Death has ascended our windows and entered our homes. It has taken children from our roads and youth from our streets (Jeremiah 9)
Last week, two students of Yeshivat Har Etzion/Gush, who had studied in my shiur, fell during battle in Gaza. It was a devastating week for families whose lives were shattered by an unspeakable tragedy. The death of these two boys, lifelong friends, rippled through the entire Jewish world. As their rabbi, I am in grief.
These two solider scholars lived similar, tragically shortened lives. Each of their fathers studied in our yeshiva and raised Torah-committed families on the values they absorbed decades ago. Their sons profoundly identified with our yeshiva and relished the opportunity to continue their family legacy by studying in their fathers’ beit midrash (study hall).
Dovid Schwartz’s family is a native Israeli family, whereas Yakir Hexter’s parents made aliyah from the United States. The pairing of these two families provides a sad but fitting metaphor for our yeshiva, which has been a flagship hesder yeshiva for over 50 years, while also assisting thousands of students in transitioning to aliyah.
A part of our yeshiva has been torn away, and there is a gaping hole. As their rabbi, I mourn, holding back tears and clearing lumps in my throat.
Dovid
Dovid Schwartz had an incandescent smile which never left his face, radiated instant happiness, and literally climbed into your heart. He displayed quiet, understated leadership which was never aggressive or controlling. He always assumed responsibility, organizing group events or scheduling changes. He was a truth seeker, possessing deep personal conviction but always eager to receive helpful input from his teachers. Even after leaving yeshiva, he would periodically check in with me for guidance as he transitioned to the next stage.
His intellectual curiosity inspired him to look beyond his natural setting for religious inspiration and personal growth. Though he was raised and schooled in a National Religious context, he was a regular at hassidic tisches and gatherings. In response to his request, I started a weekly shiur in Hassidut in our yeshiva, though we don’t typically stress this area of study. He scrupulously maintained this weekly shiur even during the difficult conditions of the coronavirus. He deeply enjoyed studying the weekly Torah portion, publishing a collection of his own Torah thoughts in honor of his wedding.
He was deeply spiritual, yet remarkably practical; humble but strong of will. He was extremely conscientious and took meticulous notes of each shiur. Conscious that religious identity should be simple but compelling, he hung three handwritten Torah verses above his bed. One of them captures his short life: “I will rely upon Your kindness, my heart will rejoice in Your deliverance” (Psalms 13).
Yakir
Yakir Hexter was immensely driven, holding himself to extremely high personal standards. He enjoyed studying Mesillat Yesharim, a classic musar work which lays out a detailed road map for religious development. Yet, despite his own surpassing standards, Yakir was humble about his achievements and was extremely tolerant of those who couldn’t or didn’t match his own lofty expectations.
As the iconic picture of him studying with Dovid illustrates, Yakir was an exceptional listener and excelled at making other people feel heard and feel seen. He had embarked on a degree in architecture, which was true to his extraordinary ability to create space for other people. He was a magnet for English-speaking students looking for a shoulder to lean on or in need of a friendly shmooze.
He was extremely modest; his smile wasn’t radiant or overpowering but inconspicuous, charming, and endearing. His smile never outshone others but invited them to reciprocate with their own smile and their own happiness. He never drowned out others in the room.
He was artistic and an original thinker, who exhibited broad intellectual sweep. Additionally, he possessed strong moral integrity and conscientiously donated charity from his various side incomes. As he deeply valued time as a commodity, he also allocated specific hours to support the needy.
Though he possessed strong moral fiber, he knew how to let loose with friends, be mischievous, and have fun. He combined finesse, imagination, modesty, moral integrity, intensity, and sensitivity.
Humbled by students
The Talmud concludes that a rabbi also gains wisdom from his students. Obviously, as the study of Torah is centered on give and take, interaction with students yields new intellectual perspectives. Students bring fresh sets of eyes and novel approaches to Torah study.
However, a rabbi is also educated and inspired by observing his students apply his values, often more successfully than he himself is capable of. As I watch the passion and commitment of my students, I wonder whether I can ever live up to my own example.
The commitment that Dovid and Yakir displayed toward our people and country humbles me. Obviously, I tried to instill passion and selflessness in Dovid and Yakir, but watching them risk everything for our nation and, sadly, sacrifice their lives, leaves me astonished. I am expected to provide leadership and inspiration, but I am humbled by their extraordinary commitment and hope to God that I can be worthy of the privilege He gave me to teach them during their brief time on this Earth.
Potential unfulfilled
A rebbe looks into the future, planting seeds which one day, with God’s help, will germinate into a life of Torah, morality, family, country, and idealism. Every student brings a world of potential and possibility. Tragically, my hopes and dreams for Dovid and Yakir have now been cut short. All that remains is a gaping hole of potential unfulfilled. In place of a future, there is only sadness.
Amid the gloom, I take one slight solace, knowing that they returned to God in pure and unsullied innocence. People who die at an advanced age bear the scars, frustration, and failure which this world brings. God created us pure and perfect, but life breaks us down. As Dovid and Yakir were just beginning their lives’ journeys, they hadn’t yet been blemished by the pain of this world. They returned to God pure and pristine, just as He created them. The pure souls that God delivered to us have been returned practically untarnished.
Friends
Their deaths are even more painful, given the strong friendship they enjoyed during their lives. Dovid and Yakir befriended each other in high school and maintained this bond through yeshiva, army training, and officer training. They served together until their deaths. They lived most of their lives locked in loving friendship and ascended to heaven together. The iconic picture of them studying in our beit midrash captures the exquisite beauty and agonizing pain of their friendship, in life and in death.
Our people are recovering from a terrible year of strife and social discord. The war has involuntarily thrust unity upon us, and we are currently riding a euphoric wave of national solidarity. We all seek ways to preserve this national unity for the long term. Perhaps we should improve our own friendships, with our personal friends but also with every member of our nation. Friends can disagree, but their bond of friendship cannot fray.
We are brokenhearted by the loss of Dovid and Yakir. I will miss them each dearly. Tragically, there is already half a minyan of Gush students in heaven. Please, God, end our suffering and protect all of our soldiers. ■
The writer is a rabbi at Yeshivat Har Etzion/Gush, a hesder yeshiva. He has smicha and a BA in computer science from Yeshiva University, as well as a master’s degree in English literature from the City University of New York.