May Chen’s memory be a blessing.
By Gila Isaacson, JFeed
In memory of Chen Gross, a reserve soldier in the Maglan Unit, Commando Brigade, who fell on Friday during combat in the southern Gaza Strip: A soldier, friend, and giant of a man.
Not just another name in the casualty count, but a force of nature whose loyalty, grit, and heart shaped those around him. This tribute isn’t a eulogy. It’s a final farewell letter from his friend.
*When we went out, I saw in the shallow framework of a single line about each fallen soldier (as if there’s anything more important to talk about in this country) that they wrote you were a member of Hinnanit’s rapid response team. Honestly, that annoyed me. No offense to Hinnanit’s rapid response team, but let me give you a few more titles they could have given Chen Gross. They could have written “wild man,” just two words, I even shortened it for them.
They could have said you had the best hands in the world, able to fix and build anything, unafraid of cars, motorcycles, tractors, just bring it on. They could have written you were the number one soldier in the most unique team in the army, yes, the real number one, not in speeches or grand tactics, but in the gritty reality of being an elite fighter …
They could have said you were the best friend in the world, undeterred and unintimidated. Going on a trip? Let’s go. Skydiving? Let’s go. Training? Let’s go. Planting trees in the garden? Let’s go. You always leveled up those around you. If someone asked in the group, “Who’s up for a morning run before reserve duty?” they’d find themselves chasing you at 5 a.m. at a brutal pace while you wore a weighted vest, saying, “Don’t threaten me.” We knew you weren’t joking for a second.
You had the biggest heart we knew, the biggest mustache, the man among men. What a man you were. If mothers in Israel heard what a man you were, every third kid would be named Chen Gross, hoping the name would pass on a spark of that masculinity to the newborn.
Just two weeks ago, when everyone left Gaza for a break and you stayed to drive a massive bulldozer you’d never operated before to help one more day, Zohar from the team said, “I’m ashamed of my mustache, Chen Gross earns his.” Danny from the team said, “How much alpha can one person have?”
There was nothing you hated more than empty talk and nonsense. In recent weeks, we faced one hit after another, probably came to see who this weird bunch everyone’s talking about is. As usual, you volunteered to skip it. “Let us work,” you’d probably have said, annoyed.
And wow, were you fiery, the hottest-tempered guy around. The team’s greatest joy was watching you explode on someone, nearly taking them out, rank or status be damned, then hearing your immortal line: “Angry? I’m not angry, you have no idea what I’m like when I’m angry.” Truth be told, we were all a little scared you meant it. But honestly, we never saw you truly angry. You’d always say, “I’m getting better, right?” I’d say yes, because I was scared, but come on, Chen Gross, getting better?
The truth is, that huge heart of yours didn’t know half-measures, not even 90%. That’s what made you demand excellence and perfection from yourself and those around you. I think we connected because I was so far from that. You were 100%, I was maybe 60, 70 tops. If we argued, you’d probably give me 70 for the good vibes, then turn to the guys and say, “He’s a 40.”
Two years ago, I told the team that one day there’d be a war in Lebanon, and while the regulars train all day, we reservists would collapse on Lebanon’s hills with those heavy bags. I sent everyone a training plan with a test designed by the General Staff’s fitness officer. You hounded me to do that test. Unfortunately, I had a treadmill at the gym, so you did it there and forced me to join. I got a mediocre-minus, you got very good, but not perfect, which drove you nuts. Naturally, you closed the gap in no time, dragging me to train with you. After acing the test, you built a huge rig to do it with extra weight. When gym folks asked me who you were, I’d say, “No idea, never seen him.”
Inside, I was bursting with pride. Our joke was that if I got injured, you’d just throw me over your shoulder and cross Lebanon like it was nothing. Easy.
And it proved true when we led the unit in Lebanon’s maneuver. You led the team with grace, like it was a school trip, climbing killer slopes, pausing to catch our breath so we wouldn’t pass out, while you, perfectly positioned, knees bent, unfazed.
A word about the team, this unique team with its unique commander, who from here we wish a full recovery. He asked me to say he loves you, did everything to protect you, and we’ll meet next year. This team, made up of people from moshavim, settlements, cities, Jews and non-Jews, new immigrants and native-born, says, like Abraham our forefather, “Here I am,” without asking what, why, where, or how.”
May Chen’s memory be a blessing.
