When I was in Basic Training, we
had a day – a Friday, for some reason – in which we learned how and got to
actually throw a hand-grenade. We were divided into small groups of soldiers moving
between the different practice stations. Upon completion we were moved toward
the practical part – first throwing a practice grenade and then moving on to the real deal.
Having completed most of the
practice stations, I moved on to the last one, which was: what to do if the
grenade falls in the radius of where you’re standing. What we had to do was, at
the drop of a rock that symbolized the grenade, run out of the area and then
fling ourselves onto the ground, with our hands covering our heads. When it was
my turn, I did just that, and as I hit the ground at raised my hands, I felt a
horrible, horrible crack in my shoulder and my arm, uncontrollably, snapped to
my side.
It took almost two years, well
after my service, before I learned that my shoulder muscles had torn, maybe
quite badly (I’m still in the middle of checkups), but at that moment I was in
terrible pain. None of the sergeants had any idea what my problem was, and I
could see it written on their faces: I was surely faking. That’s how the
military mentality is: A guy could be the most obedient soldier, but if he says
he isn’t feeling well in the middle of training, it must mean that he’s faking.
I don’t blame them: My shoulder had dislocated and snapped back into place on
its own – and this is a condition that nobody I know has ever heard of. When I
later explained what I felt to the unit’s medical officer (not a trained
doctor, mind you), he raised his eyebrows and said: No way your shoulder dislocated.
You wouldn’t be able to move it if that’s what happened. I had the last (cynical)
laugh years later when it turned out that I had been right.
So, barely able to move my arm, certainly
not able to put on the bulletproof vest that we had to wear when throwing the
real grenades, I wasn’t able to throw that day and instead threw one a few
weeks later.
Anyway, in most of my medical
problems, I don’t usually question why Hashem gave me those. In some cases,
yes. But this wasn’t one of those cases. And yet, I found myself thinking about
it on Wednesday night, when an incredible realization dawned on me: What would
have happened if my shoulder had torn and subsequently dislocated and snapped
into place that first time – maybe half just half an hour later? It could’ve
been just when I was supposed to remove the pin and toss the grenade – it could’ve
actually fallen in the throwing station – and chas v’shalom, I may not be alive
today to write down this!
This realization struck me: I
have been saved by Hashem. And it took me almost three years to come to
this realization.
And as I continued to dwell on
this realization over the next day, I realized: On Rosh Hashanah of that year,
the Heavenly Court may have decided: Harel is going to be terribly injured or
killed chas v’shalom during grenade-training. And then Hashem rose up and said:
Wait, Harel has yet to fulfill his duty in this world (whatever that may be). I’m
letting him off easy with a shoulder injury!
And I’ll end with a quote from
Rabbi Ari Bensoussan: “מה
יתאונן האדם חי – דיו שהוא חי! , You’re alive! What more do you possibly
need?!”
Thank you Hashem.
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