by Frederick D. Strober
Rodeph Shalom President
When I was 25, I wound up in a unique place, doing my best to help. In October, 1973, I visited Israel for the first time. I was staying with an aunt in Jerusalem, scheduled to return home after the High Holidays, and experiencing a Yom Kippur morning literally without a car on the road. Suddenly, sirens started wailing and cars quickly began to appear—at noon on Yom Kippur! The Yom Kippur War had begun and I got to see a country mobilize in a matter of hours. It was controlled chaos, and I was amazed how calm the Israelis stayed as hundreds of young men raced to collection points and sped away in army vehicles. It’s a day I’ll never forget.
The men were away at war and the kibbutzim needed workers to finish the harvest. Once the actual fighting ended, my plans laid aside, I headed to Kibbutz Kfar Giladi, in the far north, to do what I could to help.
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