I got the call from my company commander shortly before sundown on Friday afternoon.
“They need someone to help tonight in Gaza. The convoy leaves in ten minutes. Can you go?”
I had already showered and put on my clean uniform in honor of Shabbos. My six-hour guarding shift at our base near the gates of Gaza was almost over, following a four-hour emergency standby. I was thinking through the Torah idea I planned to share in the base shul that night.
But the army was sending crews every evening to install sophisticated security systems on the guard towers of forward outposts inside Gaza. Because the roofs are exposed to Hamas sniper fire from less than half a mile away, they only work under cover of darkness. Every night they wait means another day our soldiers’s lives are endangered, so Jewish law requires the work to continue on Shabbos too.
So I grabbed my helmet, borrowed a bulletproof vest, and ran to the mission commander’s warehouse to help load the truck. The commander, a weathered lieutenant colonel who’d been doing this since before I was born, looked me over, pointed to a large box, and barked: “Are you strong enough to lift this?”
I picked up the box—it wasn’t that heavy—and was thus officially accepted for my first active mission in the heart of Gaza, together with two other rookies who had just joined the army with the Shlav Bet program for older ultra-Orthodox volunteer soldiers.
As our Hummer bumped into Gaza, with the last rays of Friday melting into Shabbos, I couldn’t help but laugh at the strangeness of it all. I’m the guy who hires a fix-it man for anything more complicated than changing a lightbulb, and now I was deployed in the world’s most advanced army to secure Gaza—on Shabbos—using cutting-edge sensor technology.


