Yeshiva Boy: My heroes

The last month may have been the most powerful of my life. I cried in the blood-stained fields of Auschwitz, returned home to the once golden and now pyrite paved roads of America, observed Passover with family and friends, remembered the fallen heroes who gave their lives for Israel, and celebrated the fulfillment of the Jewish people's dream to return to their homeland after thousands of years. My emotions have been varied, my thoughts jumbled and my perspectives broadened. And somewhere along the way, I found two of my heroes.

It's funny how your clearest realizations often come when you least expect them. Mine came in a Krakow hotel room while I was shuddering with a 103F fever. I mulled over the events of the past few days: the trip to the Belzec death camp where nearly half a million Jews were slaughtered, the sight of the railroads which led countless people to their death, and of course, my still short, yet life-altering travels with a living testimony to the horror, Mr. Howard Klienberg.

Mr. Klienberg is a survivor in the truest sense of the word. His story, like many other survivors of the Holocaust, is nothing short of a miracle. After subsisting on meager rations, escaping death multiple times, and contracting typhus, he was forced to drag human corpses through frozen fields and dump them into mass graves in the Nazis' attempt to "hide" their atrocities. Once liberated, Mr. Klienberg laid down in the fields of his hell to die. His goal was to see the Nazis lose; once that was accomplished, there was nothing else to live for. Thankfully, his life was saved by a woman who, in a story fit for the big screen, later became his wife. And just a month ago, 64 years since last stepping foot in his native Poland, Mr. Kleinberg wrote another chapter in the extraordinary book that is his life by returning to Poland with over 300 young adults on a trip called Heritage. He cried, sang and laughed. And when he spoke, all 300 people listened.

Mr. Kleinberg spoke many times, but one instance stands out from the rest. On a Shabbat day he gave us these simple words of advice: be happy with your lot. To hear a man who lost much of his family say those words sent chills through my spine. Suddenly, it became clear that it's far better to be constructive and appreciative than bitter. Suddenly, it seemed like my current problems were embarrassingly insignificant.  Suddenly, I realized this man was a hero. And suddenly, I wanted to be like him-- to be a giver instead of a taker.

But there's only so much death one person can take, so after almost a week in Poland I was relieved to be back in Israel for a few hours and then on my way home for Pessach. The time flew by, and soon enough I was back in Israel for my last six weeks in the holy land. By far one of the most unique experiences of the year was Yom HaZikaron, Israel's Day of Remembrance.

Yom HaZikaron wasn't just another holiday -- there was something about it that made it thoroughly unique. Feelings of unity and shared loss were palpable. Sacrifice was in the air. At Har Hertzl, the military cemetery, bereaved families came to mourn their loved ones. Some were stoic, others cried. As an American, I was in a unique position; I couldn't understand the loss these people felt because I haven't lost family in defense of this state and because I don't live in Israel. At the same time, however, the overwhelming sense of unity made me feel as though I certainly had a stake in, and was able to appreciate, the loss and sacrifice of these young heroes. As I stood there, I admired the thousands of people who had died for something bigger than themselves and for a cause in which they wholeheartedly believed. I admired the people who had died for me.

As I mentioned, I do not have any direct family that have died in defense of the State of Israel. I do, however, feel particularly connected to one fallen hero.

Alex Singer was killed on his 25th birthday by terrorists in Lebanon. In journal entries that have since been published by his family in a book Alex: Building A Life, Alex revealed his musings about life, his desire to make a difference, and his reasoning behind making Aliya, joining the army and becoming an officer. I first received a copy of the book on a Shabbat from Alex's sister-in-law, who happens to be my father's cousin. I began reading the book on the walk back to my dorm. Immediately, I was engrossed in Alex's words--so much so that I almost walked straight into poles because I couldn't take my eyes off the pages. I felt as though I wasn't reading a memoir of someone dead and gone, but of a young man who lives on through his writings, and almost eerily, who lives on in me; I saw, and continue to see, so much of Alex in myself. 

Among the things that first piqued my interest in Alex's story was the fact that Alex lived in Washington DC as I do, that he went to Cornell as I will, and that we share similar interests in international relations. But it was Alex's deeper insights about life, himself, and Judaism that made me feel most connected to this young man I never had the privilege to meet. It was his questions about purpose in this world, his willingness and mission to make a difference, and his fortitude which most inspired me. 

In the portrait of the young man, full of zeal and ability, I saw someone who struggled with life and knew that we have a purpose, who knew that certain causes were bigger than the individual, and who had the bravery to act on behalf of his beliefs, rejecting the hypocrisy of those who "talk the talk" but fail to "walk the walk." In his story I see my own struggles and the struggles of the Jewish people, and his heroism inspires me to this day. 

So on Yom HaZikaron I chose to stand next to Alex's grave as the siren remembering Israel's fallen soldiers rang clear. Before the siren, I began talking to a woman who was a friend of the Singer family for many years. She asked me who I was, and I explained that I knew Alex's brother and that he was married to my dad's cousin. I went on that I had read Alex's book, and saw, strangely enough I thought, some of Alex in myself. She shook her head, as if to say it wasn't strange at all.

"That was his gift," she responded. "Alex made everyone feel like they had a little bit of him within them."

Maybe it's because we see in him what we wish most to see within ourselves.