Singing for a people in pain, Yaakov Shwekey got more than he gave

Photos: Aryeh Leib Abrams

I’m no soldier, but maybe there was something I could contribute to my brothers and sisters, those on the battlefront fending off the enemy, and those on the homefront mourning unfathomable loss?
I’m no writer either, but this story isn’t about me — it’s about the power of our people to find faith and hope even in the darkest times. And maybe these lines can help others appreciate what it feels like in
Eretz Yisrael now, as all of us pray a little harder and stretch a little more, until the day of our greatest song

I’ve been singing for about 25 years, and, sadly, I’m no stranger to hospital wards or even shivah homes. It is, as they say, part of the territory.

That’s because music is about connecting to people, and if there is a connection, then there is also an obligation to be there to encourage, cheer, or comfort.

But nothing — nothing! — prepared me for what I saw, and what I felt, last week.

Last week, I didn’t see wounded soldiers, I didn’t see displaced soldiers, and I didn’t see bereaved parents.

Last week, I saw neshamot. I saw what it means to be a Jew.

You Don’t Run Away

On Simchat Torah, my family and I were in Yerushalayim. We experienced the joy, the horror, and then the fear. My children found the air raid sirens terrifying.

During those tense first days, my wife and I tried explaining to them that the dread they felt is reality for children in Eretz Yisrael. We saw it as an opportunity to teach them the value of being nosei be’ol, to understand how children in places like Sderot have been living for years.

They tried to be brave. Yom Tov ended, and the kids had to get back to school. After a journey of several days, through airports I never expected to see, we finally made it back.

But then, the next day and the day after that as well, I found myself uncomfortable, a growing feeling of unease inside me.

You don’t “run away” from Eretz Yisrael. You don’t “manage to get out” of the land of our fathers.

In the weeks that followed, we saw the remarkable pull that this land has on its people, wherever they live. Until now, we turned to Yerushalayim three times a day, remembering it when we davened — but now, we were turned to it all day, people eager to be connected.

I wanted to go back, to be there, to touch the spirit of a people. I’m not a soldier or a paramedic, and I wasn’t sure what I could add, but I knew where I wanted to be.