I did not want to talk about it; so now I’m writing about it – my visit to Camp Shura in central Israel.

By David E. Kaplan

This article contains information of a sensitive nature.

I was descending an escalator at  Kfar Saba shopping mall in central Israel. Above were giant industrial fans with huge propeller blades. With the blazing hot summer weather, it should have brought relief. It didn’t!  It reminded me of horror when only days before I went on a tour of Machaneh Shura (Camp Shura) near Ramle and the first visual image that greeted our Shurat HaDin tour at a hangar was the same type of huge propeller blades. Three years earlier, in October 2023, these very blades rotated furiously above the ‘living few’ processing the ‘many dead’, as endless bodies  – or remains  – were being brought in refrigerated trucks for identification and preparation for burial following the massacres of October 7 across southern Israel.

I had visited earlier some of the sites where these people were brutally butchered – Nir Oz, Nahal Oz, Kfar Aza, Be’eri the Nova Music Festival memorial site and the totally destroyed Sderot police station. Now I was bearing witness of what gruesomely played out at this military and rabbinical wayward station where remains had arrived on their final journey and then left with their loved ones to burial sites across the State of Israel.

I soon understood the caution we received before alighting the bus at this IDF central military base that handles casualty identification, death determinations, and prepares fallen soldiers and massacre victims for burial with military and religious honors.

A young soldier who had boarded our bus at the camp’s entry gate warned:

“What you are about to see and hear may distress you immensely. You may not be prepared for what you will experience. If you have any problems or feel nausea along the way, please advise us.”

One of the ‘living few’ who attended to the ‘many dead’ three years earlier was our  ‘tour’ guide, Rabbi and Stf.-Sgt. Bentzi Mann, born to US parents who as a reservist had reported here for duty on October 8.

“This is the IDF Rabbinate morgue. I was in Rehovot when I received the call-up and arrived here totally unprepared for what came next. I had never in my life seen a dead body before and within minutes I was holding a blood-covered body,” he says.

We look around the hangar, imagining what unfolded here three years earlier.

“So just try envision what occurred here – this is one of the hardest parts of my job,” he began as he relives in the telling of the horror. “Israel had never before faced this many dead at any one time. There was no ability to separate the civilian dead from those of the IDF, police, and other security forces. There were so many bodies, including those of terrorists and Gazans who were intermixed with Israelis. Many, burnt beyond recognition were meshed together.” 

A number of bodies had been beheaded and in one case Rabbi Mann worked on, “the head was discovered two weeks after the body had been buried.” For this reason, in cases where body parts remained missing, “a grave was not fully sealed so that if possible, the missing parts could be added later.”

While a grisly undertaking, Rabbi Mann refers to his work with the dead as “dealing with angels.” This is the only way he could deal with the mass of death that came to Shura which President Herzog had called “the gate to hell,” but which Bentzi prefers to characterize – as reframed by Rabbi Ephrahaim Mirvis – as  “Gate of Heaven” because “those who died, did so sanctifying God’s name.”

Believing this, he says, “is what kept me going.”

I thought to myself listening to this young and traumatized rabbi, “How many times has he given this tour?” and three years later, he still cannot hold back the tears.

Such WAS – and IS – the horror of October 7.

This experience will never leave Stf.-Sgt. Bentzi Mann. I sensed he feels he owes it to the fallen who passed through Shura to never forget and explains his need – as part of his miluim (military reserve duty) – to serve as a guide. A “guide” has a totally elevated meaning in the context of the service Stf.-Sgt. Bentzi Mann performs. As he explains:

 “It’s not Chessed what I’m doing, its gratitude for people who gave their lives so others, like myself and my family, and many of you and your families, may live. They are angels.”

We are standing at the entrance of the hangar and Rabbi Mann relates that when huge sums of money had been donated to build this important facility, “It was asked ‘Why do we need such a big hangar? There will never a need to process so many dead bodies all at once.’ ‘It’s overreach’.”

Overreach?

No one predicted October 7!

Rabbi Mann tells how the trucks lined up and bodies brought in “one after another, after another.” We stood in silence absorbing his words, processing the images. I looked down at my feet and wondered what had occurred here where my shoes now stood. “There were not even enough refrigerated trucks. They had to commission civilian commercial vehicles. An ice-cream truck arrived piled up –  not with ice-scream – but bodies. To this day, every time I and my colleagues on duty that day see these trucks on the road, we think …of dead Jews.”

He describes the refrigerated trucks parking, and bodies being lined up on the ground in the hangar, which proved too small; “there was not sufficient space so bodies were  laid outside,” exactly where I was standing.

 “One had walk carefully to avoid stepping on bodies. You then take them to the refrigerators.” I shook my head in disbelief reflecting on this hangar that the planners originally thought was too big for the purpose it was built ending up on October 7 to be inadequate!

Rabbi Mann addresses the difficulties:

“One way to identify a corpse is to have two witnesses come before a beit din (rabbinical court)  but the process of identification after Oct. 7 was made harder because of the state on the deceased, such as those who were burned. Also, it was harder to find witnesses because there were so many dead.”

And then the sensitivities of welcoming and preparing the bereaved families when they come for the remains of their loved ones.

“You want to prepare the bereaving families for the moment when they will reunite with their loved one in the Cheder Preda (the “Goodbye Room” set aside for the families),” says Rabbi Mann.

“Families deserve to know what they will be seeing. It is their decision to make. Very difficult.”  Bentzi tells of a Hayal Boded (A lone soldier – a member of the IDF who serves without immediate family support in Israel) who took a direct hit by an RPG to the head and there was no face to show “….and so we said to the mother “Why don’t you hold his hand.” She cried and said “Thank you. It’s all I needed; I felt it was him, I know it’s him.” That was all she needed.”

Rabbi Mann relates that for the first few days “I was working 18 hours straight. The IDC chief rabbi of the IDF, who had to sign off on every identification, was basically awake 24/7. In the beginning we had 80 funerals in one day.” Many of the bodies, “arriving by the truckload were in terrible condition,” and together with  his colleagues “we began to learn  a body was broken up or not, by the weight of the body bags we were unloading.”

Rabbi Mann takes us over to the finger print scanner that helps identify but explained that many bodies were brought in without hands so that they would have to move to the next stages of identification through teeth and then DNA matching.

He explained that “every soldier is given a wrist band with a bar code and a number,” and recalled when showing a group that included visitors from the USA, “this older guy  burst into tears. I asked what happened and he tells us of his late father that had been a Holocaust survivor with a number tattooed on his arm and that imagining all these burned bodies of dead Israelis with numbers on their arms, reminded him of his father and the Shoah. That it was happening all over again – to the Jews now of Israel.” Bentzi takes a deep breath, his voice choking with emotion, and continued:

 “I told him, ‘No, it is not the same. With the Nazis they turned beautiful names into numbers. Here, we are turning numbers back into beautiful names. We are restoring identity and they will be arriving in heaven with their names known.”

Someone asks:

“Are soldiers always buried in coffins in Israel?”

It was a question Bentzi may have been reluctant to answer as he only addressed the issue because asked.

It was quickly evident why.

“Yes, unlike civilians who are wrapped in traditional shrouds, IDF soldiers are always buried in coffins,” and cites as an explanation the case of a soldier brought in “but there was no body but over 100 body parts – all associated with the same person. We took every piece of small flesh up to our laboratory where specialists analyzed every single part, from muscle to tissue to cells. We go to extreme lengths to isolate and examine every human body part as it is all holy. But in the end, there is no body and no one else knowns outside the family what is in the coffin.”

While people are stoically processing the story and explanation, Rabbi Mann continues, “Every time we finish the identification process and the body comes out and we place the name on top of the flag and tallit, I know we have succeeded both on a personal level  and on a national level. Over and over again they try and destroy us but we survive.”

While watching and listening, my mind drifted of my visits down south and the destroyed homes I had visited where families had been brutally murdered, many burnt alive. I thought of vehicles ambushed and burned with people inside when terrorists fired heavy weaponry, RPGs, and set fire to hundreds of civilian cars along southern Israeli highways and access roads — notably around the Nova music festival near Re’im and surrounding kibbutzim.  Many victims attempting to flee in vehicles were shot, trapped, or burned alive inside their cars as the vehicles were deliberately torched by attackers.

All this I thought of as I imagined all those beautiful lives cut short and ‘passing through’ where I was standing, here at Camp Shura.

This emotional rollercoaster culminated at the Cheder Preda (the “Goodbye Room”), a quiet space where grieving families can view and say a final farewell to their loved ones in a controlled, dignified setting following the identification and ritual preparation process. We sat, emotionally drained, looking at the bench in the center of the room coffin after coffin had been  placed, over 1000 in the early days following October 7, 2023.

“It was particularly hard,” said Rabbi Mann, “when bodies were brought in of soldiers I personally knew,” and cited Captain Yaron Chitiz from Ra’anana, who he knew, and his family, well.

So, did I and the South Africans in our group.

Our thoughts went out to his parents Clive and Debbie who would have stood where we were sitting now.

Yaron was killed one week before his 24th birthday in Gaza where he bravely fended off terrorists on a stairway in a building about to spring a surprise ambush on his unit. He was killed together with two other soldiers in the ensuing battle.

His mother Debbie would mention Shura when she later expressed how grateful she was that his body was retrieved whole following the battle:

“We were able to see him, touch him and say goodbye to him. At Shura, which is where the bodies are prepared for burial, we sang or should I say tried to sing המלאך הגואל אותי. This is the song that is sung at night to children before they go to sleep. The ironic coincidence is that this song appeared in the parshat hashavua – Parashat Vayechi – the week that Yaroni was killed.

We are also extremely grateful that his phone survived the four-hour battle.”

Yaron had left a letter for the family which he had written on his phone.

Included in his last words to his family:

“I feel proud to fight Hamas under the banner of the Chitiz family and the people of Israel.

Thank you for everything!

You are a family for the glory of the State of Israel!

שרים ומספידים לזכרו

Everyone that knows me knows that you are amongst the most important things in my life.

You are the air that I breathe, the laughter, this genuine friendship.”

And to his girlfriend:

“Dara, I love you, you are my life.

You give me the strength to continue….”

It was these messages on the phone that helped his surviving loved ones also “continue”….

And so too we all have to “continue” and we ended the tour of Shura with few words, many thoughts and a silent prayer that what happened here:

 “Will never happen again.”

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