They Also Serve Who Wait and Worry

Rabbi Mordechai Finley of Congregation Ohr HaTorah in Los
Angeles has devised a strategy to help his two young daughters cope with
having their big brother, Kayitz, fighting in Iraq.

Kayitz, 21, is a corporal with a front-line combat unit, the
1st Battalion of the 4th U.S. Marine Division, which has already waged bloody
battles against Iraqi units in Nasiriya, south of Baghdad.

Besides limiting the TV viewing of his girls, ages 5 and 9,
Finley said, “I tell them, ‘I’ll let you know when it’s time to worry.'”

“When there’s been a big battle,” the rabbi continued, “I
tell them the next day, ‘It was time to worry, but I forgot to tell you, so now
you don’t have to worry.'”

And so each day goes for the Finleys and thousands of
American families like them, who desperately hope to learn something about the
fate of their loved ones and try somehow to deal with knowing very little.

Kayitz is one of approximately 1,000 Jewish men and woman
serving in Operation Iraqi Freedom. They represent a fraction of the estimated
20,000 Jews among the 1.5 million in the U.S. armed forces.

The angst of Jewish families is indistinguishable from that
of all families with loved ones serving in the armed services. Jewish families,
though, are finding that the war is hitting home on another front — spiritually
— with the approach of Passover on April 16.

The Finleys usually host 30 to 40 people at their home for
Passover, but this year, the rabbi said, “I haven’t decided what we’ll do yet.”
One thing he knows: With Kayitz in Iraq, “his being there and fighting for
freedom is really a family theme” for the seder.

For her part, Judy Ledger of Atlanta is also sure about one
thing. “We’re not doing seder — I just can’t see doing it without them,” she
said, referring to her son and daughter and their fiancés, all of whom serve in
the military.

Ledger spends much of her time worrying. “It takes up a lot
of my time,” she said.

Her son, Matthew Boyer, 24, is a field artillery specialist
with the 101st Airborne, 3rd Brigade, and is now in Iraq. His fiancée is a
chemical and biological trainer with another unit of the 101st Airborne in Kuwait.

Ledger’s daughter, Ilana Boyer, 21, an Army medic, is
stationed at Fort Sill, Okla., but her fiancé is with the 82nd Airborne in Kuwait.

Not only does Ledger worry about her son’s safety, but the
images of allied POWs in Iraqi hands has not escaped her Jewish radar. When
Matthew was inducted, he originally did not list any religion on his dog tag,
but before going to Iraq, he changed the listing to Jewish.

“I yelled at him — it’s bad enough you’re in a dangerous
position, but I felt that was even worse,” she recalled. “But he said that if
he dies, he does not want a priest standing over him.”

Trying to glean information about their loved ones is
excruciating for these families. Ledger was buoyed late last week by a “cute”
postcard she received from her son, just a few lines scrawled on a torn piece
of cardboard.

In a way, Finley is lucky. He discovered that a reporter
with the Richmond Times-Dispatch is embedded with the 1st Battalion, and so he
studies the paper’s Web dispatches daily to glean clues about Kayitz.

After every battle, Finley, an ex-Marine, braces for the
possibility that within a few hours, military officials could arrive at his
home with bad news.

“When there are battles in Nasiriya, I feel horrible,” he
said. “The two hours after a news flash are the most horrible.”

Allan Rubin of Dallas has even less insight into his son’s
condition. Every day, Rubin and his wife, Linda, send their son, Daniel, 21, a
postcard that includes the phrase, “another day, no word.”

That’s because they have not heard from Daniel since
January, when he shipped out from Camp Pendleton to Kuwait and points beyond
with the Light Armored Vehicle 1st Battalion of the 1st Marine Division.

“It’s a little hard,” Rubin said, his voice breaking. “He’s
just a wonderful young man.”

Daniel, a mechanic and technician, is very likely near Basra
in southern Iraq, from what Rubin has gleaned from news reports and an ABC News
reporter, who is embedded with what he thinks is his son’s unit.

While he’s worried, Rubin said, “I know he’s trained well,
and I know he’s doing all the right things, so in that respect, my heart is
settled with him.”

All of the families have turned to the Brave, a listserv —
kind of an e-mail bulletin board — that the Conservative movement’s United
Synagogue is sponsoring to help Jewish military families connect.

Jews in the military and their families sometimes have different
perspectives on the war. One member of the Brave listserv, who has not yet been
deployed, is Philip, 40, a member of the Army Reserve in Massachusetts.

Still, Phillip dreads leaving his wife and children behind.
“I don’t mind going — I mind leaving,” he said.

Unlike many whose kin are in the military, Becky O’Brien of
Lafayette, Colo., opposes the war. Her husband, Chris, 37, who is not Jewish,
is with the Air National Guard somewhere in the war theater. To find solace,
O’Brien attended a recent peace service at her synagogue, Congregation Har

“Judaism teaches you to question God, your rabbi, it’s the
rabbinic tradition,” she said. “You can have one text and 30 interpretations.
You should be able to question the president.” Â