Beit Midrash
  • Torah Portion and Tanach
  • Bamidbar
  • Chukat
קטגוריה משנית
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I remember as a teenager exactly 50 years ago ,for a long time America prepared with elaborate contests, pageants and "the works" for their seemingly historic 200th birthday, on Jul. 4th, 1976. But after all those extensive arrangements, when the week of that Bicentennial finally arrived, even the most patriotic of Jews in America, were instead totally preoccupied davening for our 103 Jewish hostage brothers, hijacked and separated like Mengele, by Arab terrorists (who freed the 143 gentile passengers) and kidnapped to Entebbe. Even us kids were nervous when the countdown to the deadline advanced.
We will never forget how in the midst of that thought-to-be historic July 4th (6th of Tammuz), Israel surprisingly "stole the show", and really made it an historic and even eternally memorable event, by swooping undetected into a different continent, and miraculously surgically removing those 103 hostages with only 3 casualties (one being commander Yoni Netanyahu).
While figuring what to do in the Middle East, President Trump would be wise to participate and aid Am Yisrael, as he has often done in the past, and remember that King Cyrus, Lord Balfour, Harry Truman and those who give priority to help G-d's Chosen People of Israel, all enter the annals of eternity. This is precisely the "Kiddush Hashem" which even Moshe Rabbenu failed to do in this week's parsha while striking the rock, and despite being the most ideal human ever (Rosh HaShana 21b), is eternally remembered for that one single misstep. Contrarily, many a gentile leader who may even have lived an entire life of many morally questionable actions, can gain eternity by "coming to bat" for Israel (and at least not restrain us) against our nuclear enemies.
Before he may decide to give priority to other national and international factors, do Trump a favor and remind him of Mordechai's warning to the hesitant Esther (4, 14), "if you remain silent at this time, relief and rescue will arise for the Jews from elsewhere, [but] you and your family's legacy will perish; and who knows whether you attained the kingdom for [precisely] this moment?"
The following is a moving account of that historic Shabbat in Entebbe (from R. Yoni Lavie): In the darkness of the terminal at Entebbe, thousands of kilometers from home, one woman approached a window. She gazed at the stars, closed her eyes, and tears streamed down her cheeks as she quietly recited the blessing: "Blessed are You, Lord our God... who has commanded us to kindle the Sabbath light."
Her six-year-old son, Shay Gross, the youngest hostage, watched her curiously. To him, the entire ordeal seemed like an adventure. "Ima, why are you crying?"
In a broken whisper, she replied: "Because we are here, while your brothers, Adi and Roni, are so far away... and who knows what will happen to us."
At that very moment, back in Israel, Shay’s brother stood in shul reciting a special prayer that Chief Rabbi Shlomo Goren had handwritten for the hostages.
Then something happened that shook the entire congregation. The grandmother—a Holocaust survivor—suddenly rushed into the men’s section of the synagogue. She ran to the Holy Ark, buried her head against it, and cried out with a plea that seemed to tear through the heavens:
"Master of the Universe, I lost my entire family in the Holocaust. Please, do not take from me what remains. Leave me my grandson...". The entire congregation wept with her.
What they didn't know was that at those very hours, high above Africa, four Israeli Air Force Hercules aircraft were making their way toward the impossible.
Later, one of the pilots, Amnon Halivni, recalled: "The journey was a nightmare. The aircraft could barely get off the ground because of the weight, and the stormy weather [A.S.: it doesn't rain in the Mid-East in the summer, but that "terrible weather" enabled us to evade African radars!]. We were tossed around by turbulence the entire way. Even the toughest commandos from Sayeret Matkal were vomiting.
But then, as we approached Entebbe, something happened that made no sense. Suddenly the skies cleared. The airport lay beneath us, calm and visible, as if someone had prepared it for our landing.
I am a complete atheist, but I can tell you this: on that Shabbat, G-d was working overtime."
All of this happened exactly fifty years ago this week, and the coming Shabbat is known by many as "Entebbe Shabbat." A Shabbat which the anxious prayer of a mother in Uganda, the anguished cry of a Holocaust-survivor grandmother in Israel, and the courage of Israeli soldiers in the skies came together in a remarkable miracle—one that gave living expression to the words of the song:
"A people that will not remain silent, a people that will never abandon its children to strangers." Fifty years have passed, yet Entebbe is not merely a glorious chapter in the history books. It is a legacy. The legacy of a people who learned, through bitter experience, what happens when Jews are left defenseless—and who resolved: Never Again.
A people that does not leave its sons and daughters behind.
A people that does not come to terms with evil and refuses to accept compromise, surrender, or resignation in its face.
A people that knows how to pray as though everything depends on Heaven, and to act with Him courageously, as though everything depends on ourselves.
Entebbe reminds us that even in the face of a ruthless enemy, even when the distance is vast, and even when the mission appears impossible, we must never lose faith, never abandon courage, and never grow accustomed to the idea that nothing can be done. Something can be done. There is something worth fighting for. And there are people worth fighting for.
And when the people of Israel believe in the justice and ETERNITY of our cause, dare greatly, and act with determination, Divine assistance participates—and even the impossible becomes possible.
Shabbat Shalom! Rav Ari Shvat (Chwat)


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