Last week, the body of murdered IDF Lieutenant Hadar Goldin finally returned home.
Hadar was 23 when he was killed in Gaza on August 1, 2014, an hour after the start of a 72-hour ceasefire during that year’s Gaza War. Hamas gunmen emerged from a tunnel in Rafah and attacked troops of the Givati Brigade, killing three soldiers, including Hadar. His body was then dragged into the tunnel by the terror operatives. It was held in Gaza for over 11 years, until it was finally returned and brought back to Israel for burial this week.
Hadar had been engaged to be married when he was killed. His favorite sefer was Mesilas Yesharim. He carried a small copy of it with him and wrote copious notes in the margins. The family published the Mesilas Yesharim with Hadar’s notes on the bottom. It is the ultimate testament to his sweetness and beauty, taken all too quickly.
On Simchas Torah this year, a neighbor and friend introduced me to his brother-in-law, Binyamin, who was visiting with his family from Eretz Yisrael. Binyamin is an IDF reservist who spent more than 500 days in Gaza. During that time, his business was put on hold. He did not take a proper shower or sleep in a normal bed throughout that grueling period.
As difficult as life was for him, Binyamin noted that the real hero is his wife. She had to manage their home and be both the mother and father of their children during the entire time he was away. She also had to contend with her own anxiety and fear of the unknown, as well as the fears of their children.
One day, Binyamin’s ten-year-old son came home from school, ran up to his room, and slammed the door. He did not come out for hours, not even for supper. When it was almost time for him to go to sleep, Binyamin’s wife went into their son’s room and found him still visibly upset. It took a few patient minutes before he explained that, at school, one of his classmates had said to him, “Your father is a soldier in Gaza? That means he’s going to be killed there.” With tears streaming down his face, the son asked his mother why Abba would go to Gaza knowing he was going to die. Didn’t he love them more than being a soldier?
Binyamin noted that one of the most difficult challenges of his reservist duties was encountering people back home who were “detached from reality.” He was in Gaza when the IDF entered Gaza City to split the Gaza Strip in half. One of the first things the IDF does when entering a new area is bulldoze and clear the ground so artillery can move in behind them. Binyamin was stationed near a bulldozer when an RPG blew off the arm of a soldier next to him.
Later that afternoon, Binyamin had a break from the army for a few hours to take care of a few things back home. While hurrying toward his house, a neighbor asked him why he was still wearing his uniform. “The war is over. Why are you still acting as if it is happening?” Binyamin shared that the neighbor had the luxury of thinking the war was over because he no longer heard warning sirens or saw incoming missiles. But that was only true because Binyamin and his fellow soldiers were putting their lives on the line in Gaza.
Binyamin also shared that he set for himself certain guidelines – kabbalos that he accepted upon himself to maintain his spiritual level while serving. One of those kabbalos was to do his utmost to daven with a minyan.
In that regard, Binyamin shared the following story:
“On one occasion, I was sent to a military base in a very hostile area deep in Judea-Samaria (the ‘West Bank’). Soldiers travel there only in bullet-proof, armored vehicles and remain there for an 11-day shift.
“It was winter, and sunset that day was at 4:47 p.m. When we arrived in the early afternoon, I mentioned to my commander that I would need to stop to daven Minchah before sunset, and he agreed.
“A friend in my unit quipped to me, ‘Hashem ko’eis alecha – Hashem is angry at you.’ When I asked him why he thought so, he replied that I had accepted upon myself to always pray with a minyan, and that day Hashem wasn’t allowing me to do so. I responded that it had nothing to do with Hashem being angry with me. I have to put in whatever effort I can; the rest is in His Hands.
“Every unit in the army has a cheder dat – a ‘religious’ room. The Rabbanut Tziv’it (the army’s rabbinical unit) sets up a room with siddurim, chumashim, a few pairs of t’filin, and a sefer Torah for any soldiers who want to use it.
“Ten minutes before sunset, I told my commander I was going to the cheder dat to daven, and he agreed. I walked into the room and saw that the siddurim and chumashim were brand new but coated in a thick layer of dust. I blew the dust off a siddur and began saying Ashrei.
“A moment later, I heard someone calling my name: ‘Binyamin! Binyamin!’ I ran out of the room and found another soldier in my unit looking for me. He asked what time sunset was. When I told him it was in ten minutes, he said he wanted to try to assemble a minyan for me. He was not religious and did not daven regularly. To this day, I have no idea why he decided to do so, except that it was siyata diShmaya.
“He immediately went from room to room asking soldiers to join. With four minutes to sunset, we had nine people. My commander was not fond of religion, to say the least. But with no other choice, the soldier asked my commander if he would join. I was shocked when my commander not only agreed but pulled a kippah out of his pocket and walked toward the room.
“We davened the abbreviated Minchah (‘short chazaras ha’shatz’) in order to finish by sunset. As we were finishing, I overheard one soldier say to another that he had been on the base for two and a half years and had never seen anyone enter the cheder dat.
“Afterward, my friend, who had told me that Hashem was angry at me, winked and said, ‘Wallah! Sichakta otah,’ loosely translated as ‘You nailed that one!’
“Two months later, I returned to that base, and one of the soldiers who had been at the previous minyan recognized me. He called out, ‘HaRav! HaRav! Will you arrange a minyan like last time?’ I pointed to my commander and said it was his decision. My commander nodded, and we again had a minyan.
“Except for a few isolated incidents when it was simply impossible because we were in combat, I never missed davening with a minyan. In Gaza, on a few occasions, we had beautiful minyanim with many not-yet-religious soldiers joining as well.
“The incident reminded me that when a person invests and does his utmost in avodas Hashem, Hashem helps him in unexpected ways. You have to understand that the base is located literally in the middle of nowhere. HaKadosh Baruch Hu oseh es ha’kol – Hashem does everything.”
I was glad that Binyamin was able to spend a few weeks in the United States with his family after so much time apart under such stressful circumstances. He shared that even now, every time he hears a siren, his heart skips a beat. There are other daily things that trigger emotional responses as well. One does not return from active duty and simply reorient to civilian life. It is a difficult and slow process.
After hearing all his stories, I asked Binyamin for a brachah, but he humbly refused.
May Hashem protect Binyamin, all our soldiers, and all of am Yisrael.
Rabbi Dani Staum is a popular speaker, columnist, and author. He is a rebbi in Heichal HaTorah in Teaneck, New Jersey, principal of Mesivta Orchos Yosher in Spring Valley, New York, and a member of the administration of Camp Dora Golding. His writings can be found at strivinghigher.com. Looking for an inspirational speaker or scholar-in-residence? Contact Rabbi Staum at 845-641-5094 or at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..
