We received this article and are sharing it with our readers with no editing. The author, Dor Markush, is an American student studying medicine in Israel.

How I Met A True Hero - Dor Markush

A couple of weeks ago, I read in the paper Yisrael Hayom about  an active Israeli soldier who was allowed to go home for a couple of days in order to get married on Thursday night. The next morning after the wedding, this paratrooper received a phone call from his commander  calling him urgently back to the base due to a plan for ground forces to enter Gaza. After a difficult decision, he answered the call of duty and as a result did not even get to celebrate the traditional Shabbat sheva brachot with his family and brand new wife. That motzei Shabbat, IDF soldiers entered Gaza, and this brave young man – Aharon  Karov – was one of them. Mi K'amcha Yisrael! Hashem, who is like your people Israel!? How holy is Am Yisrael!

In that paper two weeks ago, I read the inspirational words of Aharon's new wife, Tzvia, in her response to a question about how difficult it must be that her newlywed husband of just a few hours was asked to leave her and their wedding celebrations aside to go fight in  Gaza. She said, [not verbatim] "Our brave soldiers are fighting in  Gaza on behalf of the Jewish people. I know that what Aharon and I are building together is part of a bigger whole, the building of the  Jewish people. Right now is not the time to think only about myself.  We understand that we need to put our own private celebration on hold  for the sake of the greater good of the Jewish people." Mi K'amcha  Yisrael! What belief! What strength! What courage! What holiness! What  greatness! What love for the Land of Israel and the Jewish people!  What faith and trust in Hashem!

Two weeks later, yesterday, as I left to shul early in the morning, I glanced at the Yisrael Hayom newspaper which was on the floor next to the elevator as I do routinely. I noticed a picture with  familiar faces on the cover. I immediately recognized them – it was  Aharon and Tzvia at their chupah ceremony from just a couple of weeks  earlier. But then I read the headline: "He got married; He fought;  He's battling for his life – Moments after he married his heart's chosen one, Tzvia, second lieutenant Aharon Karov (22) was called to command his paratroopers in the Gaza strip. Yesterday he was severely injured by an explosion in a booby-trapped building. His father, a  Rosh Hayeshiva wrote a few days earlier: 'The groom went to battle recognizing that this is his obligation.'" Aharon was terribly wounded two days ago in Gaza when he and other soldiers went in to search a  house which was rigged with explosives. He underwent about 12 hours of neuro & facial surgery yesterday and is now in critical condition in the Intensive Care Unit at Beilinson hospital.

The whole day yesterday I could not stop thinking about  this hero of a soldier. Even though I am now doing my surgery rotation  in another hospital I decided that I was going to spend the evening in the ER at Beilinson. I thought that somehow maybe I would even merit  to see his father and be able to simply say hello or hopefully also  give him a hug (His father, Rav Ze'ev Karov, is the Rosh Hayeshiva of  the high-school yeshiva in Karnei shomron). So I arrived at the ER, but after about half an hour, I knew I had really come for something  more. I wanted to see these holy Jews who from the very beginning, when no one knew that things would turn out this way, demonstrated such unwavering faith in Hashem. And maybe, I thought, as a medical  student I would even be able to catch a glimpse of Aharon himself, the hero I had quickly come to admire so much.

So I asked my friend to show me where the Intensive Care Unit was. When we arrived we saw an entrance area that was packed with  tens and tens of people, leaving barely any room to move. But somehow,  thanks to a white coat and scrubs, we managed to slither our way  through and get in. "Wow, here I am," I thought to myself. "The ICU.  This is where I wanted to be." The first soldier I saw was nineteen year old Ben. He was one of the soldiers who was badly wounded a couple of weeks ago when the house in which he and others were taking  cover collapsed due to friendly fire. He underwent neurosurgery and amputation of one arm, and now doctors are battling to save his other arm. Ben is fighting to stay alive and to recover from a coma, and the doctors are hopeful. Thank G-d, he seems to be slowly improving. His mom and dad often come in to touch him, hold him, talk to him, and  kiss him. He was also visited by one of his fellow crutch-bound soldiers who was also injured but less severely.

Then in room 3 was Aharon Karov, and I knew it because of  the large flow of medical staff in and out of the room. I was  intimidated to go into this holy of holies because I didn't know what to expect. But I went for it, I followed another student going in, and there I was. "Wow! There he is, that huge tzadik that I never thought  I would actually merit to see, fighting for his life." As I walked in,  there were a few medical staff in the room, and there lay Aharon,  motionless – this giant of a hero – hooked up to numerous tubes and  machines, being mechanically ventilated, and fighting for his dear life. His head and much of his face were covered with a big white encircled gauze dressing from after his surgeries, as this is where  the most extensive injuries occurred. Leaving out specific details due to the patient's privacy, even when the nurse removed the gauze pads from his face to replace them I could not recognize him as the same person that I saw so many times in that picture in the newspaper. I wasn't sure that it was him. But then I saw that posted on one of the machines to the left of his bed was this picture from the newspaper –  him and Tzvia on their wedding night. And when I looked more carefully, I really was able recognize him! The mishnah in Pirkei Avot  came to mind (4:27). "Said Rabbi Meir: Look not at the vessel, but at  what it contains…" and I realized that this was in fact the same beautiful Jew that I had come to know only through the pictures in the  newspaper. He really was beautiful. He radiated so much holiness that  I could barely handle it. I kept looking back and forth at him and the  picture on the machine and I could not resist wanting to just hold his  hand; but I waited because I was not yet sure if it would be okay, as I know that one has to be very careful with patients in the ICU to  prevent any possible infections. (Though just in case for the  possibility of needing it for later, I cleaned my hands with the alcohol cleaning solution next to his bed.) One thing I knew: I was in the presence of greatness.

His nurse Smadar took great care of him. She treated him as if she was a mother treating her very own son. Whenever she did anything to him – put something into his IV line, change his bandages, clean his wounds – she would talk to him and tell him exactly what she  was doing, even though his eyes were closed and all signs showed that  he was not conscious. She would tell him, "Aharon, the orthopedic surgeon is here to look at your arm," or, "Aharon, I'm just cleaning your wounds, ok? You'll be okay. You're strong. I know it."

In fact, there is an amazing parallel in this week's parsha, parshat Shemot, which contains the story of the two midwives. When Pharaoh  decreed that all newborn Jewish boys should be drowned, there were two heroic midwives that prevented this from happening. One was named  Shifrah and the other Puah. Rashi explains that these two women were  really Yocheved (Moshe's mother) and Miriam (Moshe's sister). So why  were they called Shifrah and Puah? Rashi explains that Yocheved was called Shifrah because she was "Meshaperet et havlad," she beautified the infants and smoothed their limbs. Miriam was called Puah because she was "poah umedaberet vehogah lavlad," she cried and spoke and cooed to the child. Incredible! This was exactly how Smadar treated  Aharon.

At one point, when a certain doctor came to check on Aharon, he heard her seemingly talking to herself, so, bewildered, he asked her, "Who are you talking to?" She proudly turned to him and responded, "I'm talking to Aharon. This is how I treat my patients. He deserves the best treatment that we can possibly give him. Look what he's done for us. I don't know what he hears or doesn't, but I know that he is alive, and I am going to treat him with as much warmth and affection  as I can."

As the doctors were working to put in a new chest tube on the left side, I stood across from them, to Aharon's right. Suddenly his right hand that was previously laying still on a pillow slipped a little off the bed, so as a natural reflex I grabbed it to return it to its place, but now that I was already holding his precious hand I didn't really want to let go. I positioned my right palm under his right palm and I could feel that his hand was warm and firm, and a  little swollen either due to his injuries or the large amount of fluids that he was receiving. Even after a couple of minutes, I still wasn't ready to let go. What an honor! What an honor to be able to hold the hand of such a hero! So I continued to hold him. Eventually I brought my left hand to caress the dorsal part of his hand expressing to him to "be strong, hang in there, and continue fighting like you  know best. And thank you for everything that you have done and for all that you have sacrificed for my sake and the sake of the Jewish  people. Don't give up. Am Yisrael needs you and is praying for you."

Eventually I reluctantly let go, but even as the doctors finished  treating him and had left the room, I still did not want to leave. I can not explain it. I just knew that I was in the presence of  unbelievable greatness. So I stayed in the room with the nurse and continued to speak to her and help with any little thing that I could as she continued to care for him kindly and affectionately. We spoke about how grateful we are for soldiers such as Aharon and Ben who have sacrificed so much to protect the Jewish people and to allow us to continue to live in this holy, special land. I found a Sefer Tehillim (Psalms) on the cabinet in the room and managed to also be able to read the first perek of tehillim. I read somewhere later that apparently Tzvia, his wife, sits by her husband's side for hours just  reading Tehillim.

This leads me to an essential point. We have to understand that if we are not on the front lines like Aharon and Ben were, and like other soldiers still are now, this does not mean that  we get to sit at home and do nothing. The success of Am Yisrael depends on one thing alone – our relationship with Hashem, our Creator and Father in heaven. Jewish history makes sense in no other way. The prophet Zechariah wrote, "Not through army and not through strength, but through My spirit, said Hashem, Master of Legions" (4:6). Of  course we must physically fight. This is our hishtadlut. We are not allowed to depend on miracles. But this is not enough. We must turn to  Hashem and pray, pour out our hearts, show Him that we care! Learn a  little more Torah. Do another Mitzvah. Be a little nicer to others. We know that what our soldiers are doing affects us, but we must realize that what we do affects them likewise. We both need each other. Our soldiers are doing the hard part, risking their lives to defeat our evil enemies; but at least, at the very least, we can do our part too.  And after seeing people like Aharon and Ben and what they've sacrificed, how can one not be compelled to act?

There was one more thing I needed to do before I left Aharon, so after asking the nurse for permission I leaned over and kissed his right hand, that same hand I had held previously. "úåãä  øáä. úäéä çæ÷. – Thank you. Be strong."

May Hashem send a refuah shlema to Ben ben Netiva & Aharon Yehoshua  ben Chaya Shoshana as well as to all the other injured soldiers of  Israel and to all the other cholim of klal yisrael.