Hineni

הִנְנִי הֶעָנִי מִמַּעַשׂ נִרְעַשׁ וְנִפְחַד מִפַּחַד יוֹשֵׁב תְּהִלּוֹת יִשְׂרָאֵל בָּאתִי לַעֲמֹד וּלְהִתְחַנֵּן לְפָנֶיךָ
עַל עַמְּךָ יִשְׂרָאֵל אֲשֶׁר שְׁלָחוּנִי
Hineni! Here am I, poor in deeds, trembling in fear in front of the Holy One of Israel.

I came here before You to plead on behalf of Your people, who sent me,
although I am hardly worthy of the task.
The Hineni prayer - From the High Holy Mussaf Service

וַיְהִי, אַחַר הַדְּבָרִים הָאֵלֶּה, וְהָאֱלֹקים, נִסָּה אֶת-אַבְרָהָם; וַיֹּאמֶר אֵלָיו, אַבְרָהָם וַיֹּאמֶר הִנֵּנִי.
And it came to pass after these things, that God did prove Abraham, and said unto him: 'Abraham'; and he said: 'Hineni! Here am I.'
Genesis 22:1

וַיִּקְרָא אֵלָיו אֱלֹקים מִתּוֹךְ הַסְּנֶה, וַיֹּאמֶר מֹשֶׁה מֹשֶׁה--וַיֹּאמֶר הִנֵּנִי.
God called unto him out of the midst of the bush, and said: 'Moses, Moses.' And he said: 'Hineni! Here am I.'

Exodus 3:4

וָאֶשְׁמַע אֶת-קוֹל אֲדֹנָי, אֹמֵר, אֶת-מִי אֶשְׁלַח, וּמִי יֵלֶךְ-לָנוּ; וָאֹמַר, הִנְנִי שְׁלָחֵנִי.
And I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, ‘Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?’ Then I said, ‘Hineni! Here am I. Send me. 

Isaiah 6:8

Israel has officially been at war for 102 days.

That first awful day in October, known in Israel as the Black Sabbath, seems, simultaneously, as if it occurred both yesterday and ten years ago. 

It took me many days, even weeks, to fully comprehend what had transpired in those first few days; the magnitude of the tragedy, the magnitude of the war, the magnitude of the hate against the Jewish State, even the magnitude of the battle before us.

I try hard to stay away from the news. I don't watch television or listen to the radio (in the car, I try to listen to the music channels, but even these often stop their regular programming for 'breaking news', which is never good).  

My soul – already bruised and fragile – cannot endure the constant pounding of the endless stream of grief. 

I find that grief, and pride, and rage, and love are constantly and uncontrollably escaping from my eyes and running down my cheeks. 

I try, therefore, to concentrate at the other things this war has given us: the silly videos the soldiers make, the funny stories I hear from them or their families, the oranges and cherry tomatoes and peppers that were picked by volunteers and donated.

The endless stream of love my people have shown towards each other. 

And especially, I think of the magnitude of the heroism that has engulfed us. 

I think of the young man, father of four – living in one of the small towns that had been attacked on that black day, and where more than 50 civilians had been slaughtered – putting on his uniform, packing up his family and moving them to safety, before reporting for duty at a base in the south. For several days, while the army organized, he slept in his friend's car, eating canned corn and humus until the army sent him to patrol and protect our babies and grandparents, our teens and mothers, our farmers and teachers and engineers and students, our rabbis and our doctors in our villages and cities from further infiltration. He is trained as a machine-gunner. 

I think of another young man, who left his job, his children, his very pregnant wife, and hitchhiked, late in the night, to his base in the north. Living in a quiet small town (the quiet of which had been pierced by non-stop sirens that morning), and after spending much of the day in a 'safe room' with his family, he received his call to report to duty only after that Black Shabbat was over and he turned on his phone. Upon arriving at the base, he took up his duties as a driver of an armored personnel carrier, moving other young men and women and their supplies to the front to protect more babies and grandparents, teens and mothers from attack. 

I think of yet another young man, an army medic, who, living in a mixed Arab-Jewish city that had previously experienced violence, was advised to put his phone on early that black morning and did so, despite the fact that, in normal times, he does not use electronics on Shabbat. (The constant rocket sirens indicated that this was not normal times.) Soon after, he received a call to report to duty—to travel, on Shabbat (something he does not normally do), to a base in the north of the country. Still wearing his white Shabbat shirt and armed only with his phone and a bus card, he set out, hitchhiking, to meet fellow soldiers from his unit and travel together to their base. 

About 350,000 other men and women received the same call. 

I have not heard that any said "but I have a baby", "but I have a pregnant wife", "but I have a business to run", "but I have a special needs kid", "but I start a new job tomorrow". 

They rose—leaving behind their jobs, their businesses, their families, their homes and communities.
'Hineni' each one said, Here am I, send me.