I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer / The
publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here." / The girls
be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die, / I outs into the street
again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy,
go away"; / But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band
begins to play, / The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play, / O
it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.
I went into a theatre as sober as could be, / They
gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me; / They sent me to the
gallery or round the music-'alls, / But when it comes to fightin', Lord!
they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an'
"Tommy, wait outside"; / But it's "Special train for
Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide, / The troopship's on the tide, my
boys, the troopship's on the tide, / O it's "Special train for
Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.
Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while
you sleep / Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap; / An'
hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit / Is five times better
business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an'
"Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?" / But it's "Thin red line of
'eroes" when the drums begin to roll, / The drums begin to roll, my boys,
the drums begin to roll, / O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the
drums begin to roll.
We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no
blackguards too, / But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you; / An'
if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints, / Why, single men in
barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an'
"Tommy, fall be'ind", / But it's "Please to walk in front,
sir", when there's trouble in the wind, / There's trouble in the wind, my
boys, there's trouble in the wind, / O it's "Please to walk in front,
sir", when there's trouble in the wind.
You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an'
fires, an' all: / We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational. / Don't
mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face / The Widow's Uniform
is not the soldier-man's disgrace. / For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an'
"Chuck him out, the brute!" / But it's "Saviour of 'is
country" when the guns begin to shoot; / An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy
that, an' anything you please; / An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet
that Tommy sees!
The first time I saw this poem was typed out on a single sheet of
paper and posted on the wall of the coffee pot in the office where I worked
when I was stationed at the NSA. Tommy Atkins
is a universal nickname for British soldiers, and I was in the US Navy, but the
premise of Rudyard Kipling’s famous poem is a universal experience of those in
the military service. Their service is
sought, but most citizens would prefer they remain invisible.
As I said, a
universal experience. During Operation Cast
Lead, a previous Gaza War in December 2008, a colleague in the Reform Rabbinate
who was in Israel posted to our rabbis’ discussion group. She was riding a train near Haifa. She heard several soldiers sitting near her,
who had just come from the war, speaking disparagingly about the
Hamas-affiliated Arabs they’d fought.
She was appalled that Israeli soldiers would speak in such terms of
their enemy.
I was not a frequent
poster on this and other list-serves, just as I’m more a lurker than a poster
on Facebook these days. But I felt
compelled to respond to my colleague’s comments with a couple of verses from
Kipling’s poem. Israel in the time of
war is a country that looks like an armed camp as thousands of reservists are
activated and seen moving about the country since it’s a small country and no
place is ever far from the battlefield. And
yet even in Israel, where civilians are as likely to be in the line of fire as
on a train with relaxing soldiers, one occasionally finds someone who just
doesn’t ‘get it.’
The soldier’s
job is not to die in battle. As General
Patton so aptly put it, his job is to make the other side’s soldiers die in
battle. (Okay, he said it a little more
colourfully than that!) That’s how wars
are won, and Israel of all countries cannot afford to lose a war. There’s nothing dishonourable about
that. But there is something
about it that wounds the soul. And that’s
why we read in this week’s Torah portion the dictum that the 12,000 special
operations troops who were assigned to fight in the war against Midian, when
they finished their fighting, were to purify themselves. You yourselves must…immerse your [bodies
and] your garments on the seventh day, and you will then be clean so that you
can enter the camp. Even though they
had fought in a war that was Divinely ordained, and fought according to orders
and the ethics of war, they still had to be purified after their participation.
This is surely
recognition of how fighting in war brutalises even the one who fights a just
cause, and according to established constraints. In Iraq, soldiers going ‘over the wire’ on
patrol or convoy duty would frequently huddle for a group prayer before ‘locking
and loading.’ I led those prayers more
than once as a chaplain. And then, upon
their safe return which was never taken for granted, they would pop open cold
cans of ‘American champagne,’ or Coca Cola since alcohol was not permitted
them. And they would light up
cigars. And they would talk the way that
soldiers talk, cursing and speaking disparagingly – to understate it – about The
Enemy. It was how the troops would
decompress once out of danger. And it
was certainly what those Israeli soldiers on the train near Haifa were doing on
that December day in 2008.
The Israeli
Army is unique in the world. It’s the
only army where soldiers’ mothers present themselves at the gates of the garrison
and demand to see their child’s commanding officer to berate him or her for
something their child complained about in a phone call home. It’s the only army where there is almost no
line between battle front and home front.
But the Israeli soldier is still very much like soldiers elsewhere. In order to reconcile his role as a trained
killer, he tends to think of his enemy in less than human terms. And that’s embarrassing for some civilians.
But thank G-d,
not for all. Thanks to that contiguity
of the battlefield to the rear ground, soldiers on duty in the IDF get frequent
visits from religious organisations such as Chabad, who bring encouragement and
cheer to the beleaguered warriors. And
there are a number of charities that exist specifically to take tasty treats to
soldiers on the battlefield or on duty in remote parts of the country. Paul [Corias] will tell you about www.tzahal-pizza.com,
his particular favourite, and there are other, similar organisations which
enable you to easily send various kinds of treats to soldiers to let them know
they are appreciated.
When I was in
Iraq I received such largesse from Americans back home, and it made a big
difference for me. One Rabbi wrote and
asked if there were any Jewish supplies I needed. I didn’t need very much at the moment, but I
lacked a Havdallah set and supplies. Three
weeks later I got a lovely set with enough Havdallah candles to last years. The colleague couldn’t send wine, so I had to
use grape juice…aw shucks! But I thought
of the colleague’s kindness every Saturday evening for the rest of my tour.
Israel is under
attack from Gaza, whose missiles can now reach almost the entire country. It increases our zechut, our merit in
the world-to-come when we stand up for Israel against the criticism she takes
for defending herself. It would increase
our zechut also to be tolerant of her soldiers’ need to vent, and not
criticise. It would increase our zechut
even a little more if we would send pizzas, or burgers, or letters to the
soldiers defending the Jewish homeland. Think about it. Shabbat shalom.
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