In the conclusion of this week’s parsha Nitzavim – the Children of Israel are told to "choose life, that thou mayest live, thou and thy seed."
This command is particularly appropriate only a few days before Rosh Hashanah, when Jews all over the world will ponder "who shall live and who shall die … who shall come to a timely end and who shall come to an untimely end."
And while we at the Library Minyan will chant this prayer in the comfort of our air conditioned sanctuary in the midst of a country that allows Jews to openly and freely celebrate their religion – there are Jewish servicemen and servicewomen who will chant this same prayer amidst the violence of Iraq and Afghanistan.
Some of these deployed Jewish military personnel have traveled from their bases in Iraq to other bases where the too-few Jewish chaplains in Iraq or the Jewish lay leaders will lead Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur services. Some Jewish personnel will be on missions that prevent their getting time off for the High Holidays. In Afghanistan, some Jewish personnel will choose to stay at their own bases, totally unable to attend any Jewish service, because the risk of traveling to the bases where Jewish services are held is too great. The trip could cost their lives and the lives of their escorts.
A few months ago a rabbi in this minyan gave a drash saying how we should support our troops. It was a pleasant-enough drash, but he did not say that Reform and Conservative rabbis need to serve as military chaplains, which they do because there’s a shortage of Jewish chaplains in the U.S. military.
What do Jewish military personnel in harm’s way and with too few Jewish chaplains have to do with the Library Minyan?
Every Shabbat this congregation says the prayer for our country and the prayer for the State of Israel. Many people sit during both prayers or stand during both prayers.
I have to confess that my blood boils at the sight of the people who remain seated for the prayer for our country and then stand for the prayer for the State of Israel.
This is a tremendous insult to a country that gave many of our grandparents and great-grandparents shelter from the czar, pogroms, and Hitler; a country that continues to allow us religious freedom; and a country that has been and continues to be the biggest supporter of the State of Israel – with the universal acknowledgement that Israel would not exist today were it not for the steadfast support of the U.S.
To remain seated during the prayer for our country and then rise during the prayer for the State of Israel is even more of an insult to those Jews serving in the U.S. military. Those Jews serve in opposition to the false belief that American Jews do not support their own country – that they do not serve in U.S. armed forces.
And my blood boils even more when people in this congregation who have stood for the prayer for the State of Israel sit down for the prayer for peace. Who is going to miraculously achieve peace for us? The U.S. soldiers and the Israeli soldiers who fight the battles are the ones who enable the rest of us to live in peace.
For the last few months I’ve been writing a blog in connection with my Vietnam-era novel. On July 9 th my blog had a guest post from Big Tobacco, a Jewish National Guard infantryman now serving in Iraq. My husband Mitch found Big Tobacco’s own blog with a post about Shabbat in Iraq. I then contacted Big Tobacco to ask him to write a guest post about being Jewish in the U.S. military today.
I don’t know Big Tobacco’s name because he doesn’t reveal his name in order to protect his platoon. He told me that his unit works closely with the Iraqis and that killing him would be a twofer – an American and a Jew. I do know he is married and has two young children.
Here’s part of his guest post about being Jewish in the U.S. military today:
"Is that a ninja star on your neck?" one of my Army buddies asks while I am in the shower.
"It's a Magan David," I respond.
"So it's like a Jewish cross."
"Close enough," I say.
***
New wars start. The deployments come.
I get promoted to squad leader. I live at a checkpoint in the middle of the desert, wondering if something, anything is going to happen. I sit and have hot, sweet tea with the police... We discuss music and movies. They tell me how much they would love to come to America and meet a nice American girl. They ask if I am a Christian. I know that the truth would make my squad a target of opportunity.
So I tell them that I follow the Phillies religiously.
I come home.
I break the fast on Yom Kippur with Air Force airmen after patrolling the mud-caked streets of New Orleans. My second son is born. Life returns to normal.
"So you can get out of it, right?" My neighbor asks after I tell him that I will deploy to Iraq. I live in a Jewish neighborhood in New Jersey and am the only soldier in my synagogue.
"No," I respond. "You can't get out of it."
"But you have kids?" he says. "Maybe if you talk to them, they will let you get out of it."
"It doesn't work like that."
Learn to suffer. Release your attachments. You are not special.
Some idiot makes me a platoon sergeant. Now I have 32 men and women. Many of them are poor Puerto Ricans and blacks from places like Camden, Jersey City and Newark. I'm the first Jew many of them have ever met.
They drop pennies on the floor of the barracks when I walk inside. They leave "The Passion of the Christ" on my cot. I watch it. It's a good movie, but "Braveheart" was better. They are joking, pushing me to see how much I can take. It really is endearing. As long as they are making fun of me, they like me. The day they stop making Jewish jokes is the day I better start looking under my cot for grenades.
"Is that pork or turkey?" I ask the dining facility worker while pointing at a brown patty of something for breakfast.
"It is uh?" The worker says in broken English. He doesn't understand the question. "It is sausage patty."
"Thanks, dude. I'll just have some eggs."
I sit down to eat my eggs and cereal. My first sergeant comes over to my table and sits down.
"You know, I can get you a kosher meal," he says.
"I'm not special, Top," I say. "You'll never hear me complain. People like me don't do things like that."
Here in LA one Friday morning I got an email from Big Tobacco that started this way:
Phyllis,
I've got a mission in about an hour, but I wanted to drop you a
line before I left the wire.
Before he left the wire – the relative safety of an FOB (Forward Operating Base) to go out on a mission.
The rest of the email was his response to my question about post traumatic stress disorder. And the email ended:
Oh, and by the way,
Shabbat shalom
BT
That day I sat eating lunch in an upscale restaurant in West LA. As I ate my salmon, I looked around the room at the other diners. We were sitting here in comfort while Big Tobacco and the men and women of his platoon were out on a mission risking their lives so we could sit here in peace and enjoy our meals.
I was relieved when I got back home to find this email awaiting me:
Phyllis, I'm back from my mission. BT
Two days ago I got this email from him about Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur:
Services may be a problem since I am at The Little FOB and I have to go to The Big FOB for services. This would require vehicles and the commander won't dispatch a convoy just for me.
In this coming New Year, as each Shabbat we say the prayer for our country and the prayer for the State of Israel and the prayer for peace, I urge you to either sit for all three prayers or stand for all three prayers. – Personally I would hope you stand. – But do not remain seated for the prayer for our country and then stand for the prayer for the State of Israel and then sit down for the prayer for peace.
To do so disregards Judaism’s requirement to honor the country in which we live and is disrespectful of the men and women who serve to protect our peace and freedom in the U.S. and thus ultimately protect the peace and freedom of the State of Israel.
During the Days of Awe, may we all choose life, that we may live.
Shabbat shalom