In November 2025, I had the privilege of returning to Israel, this time with my family, for a trip that would become one of my most meaningful journeys. It was a chance to reconnect in person with the police officers and chaplains of the Israel National Police (INP), whom we first met during our ICPC chaplain solidarity mission in February 2024.
For nearly two years, we have remained in constant contact with these brave men and women. We’ve spoken regularly, shared life updates, checked in after difficult days, celebrated small victories, mourned losses, and stood together through the unimaginable trauma of October 7th.
But there's something profoundly different about seeing these heroes face-to-face again—embracing them, hearing their voices without a screen in between, and experiencing their strength, vulnerability, and resilience firsthand.
During this trip, SoulLinks had the honor of hosting police officers and chaplains for Shabbat meals and a small weekend retreat, a chance for them to step away, breathe, and gather strength. Some of these officers had not had a quiet Shabbat in months. Others were still carrying wounds, physical or emotional, from the frontline.
We were blessed to once again spend time with:
Chief Rabbi of the Israel National Police, Rabbi Rami Brachyahu, whose leadership and spiritual guidance carried the entire force through the darkest days of the war.
Deputy Chief Rabbi Rabbi Boaz Giladi, a dear friend, whose warmth and humility embody what real chaplaincy looks like.
Superintendent Mali Shoshanna: Her remarkable survival during the rooftop battle at the Sderot police station has become a symbol of courage itself. We were blessed to once again spend time with her—whose extraordinary resilience during that battle exemplifies true bravery. (For more details on her story, see our previous SoulLinks article, “The Battle for Sderot: A Chaplain’s Testimony – The truth behind the fallen station, and the heroes who refused to fall with it,” available at https://soullinks.org/thebattleforsderot.)
Many other officers, men, and women who stood firmly day and night defending Israel during the Hamas massacre and the subsequent war.
Each reunion was emotional. Each embrace carried the weight of shared memories, shared grief, and shared gratitude.
Because this trip was not just about reconnecting with the living; it was also about standing with the bereaved, families whose lives were shattered on October 7th, and those whose pain doesn’t make headlines but is felt every single day.
And that brings us to the core of this article—the life, legacy, and sacrifice of Sergeant Major Eliyahu Michael (Eli) Harush HY”D, and the unforgettable day we spent with his family.
To speak about Eli Harush is to speak about courage, kindness, humility, and unwavering commitment to Klal Yisrael.
Eli, age 28, grew up in a warm Haredi family in Ashdod, the eldest of seven children. He was raised with deep values, strong emunah, and a profound sense of responsibility.
Though he came from a traditional yeshiva background, Eli felt drawn to police service for a purpose. He believed that if he wasn’t learning Torah full-time, then he must serve the Jewish People in another sacred way: by protecting life.
He enlisted in the Israel Police through the Shachar program, a special track for Haredi recruits, and quickly earned the respect of everyone around him. His commanders describe him as a quiet force—calm, stable, dependable, and deeply compassionate.
Those who knew him say he lived to help others. His father and siblings told us stories that painted the picture of a man whose heart was always open.
One moment in particular stood out:
“Two nights before his final shift, Eli had just returned from a long, exhausting shift. He was tired, running on almost no sleep. But when he heard that a neighbor needed help building his sukkah, Eli didn’t hesitate.
He spent hours building it from the ground up—hammering, lifting, helping—because that is simply who he was.
A giver. A helper. A protector.”
His family told us, “This was Eli. He could never turn away from someone who needed something.”
On the morning of the attack, Eli was among the first police officers to fall in defending the Sderot police station.
When the alarms sounded and the initial reports came in, he ran straight toward the danger, unaware that multiple squads of terrorists had already infiltrated Sderot and were gathering around the station.
He fought bravely. His actions in those first minutes saved lives.
He left behind:
His wife, Staff Sergeant Hodaya Harush, a detective at the Netivot station.
Three young daughters: Lia Racheli, Ofri, and Noya Esther
His family’s grief is as raw today as it was the day they buried him.
On Sunday, November 16th, 2025, thanks to the kindness and coordination of our dear friend Commander Yitzhak Almog, former Israel National Police Attaché to North America, my family and I traveled to the town of Netivot to meet with Eli’s father and siblings.
What we expected to be a short, respectful visit turned into a deeply emotional, soul-shaking encounter.
We sat with them.
We listened.
We cried with them.
We heard story after story about who Eli was, not just how he died, but how he lived.
His father shared the pain of sending a son to protect others and never seeing him return. His siblings spoke with a mixture of pride and heartbreak, describing a brother who always made them feel safe.
The room had a large photo of Eli on the wall, but the most commanding presence was the quiet strength of a family that lost so much yet still believes in goodness.
Before we left, I gave Eli’s father two small gifts:
An LAPD-embroidered kippah representing the bond between law-enforcement families across continents.
A SoulLinks challenge coin, symbolizing honor, unity, and our sacred mission.
He clutched both items with tears in his eyes.
He said, “It means so much that a police chaplain from the United States would come all the way here just to sit with us. We feel seen. We feel remembered.”
If there is one message that emerged from this journey, it is this:
Heroes don’t just wear uniforms. Their families are heroes too.
Their pain is real.
And their stories must never fade.
At SoulLinks, supporting those who serve means supporting their families, especially the families of the fallen.
Standing in the Harush home, I felt the weight of that responsibility more deeply than ever.
To serve those who serve.
To support our protectors.
To stand with their families.
To offer presence, comfort, dignity, and love, even when no one is watching.
It was an honor for us to be welcomed into the Harush home.
It was an honor to hear Eli’s story from those who loved him most.
And it is our obligation to continue telling it.
May the memory of Rav Samal Rishon Eliyahu Michael Harush HY”D be a blessing, a light, and a reminder of what true courage looks like.
