A Company of Many Tongues
One of the most striking features of our Shlav Bet tironut—true also of other Shlav Bet cohorts, as many have reported—was the sheer cultural diversity. Our company included French speakers (many), English speakers, Spanish speakers, and Portuguese speakers. And yes, there were Hebrew speakers too. It was an eclectic mosaic of men, many of them new immigrants, all seeking to close gaps and enter meaningful service in the IDF.
The linguistic gaps led to more than a few humorous moments—and some less humorous ones. As I’ll expand upon shortly, they also highlighted an unmistakable “ingathering of exiles” ethos that permeated the group
As a speaker of English and Hebrew—and passably of French—I was often called upon to help with translation and clarification. Among the new immigrants, especially the French, there were several whose Hebrew was fragile. I was glad to help however I could.
The linguistic gaps led to more than a few humorous moments—and some less humorous ones. As I’ll expand upon shortly, they also highlighted an unmistakable “ingathering of exiles” ethos that permeated the group.
“Zombia Company”
Even toward the end of our training course, some soldiers still struggled with Hebrew commands and the nuances of IDF terminology. The most notable challenge involved “receiving the commander” in formation, for which each type of commander and each group formation (squad/platoon/company commanders and respective formations) required different phrasing. The shifting formulations produced stumbles, hesitations, and some confusion.
Usually, the soldier at the head of the chet formation (the chantar) was an experienced recruit who knew the phrasing cold. But occasionally, a new immigrant with shaky Hebrew found himself in the hot seat, and the results were not to every commander’s liking. The commanders wanted precision and professionalism, a company that didn’t blunder on the basics.
One of the funniest episodes emerged from what is known as the Zambia Protocol—the post-engagement “dead check” conducted at the end of a squad-level drill. After the virtual terrorists are eliminated, the force must verify that none remain alive. The procedure—an acronym for “zman bli yeri ha-kochot” (“time without friendly fire”) consists of a silent backward scan, ensuring that any remaining movement or sound is detected.
Thanks to our French squad, who experienced much confusion around the term (in another drill, they simply conducted the entire exercise in French), the protocol became known as “Zombia.” The name, with its zombie connotation, proved to be a hit, and according to one platoon commander the entire cycle earned the unofficial title of the “Zombia Cohort.”[1]
The “Today” of Sefer Devarim
The rich diversity I witnessed inspired the first Torah session I delivered to the Yehonatan Company. As I mentioned earlier, many unexpected issues arose concerning our training program, and our commanders noted that it was nearly cancelled altogether. The first days were spent regrouping at the Ramla base after the plan to train at Nabi Musa fell through. Naturally, this created pockets of unstructured time. On the very first day, when lunch stretched an extra half-hour, I was asked to fill the gap with a Dvar Torah.
I chose to speak about the extraordinary era we inhabit, through the prism of a single recurring word in Sefer Devarim: “today” (hayom).
The word appears more than seventy times in Devarim, far more than in the other four books combined. “And you shall know today and return it to your heart” (4:39); “These words that I command you today shall be upon your heart” (6:6); “See, I place before you today blessing and curse” (11:26); “You stand today, all of you” (29:9); and many more.
The “today” of Devarim is not an ordinary day. It is the threshold between desert and homeland, the brink of entering the Promised Land
What is the significance of this insistent “today”—the “day” on which Moshe delivered his great parting speech?
One of its key instances offers a clue: “Hear, O Israel: Today you are crossing the Jordan […]” (9:1). Meaning, the “today” of Devarim is not an ordinary day. It is the threshold between desert and homeland, the brink of entering the Promised Land. Devarim is spoken on the cusp of arrival; “today” signals both imminence and urgency. It is happening now. Prepare yourselves.
Crossing the Jordan
Moshe, of course, would not enter the Land. He would die beforehand, and the nation would mourn him for thirty days. The “today” of Devarim is thus a transitional period rather than a literal date: the liminal period between wilderness and home.
Once in the Land, two truths converge. On one hand, Eretz Yisrael is the designated place for the mitzvot: “These are the statutes and laws you shall observe in the Land… all the days you live upon the earth” (12:1). As the Ramban famously writes (Vayikra 18:25), mitzvah-observance in the Diaspora is but a rehearsal for the real fulfillment in Israel.
Crossing the Jordan and uniting the people with their land is a defining moment of national becoming
On the other hand, it is in the Land that Israel becomes a people: “Listen, Israel: Today you have become a people to Hashem your God” (27:9). In other words, crossing the Jordan and uniting the people with their land is a defining moment of national becoming. With it comes a renewed covenant: “You have declared today that Hashem is your God… and Hashem has declared today that you are His treasured nation” (26:17–18).
Entry into the Land is covenantal rebirth—a mutual choosing of God and Israel.
The Courage to Fight
Standing before the company in the classroom, looking at the remarkable diversity assembled before me, I spoke passionately about the privilege of living in that very “today” of Devarim. For over 150 years, the Jewish people have been crossing their own Jordan—ingathering from countries around the world, fighting enemies, and building the physical and spiritual infrastructures of sovereignty. And here, in this modest army base, we experienced the continuation of the process: inhabiting the Land and serving in the army of Israel and the Jewish people.
What is demanded of us on that “day” of entry? As the Torah clarifies, among the core demands is courage: a courage rooted in trust in Hashem and the long arc of His providence. The Torah thus urges us to be brave: “Let your heart not be faint; do not fear, do not panic… for Hashem your God goes with you to fight for you against your enemies, to save you” (Devarim 20:3–4). The Torah’s message is clear: we are not alone.
The sin of the spies that Moshe’s speech opens with lay precisely in the failure of courage: “They despised the pleasant land; they did not believe His word” (Tehillim 106:24). Due to a lack of trust in Hashem, the people were afraid of the powerful Canaanite nations and refused to enter. Devarim urges the exact opposite: “Know today that Hashem your God goes before you as a consuming fire… He will destroy them and subdue them before you” (Devarim 9:3).
By choosing to serve, I concluded, we walk in the footsteps of those who crossed the Jordan—trusting in God, ready to face our enemies
By choosing to serve, I concluded, we walk in the footsteps of those who crossed the Jordan—trusting in God, ready to face our enemies. It is up to us to realize the promise given to Yehoshua: “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous; do not fear, for Hashem your God is with you wherever you go” (Yehoshua 1:9).
From that day on, I somehow became the company’s unofficial rabbi. And whenever I addressed my comrades, the themes returned: ingathering of exiles, courage born of faith, and the extraordinary privilege of our moment.
“Al Tira Yisrael, Al Tira”
Our company was divided into two platoons, each choosing a shir machlaka, a platoon anthem. Mine, Platoon 1, chose Avihu Medina’s “Al Tira Yisrael.” Each time we marched beyond our perimeter within the base, we would sing: “Al tira Yisrael, al tira” —
Fear not, Israel, fear not
For you are a lion cub
And if a lion roars—
Who will not fear
Who will not fear.
I was glad for the choice. The entire song is a call to uplift the spirit of Israel, to fortify courage. Medina himself wrote:
After years of exhausting war, the voices of the faint-hearted grew louder, encouraging retreat… In writing the song, facing down the faint-hearted of the day, I sought to strengthen the nation’s spirit with words of encouragement drawn from our ancient tradition… I hoped the Jewish people, in their courage, would sing it—and be strengthened in spirit and faith.
Our company numbered fewer than forty soldiers. Yet, we were part of a much larger movement: a growing stream of Haredi enlistment, animated by courage and by trust in the divine promise returning His children to the Land of their fathers.
And as further evidence, just two days after our course ended, I delivered a similar shiur before 120 new Haredi recruits beginning their army service—three full years. With Hashem’s help, I hope to teach the same principles to many more groups that join this holy and crucial trend.
[1] https://www.facebook.com/share/r/17SbJeJ8ZU/.
In the picture: Our French-speaking battle drill
