On the night before a young man begins his service in the Israel Defense Forces, neither he nor his parents sleep too much. The soon-to-be IDF inductee parties with his friends. The parents do not sleep out of worry, fear and apprehension.
This month we accompanied our first born son, Noam, to the IDF recruitment center in Jerusalem, where he was inducted into an IDF combat unit. He has three months of basic training lying ahead of him. Unlike many other Israelis, Noam holds a US passport. He could easily skip the country without too much difficulty and attend university in the US. However, he chooses to stay and serve.
Our Noam, now 19, was named after another soldier, Noam Yehuda, who was born in Philadelphia and who grew up in Safed. Noam Yehuda was killed by a PLO missile at the age of nineteen, on the fourth day of the Lebanon War in 1982. The enemy then was the same as the enemy now: Arafat and his gang, who had set up a terrorist base responsible for the murders of hundreds of Jews and Israelis throughout the world. The irony is that our Noam, nineteen years later, is going to be forced to fight that enemy on our own land. An enemy who has duped the world to such an extent that he received the Nobel Peace Prize. An enemy who was invited by the Israeli government to return from Tunis, was given arms by the IDF and who turned the tables and set up cities of refuge for his "troops" to again launch attacks against Israelis.
A few nights ago, we watched the evening news with Noam. Thousands of Arab rioters shooting guns wildly in the air, as they ran through the streets precariously toting the teetering body of yet another "shahid" - "holy martyr" (a title given to terrorists who blow themselves up among innocent Israeli civilians for the "Glory of Palestine"). Noam commented, ?Well, wish me luck. I'm going to be in a war.?
When you take your son on that ride to the draft induction point, your son's entire life flashes in front of you. All those special moments are quashed into those twenty five minutes of negotiating Jerusalem rush hour traffic. His moment of birth. His Brit Milah. His first crawls. His first day in nursery school. His first day in first grade. His performance in the local singing group and how he "cut" his first disc. His Bar Mitzvah. His going off to yeshiva. His summer of work with youngsters who have Down?s syndrome. And his resounding Shabbat meal send-off with his friends, singing, at the top of their lungs, everything from Psalms to Punk Rock.
Noam's mood on the day of his induction was enthusiastic and adventurous. He was joined by two friends from his yeshiva who were being recruited together with him. Three other friends had come to part with him and wish him luck.
This past year has been a year of reflection for Noam. He was glad to have made the decision not to go straight into the army following graduation from high school. Instead, he chose a yeshiva program with a curriculum that readies the students for army service through deep philosophical discussions and basic physical education.
It has also been a year of funerals. Too many funerals. Noam told us after returning from the funeral of our daughter's 20 year old youth counselor, who had been shot dead in a drive by shooting, that "Now I know what I am going into the army for. Going to all these funerals has made me aware of what I must do: protect the people of Israel".
Watching our son joke with his friends while waiting to be called to get on the bus, our heart swelled with pride at this wholesome, fine son of ours who was eager to serve his country despite the gruesome predicament the country is in right now.
At the induction center, only a few minutes after we got there, Noam's name was called out. The time had come to part. We hand over to the IDF a happy, wonderful son. Noam stretched out his arms and held each of us in a tight embrace. The lump in each of our throats choked back the words we had each planned to say. All we manage to say is, "Good luck. Stay safe. May God be with you."
Please God, we pray, return him to us unharmed, safe and sound.
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David Bedein, a Philadelphia native, runs a news agency in Jerusalem. His wife, Sara, a Cleveland native, is a writer and housewife.
This month we accompanied our first born son, Noam, to the IDF recruitment center in Jerusalem, where he was inducted into an IDF combat unit. He has three months of basic training lying ahead of him. Unlike many other Israelis, Noam holds a US passport. He could easily skip the country without too much difficulty and attend university in the US. However, he chooses to stay and serve.
Our Noam, now 19, was named after another soldier, Noam Yehuda, who was born in Philadelphia and who grew up in Safed. Noam Yehuda was killed by a PLO missile at the age of nineteen, on the fourth day of the Lebanon War in 1982. The enemy then was the same as the enemy now: Arafat and his gang, who had set up a terrorist base responsible for the murders of hundreds of Jews and Israelis throughout the world. The irony is that our Noam, nineteen years later, is going to be forced to fight that enemy on our own land. An enemy who has duped the world to such an extent that he received the Nobel Peace Prize. An enemy who was invited by the Israeli government to return from Tunis, was given arms by the IDF and who turned the tables and set up cities of refuge for his "troops" to again launch attacks against Israelis.
A few nights ago, we watched the evening news with Noam. Thousands of Arab rioters shooting guns wildly in the air, as they ran through the streets precariously toting the teetering body of yet another "shahid" - "holy martyr" (a title given to terrorists who blow themselves up among innocent Israeli civilians for the "Glory of Palestine"). Noam commented, ?Well, wish me luck. I'm going to be in a war.?
When you take your son on that ride to the draft induction point, your son's entire life flashes in front of you. All those special moments are quashed into those twenty five minutes of negotiating Jerusalem rush hour traffic. His moment of birth. His Brit Milah. His first crawls. His first day in nursery school. His first day in first grade. His performance in the local singing group and how he "cut" his first disc. His Bar Mitzvah. His going off to yeshiva. His summer of work with youngsters who have Down?s syndrome. And his resounding Shabbat meal send-off with his friends, singing, at the top of their lungs, everything from Psalms to Punk Rock.
Noam's mood on the day of his induction was enthusiastic and adventurous. He was joined by two friends from his yeshiva who were being recruited together with him. Three other friends had come to part with him and wish him luck.
This past year has been a year of reflection for Noam. He was glad to have made the decision not to go straight into the army following graduation from high school. Instead, he chose a yeshiva program with a curriculum that readies the students for army service through deep philosophical discussions and basic physical education.
It has also been a year of funerals. Too many funerals. Noam told us after returning from the funeral of our daughter's 20 year old youth counselor, who had been shot dead in a drive by shooting, that "Now I know what I am going into the army for. Going to all these funerals has made me aware of what I must do: protect the people of Israel".
Watching our son joke with his friends while waiting to be called to get on the bus, our heart swelled with pride at this wholesome, fine son of ours who was eager to serve his country despite the gruesome predicament the country is in right now.
At the induction center, only a few minutes after we got there, Noam's name was called out. The time had come to part. We hand over to the IDF a happy, wonderful son. Noam stretched out his arms and held each of us in a tight embrace. The lump in each of our throats choked back the words we had each planned to say. All we manage to say is, "Good luck. Stay safe. May God be with you."
Please God, we pray, return him to us unharmed, safe and sound.
----------
David Bedein, a Philadelphia native, runs a news agency in Jerusalem. His wife, Sara, a Cleveland native, is a writer and housewife.