It figures. We finally get to the point where we know the soldiers we're working with by name; we know what to do; and how to do it. And it’s our last day.
After flag-raising we reported to the upper warehouse area and did our imitation of an open air labor market. A soldier named Yaacov, with whom I worked on Monday, came by and asked me to work with him today. Since “Frank” is a decidedly non-Hebrew name, I decided to make things easy and told him my name was “Shmuel,” which is my Hebrew name (and the translation of my middle name, Samuel). Yaacov immediately reduced “Shmuel” to “Shmulik,” the Hebrew equivalent of “Sammy.”
I recruited three companions (Barry, Mark and one of my roommates, Shelly Isenberg from Chicago) and we drove off to one of the most distant warehouses. There, we opened and re-folded large tents (large enough to hold dozens and dozens of people), strapped them with plastic bands and loaded them on pallets. Yaacov said the tents would be taken to Beersheva and then on to Tel Aviv where they would be washed. (I’m glad that’s not one of the jobs we had to do. I have enough difficulty washing my four-man camping tent at the end of each season.)
We also revisited the area we worked in on Monday to wrap up a number of items we had loaded on pallets. Since Yaacov did not have the key to the warehouse, he simply forced the padlock open with a large metal stake. Very resourceful, although it makes you wonder why anyone here would spend money on locks!
Just before noon, Peter, the captain we met on Sunday, came by in a jeep to shuttle us all back to the dining hall. Pretty nice of the "boss" to treat the workers to a ride, and indicative of the way these soldiers recognized, and appreciated, our efforts.
In the parking area in front of the upper warehouses, we saw a squad of soldiers from the Golani brigade getting off their bus and unloading a tractor-trailer containing their equipment. These soldiers saw action in Gaza, and were reporting to Ktziot after a training exercise nearby. The Golanis (together with the Givatis) are elite combat infantry soldiers, comparable to the Marines in the U.S. armed forces. (In fact, we were told last week that there was considerable discussion between the Golani and Givati commanders over who would be the first to enter Gaza. I’m sure that at this point they are both claiming credit.)
Once again, I marveled at the unique nature of the Israel Defense Forces: What other country sends its soldiers to and from the war zone in air-conditioned charter buses?
We returned to the tent-folding after lunch. Yaacov and his colleague, Itai, were extremely friendly and tried to joke with us in spite of the language barrier. They also pointed out the location of nearby tanks and armored personnel carriers so we could indulge in little-boy fantasies about playing soldier.
We took lots of photos of one another, and Itai was very interested in my I-phone. He couldn’t understand why I couldn’t send photos to his phone. He kept saying, “Bluetooth, Bluetooth,” and I tried to explain to him that I had shut down all of the phone’s communications before leaving the U.S. in order to avoid a crippling bill for data charges. Instead, Yaacov gave me his e-mail address (on g-mail, of course) and I promised to send the photos to him so he could pass them on to Itai.
At the end of the work day we returned to the warehouse area. The Golanis were still moving their equipment and supplies from the parking lot to one of the barracks buildings, and a number of the othr Sar-El volunteers and I pitched in to help. I loaded myself down with backpacks, dragged camouflage netting and lugged duffel bags, all the while thanking the soldiers for their efforts and speaking with those who understood English. One of the soldiers, Yoni (short for Yonatan), wore an orange New Balance tank top and spoke excellent English. He told me he came to Israel from Manhattan at age three with his parents. (His story reminded me of a tour guide years ago who explained that he decided to make aliyah (the word for emigrating to Israel, from the Hebrew term for “going up”) at age six when his parents in Chicago told him they were going to move to Israel and asked whether he wanted to come along.)
Yoni explained where the troops had been and what they were doing at Ktziot. He also invited us to take some of the cookies the troops had in great abundance – donated by overseas Jewish communities in response to the Gaza crisis. So, to all of you who made donations: Thank you! The cookies were delicious.
On the way to the evening presentation, we again passed the barracks in which the Golani soldiers were staying. The espirit de corps of these soldiers is amazing: while still in the process of moving all their equipment inside the barracks (they’ll be staying here about a month), they took the time to post their unit insignia on the outside wall, to erect signs in front of the building with unit mottos, and arrange rocks in front of the building in the design of a tree, the symbol of the Golani. While this was a temporary home, it was clear that it was their home.
In the parking lot I also met a group of three soldiers who asked me how long I have been in Israel and what I’ve been doing. They tried to thank me for coming so far to help out. I told them that compared to living here and serving in the army, my efforts were minor and that they were the ones who deserved thanks. We parted with smiles on all our faces.
This evening’s presentation should have been entitled “Timing is Everything.” We heard from soldiers who just took part in the Gaza operation. We began with Yara, a 20-year-old woman who served as one of four female paramedics with an armored division in Gaza. Yara is a very quiet, soft-spoken young lady who found nothing unusual about talking to us while sitting in a chair at the front of the room with her M-16 in her lap. She told us that while she received basic combat training and knew how to use her weapon, her real job was “to help save lives.” In order to qualify for service as a paramedic, Yara had to agree to serve for three years and four months instead of the usual two years of military service for women. After finishing the army, Yara said, she hopes to resume her studies and make a career in medicine.
She explained that her job is to supervise the medics and to provide medical care to injured soldiers. She spent most of the time during the Gaza operation inside an armored vehicle about three to four kilometers inside Gaza and went to the front as needed to help evacuate wounded soldiers back into Israel so they could be taken to the hospital.
She noted that the armored division was particularly motivated to succeed in the Gaza operation because Gilad Shalit, the young man captured by Hamas in 2006, is a soldier in the armored corps. “He is one of us and we want to bring him back,” she said.
I asked Yara what she would tell her children about her experience in Gaza. She said she wasn’t planning to have children any time soon, but that she would just tell them that she went there to help others, whether they were Israelis or civilian Palestinians. She also admitted that her children might view her experiences in a much more special way than she did. She also told us that while she felt she was just doing her job, her own mother has been quite “excited” about her activities, and is continually worried as only a mother could be.
As Yara was finishing her talk, a group of 30 Golani soldiers came into our meeting room. All the volunteers stood and applauded and congratulated the soldiers on a job well done. It was a very special moment.
We had the opportunity to hear from Yoni, the young man I met earlier in the day, and his platoon leader, Mordechai. These young men (Yoni is 20; Mordechai is 21) were also joined by their commanding officer, a second lieutenant named Ohad, the “old man” of the group at 24 years old.
Yoni, Mordechai and Ohad told us about the Golani soldiers. Unlike the armored corps or the paratroopers, Yoni said, “we are infantry. We walk.” And the term “elite” really fits these soldiers: only one in four applicants is accepted for the Golani. Yoni was asked why a soldier volunteered to become a member of the Golani. He said that it was often a matter of tradition, because many of the fathers, uncles and brothers of these soldiers also served in the Golani. Most of all, he said, “we want to defend our country.” It was as simple as that, and as profound as that.
The soldiers felt that their operation in Gaza was successful. “We hurt them (Hamas) badly,” Mordechai said. He also predicted that, in time, Hamas would have the ability to re-arm and resume attacks against Israel, but he made it clear that the IDF in general and the Golani in particular were ready to fight again.
Mordechai attributed the relatively low number of Israeli casualties to the fact that most of the Hamas fighters either ran away in the face of the Israeli advance, or melted away into the vast underground tunnel system throughout Gaza. We heard again that, unlike the Lebanon war in 2006, the intelligence about the situation in Gaza was “90 per cent accurate,” allowing the Israeli soldiers to locate and destroy many of the tunnels and the houses under which they were located.
Yoni was asked to recount the most memorable experience of his time in Gaza. Instead of telling us about some fierce battle, he told us about losing two of his comrades who were killed in a friendly fire incident. (Four of the nine Israeli casualties were victims of friendly fire.) Yoni told us that the building in which the soldiers were hit was mistakenly identified as a source of Hamas fire. "Mistakes will happen in war when you don't have enough time to think," Yoni said, "but it's hard to lose men who are members of your family."
Mordechai also made a point of telling us that he was a first-hand witness to the use of human shields by Hamas fighters. “They would take children to walk with them,” he said. “That meant that we couldn’t fire with tanks.” Yoni added that while he had several opportunities to use his rifle to shoot Hamas fighters with his rifle, but refused to do so when there was a risk of injuring the children nearby.
At the end of the presentation the soldiers left the meeting room and we stood and applauded once again. I had the opportunity to congratulate and shake hands with most of them. This was another special moment. It was also significant in light of the recent criticism of some of the less-motivated soldiers on the base. Tonight we had the opportunity to meet the young men who exemplify the best that Israel has to offer.
We ended the evening with a "graduation ceremony" for the five volunteers (including me) who are completing their "tours of duty." The madrichot gave us certificates and also presented us with copies of an essay entitled "This Is My Country." I think it's worth quoting in:
This is the only country where missiles from Iraq have exploded, suicide
bombers from Gaza have exploded, there have been five crucial wars in 56 years,
and yet a three-bedroom apartment costs more than it does in Paris.
This is the only country where the man wearing the stained open shirt is
the government minister and the one standing next to him wearing the black tie
is his driver.
This is the only country where the Muslims sell holy souvenirs to
Christians and give change in bills with the face of the Rambam [a 12th century
Jewish scholar] printed on them.
This is the only country where you can leave the house at the age of 18 [to
go into the army] and a the age of 24 you still live in it.
This is the only country where people come to your house for the first time
and have the guts to ask,"Can I grab something from your refrigerator?"
This is the only country where you can tell what the latest news is by what
kind of songs are on the radio.
This is the only country where you have to wait a week to get your washing
machine fixed and where there's a time called "I'll be there between 11 a.m. and
6 p.m."This is the only country where on the first date you ask the girl where she served in the army -- and the only country where you find out she had more combat experience than you did.
This is the only country where the time between the saddest day of the year [Remembrance Day] and the happiest day of the year [Independence Day, which follows immediately afterwards] is exactly 60 seconds.
This is the only country where most of the people can't explain why they live here, but have plenty of reasons why you can't live anywhere else.
This is the only country where if you hate politicians, clerks, the "situation," the taxes and the weather it means you love your country.
This is the only country I could live in.
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