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Yom Kippur is our day to reconcile. A day in which all of our thoughts are into ourselves, and God. In Israel, this day is incredible. A day in which the world stops. A well-oiled engine suddenly stops spinning. Silence, empty streets, a day for deep breaths. Last year, I spent most of Yom Kippur among my dearest friends. I’m Guy Dobrin, and I live in Kibbutz Merhavia. In my kibbutz, there are around 20 teens my age. Although most of them are not close friends, on this day, we all get together and spend most of the night playing board games and remembering past experiences. Eventually, the sun starts rising and everyone goes to sleep out for the rest of the fast. A nice trick for getting through a difficult day otherwise. This difficult day comes every year. It is our unique opportunity to look back at our mistakes or flaws, and ask for forgiveness. 

And not this should not surprise you, that during this day, the Israeli army is less capable than it may be during the rest of the year. 

Our story begins in a kibbutz, around 49 years ago. My grandmother's brother, Yithak Lehavi, or nicknamed as Itzi, was living in a kibbutz not far from mine, with his wife.

Although Yom Kippur is a very special day, life in Israel was very difficult back then. They had no choice other than to work almost all days of the week, Yom Kippur or not. Especially if there were cows to be milked, and that was what young Itzi was doing.

While Itzi was busy rounding up the cows, his wife was at home, when the radio suddenly began to sound an alarm. It was a call for all Israeli citizens, a war has begun. Israel was being attacked by Egypt and Syria. Itzi’s dear wife ran to the cowshed and told him the news. Itzi ran back home, changed into his old uniform, and went to the far north to defend his country. Itzi, prior to his release from the army, had served as a tank driver. When arriving at his base, he had told his crew that his dear wife was pregnant. Their crew had fought long and hard for the first few days of the conflict.
During these devastating battles on the Golan Heights, many were injured and killed. Among them Itzi, whose tank was hit, and he was, too. He was evacuated to Jerusalem. After a week of unease in the hospital, he closed his eyes. Yithak Lehavi was but 26 years old. A few months after his passing his son, Sivan, was born. In Israel, Sivan is known as a child of the winter of '73. A direct reminder of the fact that he, and many other boys, had lost their fathers before they had even met. 

הבטחתם יונה, עלה של זית. הבטחתם שלום, בבית. הבטחתם אביב, ופריחות. הבטחתם לקיים, הבטחות. 

You promised us a dove, with an olive leave. You promised peace, in our home. You promised spring, with flowers blooming. You promised to keep a promise.

This song was written after the war. A song for the children of winter, 1973. 

Now, it is important for me to explain this story, with its strong relation to me and my family. I hoped to share it in front of you all. The point is not praising or shaming the IDF, it is not political at all. But, to help ensure that we keep our end of the promise. Asking for forgiveness. During this time, we remember our mistakes from the entire year, and try to better ourselves in order to continue in our mission of “תיקון עולם”, “אהבת חינם”. This task is difficult, and the line between success and failure is blurred and irrelevant, because as long as we try, and we continue our effort to better the world, we are
succeeding. 

Photos:
Top photo: Guy Dobrin, Shinshin
Middle photo: Itzi
Botton photo: Sivan

Guy Dobrin is Temple Israel's Shinshin for the 2022-23 school year. Learn more about Guy here.