Yaakov Hillel’s life and death became a channel for parents and children to heal

Photos: Elchanan Kotler

When the news broke that a soldier named Yaakov Hillel had died in Lebanon over Succos, his illustrious name became the focus of the tragedy. But as his father Rabbi Chaim Hillel makes clear, Yaakov’s story was a universal one — of educational challenges overcome and of the power of parents to help their children find their own path in life

It’s morning on the first day of Succos.

The shul is packed, the bimah surrounded by mispallelim holding lulavim. Rabbi Chaim Hillel — a son of Rav Yaakov Hillel, the great mekubal and rosh yeshivah of Jerusalem’s Yeshivat Ahavat Shalom — feels his body trembling, his heart ready to burst, but no one notices. His neighbors and friends are all looking intently in their machzorim, crying out, “Hosha na, l’maancha Elokeinu, hosha na.”

He joins in, closing his eyes, tightening his grip on his arba minim, trying to shut out any other thoughts and shouting with all his might, “Hosha na, l’maancha Boreinu, hosha na.”

But his heart refuses to cooperate, drawing him back again and again to the devastating news he’d heard just the previous night. He’d finished the seudah, surrounded by his children and multiple guests, and had risen from the table to get a few hours’ rest.

And then, just as he was drifting to sleep, there was a knock, and he heard one of his children shout, “Abba, there are soldiers at the door.”

His heart dropped — a late-night visit from the army usually means only one thing.

He and his wife walked toward the door, knowing what awaited them, but still holding on to the faintest glimmer of hope.

But when the men sat down, that last spark went out, too. “We’re here to inform you….”

“Hosha na, l’maancha Goaleinu, hosha na.”

There would be no sleep in the Hillel home that night. The entire family gathered together, in silence. There was no one to whom they could direct any questions; maybe there weren’t any questions to ask. Every now and then someone would burst into tears, and the others would remind them that it’s a chag, and you’re not allowed to mourn.

And in the morning, the newly bereaved father went off to shul with his sons, wrapped in his tallis, as if nothing had happened. The world was carrying on, even as a storm raged in his own heart.