Rabbi Josh Zweiback
March 28, 2008
Parashat Shmini, 5768

Strange Fire

            Last Sunday night, a roadside bomb in Baghdad killed four U.S. soldiers. This pushed the death toll of our five year war in Iraq to over 4,000 U.S. service men and women. No one knows precisely how many Iraqi civilians and insurgents have been killed but estimates are in the hundreds of thousands.

            It’s a bit surreal. We—each one of us—bear partial responsibility for this war. Our representatives in Washington authorized it and continue to fund it. Our tax dollars pay for it.

            And yet, here in the Los Altos Hills, war seems terribly far away.

            Maybe some of you have family members who are serving in Iraq. Maybe some of you can count a friend or loved one among the fallen 4,000. Maybe you know one of the tens of thousands of wounded or maimed veterans who will carry the scars of this conflict on their bodies to their graves.

            But this war seems quite distant to me. I know only person who has served in Iraq and I don’t personally know any of those who have been killed or wounded.

            This, I think, is a problem. We are, I think, terribly disconnected from this conflict. A recent CBS News poll indicates that 59% of Americans think that  the United States should have stayed out of Iraq . Thirty percent of those surveyed think that things are going somewhat badly in the war and 24% think it’s going “very badly.” Forty-six percent of those polled want the troops to come home within the year. Perhaps worst of all, 24% think that America is less safe today than before the war. 38% think that the war has made no difference. 36% think we’re safer.

            And yet… Where’s the outrage? Why aren’t we demanding a change in policy? Why aren’t we talking more about this?

It seems like we have an obligation as Americans, to connect emotionally and personally to the horror that continues to unfold in Iraq and Afghanistan.

            Maybe the least we can do—quite possible the LEAST we can do—is pause from time to time to reflect on the terrible sacrifice that is being made.

            Whatever your feelings about the war—whether you think it’s justified or not, whether you continue to support it, what you think our strategy or policy should be—whatever your feelings, as Jews, we are required to fulfill the mitzvah of k’vod ha-met, of honoring the dead.

            And so tonight, even though our tradition teaches us that Shabbat is not a time for wailing, not a time for tears, I want to memorialize one fallen soldier—Private Daniel J. Agami who was killed on June 21, 2007 along with 3 other soldiers while on patrol outside of Baghdad.

            You might have heard of Daniel. He’s was profiled in Monday’s New York Times piece that included pictures of the last 1000 fallen soldiers.

            Agami was born in Ohio and grew up in Parkland Florida where he attended the Hebrew Academy Community Day School. He enlisted in the army in 2005.

            Daniel’s grandmother, Sandra Becker, told reporters after his death that her grandson took pride in teaching his fellow soldiers about Judaism. Many of them had never met a Jew before coming to know Daniel.

            According to the NY Times:

“Private Agami had time for everyone, and everyone had time for him. Affectionately called GI Jew, he held his religion up to the light. He used it to build tolerance among the troops and shatter stereotypes; few in his unit had ever met a Jew. He flew the Israeli flag over his cot in Adhamiya. He painted the words Hebrew Hammer onto his rifle. He even managed to keep kosher, a feat that required a steady diet of protein shakes and cereal.”

Daniel was handsome and strong. His lieutenant described him as an exemplary soldier. He was posthumously awarded the Purple Heart, Bronze Star, and Army commendation medal.

Daniel was loved by the other men in his company. His closest friend in the unit was Private Ryan Hill. Private Hill was killed in January of 2007 by a roadside bomb. These words are taken from the eulogy that Daniel emailed to Private Hill’s family:

…Not only was [Private Hill] a guy who can make anyone laugh but he was one of the most squared away soldier[s] the army has to offer… If you were wrong he would make sure you knew it. Anytime he was asked to do [something]  no matter how big or how small…his response was "roger" no questions asked.

I trusted him with…my life especially out in sector. He was quick on the gun and always ready for anything that was thrown his way. Even though he caught a lot of slack for being a little over weight he never failed a PT test…

Our platoon is not the only family Hill had. He has a wonderful mother and sister that he would drop anything in the world for and so would they. He would call them on a daily base just to say hi. I think he spent more money on phone cards than anything else all year… He would take care of his mother as best as he could while being thousands of miles away. Anytime she would have a domestic problem he was on the ball and making sure it was resolved to the best of his ability.

Hill is one of the wittiest and funniest men I have ever met. He knew how to push peoples’ buttons, but it was always out of good fun, I often joined in. It got so bad that [he] and I started a war between each other [with] our stupid mother jokes. I know it went to far when it ended up on Myspace and his mother found out about it then called him screaming telling him to stop this stupid war. I thought I won but I guess I was wrong he didn't let it stop there, he had to get me back. About a month later I left the barracks for about 3 hours to pick up a friend from the airport. I couldn't wait for her to meet hill and I told her all about him. When I came back I went to my room and my mattress was missing and all my close were being worn by other people. I couldn't figure it out so I knew right off the bat who to go to, Hill. I saw him walking down the hall wearing five of my winter jackets. He sold half my wardrobe right off his back to people in our company and my mattress was in someone else's room. So then I had to go around and buy all my stuff back. (Now I think he [won]).

I know that right now he is in a better place. A place where he [is] watching over us with Sgt. Seizmore, Sgt. Mock, Spc. McGuiness, and Private Newguard--making sure we are all safe and we get home to our families without a scratch or any harm . Hill would want us all to be as careful as possible. [Not] to lose hope and keep our morale high. If we lose our bearings now then more tragedy will happen. Hill always thought we had the best company in the battalion so let’s show Hill and the other brave soldiers we have lost that we will continue our mission until the mission is complete.

I love you Hill and you will always be in my heart forever.

Daniel was very close to his mother Beth and his father Yitzchak. He is survived by his little sister Shoshana and his younger brother Ilan. Here’s an email he sent his mother a few months before he was killed.

COMMANDER MOM,

I CAN’T WAIT TO COME HOME AND WHEN I DO, DON’T WORRY.  I’LL HAVE A LOT TO SAY TO THE Congregation. DON’T WORRY ABOUT MY MENTAL STAGE EITHER. WE ALL Receive Counseling AND HELP FROM DOCTORS... I AM A STRONG INDIVIDUAL PHYSICALLY AND MENTALLY AND IF THERE IS ONE THING THE ARMY TEACHES YOU, IT IS HOW TO DEAL WITH DEATH. EVERYDAY THAT PASSES IT GETS EASIER AND EASIER. I MISS YOU GUYS VERY MUCH AND I LOVE YOU!

DANIEL

This is one of the last emails he sent home:

mom,

The article you wrote was awesome. I haven't been able to use the computers or phones in the past two weeks because I’m not on my regular base. i was convoyed up to northern Iraq to learn a new weapon system. it [is] soooooooo cool and I’m having a great time. i will be going back to [base] in the next few days, so don't worry. i will call you guys when i get back. I will also see about me making it home for ilan’s wedding but you might have to choose if i should come home on Passover or the wedding, i know it’s in [a] year from now and we might not be back from iraq yet, but we’ll see. i love you guys and miss you very much.

            Daniel wasn’t able to return home for his brother’s wedding. And a week later, Daniel was killed.

            This week’s Torah portion includes the famous incident about Nadav and Avihu—Aaron’s sons—who offer “strange fire” and are consumed in the flames. It’s a strange story. We don’t know what, if anything, they did wrong. We don’t know why they die.

            But the text does tell us how Aaron, their father, responds. It says: “Va-yidom Aharon—And Aaron was silent.” The commentators explain that Aaron’s silence indicates that he didn’t cry out or complain about the death of his sons. He just accepted it. Rashi claims that Aaron was rewarded for his silence.

            Each person mourns in his own way. And it’s not our place to judge Aaron for his response. But let me suggest that we not be silent. We should raise our voices and we should wail—even on Shabbat—about the horrors of this war, about the blood and gore that is being spilled in our names.

            I pray that the sacrifice that families like the Agami’s have made will prove to be worth it.

            May God comfort them. May God comfort all the families of the fallen. And may the bloodshed and the fighting end soon.