Tag: israel-from-the-inside

To Life, To Life, L’Chaim. L’Chaim, L’Chaim, To Life.

Posted on by Keith Dvorchik

Ever since October 7, 2023, I have been writing this blog very regularly. Over the past month, that has slowed to a crawl. I’m not sure if it is fatigue, frustration, anger, sadness, or some other emotion. I just know that writing has been very difficult as the Israel-Hamas-Hezbollah-Iran-Houthis war continues and the rise in antisemitism around the world and in the United States continues to grow.

I write when I am moved emotionally or intellectually. My emotions have been muted and the rise and acceptance of Jew hatred has made me wonder about the intelligence of the people in this country and the world. I wasn’t sure what to write or if I would find something that moved to me to write.

Then I read this post by Jon Polin, the father of Hersh Goldberg-Polin. The power of his words hit me deeply. The price of this war hit me deeply. Read Jon’s words and let them wash over you, sink into your soul, and see if you are not changed.

I respectfully ask that the Office of The Prime Minister of IsraelBenjamin Netanyahu – בנימין נתניהו stop claiming that “his forceful application of combined military and diplomatic pressure has so far achieved the release of 205 hostages out of a total of 255.”

This insensitive claim whitewashes the lives of the 20% of the 205 who were taken into Gaza alive, survived a period of torture, and were then killed in captivity, including my son Hersh.

In August 2024, a negotiated deal was possible to release a number of hostages, including Hersh and at least three others of the five with whom he was held (together “the Beautiful Six”). Instead of completing this deal, and despite finding a live Israeli hostage in close proximity to where the Beautiful Six would be executed just two days later, a decision was made to continue with the risky military operation in Rafah. This decision led the Beautiful Six to be executed. Ironically, the deal that could have saved them was finally completed in January 2025 under pressure from President Trump.

Please do not take credit for “achieving the release” of Hersh. This is offensive to Hersh and to our family.

As I began to write this, deeply impacted by Jon’s words, the price paid by Rachel and Jon and so many others in Israel, dealing with my own feelings about not being able to go to Israel since September and plans to go in October, the graduation from college of my younger son and the career success of my older son, while so many in Israel have lost their children and loved ones because of the war and, I came across this piece in Daniel Gordis’s “Israel from the Inside” substack. He posted this piece written by Hagai Luber, an actor, playwright, theater director, acting teacher, and the founder and artistic director of the “Aspaklaria” theater and acting school. The translation is below. It captures my feelings beautifully.

Please, please,  
On the panels in the TV studios,  
On social media and in tweets,  
In the Knesset, in committees, and in speeches.  
And in the war cabinet, in the heat of discussions,  
Do not use the dead soldiers as proof of your righteousness!  
Do not say—"See? We must achieve a decisive victory."  
And do not say—"This is the proof that it is time to end the war."  
And do not prove with a victorious shout that if only there were more fighters, the disaster would have been avoided.  
And do not passionately criticize the methods of fighting and the security doctrine.  
And do not say—not today at least—  
That we must...  
That now...  
That the time has come...  
That we warned long ago...  
(And never, ever dare to say "They fell for politics and in vain")  
Just take a moment,  
Or a day,  
Or a year.  
And quietly look at these beautiful ones, in the picture.  
And think about the wondrous fact,  
That regardless of taking a stand or having an opinion,  
They were willing to die for you (f.) and for you (m.).  
And when they heard over the radio that soldiers hit explosives,  
The rescue forces rushed there to save lives,  
And took fire and continued, gritting their teeth, in evacuating them.  
And they didn’t check which sector they belonged to.  
And whether they are "secular" or "ultra-Orthodox,"  
And what their opinion is about the situation and what exactly they think.  
And this unconditional connection is the rock of our existence.  
And it is stronger and more steadfast than all our follies.  
And it is the secret of our strength.  
And it is the light and the good in our lives.  
We will grieve together.  
We will be comforted together.  
And we will rise together.

Haggai Lober

Maybe this hit me so hard today because I watched a former student who became a friend, bury his wife, another former student who became a friend, in Israel today. As I watched the funeral, I was struck by a number of things. First, her desire to be buried in Israel. How much that meant to her. Secondly, how as people talked about her, I could see her face, hear her voice, her laughter, and her passion for life. Third, how grateful I was that I got to see her last fall when I was in Atlanta and that I got to give her a big hug then. I only wished I’d spent more time with her that day.

That’s who we are as Jews. We love life. We cherish life. Our toast, L’Chaim, is literally saying “To Life”. Saving a life is as if we saved an entire world. We celebrate life throughout our lives. Even when somebody dies, we use shiva, the 7 day mourning period after burial, as a way to help the mourners deal with living their lives after losing their loved one. We tell stories about the person who died to celebrate their life and bring comfort to the lives of their loved ones. Everything is about life.

Beginning on October 7th, we have lived in an almost 2 year period of death. Death on October 7th. Death of hostages. Rise of antisemitism impacting our ability to live life. It only struck me today how un-Jewish this time period has been. I was reminded of this by words spoken by the daughter of my friend Yael (z’l) as she eulogized her mother. She had asked Yael (z’l) if she regretted anything in her life and she told her no. When pressed, Yael (z’l) told her daughter that she married a man she loved with all her heart, had parents who loved her, had 2 beautiful children that she loved more than anything, and had a fulfilling career. What was there to regret.

As I type and read those words, I can hear Yael’s voice saying them. Even in death, Yael (z’l) reminded her children, her family, and me the importance of living life. Jon Polin reminded us about how important living life is and just how powerful the loss of life is, through his son Hersh (z’l). Haggai Lober teaches us through his essay how important life is by the way we do whatever we can to save lives and how despite the incredible value of life, we are willing to risk our life to save others.

October 7th and the war that has followed has cost us too many lives to not honor their memories by living ours. Living them Jewishly, whatever that means to each of us. I have my Nova tattoo, my we will dance again tattoo, and my tattoo of the artwork by Moshe Shapira connecting released hostage Emily Damari’s hand with the priestly blessings. Moshe’s son Aner was murdered on October 7th as he repeatedly threw grenades out of the bomb shelter, trying to save others, until there was one he couldn’t get to in time and this tattoo reminds me of Aner, Emily, and Moshe. I wear my Star of David with Israel as the center of it proudly every day, outside my shirt. I got my Florida Stands with Israel license plate and display it proudly on my car.

Florida Stands With Israel License Plate
The art of Moshe Shapira plus We will dance again tattoo
Nova Tattoo
My special Magen David

I’m not the most religious person but I go to minyan when asked. I learn Jewishly every week through two different teachers and with a Rabbi friend when possible. I am proudly and outwardly Jewish. I refuse to hide it. I often think of my parents, who were outwardly proudly Jewish, my grandparents, who were outwardly proudly Jewish, and my Great-grandmother Rose, the only of my Great-grandparents that I knew, who was also outwardly proudly Jewish. I owe it to them and to my children to be proud of who I am, of my history, of my heritage, of my culture.

In memory of all those murdered on October 7th, who have died protecting Israel and the Jewish people, who were murdered by Hamas as hostages, I have one thing to say.

The living dead

Posted on by Keith Dvorchik

I use a lot of sources to keep up to date on the news. Unlike the days of Walter Cronkite on CBS news, there is no single trusted source in today’s media. One of the people that I read is Danny Gordis. His “Israel from the Inside” substack posts are filled with a great deal of facts, stories, opinions, and thoughtful pieces. Today’s post was extremely powerful and hit me deeply, bringing tears to my eyes. Having been to Israel 3 times last year (May, July, and September), and working with many different organizations in Israel with daily contact with Israeli’s, it hit home. It’s what I have seen, heard and felt. While on a zoom with one of my partners last week, she let us know that she may have to leave in a few minutes because she got the “10 minute alert” that the Houthi’s had fired a ballistic missile at Israel. Sure enough, a few minutes later she said, “I have to go” and off she went to her safe room. The rest of us stayed and talked until she returned a few minutes later.

I urge you to read this story from Danny Gordis’s “Israel from the Inside”. It is an English translation of a Facebook Post (in Hebrew)from yesterday. And if you subscribe (paid or free), you won’t regret it.

I died on the 120th day of the war, but I didn’t tell anyone

I was killed on the 120th day of the war, but I didn’t tell anyone. The battles were raging and I didn’t want to hurt the guys’ morale. At the end of the month, I got leave.

My wife Talia picked me up from the train and hugged me tight, as if she were drowning in a frozen sea and I was a wooden door. So of course I didn’t tell her I was dead; everything had already fallen on her shoulders these past months. The moment I entered the apartment, Romi, my four-year-old daughter, came running from the neighbors, jumped on me and refused to let go—so I didn’t tell her either that Daddy was dead. Why break her heart?

After Romi fell asleep, Talia waited for me in bed with white wine. “I missed you,” she wrapped her warm thighs around my cold body. We made love. Not because I wanted to (the dead don’t need sex), but just to make her happy. It didn’t work; she stayed distant (or was it me?), and when she asked what I’d been through—I stayed silent (no reason to bring horrors into bed).

A few days later I went back to the battlefield, and two weeks after that I saved five soldiers from death.
“You’ve got balls of steel!” the battalion commander slapped my back. I wanted to say I was dead, so I hadn’t really risked anything, but since my actions had revived the unit’s spirit, which still hadn’t recovered from the death of Gilad the platoon commander, I replied, “Thank you, sir.”

At some point I was sent home, back to “normal life,” but between me and it stood a transparent, impassable border, behind which I watched them like a fish in an aquarium. And the world that once excited me—turned faded; work at the computer store no longer interested me, nor did poker games with friends, and at home, with Talia and Romi, I felt like an invading germ.

Until… One Saturday, Romi fell in the living room. “Daddyyyy!” she cried and I froze, hypnotized by the sight of blood trickling down her forehead, the clear tears dripping from her eyes, the yellowish urine that escaped her, and I thought about how many shades of fluid are in the human body, and remembered Sergei and the bullet he took to the head. That night, after we got back from the ER, Talia said I had to get help, that she couldn’t reach me, that she was out of strength. But all I heard was blah-blah from someone who doesn’t understand how the world works and how bloody and stinking and monstrous it is.
Better she doesn’t know. Let her put on an avocado mask and go to sleep.

But she kept nagging, so I went to the living room and stared at the sidewalk, seven floors down, and wanted to jump, because I felt like a foreign body that life had rejected. The window wouldn’t open. Turns out the frame was bent by a rocket that fell nearby. So I gave up and went to bed.

The next day, Assi, who’d been with me in high school and in the unit, came into the store. Since it was already noon, we went to the hummus place, gossiping about Victor who learned to jump with his new leg, about Barry who got a better hand than the one he lost, and about Udi who finally proposed.
At some point, there was silence and I asked if Talia had asked him to come talk to me. Assi nodded, because there’s no bullshit between us.

“So why is she worried?” he asked.
“It’s hard for her to accept that I’m dead,” I answered honestly, because I no longer had the strength to hide it.
Assi wasn’t fazed and speared a pickle from the plate. “Remember when you died?”
“The day Sergei was shot.”
“Mmm… half a year.” He bit into the pickle. “And what’s the hardest part about being dead?”
“That I don’t feel anything.”
“Really?” He looked at me, picked up a fork and stabbed my hand.
“Ow!” I jumped, “Are you nuts?!”
“Turns out there are some things you do feel,” he grinned, like a kid who just egged the principal.
I glared at him. Really? Seriously?! That’s your reaction to my death?! Seven years of psychology studies for this?! I got so angry I threw an olive at his eye.
“You son of a—” he flung pita at me.
So I threw a shish kebab at him.
A wave of stupid laughter took over and we kept pelting each other with fries and falafel until the owner lost it and kicked us out.

“What if…” Assi wondered as we walked back to the store, “it’s not that you don’t feel, but that… you’re afraid to feel?”
“Afraid to feel what?” I asked, and immediately thought of Ortal, Sergei’s wife, who after years of fertility treatments finally got pregnant, and how he came back from leave beaming and showed us the ultrasound of the boy. “Check out this mega-penis! Just like his dad!!!”

48 hours later, he took a sniper’s bullet. A bullet that wasn’t even meant for him. I was supposed to go to the window, but I was breaking a record on a dusty Game Boy I’d found, so I asked him to go instead and… I started to cry, because he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t.

“Now I know you’re alive,” Assi said, “Know why?”
“Why?”
“Because dead men don’t cry.”

He put a comforting hand on me and suddenly there was wild gunfire, fighter jets tearing through the sky, which stank of smoke, of decay, someone cried “Yama! Yama!!” Or maybe it was “Mama! Mama!!” And my hands searched for a weapon, but I was in civilian clothes, in the middle of Bialik Boulevard—

“I’m losing my mind,” I told Assi.
“You’re not, bro! You’re feeling, don’t run from it, don’t run!” And he hugged me tight and didn’t let me fall.

That evening I went to Talia, who was folding clothes, and said I wanted, like before, to read Romi a bedtime story. “Not sure that’s a good idea,” she refused to look at me. So I pinched her butt, like we used to do to annoy each other when we were dating. It surprised her, even confused her.

“Assi came to visit me at the store,” I said.
“And…” she glanced at me.
“He stabbed me with a fork.”
“Too bad it wasn’t a pitchfork,” she looked at me for a few seconds and must have seen something that changed her mind, because she picked up a book from the couch and handed it to me.

I read Romi a story about a turtle who wanted to be a butterfly, and the night lamp painted colorful animals on the walls. She fell asleep before the end, where the turtle, drawn in black and white the whole book, suddenly glowed with colors. And even though it was a predictable and silly ending, I teared up, and stroked her tiny, sweet fingers, moving with the rhythm of her dreams, and I couldn’t understand how in the same world horror and love could live side by side.

And I thought of Sergei, of his wife, of the baby in her belly, of corpses and kisses, screams and butterflies, and everything inside me stormed and raged and cried… and I didn’t run from it… I didn’t run. I didn’t run.

I know far too many people like this brave man. Far too many Israeli friends that have been through hell and back since October 7th. Rami Davidian, the farmer who saved 750 people from the Nova Festival on October 7th – the look in his eyes as he told us how he untied dead women from the trees he was looking at, their bodies abused, to give them dignity, is something I will never forget.

I have heard stories from my friend Yaron about October 7th, the first four months of the war in Gaza, and the most recent hostage release during the last ceasefire, that I will never forget. There are more that he cannot share. My friend Tal goes back into reserves in what seems like every other week. I’ve been to army bases, had barbecues with IDF soldiers and families from Kibbutz Alumim. Hearing the members of Kibbutz Alumim who fought the terrorists on October 7th is something I will never forget. As one member pointed out the 3 places he was shot that day, the places where bullets still remain in his body, I often wonder how, or if, they will ever recover.

Then I think about the work Dror Israel is doing with children and families in Israel. I think about Hapoel Jerusalem Football Club and the work they are doing with Trauma Soccer and their neighborhood leagues which get Jewish and Arab children in Jerusalem to play and learn together. I think about Hersh Goldberg-Polin (z’l), one of the leaders of their fan club and how much a future of peace and healing mattered to him. I think about Israel Volunteer Corp-Sword of Iron, mobilizing a community of over 44,000 people who want to volunteer in Israel to help rebuild both the physical and emotional state of the country. I think about what I do and what else I could do, to make a difference.

The Jewish people and the citizens of Israel have a long road ahead of us – first to win this war against evil and get the hostages back, and secondly to recover from what we have seen and what we face on a daily basis. It won’t be easy but we can do it together.

My question to you is what will you do? Will you be like Talia and Assi and do the difficult thing to help? Will you stand by while the author of that piece and so many others suffer in silence? Will you shake your head in sadness at the murder of ​Yaron Lischinsky and Sarah Milgrim as they left a Jewish communal event or at the firebombing in Boulder during a peaceful march to have the hostages in Gaza returned or will you take action and do your part.

History is waiting to be written – the question is what will your role be. I hope that the writer of the piece in Danny Gordis’ “Israel from the Inside” inspires you to take action. I know it inspired me to do more.

We are at war with utter savages. Not human beings who are capable of savagery. Just savages. Irredeemable savages.

Posted on by Keith Dvorchik

I do a lot of reading to keep up with things. I don’t depend on one source or one type of opinion (although my wife gives me grief for reading the NY Post, but honestly as a Yankee fan, it is for the sports more than anything else).

The latest image and story that has captivated my heart and mind is about Ariel Bibas’s best friend, Yoav. The story that has been shared is that Yoav has been waiting for his friend to come back from Gaza. He saved a Batman costume for him. He wrote him letters. It’s an incredible friendship story that inspires me to be a better person and a better friend. A 5 year old has become my teacher.

This morning, in Daniel Gordis’s substack, Israel from the Inside, he told an incredible story about Yoav. When told that his friend Ariel would not be coming home from Gaza alive, Yoav refused to accept it. He said, “If he’s coming back in a coffin, maybe he’s standing inside it, which means he’s still alive. He’s still alive, Mommy, you didn’t understand correctly. Because if Ariel is a khalal [Hebrew for “fallen soldier”], it means he’s flying in space [the Hebrew word for “space” is also khalal]. He can’t die. In Israel, there are very smart people, right Mom? So maybe they can invent a special potion that will bring Ariel and Kfir back to life.”

Oh to be 5 years old. To think the impossible is possible. To not really understand complete evil. The innocence of childhood. I hope that Yoav never loses that gift and that he never forgets his best friend Ariel. Maybe Yoav will be the one who changes the world, brings peace, leads the effort to eliminate hate. We can only hope.

Daniel also wrote very clearly and powerfully what I have been feeling. He said it much more succinctly that I have been able to do. He wrote, “We are at war not with mere enemies. We are at war with utter savages. Not human beings who are capable of savagery. Just savages. Irredeemable savages.” RIght to the point. Those who protest on college campuses, in the streets, and other places about Israel defending herself simply don’t understand the reality. They want us dead. Period. No ‘ifs, ands, or buts’. There is no common ground to be found. I am reminded of the famous political cartoon that states it better than any words can.

If we met them halfway, their demands wouldn’t change and we would simply have lost half of the Jewish population. That’s the reality. That’s who we are dealing with.

Nobody said that the Nazis should be allowed to stay in power or have their own Nazi Germany state as a part of Germany after World War II. There are laws to ensure that a child molestor won’t live close to their victim but also not close to any child. Nobody expects a victim of sexual assault to give their attacker a room in their home or welcome them to live in their neighborhood. Yet that is what is expected of Israel. To not just welcome these utter savages as neighbors but to enable them to rebuild their military strength and to be able to once again brutally attack, murder, kidnap, rape, and massacre the Israeli people. It’s beyond absurd.

The past week has been one where I flipflop between anger and range and sadness. Ariel, Kfir and Shiri Bibas’s murders and the stories coming out about how they were murdered along with what Hamas and the terrorists did to their bodies afterwards has my blood boiling. I’ve been in a place of anger and rage much more than sadness. Anger for what they endured. Anger for Yarden and what he has lost forever. Rage at the world who continues to enable and defend the monsters that strangled a 10 month old boy and 4 year old boy and then mutilated their bodies trying to cover up what they did. Enraged at fools like AOC and Bernie Sanders who continue to blame Israel for what the terrorists did and continue to do. Bernie pretends to take a moral stand by defending terrorists and is once again attempting to thwart efforts to support Israel against these savages.

In today’s Israel from the Inside, Daniel Gordis gives me hope and something to strive for. He highlights the Statement from the Bibas family about the upcoming funerals for Shiri, Ariel, and Kfir. They recognize that the country and the Jewish diaspora has an emotional attachment with the family and these children. They also recognize their own need to grieve in their own way this horror. It’s an incredible statement with compassion, care, pain, and beauty.

Daniel then points out, “That’s the difference between them and us. Chants for revenge at Nasrallah’s “funeral”, versus a request for a private, intimate parting at a kibbutz. Murderous savages hailed by their “people,” versus a wife who, too excited for words, just posts three words from a classic poem and that brief post makes the headlines of Israel’s most-read newspaper. 

Irredeemable savage evil, versus a people that still believes in the possibility of goodness. A death cult embraced on American campuses “led” by administrations that have so lost their moral compass that they can’t even say that it’s wrong, versus a national liberation movement (ours, and it’s called “Zionism”) that still insists on believing that better days can lie ahead.”

He reminded me that we are different. That our essence is different. We love and treasure life. We revere it. We respect it. We honor the loss of it. They love and treasure death. They revere death. They celebrate death. We are not the same. Recognizing this, the question becomes, so what do I do with this difference? Daniel tells us in his closing of this piece.

“But that that is what we as a people must do is not in doubt. On a week when what we want most is to obliterate them, the way that we win is by being as different from them as we possibly can.” So we have our charge. We must maintain being as different from them as we possibly can. As much as the anger in me wants them to all be destroyed, Gaza to become a parking lot, eliminate them all so that we don’t make a mistake and let any of the evil continue, that is not who we are and that is not who I am. I’m still struggling with me standing in Kfar Aza during May 2024, watching and listening to the bombs being dropped in Jabaliya and that being the only thing that brought relief and peace to my soul. I said it then and I repeat it now, that is NOT who I am. That is NOT who I want to be. It was who I was in that moment. Our job is to lean into life. Our job is to do all that we can to be better human beings, not to match their level of depravity.

I had a friend reach out to me last week with a challenge she was facing and ask for my help. I was happy to help and did my part. The thanks she gave me over and over was overwhelming. I didn’t help for the thanks. I didn’t help because I was a ‘big shot with connections’. I helped because it was the right thing to do. Thank you Daniel Gordis for your piece this morning that reminded me not only THAT we are different from them but WHY we are different from them. And reminding me that vengance will only make me more evil and will not bring light to the world and to my soul. They will get what is coming to them. I need to work to be a better person and to celebrate life every minute of every day. The anger and rage is still there but it’s quieter now. I don’t need vengence to honor the lives of Shiri, Ariel, and Kfir Bibas. I need to bring more light into the world to replace their light that was eliminate by evil.

Art by Joanne Fink. Visit her website for more beautiful pieces that will inspire you. https://zenspirations.com/