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All right, Okay, I admit it -- I am very selfish. As a Jewish-American, and a
lover of Israel, who has comfortably lived in the United States while watching
with horror and despair over the last three years as the second intifada has
claimed the lives of hundreds of my co-religionists, I needed to feel better
about myself. To be sure, I obviously wanted to do something to help ease the
suffering over there. However, I also needed to do something to allow me to
better exist over here.
But, what was I to do? I needed to do something to ease my own personal
pain, beyond acting as the passive -- and distant -- observer of these
unrelentingly catastrophic events.
Well, I found the answer -- and now I have as good a feeling about myself as I
could possibly realize. At the suggestion of an old friend who had been long
active in the program, and together with my mother and my twenty-five year son,
I enlisted with Volunteers for Israel to be sent there to offer assistance.
Last August, through the Israeli "Sar-El" (service to Israel) program, we were
assigned to an army base from where, following breakfast and flag-raising (while
dressed in uniform), we were transported daily to a nearby warehouse which
serves as the central distribution center for gas masks to the entire Israeli
citizenry. Each day, together with a group of our fellow volunteers (which
contained a large contingent of dedicated British Jews, yet sadly -- if not
rather embarrassingly -- only a handful of Americans), while working with
meticulous efficiency, we disassembled, inserted fresh batteries, reassembled
and packed for shipment the compressor units that will be fitted onto infants'
gas masks/body suits which will be necessarily donned in the event of biological
or chemical attacks, presumably from Iraq. We were explained that as a result of
our service, those soldiers who had been relieved of these most serious
responsibilities were thereby enabled either to be redeployed to other
assignments or to return home on much deserved leave. (Other volunteers,
assigned to our tank-maintenance base near Ashkelon as well as to many other
military installations around the country, were conterminously performing tasks
ranging from repairing tanks and trucks, to preparing meals, to packing medical
supplies to repairing fences to painting buildings.)
When not at work, we lived and dined amidst the soldiers on the base. Yes,
indeed, such included ingesting the same military cuisine (chumus, olives,
hard-boiled eggs, cucumbers and vine-grown tomatoes were in abundant supply), as
well as attempting to sleep in the same non-air conditioned barracks which might
be utilized by an 18 year old draftee. (The showers and sanitary facilities,
while certainly not primitive, are a subject of a separate discussion.)
Following dinner each evening, after we had doffed our military uniforms in
favor of a shower and civilian garb, our lovely and enthusiastic "madricha" (a
female soldier assigned to the army's Sar-El unit) would either lecture us on
Israeli history and culture, or escort us on a trip to a local area of interest.
On Shabbats we were on our own, and we opted to divide our time between Tel Aviv
and Jerusalem.
I always viewed myself as blessed with better than average communicative skills.
However, I find myself incapable of adequately describing the level of
gratification that accompanied our small contribution. Aside from the tremendous
appreciation and love with which we were all greeted by Israeli soldiers and
civilians alike (all of whom, by our mere presence, having been made to realize
that they are not forsaken in their time of national crisis), there was this
indescribable, albeit tremendous sense of personal reward. (In our particular
case, I hasten to add that the soldiers and our fellow volunteers alike were in
awe of the three generations of volunteers represented by my family --
especially my mom, who was uniformly referred to as the "Inspiration.")
Unless one has been there, it is simply impossible to appreciate the
satisfaction that accompanies the realization, even in such a small way, that an
important, if not vital contribution is being made to Israeli well-being.
Indeed, throughout our assignment, we treated each newly reassembled compressor
unit with the utmost of care and sensitivity, amidst the knowledge and the
awesome responsibility that in the event, G-d forbid, of an attack, the very
device which we were readying for distribution might save the life of some
innocent, and certainly horrified, Israeli child.
No, our efforts will not stop the violence, nor bring this tragic conflict any
closer to resolution. But, at least we made our brethren well appreciate that
they are loved and that they are forever in our hearts. And, of course, there
was the realization of the ultimate benefit: where the reality is that we would
be leaving as quickly as we had arrived, we were each allowed to bring back to
America a far better feeling about ourselves.
Go ahead -- you too can be selfish. Trust me, this sort of self-interest truly
has its rewards. Contact Volunteers for Israel and, whether it is for only a
week (as did my son and I) or for two or more (as did my mom), do your share.
Send the powerful message to the uncaring, Jew-despising and oil-obsessed world
that despite its indifference, Israel will indeed live forever. Let the would-be
Palestinian "martyrs," let alone their cowardly enablers who would send them on
their unspeakable missions, fully understand that they are accomplishing nothing
but the galvanizing of world Jewry. And, finally.... feel better about yourself.
Mark M. Baker, Esq. |