The truth about my army service

Thursday, November 28, 2024, was an auspicious day in Israel. After 418 days of war, it was the first 24 hours without a single red alert. Not one rocket was fired by any of our enemies. In truth, I didn’t notice it until my wife pointed it out the following morning. It’s amazing — both what we can become accustomed to and how quickly we forget such a reality.

But if there’s one feeling I haven’t yet shaken, it’s my sense of guilt. When I made Aliyah, I was well past 18 years of age and, therefore, I never had the honor of serving in the Israel Defense Forces. One of my closest friends has been in the reserves off and on throughout the war and I always had the feeling that I wasn’t doing enough.

The auspicious nature of the first quiet day was heightened by its correlation with Thanksgiving. Many expats celebrate the American holiday on Friday night, making Shabbat dinner a Thanksgiving feast. With the help of my soldier friend, we had procured a 33-pound turkey and many of my extended family were planning on visiting for the day of rest. I was really looking forward to the weekend.

As sometimes happens in my profession as a mohel, the best laid plans must change. I received a call midweek to perform a Bris in Mevo Modi’in on Shabbat, which is a 45-minute drive away. As much as I wanted to stay home, my policy is to always go unless I truly can’t. Although there are times that some or all of my family joins me, this would not be one of those trips.

I wasn’t always so eager to travel for Shabbat Britot. In fact, when I first began my career, I’d often put people off if the event fell out on Shabbat or a holiday. “Let me know if you can’t find anyone else,” I’d say. I didn’t want to burden my family with travelling or my being away. But all that changed with the news of a terror attack six years ago.

I never met Rabbi Raziel Shevach, who was also a rabbi and mohel. My first introduction to him was the news of his death. He was brutally gunned down while driving near his home in Havat Gilad for the crime of being a Jew and living in our homeland. The stories which were subsequently reported of his life changed the course of mine.

A couple who lived in an outlying community were frantically searching for a mohel for a Rosh Hashanah Bris. After having been turned down multiple times, they finally found Rabbi Shevach. He instantaneously agreed to come for the two-day holiday. Not only did he arrive without his family, but apparently he brought tremendous joy to the entire community.

Upon hearing this account, I told my wife that we were doing it wrong. I knew I needed to go to these Britot whenever possible. So, when the family called for the Thanksgiving weekend, I did what I always do. I did what Rav Shevach would have done – I agreed to come on the spot.

No one in my family was all that excited about the turn of events but they respected my commitment. When discussing the upcoming weekend with my closest friend, the soldier, I remarked how I wouldn’t be around to enjoy the turkey he had worked so hard to get us. He was shocked. I explained to him the story of Rabbi Shevach, which I apparently had never done before. His response was priceless. “Oh, I get it; this is your miluim (reserve duty).”

I had never thought of it that way. As I said, I spent the past year feeling guilty that I remained at home with my family, while those, such as my friend, were on the front lines. But his perspective fundamentally changed mine. While it’s true that I’m blessed to continue my life thanks to the ultimate sacrifice of our soldiers, it is also true that I’m part of another army — God’s army.

We all make sacrifices to forward the Israeli project. Some of us are on the frontlines. Others support the families at home for those who need to be away; while still others work to keep our economy strong. And there are others who do all they can to support from afar. None of these national services is any less valuable than the other — and so we all must press on until the war is won.