It has been a harrowing week for my family. Our beloved son, Noam, sustained serious injuries while serving in Lebanon, courageously defending our people and our land. As I write these words, he remains intubated and sedated, but stable. We, along with countless others, continue to pray fervently for his complete recovery. We hold steadfastly that Hashem will guard our precious son, whose unwavering faith, dedication, and self-sacrifice embody the spirit of his generation of giants.
It has been an emotionally overwhelming week, filled with tears, fear, and profound uncertainty. At times I could hardly stand and often struggled to catch my breath. We are suffering deeply for our son—the anguish of his pain, the weight of his medical struggles, and the daunting path of recovery that lies ahead. This week has been soaked in tears, a cascade of sorrow and heartache that seems unrelenting. Yet, amidst this sea of sadness, we cling to the hope and faith that the same strength that carried him will guide us through this turbulent time. I am deeply grateful to everyone who has held our son in their hearts and prayers. Each message, every berachah, no matter how small, lifts us and infuses us with the strength we so urgently need.
This painful week has been a stark reminder of the intricate emotional challenges that life places before us, testing our resilience and faith. It has been exceedingly difficult to balance the joy and sadness. Life often challenges us to carry a mixture of conflicting emotions, holding joy and sorrow side by side in a delicate and painful balance.
The Midrash portrays Avraham’s emotional state during the Akeidah as a profound paradox. He shed tears of sorrow at the prospect of sacrificing his son, yet his heart brimmed with joy at the opportunity to fulfill the Divine will and shape the destiny of Jewish history. Avraham was called upon to embody two opposing emotions simultaneously. Perhaps, for this reason, Hashem designed the heart as a multi-chambered organ, capable of holding feelings that seem contradictory, reflecting this complex emotional balance that life demands of us.
Similarly, the Gemara in Bava Batra teaches us that upon the death of a close relative, one recites the berachah of Dayan HaEmet to humbly accept the Divine decree. Yet, upon receiving an inheritance from the deceased, one should recite the berachah of Hatov Ve’Hametiv, expressing gratitude to Hashem. This delicate juxtaposition between the two reflects the profound challenge faced by Avraham Avinu at Har HaMoriah, the ability to hold contrasting emotions at once: balancing grief and gratitude while maintaining unwavering faith during moments of profound complexity.
I have been wrestling with the delicate balance between joy and sorrow. Despite the severity of my son’s injuries, my heart overflows with gratitude that Noam’s life was spared and he has a positive prognosis. He endured the devastating impact of a direct drone attack, yet Hashem, in His infinite kindness, shielded my precious son. I thank Hashem for this miraculous gift of life and continue to fervently pray that He will watch over my dear Noam, granting him strength and guiding him towards a complete and lasting recovery.
Yet, my heart remains heavy, burdened with pain. My son’s condition is still precarious, and b’ezrat Hashem, when he recovers, the path forward will be long and arduous. I am overwhelmed with grief for the suffering he must endure—a young man so deeply devoted to serving his people, now weighed down by pain and the uncertainty of what lies ahead.
Secondary Emotions
Beyond the struggle of toggling between grief and gratitude, I find myself grappling with the complexity of each emotion, since each one carries deep and profound secondary responses. My gratitude that my son’s life was spared is tinged with guilt when I think of the other soldier who was killed in the same attack, especially when I consider the profound pain and suffering that so many others have endured over the past year. Am I allowed to feel even a small trace of gratitude? It also feels slightly wrong to feel gratitude while my son still suffers and while we continue to live in a state of stress and uncertainty.
Yet, not feeling gratitude to Hashem feels like a denial of the protection He granted my son. On the other hand, how can I not thank Hashem for protecting my beautiful Noam from this deadly attack?
It is one thing to reconcile two distinct emotions; it is much harder when the emotions are layered with feelings of guilt about being insensitive or imbalanced. I hope to find a way to remain grateful for the miracle while not overlooking our suffering nor the immense suffering of others.
Greater Sympathy
This trauma has opened my heart in a new and visceral way to the immense suffering our people have endured. As much as we try to empathize with others’ pain, as much as we shed tears for their suffering, it is difficult to understand the depth of their anguish until we experience something that begins to approximate it. My agony made me deeply realize what others have gone through.
It was important for us to learn what happened on every step of my son’s journey from the moment of attack until he reached the hospital. When you care deeply about another person, you don’t want them to endure even the slightest amount of pain. It was difficult to imagine him injured and suffering on the battlefield without me there to help him. It brought me great reassurance to hear from the soldiers who saved his life how quickly they responded, and how they acted with such care and precision to keep him alive. Similarly, speaking with the doctors and nurses who cared for him, knowing my child was under the care of people who were doing everything they could to alleviate his suffering was a source of great comfort. Though I cannot speak with my son, I take solace in the fact that he has been cared for every step of the way with love and concern.
But my mind cannot escape the unimaginable suffering of the families of the hostages. To not know anything about your child’s fate, and to live with the knowledge that they are in the hands of brutal terrorists who have no respect for human life and are consumed by hate, must be an unbearable burden, one that requires enormous strength just to wake up each day. I apologize to them if I have not felt this grief as deeply as I should have. I will try harder from now on. Likewise, it brought me immense comfort to hear that my son’s unit operated exactly as they should have. Having been attacked by a drone they feared a terrorist infiltration, and my son immediately ran from his tent to guard the perimeter. After being attacked by mortars and taking shelter, he rushed to a lookout post, following protocol, at which point the second drone fell directly on the guard post. His friends quickly rushed to provide medical aid to him and the other wounded while the hammer trucks transported them swiftly to the helicopters that flew them to the hospital. Within an hour, he was in the operating room. This rapid response undoubtedly saved his life. It gives me great strength to know that my son is a hero and that everyone around him acted with professionalism and dedication.
I have been haunted all week, thinking about situations where soldiers were injured or killed in accidents, friendly fire, or, chas v’shalom, other malfunctions. It is agonizingly painful to suffer a loss without the storyline to hold onto, without the clarity of a defined sequence that can offer some sense of peace or understanding.
The war persists, and our sacred struggle to safeguard our land and protect our people remains unwavering. While the headlines have shifted to politics, diplomacy, and elections, it is crucial to remember, especially for those who live far away and the echoes of war seem distant, that the pain and hardship endure. Please keep in mind the pain and suffering of our people and please continue to pray for our dear son, Noam Avraham ben Atara Shlomit. n
Rabbi Michael Taragin is a rabbi at the hesder pre-military Yeshivat Har Etzion/Gush, with YU ordination and a master’s in English literature from CUNY. His most recent book, Reclaiming Redemption: Deciphering the Maze of Jewish History (Mosaica Press), is available in bookstores or at www.reclaimingredemption.com.
