A beacon for American Jews: Paying tribute to fallen soldier Capt. Yogev Pazy - opinion

I stood in a massive crowd of people I did not know, listening to speeches in a language I do not understand well, eulogizing a young man I had never met. Yet, there was no place on Earth that I would rather have been.

Capt. Yogev Pazy, a platoon commander with the Kfir Brigade’s Nahshon Battalion, was killed in combat alongside St.-Sgt. Noam Eitan, after exchanging fire with Hamas terrorists in northern Gaza. He was 22-years-old.

Thousands attended his funeral in Givot Bar, a southern community so small that many of my Israeli colleagues had not heard of it. An empty field had been turned into a makeshift parking lot as highway traffic stopped dead so that cars could make their way off the exit to the one-lane street. Israeli flags waved in the desert wind, and young men in army uniforms from every conceivable service gave each other hard hugs.

Although I had never met Yogev, he had worked in my community on the North Shore of Chicago only four short years ago. He had been a Jewish Agency for Israel shaliach (emissary) – one of our Shin-Shinim (a Hebrew play on words for “shnat sheyrut,” a year of service).

These young men and women spend a year after high school working in Jewish schools, synagogues, and other institutions to bring a piece of Israel to our communities. It is a highly competitive position, with nearly 10 applicants for every individual accepted.

Yogev's story of sacrifice 

Yogev had served in America during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, an incredibly difficult time, especially when one’s mission is to connect young Jews to Israel. He worked at the Solomon Schechter Day School and the Shir Hadash Synagogue, and he spent the summer at Beber Camp in Wisconsin. He was a leader among his peers and established the first Israeli Scouts (Tzofim) chapter in Chicago. He also worked at the iCenter, an organization that inspires and supports the largest network of Israel educators across North America.

In paying tribute to Yogev, the Solomon Schechter Day School, which I also attended, wrote of him, “For those who had the privilege of knowing Yogev, his warmth, kindness, and dedication to sharing his love for Israel left an indelible mark on our students, families, and staff. His time at Schechter was filled with joy, connection, and an unwavering commitment to building bridges between our communities.”

Like many of our Shin-Shinim, Yogev’s time “on shlichut” was one of his first meaningful exchanges with American Jews. In a social media post upon returning, he wrote of his experience at Jewish summer camp, “I’ve learned that love has incredible energy. At Beber Camp, people truly care for one another, and everyone finds their place in this amazing community.”

Many of our returning shlichim express similar sentiments. While their mission is to bring Israel to Diaspora Jews, many of them find themselves experiencing and understanding Judaism in a different way than they have in Israel, where they do not think about it any more than the air they breathe. It has become something of a cliché for returning shlichim to observe that they went to America as Israelis but came home as Jews.

As the eulogizers spoke about his leadership of his soldiers, I found my mind drifting back to a week ago at The Jewish Agency’s annual shlichim conference. The room had been full of over 400 young Israelis hugging each other, singing, and being so happy to be together for a few days and speak Hebrew with people undergoing a similar experience. In less than a year, the younger among them will be wearing their country’s uniform.

I thought about some difficult conversations I had with young shlichim in the days, weeks, and months after October 7. I remember one young man lamenting to me that his friends were fighting in Gaza and how inadequate he felt that he was teaching Hebrew songs to kindergarteners. I told him that what they were doing, teaching the beauty of Judaism, was just as important as the work of their friends.

As the speeches continued, I noticed that what I could most understand from the Hebrew was the repeated “sheekago.” Clearly, his time in Chicago had been meaningful enough that many of his friends knew of it and mentioned it when they paid their final respects to him.

On the drive back to my hotel, I spoke with two Israeli colleagues who had joined me at the funeral. They both had sons who were approaching army service, and they reminisced that when their sons were born, people said that perhaps there would no longer be a draft because Israel would be at peace with her neighbors. Today, because of personnel shortages, it is difficult for a young man not to get a job in a combat unit.

I will never meet the extraordinary young man whose funeral I had the honor to attend. I will never see the smile and spark in his eyes that his friends and family spoke about so movingly. I cannot pretend to know how many more funerals there will be or how many more of the flower of Israeli youth will be slain before this war has concluded.

But I do know this. Yogev’s time as a shaliach in Chicago was meaningful. There are young American Jews who feel closer to Israel and prouder of their Judaism because they were able to interact with him. And for that reason, the connection among Jews around the world is just a little bit stronger than it would have been.

Perhaps in the grand scheme of things with a slain 22-year-old who had so much to give, this thought is faint consolation. But it is something. And I am clinging to it right now with every fiber in my being.

The writer is head of North America at The Jewish Agency for Israel and the president and CEO of Jewish Agency International Development.