Israel Diary: A Day of Hospital Visits with Yaakov

Yesterday was one of the most inspiring days of my life.

This incredible day began at around 9 o’clock in the morning. My son Yaakov and I were picked up from Jerusalem by Rabbi Yossi Swerdlow, who currently heads up Chabad in Israel’s highly acclaimed “Children of Chernobyl” humanitarian project. It was Rabbi Swerdlov who first took my call from the States about two weeks ago, when Layah and I felt that we needed to do something, anything, to let our brave soldiers know that they were not alone. (Incidentally, Rabbi Swerdlow was also once upon a time a rabbinical student in Brookline and he spent many Shabbats and holidays, most notably our first Purim, at Chabad of the North Shore.)

We headed out to Bellinson Hospital in Petach Tikvah, where we were met by another young rabbi, Menachem Kutner. You all know how proud I am to be a Chabad emissary, but after witnessing firsthand the holy work this incredible person performs EVERY day, I was truly humbled. Rabbi Kutner is the director of Chabad’s Terror Victims Project (www.ctvp.org) and the way he embodies the Rebbe’s core message of love for every Jew is nothing short of breathtaking.

Rabbi Kutner was accompanied by an injured soldier named Kfir Levy and Kfir’s father. Kfir was wounded in Gaza in 2002 by a direct hit of an RPG to his face. That he has survived and walks and talks today is a miracle all to itself. He has agreed to accompany us in our mission to comfort the wounded soldiers and his remarkable story and smile inspire us all.

In every hospital room on our list we found entire communities of people – mothers, fathers, bubbies, zaydies, soldiers, chaplains and unrelated passersby. Everybody wants to bring cheer to our injured soldiers. Every hospital in Israel, it appears, is actually staffed with an in-house army office that caters specifically to the chayalim. The first soldier we visited happened to be the son of the Chabad Shliach in Elon Moreh. A week ago his entire face was bandaged, covering shrapnel wounds from an RPG explosion. He was with his wife of three months and both were upbeat and hopeful.

In fact, wherever we went, schlepping along my son Yaakov, his guitar, our bagful of iPods and get-well letters from children on the North Shore, the reaction was the same from soldiers, family and friends — real gratitude, true cheer and heartfelt thanks. The words kol yisroel arayvim ze bazeh, all Jewish people are responsible for one another, and am yisroel chai echoed down the corridors of pain and hope throughout the day.

As we made our way from room to room, floor to floor, we were being followed — by two Israeli film crews from the national television stations. They too were unique; they were not the detached media observers of other people’s pain. They were there as brothers and sisters, telling their story as only brothers and sisters can. While they had come to report on the condition of the injured soldiers generally, a rabbi from Boston with iPods turned out to be an important scoop for them!

At the Tel Hashomer hospital in Tel Aviv, we continued to meet with injured soldiers and their families, this time paying visits to several Druze soldiers as well. The corridors of the waiting rooms resembled living rooms and kitchen tables laden with food, rather than hospital wards. The Druze mothers and fathers, in particular, would not let us leave until they had shown us their traditional hospitality. On our way out, they showered us with blessings of baruch hashem and inshallah.

At every turn, Rabbi Kutner continued to inspire us with his deep humanity. At each bedside, including those of the Druze soldiers, he carefully writes down the name of each injured soldier, along with the names of their mothers. He will later transmit this list to synagogues worldwide for recitation of the traditional mi shebayrach prayer in their honor.

(Leaving Tel Hashomer, we took a break at Rabbi Menachem’s favorite shawarma shop. Israelis take great pride in always knowing the best spots for hummus in every corner of the country. We were not disappointed by his choice.)

We continued south to Sderot. As we entered the city limits, around 7 in the evening, Rabbi Menachem pointed out the bomb shelters; apparently there is one behind every bus stop. As we approached the Sderot Chabad House, I noticed a unique structure outside the pre-school playground, a huge concrete, winding tunneling thing. “Welcome to Sderot, the home of the multi-purpose play structures,” I thought to myself. How sad that these children have to grow up this way!

Inside the Chabad House, we were very pleasantly surprised by finding a welcome reception hosted by the Sderot children who were here with us on the North Shore last summer, and their parents. After a very touching reunion and to cries of delight all around, we distributed to them and to all the other children the wonderful toys and letters contributed by our North Shore community. It continues to amaze me that the people of Sderot are proud to be citizens of that much beleaguered town and insist that they would never even consider moving elsewhere.

Around 8:30 in the evening, we pulled up to our final stop of the day, the very beautiful Soroka Hospital in Beer Sheva. The magnificent architecture of the building disguises the pain felt within. We sat with the family of an 8-year-old terror victim, a boy with a piece of shrapnel lodged in his head. The image was surreal: here it was already late at night but there were still nearly 30 people of all types gathered in the hospital to comfort this young boy. They asked me to lead them in prayer, which I did, accompanied by the tears and heartfelt prayers of all present. We overheard the boy’s father telling someone on his cell phone, “We don’t worry, they are praying for our little tzaddik from all over the world.”

We returned home to Jerusalem well after midnight, exhausted in body but fully awake in mind to the greatness of our holy land and its holy people. In many ways, Yaakov and I felt like we had been through a time machine and come face to face with the Hasmonean warriors of old. As Yaakov drifted off to sleep, he was still under the spell of what he had witnessed. “Wow,” I heard him murmur, “the pure faith of those families, the way they talk to Hashem, amazing!” Thanks so much to all of you on the North Shore who made this possible ... You guys Rock!