The Name Game

Looking at the pictures, their ages, and where they lived

Last week, I watched as Benny Gantz described being with Gadi Eizenkot, (both members of Gantz’s National Unity Party, both ministers in the emergency government and both former IDF Chiefs of Staff), when he received the news that his son, Gal, was gravely injured in Northern Gaza. Gantz said that the way Eizekot was approached, let him know that something wasn’t right or worse with his 25 year old son, who was a member of the elite Maglan commando unit.

Just too many soldiers dead, injured, and captive (Image: Mika Baumeister)

Gal was buried today, and wept over by his parents, his siblings (he was the youngest of 5), and by his close friends who spoke about his great smile, his loyalty, and his need to excel, something which wasn’t always easy with a father who was Chief of Staff, especially when he was in new recruit trying to make it, and hide that his last name was Eizenkot.

Friday afternoon, right before Shabbat, 2 more fallen soldiers were named. Combined with the news of heavy fighting in North and South Gaza, I wondered what additional names would be listed right as Shabbat ended, Saturday evening. That’s the worst moment to look at the news because it’s when you find out what was really happening as you went to shul, or ate a nice meal at home or with friends and family. Indeed, there were 5 more names, one of them Gal Eizenkot’s first cousin, Maor, in addition to Sahar Baruch, a young guy from Kibbutz Be’eri listed as “officially dead,” and not captive. This morning, 2 more names from October 7th were also listed as “officially dead,” Eitan Levy and Dror Kaplun. (Read that story here)

Each morning, around 6:15am or so, the names are published - that is to say, soldiers who’ve been killed, most of them in Gaza. Their names are usually accompanied by a picture of a smiling young guy (while this war is the first that women are actively serving in combat positions, most of the fighting deaths since October 7th, have been men), his age, his rank, in what unit he served, and where he lived. Usually, the rest of the story is revealed in the evening news along with clips from the funerals, where weeping parents, girlfriends, wives, friends, and siblings, talk about their beloved one.

The other day, the name of a fallen soldier bothered me, Ben Zussman from Jerusalem. As the day went on, I slowly figured it all out. Ben went to Himmelfarb, a religious boys high school - there are already 5 losses in this school community since the start of the war. The picture below frames an even harder story of all that’s happened since October 7th.

Three classmates - 2 dead, 1 captive in Gaza

On October 7th, Aner Shapiro z”l, on the left, was at the Supernova music festival with Hersh Goldberg Polin, on the right. Aner heroically (read more here) repeatedly threw grenades back out at the Hamas terrorists, trying to protect the many festival goers in a bomb shelter on the side of the road. Hersh was further back, in the same bomb shelter. Grenade #8 killed Aner, and Hersh’s arm was torn off (either from that grenade or others that were tossed in). I think about Aner often - when walking past his house, or his grandparent’s house - it’s on my way to my yoga classes. And Hersh? His home is right near the Shutaf office. Jerusalem is a small town, especially now.

There’s a piece in the NYTimes from October, about the bomb shelters on Route 232 near the rave, where people were killed, maimed and taken hostage. The article isn’t easy to read, “A recent drive near the Gaza border revealed that four of the six shelters along the stretch of Route 232 between Re’im and Alumim bore signs of severe violence. Even after the shelters had been nominally cleaned, their interiors were charred, their walls pockmarked by bullets and shrapnel and their ceilings spattered with blood.”

Hersh, who trained as medic in the army, wrapped a tourniquet around his arm and was taken off into Gaza with a group of survivors from that bomb shelter. Ben Zussman, died this past week - he was a reservist in the Combat Engineering unit. Three kids, all from the same class.

Then, I finally did what I was afraid to do. I texted my friend, Miriam Zussman, to ask what I didn’t want to ask - was Ben’s family related? Yes, she explained, Ben was her great nephew, “We’re losing good ones,” she noted. Then, she sent me the powerful eulogy Ben’s mother, Sarit, gave at the funeral, adding…“she stuck it to the government at the start of minute 4.” It’s worth watching and it’s got English subtitles.

She said something that particularly stuck with me, “If our soldiers succeeded in putting themselves aside and putting the nation in the center, it is only fitting that our leaders do the same. Leaders who don't understand this, leaders who walk around with a sense of arrogance, should step aside and make way for those who do know what to do. Because we must prevail.”

It occurs to me, as I read so many articles every day - about the day after, about peace, about what Israel should do differently, how Israel must think in new ways - that deep down, there is this existential fear that underpins every move since October 7th. That Israel is fighting her 2nd War of Independence, מלחמה על הבית is how it’s described, a “war for our home,” except that now, it’s lonely, afloat here in the Middle East, even Yemenite Houthi’s messing around from afar. And we haven’t even really dealt with the issue that is the North and Lebanon.

I walked home from work, past the mall, the grocery store, with a brief stop in Max Stock (a local store with cheap goods, perfect for Chanukah), noting the cultural mix that is Jerusalem; men and women, kids of all ages, Jew and Arab, religious and secular, all just doing their thing.

Tuning into my favorite talk radio station, Reshet Bet, the news came on. The repetitive, dull horror of it all, from the names to the news, to the suffering of the hostages, to the tragedy of ordinary Gazans, 82% of them displaced from their homes, reminds me of of the woodchipper murder of the late ‘80’s. Helle Craft was murdered by her husband, who then disposed of her body in a gruesome and horrible way. During the year or so that the murder was investigated and later as her remains were discovered, it was impossible to even hear the weather without hearing a few lines about the story - all you needed was the word woodchipper, and you felt sick to your stomach.

I stopped at a friend’s, and we talked about campus politics and how will we reach young Jews again about the complicated issues that are the State of Israel and the Zionist dream. We need to find a way to help them nuance the complexity that is creating, protecting and building a country in a part of the world has always been blood-filled and complicated, each side with their wants and wishes, none of them really connecting meaningfully or peacefully. (Certainly until we brokered peace with Egypt and Jordan.) That the story we’ve told each other, since 1948 (and before), is a real one, that the warts are real, the pain is real, and that our connection to this land is ancient and honorable.

Friend Esther shared that she’d been at a Hillel International Global Assembly, and that she’d presented at the plenary - there was tremendous desire to hear from those who live in Israel and share their experiences over the past 2 months. Esther talked about her love of counting in her everyday life and yet, how counting has been weighted and hard during this past period.

“I am counting:
…How many funerals I have been to
How many times I say or think or cry out, how could this have happened?
How many bags of chocolate chips I have gone through baking chocolate chip cookie bars for soldiers, not to mention the kilos of flour and brown sugar!
How many stupid Netflix movies I have watched before going to sleep to be able to fall asleep and keep the nightmares at bay?
How many prayers have I said for Hersh and the other hostages?
How many acts of kindness have I witnessed that have made me cry?
How many whatsapp groups I am on with volunteer opportunities to pick fruits and vegetables, donate money to this army unit or that kibbutz, donate clothing, sign petitions, go out and protest. Etc. etc.
How many hostages have been set free and how many are still in captivity?
How many Shabbatot we have had since the war began. Wondering if the hostages know it is Shabbat and if they know what day of the week it is.
How many birthdays were celebrated in captivity? How many uncelebrated Birthdays of lives cut short?
How many meals we have collectively cooked for family, friends, and strangers.
How many stories I have heard of righteous people who self-sacrificed to save hundreds of lives on Oct 7. Aner’s z”l story is too close.
How many seconds is needed to get to a bomb shelter depending on where you are in the country.
How many hours I have not slept because my brain & heart won’t shut off from worry or panic.
How many hotel rooms that should be full of tourists in a few weeks and instead are full of evacuees from the north and the south.
How many bags of laundry have been washed and folded lovingly for strangers evacuated from their homes who are really family with added chocolates and toys in their laundry bag when returned.
The number of times I hear that a soldier has been killed and I pray that I don’t know someone who knows someone who knows someone who knows them. And then know deep in my soul that they are a son or daughter, brother or sister and loved one of a family. And my heart cracks open just a little more.
How many times I have cried at shul
How many pop-up farmers markets I have been to from the south that sell out before they even open because so many people want to support them.
How many times I am reminded that I LOVE this country. With all its warts and complications. It’s my home and I am here for the long haul.
How many days there are until Chanukah – the first Chag since Oct 7. We will celebrate the triumph of light over darkness even when there is darkness still around. Who will be able to celebrate in their homes with their families? How many candles will we light for lost loved ones and those still in captivity?
How many times I think that no time has passed since Oct 7 and at the same time endless amount of agonizing months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds continue to tick by.”