During the trip in, and on our way back, my thoughts wandered – back and forth.

A new grandchild. Baruch HaShem. Thank G-d. People ask 'how many?' So now I can say, from Alef to Taf. Those who understand, understand. 

It was exactly forty years ago that I came to Israel. The first time was for an entire year. I was a junior at Case Western Reserve University, studying history, planning on going to law school. I'd had the idea of coming to Israeli in my head since my Bar Mitzvah, at age 13. It was my parents doing. They suggested a summer trip. I liked the idea, but for various reasons never made it.

But, while in university, the possibility of participating in a 'one-year program' struck a nerve. Sounded like a really good idea. CWRU was OK, but nothing special. Cleveland didn't do anything to me. So, being able to finally go to Israel, being far far away from anything I knew, and getting full credit for the year, it seemed like a golden opportunity.

That year in Jerusalem, at Hebrew University, changed my life. As is said, 'the rest is history.'

I came to Israel by myself. The only family I knew of here was my mom's second cousin. Presently, after forty years, I can count at least one family member in Israel for every year here. That includes my wife, her family, our great kids and their spouses, and our wonderfully cute grandchildren.

It should definitely be a time to celebrate. But it's difficult to celebrate these days.

For a minute, let's fast forward, forty years into the future. Max and Sean have been best friends for years. So much so, that they live next to each other in a city, in the heart of Israel. Years ago they served together, fighting against Hamas Arab terrorists in Gaza. And today is an especially special day. Max's youngest daughter is tonight being engaged to Sean's youngest son. Now they will bond, not just as friends, but as family.

Forty years into the future that might have been, but never will be. Actually, these two young heroes will be together, for eternity. Sean was buried in Haifa Sunday night. Max was buried in Jerusalem, at Har Hertzel, a couple of hours ago. They fought together and they died together. For the love of Israel.

I was one of about 30,000 people who crowded into the military cemetery in Jerusalem for, probably, one of the largest funerals that site has ever witnessed. Keeping in mind that the soldier being buried was not a general, or even an officer. But his contribution was certainly no less than that of any officer or general there.

Max, as well as Sean, were 'chayalim bodedim,' that is, 'lone soldiers' who came to Israel specifically to serve in the IDF, to help Israel, to be part of Israel, defending our country, our land, our people. Max was from Los Angeles, and as many of those eulogizing him expressed, he could have chosen to live an 'easy life,' near his family and friends in the US. But he decided, after participating in a Birthright mission, that Israel was for him. He literally fought his way into an elite Golani Division, after first being rejected for lack of Hebrew. He not only shined as a soldier; he received a certificate of excellence as a sharpshooter. 

Much was said about his smile, his personality and his dedication. But in truth, after hearing his parent's parting words, I wasn't surprised by anything else expressed about Max. As is said, the apple never falls far from the tree. 

Max's father, Stuart Steinberg: "On behalf of our entire family, we want to answer a question in the minds of many people: do we have any regrets that Max served in the IDF as a lone soldier. The answer is an unequivocal no." And after speaking for a few minutes, Stuart Steinberg ended his eulogy at the fresh grave of his oldest son with the words, "Am Yisrael Chai."

I think that says it all.

I too, with many others, shed tears for a man I never knew, but deep down inside did know, a person who decided to dedicate his life to Israel, and did so, literally. But my tears are not only of sadness. They are of rage. Because it didn't have to be. How many times will we warn, and warn, and warn, only to be ignored. How many times will we say, 'but this is exactly what we were talking about,' only to be ignored with the same trite, 'but you have to give peace a chance.'

For years I have been telling journalists and visitors about the dangers of missiles being aimed at planes flying in and out of Ben Gurion airport, shot from the Samarian Hills in a future 'palestinian state.' I've been laughed at. Except that yesterday the FAA and its European counterpart stopped all air traffic in and out of Israel because a rocket landed a kilometer from the airport, shot from Gaza. 

Dozens of tunnels have been discovered, leading from Gaza into Israeli communities. Four soldiers lost their lives as a result of one such infiltration. From an anonymous message posted on whatsapp: 'Dozens of tunnels ending in the southern cities are not tunnels of terror, rather they are infrastructures for land conquest. If we had not surprised ourselves at the backlash of the boys' kidnapping, Hamas would have chosen the appropriate timing to pump thousands of soldiers through the tunnels to conquer cities and military posts. Thousands of terrorists dressed as IDF soldiers, kill, conquer and kidnap, while the IDF has no time to organize. At the same time firing barrages of hundreds and thousands of missiles into Israel's center, paralyzing organizational ability against invasion. Why did they wait? Maybe for a rainy day, and probably to coordinate with Hezbollah for an integrated missile attack in the north ... and possibly tunnels into our northern cities too ...' 

And as I write this, we have just discovered a tunnel in Hebron, next to Beit Hadassah, under an Arab house, in the direction of our children's playground.

My tears are also tears of conscience, for had we only done more, maybe, just maybe, the above-written scenario describing Max and Sean in forty years might not have been an impossible dream, rather reality. 
We just have to do more.

May these young, brave heroes be an example, may they look down from above, and assist to guide us, may they rest in eternal peace, and may their memories be a blessing on us, on their friends and families, on all Am Yisrael. Amen.

Today is, according to the Hebrew calendar, the 17th day of the month of Av. Exactly 85 years ago today, the 1929 (Tarpat-Hebrew year) riots and massacre began. Over 160 people were killed throughout pre-State Israel. Sixty seven were slaughtered in Hebron. This led to the expulsion of the Hebron survivors, and the first time in almost 1,000 years that Hebron was Judenrein.

A couple of weeks ago we were honored to hear a fascinating lecture by Mr. Ya'akov Frank. He is the grandson of the former Chief Rabbi of Jerusalem, Rabbi Tzvi Pesach Frank, who was born in 1873 and died in 1961.

Most of the following is from Ya'akov Frank's lecture:

In 1920, Rabbi Frank wrote a letter to two important Rabbis, one of them, Rabbi Moshe Mordechai Epstein, the Dean of the Knesset Yisrael Yeshiva, in Slobodka in Lithuania. He invited the Rabbi to bring his Yeshiva to Israel. Rabbi Epstein replied that his Yeshiva included 100 men, that he would try to come to Israel, but not yet.

In 1925, they did leave for Israel. After much discussion it was decided to bring the Yeshiva to Hebron, as Jerusalem was already saturated with important Rabbis and Torah organizations. Hebron was quiet; they didn’t expect any problems. They arrived with 100 students; the number quickly blossomed to 180 pupils.

We jump to the end of 1928. Arabs were making claims to the Western Wall in Jerusalem and trying to prevent Jews from praying there. Trouble was brewing.

1929. Rabbi Tzvi Pesach's niece, Hannah Slonim, and her husband Eliezer Dan, lived in Hebron. They invited him to participate in a family wedding celebration at their home on Shabbat, the 18th of Av. Rabbi Frank agreed, and planned on arriving in the holy city on Friday, before Shabbat.

But at the last minute, there was a change in plans. Rabbi Frank's son and daughter in law, who lived in Jerusalem, were blessed by the birth of a baby son. Being born on Saturday, the 11th of Av, the newborn's Brit, circumcision, eight days later, would be on Saturday, the 18th of Av. The baby's grandfather, Rabbi Frank, was invited to be the 'Sandak,' who is honored to hold the baby during the procedure. As such, Rabbi Frank had to cancel his planned visit to Hebron, that next week.

As such, he wasn't in Hebron, at the home of Eliezer Dan Slonim, where some 25 people were murdered, that infamous Shabbat day.

And by the way, the little baby who most probably saved Rabbi Frank's life, is the same Ya'akov Frank, who is relating to us these events.

Ya'akov Frank continued: I (the baby) was at a hospital in Jerusalem, six kilometers away. My father, and grandfather would have to walk there for the Brit. But on Saturday morning Arabs in Jerusalem started shooting at Jews. An Arab taxi would pass by Jews on the street, stop, gunfire would erupt, and the taxi would continue, looking for other victims.

Ya'akov's father decided that it was much too dangerous to allow his father, Rabbi Frank, to walk with him, and forced him to remain at home. His father, accompanied by two brothers, started walking. It took them hours to arrive, being shot at every few minutes.

When they finally made it to the hospital, the place was almost empty. They didn't even have ten men for a Minyan (prayer quorum) for the ceremony. However, one person did arrive. The famous holy Rabbi, Rabbi Aryeh Levin. Realizing the problem, and despite the shooting attacks , he went outside and rounded up a few more men, in order to have ten men for the Brit.

Ya'akov Frank related many other stories. Anyone who understands Hebrew is invited to hear the entire lecture here. It would be very worth your while.

The annual memorial will take place tomorrow afternoon at the ancient Hebron cemetery. However, today, a memorial will take place for Hebron resident Elazar Lebovitch, who was killed by terrorists 12 years ago, today, on the eve of his 21st birthday.

Elazar's father, Rabbi Yosef Lebovitch, was interviewed for last week's Chabad publication, "Sichat HaShavuah." The family had, during the Gaza war, five sons in the army, with two of them in combat units in Gaza. Asked about concern for his sons, he answered, "Worry, what will that help? I get up in the morning, pray, say Psalms and later more Psalms, and then some more. Psalms, and faith in G-d, knowing that everything will be OK."

What did he say to his sons as they left for combat? "The same thing that I was told, during the 1973 Yom Kippur war, before we crossed the Suez Canal. Maimonides writes: When a person becomes engaged in war activities, he should lean on the purity of Israel, which will save him during such a difficult time, that he should know that he is sanctifying the holy Name of G-d, that he should put aside all thoughts of himself, and his life, and shouldn't fear or be afraid, and shouldn't think of this wife and children."

What message does he want to leave to Am Yisrael? "To put our trust in G-d and to strengthen our faith. Whoever does so will not break and will know that G-d is with him."

This is the message of a bereaved father, with two sons fighting terrorists in Gaza.

Amazing.