The Navy SEALs of Hashem

This past Shabbos, South Florida was battered by downpours of rain throughout the day. Combined with the humidity, stepping outside was hardly an appealing prospect. So when I arrived at shul that afternoon, I fully expected our Avos U’banim program to be sparsely attended.

I was wrong.  I peeked into the room and was pleasantly surprised to find it crowded with boys learning Torah with their fathers. Despite the rain, the humidity, and every reason to stay home, they had shown up. I was asked to share a few words with the boys about how impressive it was that they had made the effort. But as I looked around the room, I realized that their presence offered a lesson far more powerful than anything I could teach them in a few minutes.

Since childhood, I have been fascinated by the Navy SEALs. I have always been drawn to stories about their training, their missions, and their extraordinary ability to push beyond what most people would consider their physical and mental limits. What fascinates me most is not simply their strength or endurance, but their mindset.  It is the understanding that we are often capable of far more than we imagine, and that discomfort does not have to dictate our decisions.

When a Navy SEAL is sent on a critical mission, he cannot simply decide that the weather is unpleasant, that he is tired, or that the circumstances are inconvenient. He has a responsibility to fulfill. The mission does not disappear because conditions are difficult. In fact, those may be precisely the circumstances in which his presence matters most.

And so, the message I shared with the boys that afternoon was that when the mission matters most, you show up.  Whenever I find myself walking through a torrential downpour on my way to shul, and maybe even wondering whether I am a little crazy for doing so, I remind myself,  “I am part of the Navy SEALs of Hashem!”

Of course, I am not fighting a physical war. There are Jews today, especially our brave soldiers on the front lines in Israel, who are fighting a very real war, putting their lives on the line to defend our people and our homeland. We owe them an enormous debt of gratitude and cannot take their sacrifices for granted.

For those of us who are not on that physical battlefield, however, there is still a fight to be fought. It is the struggle to grow, to overcome our instincts, to fulfill our responsibilities, and to bring more light into the world. Our battle may look different, but our responsibility remains. We, too, have a mission to fulfill. And just as a Navy SEAL does not abandon a mission because the weather is uncomfortable, someone who is part of Hashem’s army cannot allow every inconvenience to become an excuse.

In 1982, the Lubavitcher Rebbe wrote a remarkable letter defending his decision to establish Tzivos Hashem, the Army of Hashem, an educational movement designed to instill Jewish children with pride in their heritage, a sense of responsibility, and a commitment to living with purpose. Some questioned the Rebbe’s use of military imagery. Why introduce children to the language of armies, ranks, discipline, and obedience?

The Rebbe explained that the concept was hardly foreign to Judaism. The Torah itself refers to the Jewish people as Tzivos Hashem when describing their departure from Egypt. A nation that had spent generations enslaved to Pharaoh was now leaving Egypt to enter the service of a higher authority. They were no longer defined by the demands of their former master. They had a new identity, a new responsibility, and a new mission. The Rebbe was also careful to emphasize that the Torah does not glorify war or aggression. On the contrary, our tradition teaches, “Its ways are ways of pleasantness, and all its paths are peace.” 

So why an army? The Rebbe explained that he wanted to teach children something that modern culture often struggles to focus on the importance of discipline, humility, and submission to a purpose greater than oneself. In a culture that celebrates independence, individual achievement, and personal freedom, it can be difficult to accept that we are not always the ones in charge. We do not get to decide that our responsibilities matter only when they are convenient, or that we will fulfill our obligations only when we feel like it.

The Rebbe understood that children needed to develop the discipline to follow through, the humility to accept direction, and the commitment to place a higher mission above their immediate preferences. And so, Tzivos Hashem was born, giving Jewish children a framework through which to understand their lives.  They are soldiers in Hashem’s army, with a sacred mission to fight negativity, perform mitzvos, and make the world a better place.

The movement grew rapidly, attracting tens of thousands of children in its early years. But while the group was instituted for the youth, its message was never meant for children alone.  We are all soldiers in Hashem’s army and every one of us has a mission.

The beauty of this idea is that just like a physical armed forces, Hashem’s army does not have just one unit or a single division, and not every soldier is expected to perform the same task. Some people excel at tefillah. Others are devoted to Torah learning. Some are extraordinary at chessed, while others have a special ability to give tzedakah, encourage someone who is struggling, welcome a newcomer, or bring people together. Our strengths differ, our opportunities differ, and our missions may look very different from one another.  But every role matters.

It is easy to be committed when we are comfortable. It is easy to learn when we are well-rested, attend shul when the weather is beautiful, volunteer when our schedules are clear, and help others when doing so requires little sacrifice. But what happens when we are tired, when it is raining, when we would rather stay home, when the commitment we made becomes inconvenient or when doing the right thing requires us to push past our natural inclination to take the easier path?

That is when our mission is tested.  We all have an impressive collection of excuses. Some are legitimate, and there are certainly times when we must rest, reassess, or recognize our limitations. But we also know how easily discomfort becomes an excuse, how quickly inconvenience becomes a reason to postpone, and how often “I can't” really means “I don't feel like it.”

And before we know it, the mission that once mattered gets surrendered one small excuse at a time.  But, we can’t afford that luxury.  The Jewish people, our families, our communities, and the people who depend on us need us to show up.  Because we recognize that our lives are about something bigger than our own comfort.

Last Shabbos afternoon, a room full of boys reminded me of something important.  They could have stayed home. Nobody would have blamed them. The weather was miserable, and there were plenty of reasonable explanations for missing Avos U’banim that week.  But they came anyway.

The next time it rains, the next time you are tired, and the next time you are tempted to abandon a commitment because it is harder than you expected, remember the boys who showed up that Shabbos. Remember that Hashem put each of us in this world with a mission. There are people we are meant to help, Torah we are meant to learn, mitzvos we are meant to perform, and opportunities to bring light into a world that desperately needs it.

A Navy SEAL does not stay home because it is raining, a soldier does not abandon a mission because it is difficult, and a Jew who understands that he is part of Tzivos Hashem knows that his responsibilities do not disappear when fulfilling them becomes inconvenient.

We all have a mission. And while we cannot always choose the conditions under which we fulfill it, we can choose whether we show up.