him. We had the chance to say goodbye.
That is what we did. We called all of our children and told them to come to the hospital. We spent the four days that Maoz hung between heaven and earth saying goodbye to him and telling him the things we had not gotten a chance to say to him while he was alive.. All of his friends came and were able to see him one last time.
Minutes before he passed from this earth, we gathered with all of our children and sang to him. When he stopped breathing, we were all there together to say: Shema Yisrael Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad! We are very thankful for this time with Maoz.
The following day Maoz was buried at Har Herzl. Thousands came to pay their respects.
When I reflect on the seven months that have passed since that day, I see that I have been given a number of gifts that have helped me to cope and make it through the days. First of all, I feel that G-d has blessed me with a pragmatic attitude towards difficulties in life. Like most of us, I have had my share of challenges, and I usually spend very little time bemoaning the hardship at hand. Almost immediately, I begin thinking of solutions and ways to ease the situation. This is how it was after Maoz was killed. There were and still are days that I have a hard time doing ANYTHING, but, for the most part, there is an inner force that pushes me forward and figures out ways to deal with the hurdles ahead.
Second of all, I am grateful for our friends and family who have been unwavering in their support. Specifically, the connection with Maoz’s friends and mentors from our community, from his high school and from the army has given me a lot of strength. Every day or two, I get a message from a friend, rabbi or army officer from Maoz’s life telling me that they are thinking of us and that Maoz is always in their hearts and minds. Every week, at least one of them comes to our home to visit. All of this assures me that Maoz will not be forgotten.
Another aspect of our lives in the post-Maoz reality are the get-togethers with other bereaved families through various organizations that support families of fallen soldiers. No matter how close I feel to my friends and family, nothing can compare to the connection with others who have experienced the loss of a child. There is an immediate sense of belonging and connection. We can talk about the deepest and most private topics within minutes of meeting each other. I am eternally grateful to these organizations for constantly thinking of ways to help us and give us a sense of belonging.
Lastly, I am thankful for the gift of speech that G-d has given me. My husband, Eitan, and I have been traveling around both Israel and the US speaking about our son, Maoz. We talk about how he was a fighter in all aspects of his life. We allow our audience to get to know him and what was important to him. We explain how he dealt with the challenges in his life. We then ask everyone to take something about Maoz into their lives. Make him your friend, your brother or your son. The feedback and support that we have received from these talks have been overwhelming. We get so much strength from each talk.
And that is how we manage. We push forward, get support from family and friends, spend time with other bereaved parents and speak — speak and speak and speak, spreading Maoz’s legacy, one community at a time.