A Soldier’s Guitar
Thursday, July 4, 2024, was a day I would describe as the first time I have truly been able to internalize what happened to our people and our beloved Israel on October 7.
After spending the morning at the Ramon school, we went to The Sheba Medical Center at Tel Hashomer Thursday afternoon. We weren’t entirely sure what we were going to encounter. When our colleagues were there in December for the ACC’s first solidarity mission, the visitor process seemed a bit disorganized, so they began an impromptu concert in the big courtyard area of the rehabilitation hospital building. At Cantor Jason Kaufman’s insistence, we made sure to visit again.
This time, our guide, Shaia, and I didn’t want to set expectations, because we really didn’t know what we were going to do, who we were going to meet, or who or what we would hear.
We walked into the main entrance. Shaia recognized a recovering soldier in the lobby and went over to say hello. We watched them go outside and it wasn’t until they came in that we realized that soldier was speaking with our group.
We were received by Rotem Appel from the hospital’s partnership department, and we took a photo of our team in the lobby in front of their signs, and then we were brought into a small auditorium where we were waiting for our speakers. We noticed the soldier, who we will call David, and assumed that he would be speaking with us at some point.
We first heard from a doctor who spoke about the hospital and its evolution since October 7 and explained the program for rehabilitation for soldiers and survivors. We asked him questions about the patients and families and he gave us honest and transparent answers. The injuries are horrific. The trauma is worse. Cantor Ross Wolman asked about music therapy and the doctor pushed him off. The doctor made it pretty clear he doesn’t believe in that foo foo medicine music stuff. But, David motioned to us and said that he would talk to us about that when it was his turn to speak. The doctor gave us a few more statistics and he had to go.
David was introduced by Rotem and we were told that we could not audio or video record him because of the unit that he serves in for the IDF.
He introduced himself. He is in his late 30s, is married with several kids, and drives an ambulance as a volunteer. He is a medic and in the IDF Reserves.
He told us how he got a call at 9 am on October 7 during Shabbat morning and Simchat Torah services from his commander. He thought it was a mistake so he ignored it. When the call came a second time, he knew something was up.
We have read the reports that the IDF was slow to respond. What we learned—or maybe had confirmed—was that Hamas was very strategic. They took out the comms links for the area and the bases nearest Gaza. They killed dozens—if not hundreds—of soldiers on the bases nearest Gaza. They attacked the bases AND kibbutzim. They killed IDF soldiers just as they were hearing alarms. So the IDF in the South was decimated and unable to respond quickly in any meaningful way.
His unit made their way to the South to a kibbutz that had been attacked and they walked into hell in David’s words. There was chaos everywhere. Hamas had set fire to homes. They had thrown grenades to blow open safe rooms and stared more fires. There was shooting and grenades being launched. They walked into a war zone.
They tried to determine which home was occupied by hiding families vs terrorists. An impossible task. It was life and death for both soldiers and residents. They were using the community WhatsApp networks to figure out where the people were vs where the terrorists were.
He described one of the homes his unit went to clear of terrorists. In the kitchen, on the table were bowls of corn flakes. But the people who were meant to eat them were dead. As was their infant in a highchair next to the table.
We could see the struggle on his face as he told the stories. The anguish over not being able to do more was in every grimace as he shifted in his wheelchair trying to keep his pain at bay.
Why the wheelchair? He was shot, breaking his femur while working to clear terrorists and trying to find residents hiding in their safe rooms. When he was on the ground contemplating how he would be rescued, he prayed. The prayers of Yom Kippur that we recite every year somewhat halfheartedly came to mind and he started to pray. The vidui—the traditional confessional prayer and the ashamnu. He started to recite Shema. He said goodbye to his wife and his children.
The units on the ground worked a plan and although others were killed, David was saved. He was evacuated and brought to a hospital where he was rushed to surgery to stop the bleeding and begin the repairs to his body.
His deep breath in that moment gave me permission to exhale. I realized in that moment that I had been holding my breath as he told the story.
He told us how his unit fought through the kibbutz to save the people who were able to hid in their safe rooms and escape the bullets, grenades, and fires of the terrorists. We called him a hero. He denied the title. “I am not a hero, I got shot.” Was his retort. When over and over we explained that he is hero because he is here. He survived to tell his story and to be a father to his children. He began talking about his wife again, telling us she is the real hero—raising their children on her own while he “sits” in the hospital.
Sitting in the hospital includes recovering from multiple surgeries to repair the damage to his legs. And of course the PT to regain strength. And the therapy to deal with his trauma.
After a moment of pause, he called us heroes. He told we are the heroes of the Jewish people who have the courage to come to Israel in the middle of a war to bear witness and to bring back his story. “I want you to tell my story [firsthand] instead of saying ‘I heard the story from a friend who has a friend who heard the story.’” He told us that by hearing his story, we take 1/60th of his trauma away because he is able to share the pain of that terrible day.
That is David’s message. We have to tell his story. We have to tell the story of October 7 over and over and over again.
And then he talked about his recovery. We asked if there was anything that brought him peace. I think it was then that we circled back to the question of music therapy. He told us that he has two things in his room: a Gemara and a guitar. He said he started reading a little bit again in his Gemara but he hasn’t played his guitar since October 7. Someone asked why. He said he didn’t have the music in his heart…and it’s not a very good guitar.
At that moment, I knew what I was doing next. I was going to facilitate getting David a new guitar.
We finished the discussion with him and learned more about his recovery and his family. As we were winding down, he asked one person from the delegation to take his number so he could stay in touch. As everyone walked out to continue on our tour, I stopped and asked to be his contact. I explained that we had a few things in common and that as the ACC COO, I could make sure everyone got his updates.
We traded WhatsApp messages to make sure it worked. I thanked him for sharing and promised him I would share his story at every single opportunity I have. He thanked me for making sure our group came to hear and share his story.
And now I had to put together the “get David a guitar” plan.
With the suggestion of Cantor Andrea Markowicz and the enormous help of Boaz Dorot (and the patience of a cashier at a music store in Jaffa), by the time the ACC-GTM delegation left the Sheba Medical Center campus, we had a plan. By the time the next program was over, David had a new guitar.
Now we had to get it to him before Shabbat and before we left Tel Aviv.
I contacted Rotem to make sure it was OK to buy him a guitar and find out if he would even accept it. She asked David and reported back that he was ecstatic. He was in disbelief that his offhanded comment put the next few hours in motion.
Shaia texted the number I had for David and managed to get in touch with his wife. After a few rounds of messages, we were going between a Thursday delivery or a Friday morning delivery. It was determined we could bring it over Friday morning before he left the hospital to be with his family for Shabbat. As it happened, Cantor Katie Oringel, who was on the visit, was with me as we were telling the story when we got word about the delivery. She offered to go especially if we were able to go Thursday night which, in the end, is exactly what happened! I was writing out a card and she started a notebook that we had planned to have everyone sign when they texted back that we should really come then…"right now" so there was less chaos in the morning when he was leaving.
So, Shaia got the specific instructions and off Katie and I went with one of the Via Sabra staff, Ruti.
We made the drive to Sheba and wound through the campus. We found the right building and then the right floor. As we got off the elevator carrying a guitar, we encountered young woman who told us she is David’s wife. We told her how much he talked about her and described her as a hero. She smiled, thanked us, told us she was getting him some medicine, and told us where to find him.
When we walked in carrying that guitar, it felt as if we lifted just a little bit more of his trauma. He was in disbelief. He couldn’t believe we actually did it. I said there was no way he was going to tell a room full of cantors that he had a “not nice” guitar without getting a new one.
And then we laughed and we cried. And another recovering soldier asked to play the new guitar! We said it is David’s so ask him and we laughed. Katie was holding guitar next to his chair and he reached out, grabbed the case and pulled it to his side. It was almost as if he was afraid we would take back with us.
We took a few photos of the guitar in the case. And we chatted about different things like his trips to the US to tell his story. He was holding the guitar in the case and I asked him if he wanted to open it and see it. His eyes welled up and said yes, he wanted to see it.
So we unzipped it and I placed it in his lap. His hands knew where to go. Muscle memory is strong. And although he hadn’t picked up his guitar since October 7, we could see the joy, excitement, and maybe a bit of trepidation on his face.
Still with disbelief, his fingers found the frets and strings and made his first sound on a guitar since October 7. Just a single strum.
And so the healing begins.
I am forever grateful for the opportunity to meet David and the American Conference of Cantors and Guild of Temple Musicians, especially Cantor Deborrah Cannizzaro’s donation to our fund meant to do good while we are in Israel, to help heal 1/60th of his trauma with his new guitar. Thanks to Via Sabra - Unfolding Israel for the translation and the ride! Note: out of respect for David’s request, I am only posting photos without his face.