Kiddush Hashem on the Front Lines

The following is an article written by Dvora Frankel of Hamodia. It is reprinted in it’s entirelty with the permission of the author and Hamodia. While you may already be familiar with much of the information in the article, it offers a unique look at the issues from an Orthodox point of view.

Bullets, explosions, kidnappings and murders. Today, approximately 138,000 American soldiers and marines are in Iraq, and no one really knows how much longer they’ll be there. The situation is fluid, some might say volatile. What’s it like for the Jews stationed there?

Specialist Joseph A. Kashnow of the Fourth Infantry Division, an Orthodox Jew from Baltimore, joined the army at the age of twenty-three. “I always wanted to serve in the military, to do my bit in the war against terrorism, ever since I was a little kid,” he explains. For him, though, the timing was a bit off – he was sent to Iraq less than three months after his marriage, well within their shana rishona.

“My wife has been pretty awesome,” Joe says. “I dragged her all the way across the country to where I was stationed when we got married, and then I was sent to Iraq. I was so busy there, I didn’t have time to think about it much. It was probably much harder for her than it was for me.”

The Chaplain: Kiddush Hashem

These soldiers were pulled abruptly out of their civilian lives and are being sent into a war zone for a three- to six-month stint and sometimes for over a year. “They’re often leaving behind sons, daughters, a wife awaiting surgery. They’re trying to tie together all the loose ends,” says Colonel David Feld of the U.S. Air Force. “In this kind of situation, any problem you can name – they’ve got it. And most of these soldiers have never seen a Rabbi before in their lives,” explains Rabbi Feld. “If the guy who helps them solve their problem is a frum Yid, wearing a kippa, that’s an incredible kiddush Hashem.”

Emotional support for the soldiers’ families is not always garaunteed; however the army does try to create a support network for its soldiers. “A war zone is incredibly fertile ground for kiruv work,” says Rabbi Feld. “Soldiers who are getting shot at really want to pray. When they’ve seen open miracles, they want to say Hallel – but most of them don’t know how.”

That’s why Rabbi Feld is there. The chaplain provides spiritual and humanitarian support to all soldiers, not only to those of his own faith. He also gets them supplies they need, like sefarim and kosher food, and gives them counseling and support in many ways.

During the first Gulf War Rabbi Feld was deployed in Iraq. Anyone who’s been in combat can tell you that there’s nothing like hearing bullets whizzing past to give you a real taste of what war is like.

During the current conflict, the military command wanted the less experienced chaplains to learn the valuable lessons of serving in an actual war zone. So this time around, Rabbi Feld was deployed in Germany, preparing soldiers about to leave for their stint in Iraq and debriefing them upon their return.

Besides the soldiers who have completed their tour of duty, sixty wounded soldiers arrive in Germany every day from Iraq. It’s the chaplain’s job to look after their welfare – emotionally, spiritually, and in some ways even physically – and Rabbi Feld does just that.

and Kiruv

There are plenty of Jews in the military – and that’s where kiruv comes in. Ninety-nine percent of the Jews in the military are not frum, and most of them have had zero contact with anyone religious. Did you know that up to 80 percent of the Jewish kids growing up in New York receive no Jewish education? That means they’re totally untainted – the chaplain is the one giving them their first taste of Yiddishkeit, sharing his outlook on all religious matters.

In the Army – outside of an actual war zone – whatever the Rabbi says goes, and Uncle Sam is generous with his funding. Rabbi Feld has arranged for Jewish concerts, lecturers and seminars – all paid for by the U.S. government. He’s written booklets about the upcoming holidays, given talks and demonstrations – if you can think of a good approach to kiruv, chances are that Rabbi Feld has done it.

Hashgacha Pratis

Rabbi Feld affirms that he has experienced Hashem’s obvious hashgacha in countless instances. In Iraq he would visit the soldiers to see how they were doing, to see what he could do to help. “We went from the area of one major unit to another by helicopter – that was the fastest and safest way to get anywhere. Sometimes when we’d land, we’d get out and see that the helicopter was riddled with hundreds of bullet holes.

“There’s a saying in the army, If the bullet doesn’t have your name on it, you’re okay. Hundreds of bullet holes, and not one of us six people in the helicopter was hit. We could feel tangibly the spiritual closeness to Hashem. The soldiers fighting on the battlefront can feel it, too, and they want to express this closeness. There’s a real spiritual awakening.”

SPC Joe Kashnow spent six months in Iraq before being evacuated last September. “I felt Hashem’s hashgacha every single day,” he states simply. “On one occasion, two RPGs (rocket-propelled grenades) were fired directly at my vehicle, from not more than 10 meters away. One passed directly before us, one directly behind. There was no rational explanation – they shouldn’t have missed us. There were so many situations like that. It was inspiring to see Hashem’s work so clearly, every single day. It certainly made me re-prioritize.”

A Nice Kid in a Place Like This

Rabbi David Feld grew up in a frum environment in New York and always felt drawn to kiruv. After high school, he learned for semicha and studied psychology. It seems that the military was in his blood. Rabbi Feld’s father served in the U.S. Air Force fighting the Nazis, ym’sh, during World War II. When Rabbi David received his semicha at the age of twenty-six, he applied to become an army chaplain, ready to shoulder the rigorous burden of army life, knowing he’d be constantly on the move, hoping to spread Yiddishkeit wherever he’d be sent.

But not all recruits knew what they were getting into when they signed up – the Chase twins didn’t quite expect things to work out the way they have. Jordan Chase was attending the University of Tampa in Florida and joined the Army ROTC program there, hoping to pay for his higher education with veteran’s benefits. Now he’s a lieutenant, serving in the Sunni Triangle. His schedule is rough – he’ll do a thirty-six-hour shift, get eight hours off, and then do another eighteen-hour shift.

Jordan’s twin, Nat Chase, is a sergeant. He completed his active army service two years ago, but for two years after leaving the army, soldiers are on inactive reservist status before receiving their honorable discharge. Nathan Chase had just one month to go as an inactive reservist when the army reactivated him. Before, he had been working for Homeland Security, locating WMDs (weapons of mass destruction). Now he’s guarding prisoners and detainees in Camp Bucca, located in the south between Basra and Kuwait.

Keeping in Touch

Though the Chase twins are both in Iraq, they’re 600 miles apart, and they miss their former closeness. Back home, their father puts on a brave face, but still. “My boys can’t call each other, there’s not even access to e-mail where Nat is. Once a month he can make a fifteen-minute phone call home, so I get to hear from him then.”

“Am I worried? I’m extremely concerned. I’m their father.”

It’s impossible to get through on regular phone lines to soldiers stationed in Iraq. To reach a military party in Iraq, one must dial on a DSN (Defense Services Network) line – there are none in Israel, not even in the U.S. Embassy in Tel Aviv. To contact his boys in Iraq, Rabbi Feld uses e-mail – and even then, it’s routed first through Germany and then through a few other sites, so the soldiers’ position can’t be traced.

Specialist Joe Kashnow’s brigade has about 7,000 soldiers in it; about 1 percent are Jewish. There were two other frum Jews he met personally, and he heard about one other. “I missed being in a Jewish community, but I never felt lonely. There was no such thing as ‘alone’ where we were.”

Now that he’s back in Baltimore, Kashnow keeps in touch with his friends “back there” via e-mail and with their families by phone. He spoke recently with the family of a chaplain who’s in Iraq; the family is back home, stationed in Hawaii. “They’re doing okay,” he reports. “They really know that what we’re doing over there is the right thing, and they’re extremely supportive and warm.”

One Who Watches Over Shabbos

Sometimes the soldiers in Kashnow’s unit would get a half-day off. “But I couldn’t arrange for mine to be on Shabbos – there was no control over that at all. Anyway, it’s an informal day off – it’s just a day off until something happens, and then it’s not a day off anymore. We were clearly saving lives, so halachically it was not a problem.”

One Shabbos afternoon when things were pretty quiet, Kashnow was learning Pirkei Avos (he had brought along a pocket-sized Pirkei Avos, and a small set of Stone Chumashim). He looked up to see his NCO (non-commissioned officer) with a form for each of the soldiers in their three-man crew to fill out. Apparently, the form for their separation pay was incomplete, and it had to be resubmitted that day.

Separation pay adds up to a significant amount for deployed soldiers, and the other two filled out the form with alacrity. But Kashnow explained to his buddies that there was no reason for him to be mechalel Shabbos for a paycheck – there was clearly no pikuach nefesh involved.

“They gave me a really hard time about it,” Kashnow recalls. “They told me religion is a fine thing, but there’s a place for it, and there was no way they would give up on their pay for any religion. I went back to learning Pirkei Avos, and the very next mishna was about having faith that Hashem decides each person’s parnassa on Rosh Hashanah. That was really mechazek for me.”

Kashnow filled out the form the next day, Sunday, figuring he would do without the separation pay for that month. At the end of the month Krashnow’s unit, the Third Brigade, received their papers stating how much had been deposited in their bank accounts back home. To his surprise, Kashnow’s pay was just as it should be.

“But those other two guys,” says Kashnow, “of the whole platoon, only their pay was messed up. They had to wait till the next month to get it straightened out.”

Hot Opportunities

The heat in Iraq is incredible. Even wearing the additional thin garment layer for tzitzis was sometimes too much to bear. “I’ve been in saunas that were not as bad,” says Kashnow.

Rabbi Feld agrees, pointing out another unusual opportunity for a kiddush Hashem and for kiruv. “Remember, this is the desert. It was 120 degrees Fahrenheit outside. Inside the tent it was a little cooler – maybe only 102 degrees. When we first arrived in Iraq, each soldier had to set up his own tent and anything else he might need.”

As the soldiers settled in and took over other facilities, they became a little more comfortable. Some air-conditioned tents were even set up, and the rigid military hierarchy puts chaplains among the first in line to receive these amenities.

“So if the chaplain knows what he’s doing,” grins Rabbi Feld, “he takes advantage of this great opportunity and invites the guys to come hang out and shmooze with him in his nice cool tent.”

Ah mechayeh – what a gift of an opportunity.

Prime Target

Last September, Joseph Kashnow was driving his Humvee down the main highway. “We were the last vehicle, a prime target,” he explains, giving a quick lesson in military strategy. “You don’t aim for the first vehicle in a convoy, because then the following vehicles are all over you. You aim for the last vehicle, because then the others have already gone and they’ll have to turn around and come back to get at you.”

There was an IED (improvised explosive device – in this case, a 155 mm. artillery shell) in the road, and the enemy detonated it just as SPC Kashnow and his friends drove over it. A few seconds earlier the shrapnel would have come through the windshield; a few seconds later shrapnel would have come through the side door and cut him in half even with his bulletproof vest. As it was, shrapnel tore through Kashnow’s right leg, breaking the tibia and fibula, cutting through two main arteries and destroying tissue. He’s undergone a complex series of operations, and the doctors hope to remove his leg brace this week. After a few months of therapy they expect he will be able to walk again, though they say his running days are over.

Home Again

Now stationed at the hospital in Baltimore, Specialist Joe Kashnow has founded a non-profit organization, the Jewish Soldier Foundation. Its mission is to provide Jews in the military (Army, Air Force, Navy, Marines, Coast Guard, National Guard) with food packages and educational resources and to act as a resource for their families. The Jewish Soldier Foundation also sends sefarim and is organizing a pen-pal program for soldiers’ children. They advocate for soldiers and their families in Congress. Kashnow would also like to help young Rabbis who are planning to be become chaplains. “Most chaplains are frum,” he says. “We’re not trying to convince anyone to become a chaplain. But we’d like to help the people who join to be really motivated to take care of the soldiers.”

Rabbi Feld’s care goes a long way, and the soldiers respond in kind. Soldiers are allowed free transport anywhere in the world that the U.S. military goes. Rabbi Feld lives in Israel, and many of “his boys” go to visit him when they’re on leave or after their tour of duty is over. “I take them around, show them the sights. They love seeing the Old City of Jerusalem, experiencing a real Shabbos with us.”

He might get a call saying a group of soldiers is coming up to Jerusalem; can he meet them and show them around? Or when the Navy’s Sixth Fleet docks in Haifa with 6,000 men on board, often he’ll go out to meet them in the course of his duties. A ship that size usually has fifty or sixty Jews (including three chaplains) on board, but after four to six months at sea, the chaplains may need a break for a few days – so they call Rabbi Feld.

Any thoughts Joe Kashnow once had of a career in security – or anything else with physical requirements he can no longer meet – are now history. “Obviously, war is not the most fun thing I’ve been through,” he says. “I’m thankful that I did come through. I’m grateful to be alive.”