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The Iron Fist

It was early in the morning, and Dvir Ressler, a Golani soldier, wakes up to the smell coming from the fields. He thinks longingly of being at home for the festival of Simchat Torah and is reminded of the smell of his mother's schnitzels. He smiles to himself in resignation and gently wakes up Zvi and Azulay, his roommates, who simply turn over and continue sleeping.

This sleepy dawn is suddenly torn by multiple loud booms.

“Get up, get up,” Dvir shouts, shaking them, “quick, come on!” And the three of them run together to the nearest shelter. Dvir leaves his friends in the shelter, and runs to nearby shelters, to take a look and make sure that all the other friends are in a safe place. Mortar bombs, he thinks to himself, after a few minutes in the shelter we'll go show them that we mean business.

But the minutes drag on. And instead of hearing a siren that indicates all is safe, shouts are heard in Arabic. Dvir suddenly realizes there is an infiltration of terrorists, and he immediately goes to the shelter door. The door doesn't lock but he refuses to give up, suggesting to his two friends to hold the door together and he stands closest to the door. Dvir is very sturdy, whereas Zvi and Azulay are much lighter. He doesn’t hesitate for a second, wraps the handle with his big fist and locks it in. Zvi and Azulay hold on to his hand. We are together, they tell him, knowing that his strength will endure for them, and wanting their friendship to endure for him.

And so, with an iron fist, all three of them stand determined not to give up.

Suddenly the handle moves. Voices in Arabic sound very close. Dvir signals to his friends to be quiet and tightens his grip. The terrorists increase their pressure on the handle, they threaten them, and kick the door. But the grip of these three friends will not be broken quickly. The terrorists think that with a little force they will overwhelm him. They don't understand that at that moment Dvir is filling his grip with love and concern for his friends. The terrorists don’t stand a chance in the world to undermine this power.

After hours of stubborn struggle at the door, the failed terrorists decide to use an explosive to breach the shelter. The bomb explodes but the shelter remains locked. Dvir, who stood closest to the door, was killed but his friends survived.

His love for his friends saved them even in his death. The iron fist that saved his friends now becomes an open hand that spreads a warm feeling of deep camaraderie amongst anyone who hears his story.


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