My commander asked this excellent question when I didn't understand him at the shooting range. I'm glad I have a good answer!

Last week, as part of my military training, I was at a shooting range in the North of Israel learning how to effectively use a gun (for the record, I scored on a sharpshooter level!).

We lined up at specific targets, and then it was my turn, based on what I’d learned in our practical classes, I was prepared and ready to take my shots.

Along came the lead commander of the 140-person platoon I am in and told me something in Hebrew which I did not understand. I later understood that he was asking for confirmation that the safety latch of the M-16 was indeed closed (which it was).

The shooting range is a noisy place and this commander speaks with a particularly strong accent. Between my ear protection gear and my limited Hebrew, I could not understand what he was saying. I simply could not connect the translation of “safety latch” to נצרה (nitzrah) at that moment.

Visibly frustrated, the commander replied in Hebrew: “אם אתה לא מדבר עברית, למה אתה פה?” which translates to: “If you don’t speak Hebrew, why are you here?”

I have been thinking about this question a lot, as his premise is correct. If I don’t fluently speak the language of my commanders, especially when it comes to safety, what good am I for the army?

Imagine someone being part of a crucial platoon in the Korean, Brazilian, or Indian army without properly speaking their language. It just wouldn’t work.

If I were in Gaza right now and misunderstood vital instructions from my commander, people could die. So, he is right, I don’t belong in the Israeli army.

But what he failed to understand is that he was asking the question on a very individual level. And while yes, on that individual level I don’t belong, I am not an individual; I am a member of a platoon.

Our platoon, as a complete unit, makes things work, with each soldier contributing their unique strengths and weaknesses.

My weakness is speaking native Hebrew, especially army slang (currently a work in progress, so if anyone knows what the לו”ז (luz) for tomorrow is, please let me know!). But the other 95% percent of my platoon who do speak native Hebrew raise me and the other few up to assist us when needed, so that our limited Hebrew is not a weakness for the group. On the flip side, I and the 5% of English speakers in my platoon have specific strengths that the other 95% of the platoon don’t have, which we use to their advantage, too.

Our platoon is a reflection of the Jewish people. Every Jew has his or her strengths or weaknesses, but together we create something greater than ourselves: We are Am Yisrael, the “Nation of Israel,” chosen by G‑d to bring Him and His message to the world.

As one of the commanders said during my training, we are similar to a human body. Every organ is vital, and when one part doesn’t work effectively, the other senses have to up their game. But if too many organs fail, the body dies.

This concept plays out clearly during roll call: if one person is late, the entire unit may be forced to do push-ups alongside the latecomer. It not only demonstrates collective responsibility, but also highlights the level of interconnectivity and unity that must be achieved in order for the unit to function as a single entity.

Currently three weeks into my army training, I now feel the most comfortable I have ever felt on my Aliyah journey. Indeed, I was not born here and did not grow up here, but I am here now, and my newfound Israeli family is doing whatever they can to integrate me into society, just like the Jews who made Aliyah from Africa, the Middle East or Europe. As each wave of Aliyah arrived, the broader Israeli family did a fantastic job integrating them into the constantly evolving Israeli society.

We are a family here and we do what we can to raise each other up, until everyone can successfully venture out on their own. My Hebrew a year ago was laughable—and a year from now, I will laugh at the mistakes I make today.

But the sacrifices that I am making today, to live in a place where I do not fully understand the culture, language, or the psyche of the society I am in, won’t exist for my children or my children’s children, who will, G‑d willing, be born and raised here in Israel, and be more successful than I am.

It is an honor to “take the bullet” for them. My wife has faith in me, but I know that I will always talk with a foreign accent, Israelis will not find me as funny as Americans do, and I will be making male/female grammar mistakes until the end of time. But all that is a tiny price to pay for being part of this big Israeli family.

Singing at my tekes (ceremony) the other night, alongside 140 other deeply passionate Israeli soldiers, I felt part of a bigger picture, a larger-than-life story.

It is an honor to contribute my strengths, and an even bigger honor to have other parts of my family help me with my weaknesses. ביחד ננצח! Together we will win.