Yitro (Exodus 18 - 20) GOOD MORNING! As the war in Gaza rages on – now closing in on almost four months – last week the Jewish people suffered their largest single-day death toll in this war with 24 soldiers killed. Every single death is horrible, terrible, and deeply painful; all of them are miniature universes of tragedy as our sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, fathers, etc. pay the ultimate price in defense of Israel and the Jewish people. Their deaths permanently affect untold generations of our people. There are simply no words. Well I shouldn’t say no words. Today there is a widely practiced custom among the soldiers serving in the IDF (Israel Defense Forces) to write a final letter to their family and loved ones and keep it with them, only to be delivered if something should happen to them. Facing a life and death situation has a way of clarifying the mind – and their letters are remarkable. These powerful letters serve as a final expression of who they are, why they are in the army, their gratitude to their families, and some final messages and requests. It’s become the custom among the grieving families to release these letters at some point during shiva – the week-long mourning period. As one might expect, these letters are both incredibly inspiring and very moving. I have made an effort to read as many letters as I could find online and, as I will explain, I recommend that others do the same. The letters I read came from deceased soldiers from all walks of life – regular citizens, rabbis, Bedouins, and foreign immigrants. We often wonder what we might do in support of our people during these terribly trying times. Of course, sharing our resources to help provide equipment and supplies for those on the front lines of protecting our people and the Holy Land is an obvious requirement. But I suggest that we also make an effort to learn about those who have fallen – who they were, what their dreams and aspirations were, and how they wished to be remembered – in their own words. One of the more primal instincts within a person is the innate desire to be remembered. Perhaps it is because from a very early age people recognize that they will, at some point, “be” no longer. The very definition of mortal (from the Latin word for death – “mortalis”) is that every person born is also hurtling towards his own death. We instinctually recognize that we are very temporal beings, and we want to be remembered past our demise. This is, at least in part, why people have children, build monuments to themselves, or take on lifetime-defining works (e.g. “publish or perish”). At the very least, we can help these brave soldiers be remembered, these precious souls who gave their lives in the service of their people and the Land of Israel. Their final letters are beyond poignant, and you will undoubtedly learn many different things – not the least of which will be a lesson on the extraordinary human spirit. As I mentioned, I have read as many as I could find and was heartened by the soldiers’ innate gratitude for the opportunity to serve and fight for both their ideals and people. Incredibly, almost every one of the letters conveyed a deep contentment with their decision to serve, and often asked that their families be happy for them and not sad for what might have been. (I was also struck by another recurring theme in many of these letters; the soldiers requested that if they were taken captive or kidnapped by Hamas that there were to be absolutely NO prisoner exchanges or any negotiations to free them. Many of them begged that their families not violate this last request.) It is unsurprising that the underlying similarity in all these letters is a deep sense of gratitude. After all, the essence of a Jew is one of thankfulness – the etymology of the word Jew comes from the Hebrew name Judah, which comes from the Hebrew “toda – thank you.” We find a similar concept in this week’s Torah portion; the Torah discusses the names that Moses gave his children and the reasons for them. As we shall soon see, they also have a recurring theme of gratitude and an aspiration for a land to call our own. “[…] the name of one was Gershom, for he had said, ‘I was a stranger in a strange land’; and the name of the other was Eliezer, for ‘the God of my father came to my aid and he saved me from the sword of Pharaoh’” (Exodus 18:4-5). Moses named his two sons after important experiences in his life. Presumably, his son Gershom was named for the events of his life in his adopted country, Midian, having arrived as an Egyptian immigrant and settling there to marry Tziporah the daughter of Jethro, one of the chieftains of Midian. His second son, Eliezer, was named after the miraculous event sparing him from Pharaoh’s death sentence and the resulting executioner’s sword (see Rashi ad loc. for the details of that incident). | 
Posts