War and Spirituality

My Grammy, Anne Kaplan, drawn by my Papa’s cellmate in a POW camp in Germany. The photo sits next to a poem my Papa wrote to her on her birthday in 1944, wishing he could celebrate with her and telling her how much he loved her.

War is atrocious, any way you slice it. Death and tragedy trickle into every facet of society: advertisements, grocery shopping, riding the bus. Little reminders that families are being severed and broken every day seep into the otherwise mundane aspects of our day-to-day lives. Even if you haven’t experienced direct tragedy, the grave feeling in the air is inescapable. Even the way in which people regard each other here has changed. Instead of “Have a nice weekend,” they say, ‘Take care.” שמור על עצמך

Some days are harder than others. Today is especially difficult as it marks 100 days since October 7th, 100 days since innocent people were kidnapped and held against their will by terrorists. 100 days of suffering with no clear end in sight. But even during times of suffering, I truly believe God is present.

There’s something to be said about what happens to the spirit when placed so close to death. I noticed this phenomenon recently when I was in Miami, reading the journal that my Papa (my Great Grandfather, who I never met) kept during World War II. He was a Jewish American soldier sent to a POW camp in Germany for almost a year, and he documented everything he could during his stay not knowing if he would make it out alive.

It’s extraordinary what you will find in your parent’s house. My Papa’s journal is without a doubt the most incredible collection of writing I’ve ever held in my hands. My fascination with it can only be described as magnetic. I think I was pulled to read this impressive historical account at this exact moment in time for a reason. Ironically, there are undeniable parallels between the current war in Israel and World War II, despite being over 75 years later. One of the main differences, though is that now we have a Jewish State. And cell phones to take videos of everything.

My Papa’s journal means more to me than I could put into words. Aside from being a connection to my roots and my family history, it’s a window in time, a glimpse into another world. And although the early 1940s were a period of deep suffering and turmoil, the journal contains the most beautiful and precious pieces of poetry, prayers, birthday wishes, food packaging from parcels from countries all over the world, notes from soldiers representing various nationalities, detailed and colorful art displayed in impressive drawings by another Jewish prisoner, and methodical tracking of their schedules, meals, and the layout of their environment to keep their minds sharp, capable, alert.

The rawness, the depth and sheer poetry of my Papa’s words, and the longing in his heart were what kept him alive, kept him believing he would make it out. I never knew he was such a soulful guy. This kind of unexpected beauty reminds me of what happens on Yom Kippur in a way. When you’re so deprived of the daily luxuries we take for granted like food, water, nice clothes —- in the case of soldiers in war it’s shelter, a warm bed, safety —— this extreme deprivation changes the spirit. Soldiers in war become soulful naturally, because it’s how they survive mentally. They’re grounded down to their most raw form through suffering. And in this state, where all they have is their fellow comrades, the love in their hearts and the bullets in their guns, they can see clearly what is really important in this world. It’s do or die. And the strong belief in something greater than themselves is what pushes them to persevere, to live. Often times, this belief is in God.

My friend Elana volunteers in the south of Israel every week. She farms, brings packages to army bases, brings soldiers coffee, pretty girls, and bbq’d meats, visits rehab centers with the injured, she does it all. Her goal is to encourage unity and to lift people’s spirits. Surprisingly, every time she speaks about her experiences, she describes how the spirit of IDF soldiers in combat are (amazingly) already lifted before she arrives. She says many of the soldiers in the rehab centers are waiting to go back to war. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the truth. They tell her there are constant signs that God is present, despite their unimaginable suffering. One combat unit she visited told her that once, it started pouring rain just as they were about to enter a house. They took shelter to wait for it to pass, and the hard pounding of rain was so strong that it triggered a booby trap inside, warning them to stay. Had it started raining a minute later they would not have been alive to tell the tale.

There are endless stories like this. Thinking about it from a soldier’s perspective, I can understand why coming back into society might even be harder sometimes than being in war. Because they don’t process the experience until they’re back. Right now, IDF soldiers are in fight or flight mode. There is simply no time to think, they must act. I think of Lt. Dan from the movie Forest Gump, his character being my first exposure as a kid to what war is really like. Lt. Dan lost his legs in battle during the Vietnam War, a terrible loss affecting his entire life. He curses Forest, claiming Forest ruined his destiny by saving his life when he should’ve let him die. But he didn’t die, like so many others in his unit. He got a second chance.

One of my favorite scenes in the movie is when Lt. Dan and Forest reunite, buy a shrimping boat together, and decide to try fishing during a dangerous storm. Coming close to death again, Lt. Dan uses the opportunity to speak to God. He screams at the sky, challenging God to end his suffering by killing him. But that’s not what happens. Although challenging, they survive the storm and the skies open and all is peaceful again. The kicker is that because of the bad weather no one else went fishing, and they collect a huge bounty making them both rich men. But the moral of the story is when Forest says: “I think Lt. Dan finally made his peace with God.” After surviving another near-death experience, Lt. Dan finds joy. He realizes it’s better to be alive with no legs than to be dead, and he accepts his new fate. There are countless Israeli soldiers currently in rehab centers who have lost their limbs in battle, changing the course of their lives forever. Still, despite horrific life-altering losses, they are glad to be alive.

God is always present. In our suffering moments and in our joyous ones. Elana said something that really moved me recently. She was describing the parasha a couple of weeks ago, when Moses sees the burning bush and God speaks to him, tells him he’s going to lead the Jews to Israel. And he asks God, “What should I tell them to call you?” And God says “אהיה” —- “I will be.” She said that God is in the unfolding of everything, that it’s not always a noun like we think, it’s a verb. God is in the process. And the process of war is horrific, gut wrenching, violent and cruel. But I hold onto the belief that God is still present even in the most evil places. Light shines brighter in darkness, after all.

I’ll leave you with a poem my Papa wrote in his journal. It moved me to tears:

With A Friend

Look “God,” I have never spoken to you,

But now I want to say, “How do you do?”

You see “God,” they told me you didn’t exist,

And like a fool, I believed all this.

Last night from a shell hole I saw your sky,

I figured right then they had told me a lie,

Had I taken time to see things you made,

I’d had known they weren’t calling a spade a spade.

I wonder “God” if you shake my hand,

Somehow I feel that you will understand,

Funny I had to come to this hellish place,

Before I had time to see your face.

Well, I guess there isn’t much more to say,

But I am sure glad “God” I met you today,

I guess the “Zero Hour” will soon be here,

But I’m not afraid since I know you’re near.

The signal! Well “God,” I’ll have to go,

I like you lots, this I want you to know,

Look now, this will be a horrible fight,

Who knows, I may come to your house tonight.

Though I wasn’t friendly to you before,

I wonder “God,” if you’d wait at your door,

Look, I am crying! Me! Shedding tears!

I wish I had known you these many years.

Well, I have to go now “God,” goodbye!

Strange, since I met you, I’m not afraid to die.

—-Found on the body of a Yank killed in action