March 8, 2002

The following letter was written by 18 year old Judah Rauch, 
son of Mr.and Mrs. David Rauch of Teaneck, N.J. 
There is not much more that can be added.

WE ARE ALL YOCHAI'S  FAMILY.

Throughout my year of learning and living in Israel many friends
and family have been asking me questions about my experiences. 
The majority of the inquiries that I have fielded have been what 
I have expected and therefore I basically knew what my answers 
would be. One question, however, that comes up the most often 
has been the hardest one to answer. Everyone wants to know what 
it's like to be living in Israel during these hard times and if  
my year of learning has been compromised because of the situation. 
At the risk of being viewed as a cold-hearted person, I was always 
telling everybody that it wasn't as bad as the media made it out 
to be and that life was going on as normal as possible. For me 
personally that was exactly what was happening. Besides the daily 
Tehillim and the constant worry of my parents, Yeshiva was pretty 
much going the way I had anticipated.

However, as the newspaper was looking more like an obituary 
everyday, I decided I needed to do something about it. I felt 
the need to contribute. I needed to answer the question: 
How did you contribute to the situation in Israel? 
How did you affect the Matzav (situation) ?

Because of my previous experience working for the Teaneck Volunteer
Ambulance Corps. , I thought that perhaps my small contribution 
to Israeli society would be to volunteer for Magen David Adom 
(MDA). I did a little research and ended up applying for a MDA 
program run through the Jewish Agency. I had an interview with 
the head of the Foreign Affairs department of MDA, a young man 
by the name of Yochai Porat. The interview went as well as 
I could have hoped for. All that was left was to complete my 
application. Unfortunately, Yochai was going on Miluim (reserve 
duty) and I had to wait until he returned.

Last Sunday I got word of yet another horrible terrorist attack. 
This time an Israeli checkpoint outside Ramallah was attacked 
by a lone sniper killing seven soldiers including a medic and
three civilians. As depressing and sad as the news was, I, as 
well as all the other boys in Yeshiva went on with our daily 
activities. The next morning I opened up the newspaper to find 
a list of names of the soldiers killed in the attack. The very 
first name listed, the medic, was Sergeant-Lieutenant Yochai 
Porat. Needless to say, that hit a little too close to home 
since I still had his business card in my wallet, his cellphone 
number stored in my phone and I was supposed to call him in a 
few days.

After a few phone calls and arrangements I found myself at the 
military cemetery in Kfar Saba. I stood there by myself and 
watched as an additional four hundred people, some in MDA 
uniforms and others in IDF uniforms, filed in to pay their last 
respects to the fallen soldier and friend. Thank-G-d I've only 
been to a few funerals in my lifetime, and they had all been 
civilian. Military funerals are much different, especially in 
Israel. The coffin, draped with an Israeli flag (representing 
the nation of which Yochai as well as countless other Jewish 
fighters have been killed defending) was proceeded by Yochai's 
unit. All boys my age in their neatly pressed IDF uniforms with 
their gray berets tilted slightly to the left. Underneath their 
black sunglasses I could make out the tears rolling down their 
faces. 

After burying Yochai his brother, sister, mother and father all 
spoke. They spoke about Yochai's life, his death, and what he 
meant to them all. The funeral ended with a gun salute by his
unit; the sound of the machine guns piercing the silence.

In retrospect what struck me most about the ceremony was that 
when I first arrived I felt like an outsider, after all, I met 
Yochai only once. However, when I left I felt part of the nation, 
and therefore part of the country. As I watched the unit of 
soldiers slowly marching back exactly as they had come only this 
time without Yochai, I couldn't help but realize that they were 
going right back to the front-lines to defend the country.

I returned to my insulated and isolated Yeshiva and for the next 
few days I couldn't stop thinking about Yochai. From now on when 
I read the casualty count in the morning paper I don't just see 
soldiers of a country. I see guys my age, defenders of our country 
and nation, Jewish fighters, sons, brothers and Yochais. I now 
have a new perspective of the situation. A situation of which we 
all must feel the affects  not because we know Yochai's family 
rather because we are Yochai's family. I realize now that my 
goals were all wrong. Instead of trying to figure out ways that 
I can have an affect on the situation I need to make sure the 
situation effects me. This has become a central goal and 
accomplishment of mine over the year and my experience in Israel 
has been shaped not despite the situation but by the situation.

Sincerely,

Judah