The six day war

Through the Eyes of a Seminary Student

When I left my hometown of Denver in the fall of 1966 to study in seminary in Israel, it never occurred to me that I would become part of one of the most historic and cataclysmic years in Jewish history: the year that led to the Six Day War. Has it really been 50 years since my parents sent the telegram, frantically trying to get me to leave Eretz Yisrael as the war seemed inevitable? Has it really been 50 years since I volunteered in Shaarei Tzedek Hospital? Has it really been 50 years since we walked to the Kosel that Shavuos morning and davened and cried as we never had before?

Let me share with you some of the trepidation, the fear, the excitement and the jubilation of those incredible days—yes, 50 years ago.

When I left New York in September of 1966, it was a rarity to learn in Israel. I can recall that I had a window seat on El Al airlines, over the wing. In those days, the aircraft was blue and white, as it is today. However, on the wing was painted the pasuk from Parashas Yisro, “And I will carry you on eagles’ wings.” I was convinced that a one-way ticket was all I would need. Everyone in America would soon follow with the coming of Moshiach. Didn’t the Torah mean airplanes in that pasuk? It seemed so certain at the time.

But by May, politics encroached on our learning. The Arabs were threatening war, the Israelis were promising a strong defense and an even stronger offense. Soon it was impossible to ignore the signs. Shelves in the supermarkets were emptied; the seminary had drills so we would know where to go and what to do should the worst happen. People rushed to and fro. There was nervousness in the air, and we were not immune to it.

In those days, long distance calls had to be booked by appointment at the post office. When my appointment came, I called home. My father insisted I reserve a flight out, either to Europe or to America. I tried to convince my parents that I was safe where I was, but they would not budge. Within a few days, flights were no longer leaving Israel. Nor were phone calls getting through to or from America.

From a warfare point of view, Eretz Yisrael stood alone. But we were never really alone. The Siyata D’shmaya that we counted on and the tehillim that we uttered non-stop by candlelight in the miklat were our constant companions.

The attack began on the morning of 26 Iyar, June 5, which was a bright and “ordinary” Monday morning. We were instructed to take our siddurim and basic needs and make our way to the bomb shelters. We were lucky in our school. The entire basement of the building was considered safe enough for us.

Civil defense sirens rang out, people started running, and soldiers were called up in frightening numbers. The silence of the streets was deafening. The fear was palpable. What was at stake was obvious: It was an existential war on Israel as a state and would put Jews in danger throughout the world.

For me, it was all surreal. As an American, I had never witnessed war, but I had learned about it in history and heard about the war years from my parents and my friends’ parents. If they survived, I prayed, I would too.

It was a Shavuos like none other, filled with gratitude and relief and a renewed Kabbolas HaTorah.

The constant hum of the radio updated the people huddled in shelters.  Classes went on, teachers came and went, and testing continued. It was, after all, the end of the school year. The oral exam on Yedios Haaretz was especially important. Little did we know that the map itself was changing even as we studied it.

There was a big map of Eretz Yisrael on the wall, and as the radio brought us news of victory on various fronts, the madricha would redraw the map to indicate that a new area now belonged to us. The West Bank, the Golan Heights, Gaza– and perhaps most important—East Jerusalem and the Har Habayis/Kosel were in our hands. The buzzwords became:”HaKotel B’yadenu. The Kosel is in our hands.”

A week later, on Shavuos, all of Yerushalayim was on its feet. The Kosel plaza (not nearly what it is today) was considered safe and everyone wanted to be able to daven there. There was a steady stream of mispallelim  who later made their way around Har Tzion (to the shock of Arab bystanders) and back to the center of town while singing in the streets. We saw that Yerushalayim was indeed a city with hills all around it. Tehillim  (128:5) tells us, “See the good of Yerushalayim.” It was impossible to do anything but that, as we took in the hills and valleys, the greenery, the sheer beauty of the land and at the same time the comradery, the celebration and the unity. Affiliation and attire were completely irrelevant.  It was a Shavuos like none other, filled with gratitude and relief and a renewed Kabbolas HaTorah.

Eretz Yisrael had been transformed from a small country to a much larger one. No longer could one walk on a Shabbos afternoon from border to border of Yerushalayim. The Kosel became the magnet of yidden everywhere for pouring out one’s heart in tefillah. Buses were hired by all schools to take their students for a firsthand look at what we now had under our control. We traveled to Yericho, and further south towards the Dead Sea. History became alive and the written word, studied so carefully by seminary students everywhere, was vibrant and current.

All too soon, the school year was over. But those last few weeks had impacted our lives forever.

Looking back, I can say that the ability to join the greater cohesive effort at tefillah, volunteering, and emotional support of fellow yidden surely enhanced my role today as a mother, grandmother and mechaneches.

My husband and I have been zocheh to bring grandsons to Eretz Yisrael and every time we do, we recall what once was and what is now. The gift we were given 50 years ago by the Ribbono shel Olam is only secured by His chessed to leave it in our hands, with the charge to elevate our avodah there. For us, it is never just “history.” It is the experiences of the past which link us to the present and provide the hope for the future of the Jewish people.

A Chassidic soldier, after have successfully fought to liberate east Jerusalem, offers and emotional and heartfelt prayer at the Western Wall. It was a Shavuos like no other, filled with gratitude and relief and a renewed Kabbolas HaTorah.