Put Yourself in Their Shoes to Really Celebrate Israel!

There is something so overwhelmingly emotional about Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaAtzmaut.  As Israel transitions in a mere 24 hours from somberly remembering those killed establishing and defending the State to joyously celebrating her independence, we ride a roller coaster of emotions.  Personally, it is so powerful to see the images and watch the video clips from Israel today.  Naama pointed out how even seeing the Ramaz students commemorating Yom HaZikaron in their assembly with a recording of the siren is powerful enough to move one to tears.

I don’t think any of us who has grown up with a State of Israel can appreciate just how incredibly blessed we are.  Today, we take so much for granted that we need to try and put ourselves in the shoes of those who did NOT know what it was like to live with a State of Israel.

Can you imagine what it was like to survive the Holocaust and then live to experience the miracle of a State of Israel?!?  Would anyone in 1944 even dream that Israel would exist let alone accomplish all that she, thank God, has accomplished in 69 years?

Rabbi Yisroel Zev Gustman (1908-1991) may have been one of the greatest rabbis of the 20th century that nobody has ever heard of.  While he avoided the limelight and was therefore unfamiliar to the general public, he was well known to connoisseurs of Torah learning, and his writings are experiencing something of a renaissance in yeshivahs today.

His meteoric rise from child prodigy to the exalted position of religious judge in the Rabbinical Court of the famed Rabbi Chaim Ozer Grodzinski at the age of 20 was the stuff of legend -- but nonetheless fact.  While a long productive career on the outskirts of Vilna could have been anticipated, Jewish life was obliterated by the pain of World War II.  Rav Gustman escaped, though not unscathed.  He hid among corpses.  He hid in caves and under bushes.  He hid in a pig pen.  He somehow survived.

After the war, and a brief sojourn in America, Rav Gustman became the head of a yeshiva in the Rechavia section of Jerusalem, Netzach Yisrael.  He taught a small group of loyal students six days a week.  But on Thursdays at noon, the study hall would fill to capacity: Rabbis, intellectuals, religious court judges, a Supreme Court justice and various professors would join along with any and all who sought a high-level Talmud class.  When Rav Gustman delivered a lecture, Vilna was once again alive and vibrant.

One of the regular participants was a professor at the Hebrew University, Robert J. (Yisrael) Aumann.  Once a promising yeshiva student, he had eventually decided to pursue a career in academia, but made his weekly participation in Rav Gustman's class part of his weekly schedule.  The year was 1982.  Once again, Israel was at war. Soldiers were mobilized, reserve units activated. Among those called to duty was a reserves officer, a university student and young father who made his living as a high school teacher: Shlomo Aumann, Professor Aumann's son. On the eve of the 19th of Sivan, in particularly fierce combat, Shlomo fell in battle.

Rav Gustman mobilized his yeshiva: All of his students joined him in performing the mitzvah of burying the dead.  At the cemetery, Rav Gustman was agitated.  He surveyed the rows of graves of the young men, soldiers who died defending the Land.  On the way back from the cemetery, Rav Gustman turned to another passenger in the car and said, "They are all holy."

Another passenger questioned the rabbi: "Even the non-religious soldiers?"

Rav Gustman replied: "Every single one of them."  He then turned to the driver and said, "Take me to Professor Aumann's home."

The family had just returned from the cemetery and would now begin the week of shiva -- mourning for their son, brother, husband and father.

Rav Gustman entered and asked to sit next to Professor Auman.  He spoke, first in Yiddish and then in Hebrew, so that all those assembled would understand:

"I am sure that you don't know this, but I had a son named Meir.  He was a beautiful child.  He was taken from my arms and executed.  I escaped.  I later bartered my child's shoes so that we would have food, and I gave it away to others.  My Meir is a kadosh -- he is holy -- he and all the six million who perished are holy."

Rav Gustman then added:

"I will tell you what is transpiring now in the World of Truth in Gan Eden -- in Heaven.  My Meir is welcoming your Shlomo into the minyan and is saying to him 'I died because I am a Jew -- but I wasn't able to save anyone else.  But you -- Shlomo, you died defending the Jewish People and the Land of Israel.'  My Meir is a kadosh, he is holy -- but your Shlomo is a Shaliach Zibbur -- a Cantor in that holy, heavenly minyan."

Rav Gustman continued: "I never had the opportunity to sit shiva for my Meir; let me sit here with you just a little longer."

Professor Aumann replied, "I thought I could never be comforted, but Rebbi, you have comforted me."

Rav Gustman and his wife would attend an annual parade held in Jerusalem before Pesach.  They would join their fellow spectators and excitedly watch the children march through the streets.  When asked by a colleague why he participated in this annual event, he replied, “We who saw a generation of children die, will take pleasure in a generation of children who sing and dance in the streets of Jerusalem.”     

Rav Gustman and many others of his generation are the perfect guides for us.  He and many like him (even though not Zionists) felt a love for the land of Israel, for the people of Israel, and for the heroes of Israel.  It is a love we need to make sure to absorb within ourselves and pass on to our children.

This Yom HaAtzmaut, take a moment to reflect on how blessed we are to have as our reality an Israel our ancestors couldn’t even dream of.  Share this feeling with family and friends. 

Ashrei she’zachinu l’kach – How fortunate are we to have merited this!