The line wrapped around the building, down the block, and almost across the street. Those in the front of the line had staked out spots well in advance for the opportunity to be the first to enter. Those in the back of the line feared that they would be denied entry. Security guards barred the door until everyone pushed through the door when the clock struck 7:15.
No, the iPhone 6 was not released from Apple. Nor was this an American Idol tryout in Vegas.
Gilad Shalit was visiting Yeshiva University.
Shalit was captured on June 25, 2006. He was only 19 at the time. As someone around that age I am constantly looking for opportunities to create a name for myself that can carry me throughout a career and communal life. Increased exposure. Resume builder. These are key words for college aged students.
Gilad did not have to create his name for himself. On that fateful day, Gilad wasn’t searching for stardom, didn’t fight for an interview, didn’t he hire an agent. Gilad was captured and instantaneously became not only a household name, but an international hero.
Gilad came to YU with his plugah, the unit that he was part of at the time of his capture. The group travelled together as part of a program that included speaking engagements across the country. While chairs were set up on the stage for a panel discussion, last minute safety precautions placed Gilad and the plugah at the front of the auditorium. The crowd was eager see Gilad: to attach a personality to the face on our t-shirts, the one from the tent, the one from the news.
At the opening of the program, the group rose and was applauded. This was not a lecture or panel but a pep rally of over one thousand Zionistic college students celebrating Gilad Shalit. I quickly scanned the row of soldiers, who looked much more like Israelis in their twenties than people who there to deliver a university lecture. I quickly zoned in on one individual in jeans and a satin white kippah. “Unbelievable”, I thought. “Gilad Shalit.”
The event proceeded with no words from Gilad. The others in the unit stood up to give short answers to questions from students. While they gave compelling responses- enforcing the morality of the IDF and the important task they have of safeguarding Medinat and Am Yisrael, the only thing that was heard was the rumblings of students wondering when Gilad would address the crowd.
Finally, the Tefillah L’Shlom Ha’Medina and Tefillah L’Chayalei Tzahal. I focused my attention on the one in the jeans and white kippah. For five years I’ve stood in my shul, fervently answering amen to these tefillot for Gilad’s return. Finally I could see him in person, safely returned, with the same tefillot in the background.
I related this humbling and poignant experience to a friend.
“It was amazing! I stared at him the whole time! In jeans and the white kippah!”
“Jeans and a white kippah?! Gilad was wearing a sweatshirt and a black kippah.”
I had the wrong guy.
My moment of Zionistic pride was shattered by the simple mistake of identifying a regular chayal sitting only three seats away from a national hero. I was disappointed that Gilad Shalit never spoke as planned. My one moment of connection to him, the face of the IDF, was “wasted” on a regular chayal.
Just a regular chayal.
Just a regular chayal that fought in the same battle that Gilad fought in. It could have been Mr. Regular Chayal rather than Gilad who was captured and detained for five years He too could have been a national hero, a household name, an image to connect to during the soundtrack of Tefilla L’Shlom Ha’Medina and L’Chayalei Tzahal. too gave to the IDF, Medinat Yisrael, and Am Yisrael. Every chayal sitting in that row has sacrificed. Every chayal in the IDF has sacrificed.
Afterwards, many students expressed avid disappointment that Gilad never addressed the crowd. We hadn’t come to this event to hear from just a regular chayal. We hoped to catch a glimpse and hear from a national hero.
And we did.
Because every “regular” chayal is a national hero.