This morning marked the end of an extraordinary chapter—I completed basic training alongside 64 incredible men in my unit. As I sit here reflecting on these transformative two weeks, I'm overwhelmed by the profound stories of sacrifice I witnessed every single day.
The Weight of Choice
The dedication I observed was nothing short of remarkable. One man left in the middle of training for a single night to marry off his son, then immediately returned to continue his service. Another left behind his wife to manage their home with ten children. One soldier shut down his entire business for two weeks. So many others walked away from newborns and infants, missing precious early moments they'll never be able to reclaim.
All of us made the difficult choice to step away from everything we hold dear for two weeks because we believe—truly believe—that joining the army to help protect Israel isn't just something we're doing for our children. It's something we had to do for ourselves, for our conscience, for what we know is right.
What makes this commitment even more significant is that most of these men come from families and communities that traditionally don't serve in the military. Many faced pressure not to draft when they were younger. But they're here now. They chose to be here now, when it matters most.
Sacred Ground, Sacred Memory
We began our second week with the visits that every IDF soldier makes—first to Yad Vashem, then to Har Herzl. Standing in those halls of memory, "Never Again" transformed from mere words into our personal responsibility. The weight of history settled on our shoulders, not as a burden, but as a calling.
At Har Herzl, many of us discovered connections to the newer graves—soldiers who fell in this ongoing war. We shared their stories with our unit, personalizing each name etched in stone and making their sacrifice real and immediate.
One of the most touching moments came when I overheard a small group of Charedim in our unit quietly reading the names and ages of fallen soldiers. In hushed reverence, one said simply: "These are the real tzadikim (righteous people)." In that moment, all barriers dissolved. We understood we were standing on sacred ground, inspired by sacred sacrifice.
Forged in Fire
The remainder of our training was relentless. We ran until our lungs burned, practiced shooting drills until muscle memory took over, pushed through endless rounds of pushups and planks, and completed grueling rucksack marches that tested every fiber of our being. Our training officers seemed determined to discover just how far they could push us beyond our perceived limits.
But the challenge wasn't purely physical. We spent countless hours in classrooms diving deep into Israel's history, understanding the profound meaning behind our flag, learning the halachot of army service, and grasping how the massive military machine we're now part of actually functions.
Brotherhood Beyond Backgrounds
We concluded our training with a simple barbecue, but something beautiful unfolded during those final hours together. We had bonded like brothers. The intimidating authority figures who had pushed us to our limits became friends and mentors. We built connections so deep that I know they'll sustain us no matter which base we're assigned to next.
We are 65 men from completely different backgrounds, with 65 unique stories that brought us to this moment. But this morning, at our graduation ceremony, we weren't 65 individuals anymore. We were one unit. Ready to serve.
The Journey Continues
This Sunday, our next chapter begins. Reserve duty starts, which means another few weeks away from seeing our children, leaving our work responsibilities behind once again, and asking our wives to shoulder everything alone. We didn't have time to prepare for this transition—but it's wartime, and neither did any of the other soldiers currently serving.
As I prepare for what lies ahead, I carry with me not just the skills we learned or the physical conditioning we gained, but something far more valuable: the understanding that service is about more than duty. It's about standing with your brothers when the moment demands it, about choosing what's right even when it's difficult, and about honoring the memory of those who came before us by ensuring their sacrifice wasn't in vain.
The training is over, but our real work is just beginning.