Maaleh Adumim – 7 kilometers (4.3 miles) east of Jerusalem, population approx. 40,000
Copyright 2012 - 2015 by Moshe Katz
All rights reserved.
Smashwords Edition
Israeli Krav Maga International
Maaleh Adumim, Israel
Designed by Sue Schoenfeld
Cover photo by Arie Katz
Chapter icons: © stringerphoto / Fotolia
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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This book is dedicated to my nephew Arie Katz, a soldier of Israel, and his friends of the 101 paratroopers, who served in the Second Lebanon War.
To my brother Ethan Katz, a soldier of Israel, who served with an infantry combat unit, and battled terrorists.
To my dear father, Rabbi Paul M. Katz, of blessed memory, a soldier of Israel, who served in the Yom Kippur War and whose life was devoted to the people of Israel. His life and character will always inspire us.
And to my dear mother, Mrs. Hannah K. Katz, “A woman of valor who shall find” (Proverbs), whose love has been the cornerstone of my life.
Blessed be God, my rock, who teaches my hands to battle, my fingers for war.
—Psalms
The world does not pity the slaughtered. It only respects those who fight.
—Menachem Begin, The Revolt
Chapter 1 – A Warrior Nation Mindset
Chapter 2 – A True People’s Army
Chapter 3 – Secret Ingredient of Israeli Defense
Chapter 4 – Warriors from Childhood
Chapter 6 – A Gun Packing Nation
Chapter 9 – From Pain to Productivity, From Darkness to Light
Chapter 10 – Business Mentality
Chapter 12 – Warriors Make the Nation
Chapter 13 – Warfare in Biblical Times
Chapter 14 – Post-Biblical Fighting
Chapter 15 – Principles of Krav Maga/Israeli Self Defense
Chapter 16 – The United States, a Nation of Warriors, Again
Chapter 17 – The Gaza War (Protective Edge) and the Social Media Generation
Chapter 18 – How to Start Your Krav Maga Club
Appendix A – The Future, Continually Adapting
One day I was walking in my neighborhood. Walking through the hills of Maaleh Adumim in the Judean Desert of Israel I started humming, for no apparent reason, the tune to the “Jewish Partisans Song,” “Do not say this is my last walk…” (accessed June 30, 2015).
My thoughts turned to the forests of Poland and Belarus, 1941. I looked down at my feet and imagined for a moment the feet of the partisans, their mud covered boots trekking through the forests, never knowing if today would in fact be their last day, if this walk would be their last journey in this lifetime, or who among their friends will not be with them tomorrow. In a way I am continuing their walk; in a way I am living their dream.
My thoughts turned to all of them—the partisans, ghetto fighters, defenders of Masada and Jerusalem, cousin Willie at the Battle of the Bulge, Moses and Joshua, Phineas the Cohen, the Jewish Legion, soldiers in the wars of 1948, 56, 67, 70, 73, the Lebanon Wars, the Gaza Wars, counterterrorist units, Jabotinsky and Trumpeldor, King David and Samson.
My thoughts turned to all our people who over the course of our history slung a rifle over their shoulder, or a bow and arrow, or strapped a sword to their side, left their homes, and went off to fight for our freedom. It is because of them that today I can take a walk in my own land—the land where my forefathers walked. I will never take this for granted. This book is about these Jewish warriors.
Maaleh Adumim – 7 kilometers (4.3 miles) east of Jerusalem,
population approx. 40,000
I took a taxi in Long Island, New York, on my way to JFK Airport after teaching Krav Maga to a group of American soldiers. The driver, Hezi, was an Israeli. He had been living in the United States for twenty-five years. As he helped me with my luggage, he noticed that one of my bags—a green military bag I used while serving in the Israel Defense Forces (IDF)—had numbers on it. He identified the numbers as my military ID and knew the year I had served. It turned out we were the same age. We became good friends.
There was an immediate bond. No longer passenger and driver, we were united by a shared history—we both served; something unspoken took place. The bond goes back thousands of years to the ancient warriors of Israel who battled the Canaanites, the Greeks, and the Romans. This is Israel, a nation united by a dream and a long shared history. Guns, swords or spears, the Tavor rifle, or the slingshot of young David—a warrior nation. We have spent thousands of years fighting to be free.
This book is not about governments. It is not about political leaders. It is not about national policy or international relations. It is not about strategy or questions such as whether or not an attack or a war was justified.
It is about people—ordinary people, people who have been asked to do extraordinary things, and have done so.
The people of Israel have risen to the challenge, neither seeking a reward nor receiving one. Without questions, without hesitation, they left their happy lives and answered the call to arms. And when the fighting subsided, they tried to return to normal lives, with their scars and their traumas. But life in Israel is anything but normal, for this is a nation at war, at war for survival.
When the Jewish people, the people of Israel, began coming home to the Land of Israel, they did not have war on their minds. After being forcibly expelled and driven out of their homeland many centuries earlier, the “wandering Jews,” scattered around the world, kept dreaming of returning home, to the small strip of earth simply known as “The Land,” The Land of Israel. Individual Jews, small groups, sometimes entire communities, did manage to return to The Land, but not until the 1880s was a more massive return possible.
The Jews had dreams of utopia. They wanted to befriend the Arabs and adapt to the Middle East. Many early photos show Eastern European Jews dressed in Arab garb and riding on camels; they wanted to fit in; they wanted peace. Reality was quite different and the need for organized self-defense soon became apparent. Reluctantly, the utopian Jewish farmers became fighters. It was either fight or be killed.
The symbol of the IDF is a sword (a symbol of war), an olive branch (symbolizing the Israeli desire for peace), and the Star of David (symbolizing Jewish history). Every government of Israel, since its establishment in 1948, has reached out for peace, but prepared for war. The long sought-after peace has proven elusive, perhaps impossible. As the prophet Ezekiel said so many years ago, “Peace, peace but there is no peace” (Ezekiel 13).
I recall when I was a young child, people would see my dear mom with four young boys and they would say, “Four boys—four future soldiers.” This angered my mother who would say to herself, “Bite your tongue, by the time my boys are old enough to serve, there will be peace.” So every mother hopes. Today, many years later, her grandchildren are serving in the army, in combat units, and there is still no peace in sight.
Back in 1967, I was playing with my friend from next-door. His name was Edo, an Israeli born boy. I can picture the day like yesterday. I recall exactly where we stood in our beautiful backyard. We heard the sound of a plane and we both looked up to the sky. I looked up for just a moment, but Edo, he just kept staring. I tried to get his attention, but Edo’s eyes were glued to that plane. He watched it until it was totally gone from sight. “What was that all about?” I asked him.
Edo, only six years old, answered simply and to the point, words I still remember to this very day, words I shall never forget, “There was a time when everyone else had planes but we did not. Now we too have planes.”
The dispersion and exile and the return, the Holocaust and the rebirth of the State of Israel, the transformation from perceived helplessness to warriors; this is what he was saying. A six-year-old Israeli boy understood it all; summarizing thousands of years of history in just a few words. And I can still see that plane flying away…“There was a time when everyone else had planes but we did not…”
I was just a child when I was introduced to international terrorism. The year was 1970. My aunt, uncle, and infant cousin Tali came to visit us in Israel. As they boarded their TWA flight back home to New York none of us could imagine the ordeal about to unfold. A few hours later we heard the news—the plane had been hijacked by Arab terrorists and taken to Jordan, fate unknown.
My father, of blessed memory, was in the barbershop getting a haircut when the news was broadcast on Radio Israel. The shock jolted my dad out of his seat. The barber’s scissors nicked his ear.
My aunt and cousin would end up spending a week as hostages in Jordan, along with hundreds of other passengers. My uncle, along with some other select hostages, would spend six weeks in captivity. The ordeal would change their lives.
That day the terrorists attempted to hijack four planes as part of their struggle against the State of Israel. This was the beginning, the birth, of international terrorism, the curse that would come to plague Western society in years to come, a cancer we are still fighting today. The Western world had no training in this kind of warfare; no understanding of the terrorist mindset. The Israelis, however, were already veterans of this war.
Of the four attempted hijackings, three succeeded. The only one to fail was the attempted hijacking of EL AL Israel Airlines. Four terrorists tried to board the EL AL flight. Two of them aroused the suspicions of the security staff and were refused entry. The two remaining terrorists, infamous female terrorist Laila Chaled and Patrick Argüello, managed to board the EL AL flight. The rejected terrorists proceeded to book a Pan Am flight, boarded without any difficulty, and hijacked it.
On board the EL AL flight, things did not go as smoothly for the hijackers. The operation had been planned for a team of four. Argüello hesitated. Laila Chaled assured him she had done this before and all would go smoothly. She had hijacked before. This time it did not succeed.
The terrorists stood up and pulled out handguns and hand grenades and announced that the flight was being taken over by the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP). The general international policy in those days was to cooperate with the hijackers and enter into negotiations, not to resist and endanger the passengers. The crew and passengers of EL AL Israel Airlines thought differently. The terrorists had not counted on resistance and Israeli stubbornness.
The first thing to go wrong for the terrorists was the takeover of the cockpit. As planned, Laila Chaled stood outside the cockpit with a pistol held to a flight attendant’s head and a hand grenade in her other hand. She demanded the pilot open the door at once. But the pilot was no ordinary civilian. His name was Uri Bar Lev and he was a former captain in the Israeli air force. No terrorist was going to hijack his plane.
Captain Bar Lev refused to open the cockpit door. He would not be the first to blink. Instead, the former combat pilot sent the aircraft into a nosedive. The nosedive had the same effect on the passengers as an elevator going into free-fall. The sudden move knocked the hijackers off their feet, just as Bar Lev had planned.
Then the Israeli passengers went into action. As one passenger put it, “I made a decision that they were not going to hijack this plane. I decided to attack him rather than wait and see what happens. So I jumped him. I got shot in the shoulder.”
The terrorist, Argüello, was hit over the head with a bottle of whiskey and then killed in the struggle by his own gun. Laila Chaled was tied up with neckties and belts provided by passengers. The pilot summed up the fighting spirit that day, “I didn’t succeed because I was a better pilot. It was only because of my attitude that we were not going to be hijacked. Our mindset is to fight terror.”
Here is the key to Israeli self-defense—attitude! It is a resolve to fight terror, not to give in, not to be a victim anymore. This is a universal aspect of Israeli culture born out of the bitter experience of being an unwelcome guest in foreign lands and being surrounded by a hostile Arab population.
The pilot was trained to improvise, to think “on his feet,” or in this case, on his seat, in the air. He used what he had available, another key to Israeli self-defense, and came up with a brilliant way to fight back. Equally important, the pilot knew that once the terrorists were on the floor, the crew and passengers, all former soldiers, would respond as warriors; they would unite and fight back. He could count on it without even asking them; for they are part of a warrior nation, this is part of their upbringing, their military training, their lifestyle.
Shortly after 9/11, in November 2002, an Arab terrorist, twenty-three-year-old Tawfiq Fukra, tried to hijack an Israeli flight to Turkey. Somehow he managed to smuggle a knife on board the aircraft. He started swinging his knife at the flight attendant, threatening her. The flight attendant reacted instinctively with evasive techniques designed to buy time and prepare a better defense. She managed to avoid getting cut by using the techniques she learned as part of her basic military Krav Maga training. This gave the flight marshals time to react. They quickly neutralized the threat.
The key here, as in the 1970 incident, was that neither she nor anyone else panicked. They made use of what was at hand and relied not only on their own training, but on the preparedness of everyone around them. This is the Israeli mindset.
Nowhere is that mindset more in evidence than in Krav Maga, the native Israeli martial arts system. Krav Maga emphasizes simple, easy to remember gross motor moves, reliance on human instinct, natural body movements, and utilization of whatever one finds available.
Krav Maga knife defense
Be Alert!
Even before boarding a flight, Israelis are on alert. As they are in line checking in, they check out the passengers. If someone notices anything unusual or out of place they will notify the security staff. They never forget that they are part of the security staff. Krav Maga expert Itay Gil puts it this way, “You are accountable for your own life, and ultimately you are responsible for safeguarding it” (Itay Gil and Dan Baron, The Citizen’s Guide to Stopping Suicide Attackers, Paladin Press, Boulder, Colorado, 2004).
In 1956, after Egypt violated international law and nationalized the Suez Canal; Israel, Britain, and France took control of the canal in a military operation. After much pressure from the Americans, and assurances of safety, Israel withdrew from the canal. In 1967, when Egypt again violated all agreements and crossed into the Sinai Peninsula, Israel waited for the United States to act on its assurances. No help was forthcoming. Israel realized that one is accountable for his own survival. Written guarantees and promises from others are not to be relied upon. We are accountable for our own safety.
Look for Allies on Your Flight
If you are a trained fighter, if you have skills that can save others, you must assume added responsibility for the protection of others. As you find your seat, and as a fighter, you should only take an aisle seat so you can get out and fight if need be; look for allies. You do not have time to interview people as to their abilities and background, but keep an eye open for people who look like they can handle a fight. You will have to rely on your judgment.
Anticipate the Worst Case Scenario
If the worst does happen and you have to fight back—then fight you must. In Krav Maga, we stress that you should never make a bad trade. Sometimes in battle people get hurt or die. If the terrorist is threatening one person and demands to get into the cockpit—it is a mistake to give in, despite your desire to save that one person’s life. You might be trading one life for the safety of all the other passengers. And even that one life will not be saved if the plane goes down.
Instead, think like a warrior. Fight back. If one hostage gets killed, then that is a tragic consequence of saving one hundred lives. Don’t make a bad trade. This may be harsh thinking, too much to expect of an average citizen, but Israelis are not average citizens. Who are the Israelis? How did this group of people emerge?
The modern State of Israel (accessed June 30, 2015) is situated in the Middle East with the Mediterranean Sea on its western side. It borders with Lebanon to the north, Syrian to the northeast, Jordan on the east.
The population of Israel was estimated in 2014 to be 8.2 million people. It is the world's only Jewish-majority state; 6.2 million citizens, or 74.9% of Israelis, are designated as Jewish. The country's second largest group, Arab citizens of Israel (accessed June 30, 2015), number 1.7 million or 20.7% of the population (including the Druze and most East Jerusalem Arabs).
Israel in the Middle East © Ruslan Olinchuk / Fotolia
In 1967, as a result of the defensive Six-Day War, Israel liberated the biblical lands of Judea, Samaria, the Gaza Strip (accessed June 30, 2015), and the Golan Heights. Israel also took control of the Sinai Peninsula, but gave it to Egypt as part of the 1979 Israel-Egypt Peace Treaty.
Since Israel’s conquest of these territories, settlements (Jewish civilian communities) and military installations have been built within each of them. Israel has applied civilian law to the Golan Heights and East Jerusalem, incorporating them into its sovereign territory and granting their inhabitants permanent residency status and the choice to apply for citizenship. In contrast, Judea and Samaria have remained under the military government, and the Arabs in this area cannot become citizens. The Gaza Strip is independent of Israel with no Israeli military or civilian presence, but Israel continues to maintain control of its airspace and waters.
It is important to understand Israelis—who are they? Where do they come from? Some Israelis have direct roots that go back thousands of years, despite all the conquests of our land and the many foreign rulers, they clung to the land and never left. Others can trace their return to Israel to a few hundred years ago. The “newer” returnees came to Israel during the Zionist movement that began in the 1880s.
No matter when they returned—they worked the land, cleared the swamps, fought off the Arabs, and expelled the British troops. Others survived the Nazi war machine, fought in the ghettos and the forests, and then arrived in Israel and fought in several of Israel’s many defensive wars. They are not the warm and cuddly type. This is a fighting nation.
Israel is a nation comprised of citizen soldiers who are ready to serve at a moment’s notice. Israel is a nation that realizes that if we do not act, we will die; our history has taught us this. It is a nation that lives by the words of the ancient rabbis who said, “If am not for myself, who will be? And if not now, then when?” (Ethics of the Fathers 1:14).
As Israelis, we are taught,
• Do not trust the words of the enemy and hope for the best.
• Do not cooperate with their demands.
• Assume the worst and trust no one.
Prime Minister Golda Meir once remarked about her difficulties in dealing with American Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, “He is a wonderful gentleman; the only problem is that he thinks of the rest of the world as equally wonderful gentlemen.”
A nation of warriors is defined as a people with a warrior’s mindset, which is very different from a citizen’s mindset. When tragedy strikes, an ordinary citizen responds by saying, “Thank God it wasn’t me!” or “Thank God I was not there!” A warrior, whether a police officer, martial artist, fireman or soldier, responds by saying, “I wish I had been there, I could have done something to help those people.”
One of my handgun instructors told me that whenever he hears about a terrorist attack he gets down and does as many push-ups as he can. It is his way of saying, “I must be strong. I must be prepared. Next time, perhaps, I will be there and I want to make a difference. I must be ready to act.” Being ready to act—a warrior knows there will most likely be no warning, no chance to get organized. Israeli culture stresses the belief in always being ready, in anticipating the next attack, in thinking ahead.
A warrior responds with action. In Israel, when there is the sound of an explosion or gunshots, people run toward the sound, not away. They are thinking, “I have military training, I have medical training, perhaps someone needs my help.” These people do not consider themselves heroes, just people doing what is right, what is expected of them.
CHAPTER 1
A Warrior Nation Mindset
Many Americans are obsessed with personal freedom. Personal freedom is so important to them that they are often unwilling to take the necessary measures to protect that freedom. If security measures go against their principles of freedom they would rather take the risks than compromise this sense of liberty.
As an example, having a security guard at an airport or store empty the contents of one’s bag or pockets offends most American’s sense of personal freedom. But that is one of the very measures necessary to protect the personal freedom of every American—including the freedom and security of the person being searched.
In Israel, we are not so sensitive. We have less privacy and we understand the need to compromise our personal freedom in the interest of greater security. As Uri Dromi of the Israel Democratic Institute said, speaking of the Jewish state, “The question of civil liberties is always in the shadow of security.” Israelis ask, “If you don’t exist, what’s the point of having civil rights?” he noted. “The first right is the right to live, and this is what Israelis get in the milk of their mothers. There is security and then, there’s democracy. People in America value democracy first” (Jerusalem Post, April 20, 2007).
With a warrior nation, fighting, dying, and sudden attacks, are all par for the course. Americans do not have this mindset, as evidenced by the April 16, 2007, massacre at Virginia Tech. On that horrific day, a mentally ill student, Seung-Hui Cho, killed thirty-two people and injured many others in what was the worst shooting incident in US history. In two separate shooting incidents, about two hours apart, Cho gunned down terrified students and staff in cold blood. The first victims were shot around 7:15 am; about two hours later Cho came back for more.
There was only one hero that day, an Israeli, Professor Librescu. He was seventy-six years old yet he did what none of the young people, of many nationalities, were able to do. When he understood that a murderer was on his way into the class, he kept the door shut with his body so his students could escape out the window. He died after being shot multiple times through the door.
William Daroff, director of the Washington office of the United Jewish Communities said, “The first thing that occurred to me about it, besides the tragedy of it, is how his heroism was informed by his experience as an Israeli. He clearly had thought about terrorism as an Israeli and, with a split second to respond after hearing a gunshot, went into autopilot, barricaded the door with his body and gave his students time to flee. Being an Israeli, having that mentality of how to deal with this sort of crisis comes more naturally.”
Autopilot; a typical Israeli is alert, like an animal in the jungle, always aware of potential predators. Most humans have lost this animal instinct, but Israelis know that wherever they are, they can be the target of a terrorist attack; we cannot afford to be lax. “The guardian of Israel does not rest and does not sleep” (Psalms 121:4) in the battlefield, at home, or on vacation. We are always on guard.
A warrior in battle should never be shocked by an enemy attack. When the attack comes, he should know how to respond. A civilian can be caught off guard. In Israel, the whole nation responds as the combat warrior. Dromi commented about the students’ response at Virginia Tech, “The big difference is that for them it looks like out of the blue. For us, it’s a sad way of life.” Israelis are experienced with war and terror. “Once they have this kind of basic preparedness in the back of their minds, if this happens, people don’t fall off their feet thinking that something unthinkable has happened, which is the feeling that people have here [in the United States] today” (Ibid.).
Israelis don’t wonder, “How could this happen? Why would anyone want to hurt us?” They know the world is a harsh place and bad things happen. They know they must learn how to cope and to protect themselves.
During the Virginia Tech massacre, the young American college students, raised with freedom and liberty, were not able to respond like warriors; they froze like a deer in the headlights. Yet the old Israeli, the Jewish holocaust survivor, had already tasted terror in his life and he knew how to respond. He died as a warrior.
Since the Civil War, America’s wars have all taken place overseas. Most Americans have never seen an enemy face to face or had to barricade their homes or worry about being attacked while shopping.
In Israel, it is different. The war is everywhere. It is at all our borders, it is overseas where Israeli tourists are targeted (Bulgaria, India, France, Argentina, Germany, Nairobi, United Kingdom, United States), and it is in our shopping malls, cafés, our buses, and on our streets. It is also in our homes and in our kindergartens. Every Israeli is a front line soldier; men, women, children and the elderly. Every home is a mini fortress.
If you were an Israeli, you might find yourself pushing an attacker off the bus or defending yourself against a knife wielding Arab in the Old City of Jerusalem. You might alert authorities and your fellow citizens to a suspicious object while out on your morning walk or to an Arab girl with a large package walking into a crowded supermarket. No one would think you were unusual. The alertness and training of the average citizen/soldier has prevented many potentially deadly attacks.
The lines between civilian and warrior are blurred at home as well as in public. After the wars in the 1960s and 1970s, a law was passed requiring that each new home built have a bomb shelter large enough to accommodate all members of the household. An apartment building must have a bomb shelter sufficient for all the residents.
Following the first Gulf War in 1990, the law was amended to require new construction to have a “sealed room,” one that could be hermetically sealed to protect against chemical weapons. Public education programs teach citizens how to prepare the room and how to use the atropine emergency kit. Every citizen has a personal gas mask. Sealed protective cribs were designed to protect babies. Special programs to train the home guard are part of all high school education, and home security is a required course of study.
To protect against less sophisticated terrorists, most people install metal bars over their home’s windows. Many people own handguns and are trained in their use. Houses are indeed mini fortresses. Schools are similarly equipped. Young children are drilled in how to behave during times of combat. In a sense, they are young soldiers in training.
When I drive home at night, I must drive through the barricade set up at the entrance to my town. Several soldiers will be there and I must drive through a short obstacle course while they eye me. They might stop me and ask me a few questions.
When I go to the supermarket or mall, I must stop my car while an armed security guard examines my vehicle, asks me a few questions, and opens the trunk. (I never leave anything in the trunk that might cause me embarrassment.) Before I enter the building, I will empty my pockets, open my bag, and walk through a metal detector with an armed guard at the ready. In day-to-day life, it is hard to forget that the enemy is all around, and that we must always be on high alert.
Airline Security
Israeli airline security is like no other. The last, and only time an EL AL flight was hijacked was in 1968. This was the first act of terrorism perpetrated against EL AL, Israel’s national airline. On July 23, 1968, terrorists, members of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, boarded an EL AL flight leaving Rome, took over the plane, and landed it in Algiers. Since then no one has succeeded in hijacking an Israeli plane. I believe that EL AL is the safest airline in the world, and Israel’s Ben Gurion International Airport is the safest airport in the world. That is why I only fly EL AL.
What is EL AL’s Secret?
Part of it is attitude, resolve, stubborn refusal to be a victim, and military training; all working together to create a combat mindset. But there is more to it than that. Americans blindly look for weapons. They are reluctant to profile, believing that goes against an American sense of freedom and equality. We don’t have that luxury. We profile and we make no apologies for it.
Simply put, profiling is the best method for spotting, and stopping, terrorists. Even in this age of technology, human instincts and study of human behavior is the key to spotting potential terrorists. No machine can replace a human being. Profiling helps focus extra attention where it is most needed.
In Israel, unlike the United States, not every passenger has to take off his shoes and belt. We believe that if you use a “one size fits all” screening process, you lose your edge. You become machinelike, operating automatically. “Security is first and foremost based on common sense, which is supposed to provide you with the right intelligence, technology and modus operandi,” says Pini Shiff, who served for thirty years in the Ben Gurion Airport security division. “It is all about brains, since if you do everything automatic, it won’t work” (Jerusalem Post, January 1, 2010).
Another airline employee added, “Profiling makes the biggest difference. A man with the name of Umar (like the terrorist who attempted to set an American plane on fire in 2009) flying out of Tel Aviv, whether he is American or British, is going to get checked seven times.”
In the United States, on May 1, 2010, Faisal Shahzad, a Pakistani born terrorist tried to bomb Times Square in New York City, but failed. His name was placed on the “No-Fly List,” and yet on Tuesday, May 4, 2010, he was sitting in his seat on his way out of the country. At the last minute someone realized the mistake and ordered the plane back, just as it was about to take off. American authorities downplayed the incident and stressed that in the end he was caught, but they did not address the fact that he got through their security system and nearly flew away.
“Faisal Shahzad was aboard Emirates Flight 202. He reserved a ticket on the way to John F. Kennedy International Airport, paid cash on arrival and walked through security without being stopped. By the time Customs and Border Protection officials spotted Shahzad’s name on the passenger list and recognized him as the bombing suspect they were looking for, he was in his seat and the plane was preparing to leave the gate” (Associate Press Writers, May 4, 2010).
So, he has an Arab name, is traveling alone, bought his ticket with cash at the last minute, is probably quite nervous that someone will stop him at airport security, and no one even questions him. In Israel, we have learned that such people should be stopped for questioning. Israeli security personnel are trained to pick up the slightest twitch or body gesture that would indicate something is suspicious.
Lessons Learned: Athens, Zurich, Berlin, Brussels, Lod
Israel learned its lessons the hard way. Long before the rest of the world woke up to the threat of international terrorism, Israel was already a veteran at battling terrorists. Back in 1968, on December 26, the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine struck again. Two of their members attacked an EL AL plane in Athens, killing an Israeli mechanic. Israel responded quickly by attacking the Beirut airport in Lebanon and destroying fourteen planes. In 1969 Arab terrorists attacked EL AL planes and offices in Zurich, Athens, West Berlin, and Brussels.
I recall back in 1972, I was living relatively close to the airport. It was May 31, 1972, to be exact, the day the name “Kozo Okamoto” became embedded in my memory. Three Japanese terrorists, working on behalf of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine surprised the guards at the Israeli airport. The three terrorists had been trained by the Arab terrorists in Lebanon. Arriving from Paris on Air France, the three conservatively dressed men carrying violin cases did not attract much attention. In the waiting area they opened their violin cases, took out automatic weapons, cut down in size to fit the small case, and opened fire indiscriminately on whoever happened to be there. As they changed magazines in their weapons, they threw hand grenades at the crowd. One of the terrorists, Yasuyuki Yasuda, ran out of ammunition, and was accidentally killed by his comrades (some say he was killed by Israeli counter-fire). A second terrorist, Tsuyoshi Okudaira, committed suicide. The third terrorist, Okamoto, was badly injured, but not before the three terrorists managed to kill twenty-six people, and injure eighty. Those murdered included sixteen Christian pilgrims from Puerto Rico. They had come to tour the Holy Land and pray; instead they experienced what we have to deal as part of our daily life. At the time no one expected Japanese terrorists, today we are wiser. Every guest can expect a close look.
So yes, we do profile. When my non-Jewish students from around the world come to Israel to train with me in Krav Maga, I warn them, “Do not be offended, you will be asked questions at the airport, tell them my name and why you are here. Give them my phone number; they can call me if they want to.” Understand that we have learned from bitter experience that we must be careful, even at the risk of offending an innocent tourist.
One of my students was connecting to an EL AL flight in Asia. He is a young, dark, athletic looking man, and was traveling alone. He was spotted in the crowd and pulled aside for extra interrogation. Being a young, happy-go-lucky fellow, he took it all in stride. “Why were you in this country (a certain Asian state)? What were you doing there?” the female officer asked him.
“I have friends there,” he responded honestly.
“How do you know these friends? What did you do with these friends?” Extensive questioning, all answered honestly, revealed no nervousness on his part and no contradictions in his answers. His honesty proven, and a thorough body check along with a special test to see if he had come in contact with explosives, cleared him for travel to Israel.
All the above took place outside the borders of Israel, in faraway Hong Kong. As I experienced in Frankfurt, Germany, as soon as you entered “EL AL territory,” you felt that you were already in Israel. For me, an Israeli citizen, it is a warm, comfortable feeling, like I am already halfway home. For a terrorist it must be a feeling that the long arm of Israeli security is about to catch him.
Students of mine arriving from the United States also felt they were entering some sort of new reality, a world different from their own. Being young, athletic looking, traveling alone, not Israeli and not Jewish, they naturally aroused some suspicion and warranted extra security measures. One student had his hand luggage taken away for more thorough searching. His music player, cell phone, and other electronic devices were thoroughly examined. His shoes were checked and tested for possible chemical contact. Both he and another student, on different occasions, were escorted from the time of check-in until the moment they boarded the plane. From the moment they checked in until they were on the plane they had an Israeli security guard constantly by their side. One even experienced a “changing of the guard” during the long wait to board. One asked to go to the rest room, his guard at the time was a female officer; she responded, “Wait until you are on the plane.” The guards watched my students and did not allow them any contact with anyone from the moment they entered “EL AL territory” until they were seated safely on the plane.
January 2011, I am sitting at Bank Leumi talking about my account when my cell phone rings. I glance at the number of the incoming call, it is a 271 country code; I have no idea where this is coming from. I have never received a phone call from such a number. I answer the call, it is an Israeli on the phone; his accent and perfect Hebrew are unmistakable. But where on earth is he calling from? He is calling from South Africa. He is EL AL security working the South African airport and he has detained a young man for questioning. Clearly the young suspect gave him my phone number, as I instructed him. “Do you know why I am calling you?”
I put two and two together and say, “Yes, you must have detained Alex, he is a student of mine, he is on his way to Israel to train with me. He is a good guy.”
“What does he look like, how old is he?” I answer with full details.
“Have you met him before, if so, under what circumstances?” Again, I am able to answer fully, without a hint of hesitation in my voice. “Where will he be staying?”
“In my neighborhood, Mitzpe Nevo, I rented him an apartment at the Cohen’s.”
“But that is a religious neighborhood?” (Wow, they are good! This is a small neighborhood in a small town, and yet they know the character of the neighborhood; very thorough training.)
“Yes, I know he is not Jewish, but we are very welcoming here.”
“You seem to have a bit of an accent, where were you born?”
“I was born in the United States, but moved here many years ago. I have lived in Israel most of my life.”
A few more questions and, “Thank you so much for cooperating, we shall let him continue.”
“Wow,” I thought, “now that is serious security!”
Although my student was innocent, there were certain things that caught the attention of our security officers. He had been to Israel just a short time ago; why was he back so soon? In fact, they remembered him from his previous trip. Not only that, but they remembered who he traveled with last time and under what circumstance. Why weren’t his previous travel companions with him? Why was he now traveling alone? There were legitimate answers to all these questions, but anything slightly out of the ordinary is noticed and warrants extra questioning. This is Israel, we take no chances.
I always tell my international Krav Maga guests, “As soon as you enter the EL AL terminal, you will already feel the Israeli atmosphere.” As the EL AL advertisement says, “EL AL; The most at home in the world. EL AL is Israel.”
Rome and Vienna, 1985
Thirteen years after the horrific “Lod Airport Massacre,” on December 27, 1985, terrorists simultaneously attacked EL AL ticket counters at the Rome and Vienna airports. In Rome, four terrorists walked up to the EL AL ticket counter and opened fire with assault rifles and grenades. The terrorists killed sixteen people and injured ninety-nine others before three of them were killed and the fourth was captured by the police.
Minutes later in Vienna, Austria, using assault rifles and grenades, three terrorists killed three people and injured thirty-nine others as they were standing in line at the EL AL counter. Years later, on July 4, 2002, I would land at LAX airport in Los Angeles just two hours after a similar attack at the EL AL counter. That attack resulted in the death of two Israelis. A lone terrorist, an Egyptian, opened fire at the EL AL counter, killing the two Israelis, one of whom lived in my brother’s community. The terrorist was shot and killed by Israeli security working for EL AL. All these events shocked us and shook our world. Years after the Holocaust in Europe it was clear to us that a Jew and an Israeli must still, always, be on guard.
When I visited Germany in 2010 to teach Krav Maga seminars, I paid close attention to the German airport security. The lines were long and the progress slow, unlike Israel where trained professionals know who to allow through and who to interrogate thus allowing a smooth and rapid check-in process. Again there was an obsession with checking hand luggage and not enough attention to the human element. Even though I was a foreigner, traveling on a foreign passport, not once did anyone ask me so much as a single question. Not once did I sense that anyone was actually looking at me. It seemed they actually made an effort to avoid eye contact.
The only exception was, of course, EL AL Israeli security. Upon reaching the EL AL counter I noticed Israeli security at work. The difference was quite obvious to me. I met a young German woman while waiting for the EL AL counter to open. The EL AL female officer, seeing us together, instructed us to go to a certain line. When I inquired in Hebrew why we were being sent to another line, the officer responded, “Oh, you are an Israeli, stay here on this line.” She said she thought we were together, perhaps a couple. Seeing that my friend looked typically German, we had been sent to a different line. Now, she questioned me separately while my new friend was sent for more thorough questioning.
“How long have you two been together? Did she pack your bags for you?” I explained that I had known Tamina for about twenty-three minutes; that we met while waiting for the EL AL counter to open, and that, no, she did not pack my bags, she never even saw my bags; I never saw her before. I was passed along quickly and given a certain plastic tag identifying me as a low-risk traveler.
Later, as we went through security, my friend Tamina and another new friend, Claudia, were asked to step into a small room for further questioning and more thorough checking. I went through like I was old buddies with the staff. Clearly everything about me indicated that I was an Israeli very happy to be on my way home. My new friends had to first do some explaining; Tamina said she had friends in Israel, perhaps the officer would ask—Who were they? How does she know them? Claudia would be passing through Israel on the way to another country, spending only a few hours at Ben Gurion airport. Perhaps they would ask—Why only a few hours in Israel? and so forth. In fact their bags were checked carefully, a few key questions were asked and they were allowed to pass. Once again security involved personal interaction, eye contact, studying body language while engaged in conversation, and giving special attention to those who might raise some questions. This is the Israeli way, and it works. So, yes, we do profile, and we stay alive.
Embarrassing Questions
In this day and age, I find that people are often willing to put themselves at risk of personal danger rather than take the chance of offending a total stranger. Clearly tact is important, and respect and courtesy should be valued, but one should not shy away from questions that could uncover important information. In Israel, we learn that one should not be shy or bashful.
In Hebrew, the words for bashful and dehydrate are similar and rhyme, so the saying goes, “He who is bashful will dehydrate.” The idea is also that one who is afraid to ask—will suffer the consequences. So we are not shy, we ask questions, even at the risk of offending someone. We are not as sensitive, or as “politically correct” as Americans.
Women are often embarrassed when asked, “Do you have an Arab boyfriend? Have you been spending time with Arabs while you were in Europe?” The questions are personal, embarrassing, intrusive and offensive, and not at all in keeping with today’s “politically correct” approach. So what? People’s lives are at stake. We know that terrorists will stop at nothing so we have little time for niceties.
On April 17, 1986, a pregnant Irish woman named Anne-Marie Murray made it past Heathrow airport security in London and was about to board an EL AL flight to Israel. Her bag had been checked by British airport security and passed inspection. During standard questioning by Israeli security officers, the Israeli officer became suspicious. “Her answers to our questions just didn’t add up,” recalled Pini Schiff (Jerusalem Post, January 1, 2010). She swore she was not given anything to carry on board. When the Israeli team inspected her bag they discovered seven kilos of explosives and a very sophisticated bomb. The detonator was hidden inside a calculator and was set to go off when the plane reached thirty-nine thousand feet. Murray had no idea the explosives were there. During the subsequent interrogation it was revealed that she had an Arab boyfriend, the father of her unborn child. He became her boyfriend only to gain her trust and use her as a human bomb, a martyr for Allah, without her even knowing. He was willing to blow up his “girlfriend” and their unborn baby. Her fiancé, Jordanian Nezar Hindawi, is now serving a forty-five-year sentence in England.
Israeli airport security has four levels. As you approach the entrance to the airport you will see two gates. They are manned by guards armed with M-16 rifles with their fingers on the trigger. These men are not only combat veterans, they are also trained security experts.
You will roll down your window for your first round of interrogation. “Boker Tov, Good Morning, where are you coming from?” They will listen to your voice and observe your facial expressions; they will look at your passengers. Any questionable behavior, any hesitation in your response, will warrant a further and more detailed inspection. The idea is to prevent a car carrying explosives or terrorists from entering the airport area.
The second level of security involves profiling the passengers. As you enter the airport terminal there will be some friendly uniformed individual, something like a server outside a nice restaurant. He will observe you as you walk in and might stop and ask you a question or two. He might ask to see your passport. He will write it down in his log book. Again, he is profiling and looking for clues.
Part two of the second level is more direct. Once you enter the line leading to your particular airline you will go through more formal questioning. The young security personnel will ask to see your passport and ask a few simple questions.
For most of us the questions, “Who packed your bags?”, “Were your bags with you the entire time?”, or “Did anyone give you a package to carry?” seem almost silly. We might ask ourselves, “Would a terrorist admit that someone gave him a package to carry on board the aircraft?” But the questions only seem silly because we do not understand their real intention. The young Israelis asking these questions are looking for clues, for body language, for specific indicators as to who will require further questioning. The body does not lie. They know what they are doing. Just as with Anne Murray in England, certain answers will indicate that more extensive questioning is required, and the Israelis always get their man, or woman.
“People think that profiling is old fashioned and invasive, but it saves the day. The Nigerian terrorist [Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab, who tried to blow up a Northwest Airlines plane over Detroit, December 2009] would have undergone comprehensive inspections at Ben Gurion airport, and without a doubt I can tell you the explosives he was carrying would have been discovered,” says Pini Schiff of the airport security division at Ben Gurion Airport (Ibid.). In the United States, it was clearly considered problematic to profile a young African. The result of this misguided policy, this liberal attitude, put all the passengers at risk.
We do not look for weapons first. We look for terror suspects, suspicious behavior, and anything out of the ordinary. It is like the difference between a loan officer at the bank who only looks at your financial record as compared to one who looks at you as a person and determines whether you as an individual are a good loan candidate. The Israeli security expert studies human behavior and looks for clues. The expert is constantly asking himself, “Could this person be a possible terrorist? Is it possible that a terrorist is using him?”
As a frequent traveler, and being in the personal security business myself, I have picked up some knowledge of what the experts are looking for. As one officer only half-jokingly said to me, “Don’t reveal our secrets!” So I shall not, but I will say this: everything about a person reveals something about that person and his intentions. You can learn a great deal about a person by observing his appearance and his behavior. Anything, anything at all, that reveals potential danger, will be picked up by the Israeli experts and dealt with before the suspect has any clue that they are on to him. In Israel you are protected; someone is looking after you.
Arabs are singled out for extra stringent security, even respectable doctors and lawyers. “Even if he is a perfectly respectable lawyer or businessman, he doesn’t know about the Arab taxi driver who handled his bags, and even if he thinks everyone who saw him off is all right, maybe his brother-in-law isn’t as all right as he thinks” (Jerusalem Post, March 23, 2007).
Do we profile? Of course! And we don’t apologize for it. Our friends will understand while our enemies will be frustrated. A former airport security examiner was quoted in the Jerusalem Post saying that the ethnic profiling system, with all the purely personal profiling it entails, is legitimate and necessary because it accurately reflects the demographics of anti-Israel terror. It is an undeniable fact that a hijacker or bomber of an Israeli or Israel bound flight is extremely likely to be an Arab or Muslim, while the chance of his being a Jew is infinitesimal (Ibid.).
Part three of the second level is the level you do not see, but it is there, and deadly. Throughout the airport, inside, outside, and all around, are plain clothed security. You will never guess who they are. They will appear as passengers just like you. But they are watching you, observing you, and should something look out of the ordinary they will arrange for you to be taken away rather swiftly. No one will even notice this. In the unlikely event of an actual attack; they will spring into action with deadly accuracy and eliminate the problem. Their training is based on past incidents, such as the Japanese terrorist attack in the old Lod airport, and an assessment of any possible scenarios that might potentially unfold.
The third level of security is the machines: CT scanners; metal detectors, and explosives detectors add an additional element, but they cannot replace human intelligence. We do not rely on machines. We rely on human judgment and human judgment involves profiling. The former airport security examiner said they were not terribly concerned about accidentally offending people and, “What was important was that the planes left on time and didn’t get blown up.”
Arabs and Muslims complain about being profiled, but Christian friends of Israel are more understanding. David Parsons of Jerusalem’s Christian embassy, and a resident of Israel for a decade says, “I don’t blame my government, I blame the terrorists.” He and his pilgrims appreciate that they are flying in safety. More and more, as international terrorism spreads, our Christian friends appreciate our attitude toward terrorism.
The fourth level of security is on the plane itself. Armed Israeli agents are seated among the passengers, blending in. They have received special training to thwart hijacking and bombing attempts in mid-flight. Over the years Israel has developed advanced training for these agents using mock planes where agents practice with live fire in realistic scenario training (Jerusalem Post, January 5, 2010).
Israeli airport security did not simply materialize out of nowhere. It was born out of necessity. El Al is considered by many to be the world’s most secure airline, after its security protocols have foiled a number of attempted hijackings and terror attacks. The Israeli method has proven itself in the most important category—the protection of human life.
Airport security reflects the fundamentals of our military training as well. In the Israeli army each member of a unit is trained to be a leader. If a commander can no longer function, there is always another who can assume command. It is a nation of leaders, not followers. As Israeli Prime Minister Golda Meir said to American President Richard Nixon, “It is true that you are president of two hundred million citizens but I am prime minister of four million prime ministers.”
Soldiers are taught to improvise, to make do with whatever is available, to adapt to their surroundings and survive. This translates into everyday life where no one is willing to be taken advantage of and no one will take “no” for an answer. Israelis typically try to figure a way out, a way to outsmart the system. That is how they are trained. You can drop Israelis anyplace and they will find a way to survive and thrive, on their own.
That is what happened in 1976, when an Air France flight, with many Israelis on board, was hijacked to faraway Uganda. Israel had no contacts and no friends in Uganda. Another nation might have given up hope. Not Israel. They found a way to not only land a full commando unit, but passenger planes as well. They came home with nearly all the hijacked passengers. Tragically, one soldier was killed; Yonatan Netanyahu, brother of future Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu.
The Bible calls the nation of Israel a stiff-necked people, obstinate to the point of craziness. It can be frustrating and annoying at times, but it serves a purpose. That stubbornness has kept us alive as a people for close to two thousand years while exiled from our land without government or territory, discriminated against everywhere. We refuse to give up, we refuse to trust our enemy, we would rather resist. We have learned that there are few that we can trust, as the rabbis say, “respect him and suspect him.” We have learned to take action rather than wait and see what fate has in store for us.
Israelis are known for their survival skills. Both on a physical and emotional level Israelis seem to have above average survival skills, almost as if it was a genetic adaptation. Whether caught in enemy crossfire, or stranded in a foreign country without documents or money, or facing economic collapse, Israelis seem to have a remarkable ability to remain calm, survive, and come out on top, often thriving. In a classic joke, an Israeli man is captured by wild African tribesman and taken away deep into the jungle. When the rescue team finally arrives, they find him running a successful business staffed by locals who have now learned to speak Hebrew.
Israeli search and rescue teams are known as among the best, if not the best, in the world. These teams are sent all over the world to assist in rescue efforts. What accounts for this incredible ability to survive? And how can we learn from it?
Part of the answer can be found in a deep-seated appreciation of human life. This core belief stems from biblical values, is codified in Jewish Rabbinic law, and is embodied in the spirit of the Israeli nation and in the values of the IDF. Unlike other ancient cultures, capital punishment was almost unheard of among the Hebrews. Most such laws “on the books” were meant only as warnings for the purpose of intimidation and deterrence. Everything was done to preserve human life. Nearly all divinely ordained biblical laws were permitted, in fact commanded, to be violated, in cases where necessary to preserve human life. If consuming forbidden products, such as pork, were the only way to survive, then one was commanded to do so rather than forfeit one’s life.
A passenger who survived a six-week ordeal as a prisoner of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine when his TWA flight was taken hostage, faced this very situation. After several days he was at the point of starvation and he faced this choice. It was either eat or die, as he wrote, “For the first and only time in my entire life I eat this forbidden food.”
Human life transcends nearly all. If a Jew is held hostage and ransom is demanded, our rabbis permit us to sell holy objects, even a Torah scroll or a synagogue, in order to redeem the prisoner. The Rambam, Rabbi Moshe son of Maimon, writes, “There is no greater commandment than that of redeeming the prisoners…as they stand in danger of their lives, and one who turns his eye away transgresses the biblical command of ‘Do not stand idly by when your fellow man is in danger’ (Leviticus 19:16), and ‘Love thy neighbor as thyself’ (Leviticus 19:18), and ‘You have no greater commandment than that of redeeming prisoners’” (Rambam, Laws of Gifts to the Poor 8:10).
Today, we see the same value for human life as Israel routinely exchanges one thousand Arab terrorists for a single Israeli soldier. The value of human life permeates our existence, as individuals and as a nation.
Israel is very reluctant to go to war. War means death. Most militaries have a concept of “acceptable losses,” a number of soldiers one can afford to lose to achieve a certain military or political objective. In Israel, even one life is a tragic and unacceptable loss. As the Talmud says, “One who saves one life of Israel it is as if he saved an entire world.”
Thus, it took eight years of constant bombardment of towns in southern Israel until Israel finally retaliated and attacked the Hamas terrorists in Gaza. In that conflict, as in all IDF operations, every effort was made to preserve not only the lives of Israeli soldiers, but also the lives of our enemies. As in all conflicts, Israel dropped leaflets in Arabic, warning the civilian population to evacuate before Israel attacked. This humanitarian measure, of course, takes away the essential element of a surprise attack.
Unlike Israel, our enemies do not value human life; they use the civilian population, families, women and children, as human weapons and shields. Their “fighters” hide among the civilian population and in times of trouble shed their military garb and mingle with the general population, putting everyone at risk.
With Israel’s advanced modern weapons technology, the IDF was able to pinpoint the homes and families at risk. Israeli soldiers contacted each family and warned them in Arabic of the impending Israeli strike. This move reduces the effectiveness of the strike, taking away the element of surprise, but, it is done out of Jewish respect for human life.
My brother, Ethan, fought against a terrorist stronghold in Israel. From the IDF position, safely outside the Arab town, using advanced electronic maps, they were able to pinpoint the homes where key terrorists were hiding. The safest and easiest approach would have been to simply bomb those apartment buildings from a distance. No risk, no fuss, no mess. However that would cause the death of Arab civilians, noncombatants, the “human shields” of the terrorists. The IDF chose instead to go in on foot and fight house to house. Eleven reserve soldiers, men with families, were killed that day.
In another incident, the IDF had accidentally hit a water pipe, leaving the noncombatant population without running water. Israel sent in repairmen, under enemy fire, to fix the pipe. This deep seated appreciation of human life translates into an appreciation of one’s own life. This produces a fierce desire to survive, to preserve one’s own life.
International law experts said that the IDF went to “great and noble lengths” to avoid civilian casualties while fighting Hamas terrorists in Gaza in 2014, but warned the IDF is taking “many more precautions than are required.” As a result, they feared that the IDF “is setting an unreasonable precedent for other democratic countries of the world who may also be fighting in asymmetric wars against brutal non-state actors who abuse these laws” (Ari Yashar, IsraelNationalNews, June 9, 2015, accessed June 10, 2015).
Long Term Survival
The Jewish people are survivors. The Jews have a long history of oppression, persecution, and…survival. During the Passover seder each year, we say, “In every single generation there arises an enemy who wishes to destroy us, but the Holy One, blessed be He, saves us from their hands” (Passover Haggadah).
“The People That Won’t Die”
We are the people that won’t die.
We’ve got a vision in our eyes and a mission in our souls,
to return to the days of old,
to our home in Israel.
Two thousand years I wandered, without a place to call my own.
As much as I tried, I could not call it home.
I fought for every nation and I died for every land,
but in my hour of need no one lent a helping hand.
We were burnt, we were gassed, we were shot at Babi Yar
Numbers on our forearms, covered with scars
and yet we continue to hold our heads up high,
eyes wide open, facing the clear blue sky.
The Jewish people are survivors. The Jews have a long history of oppression, persecution, and…survival. During the Passover seder each year, we say, “In every single generation there arises an enemy who wishes to destroy us, but the Holy One, blessed be He, saves us from their hands” (Ibid.).
Wandering the world for two thousand years, the Jew has learned to make lemonade out of lemons. At times he has sold his lemonade and made a profit, and has been criticized for doing so. He was denied citizenship, barred from owning land, kept out of professional guilds, denied entry to schools and colleges, deprived of natural rights and privileges, and all too often expelled from lands he called home. And still the Jew adapted and survived.
Without a home or an army, without a government to stand up for his rights, without a church or a pope to plead his case, the Jew survived. The culmination of being hosted in other nations’ lands was the Holocaust, the systematic murder of a people: genocide. With this the Jewish people faced the worst nightmare of human history.
And when it was all over, these dry bones, these tattered refugees and survivors, came home to Israel to be greeted by millions of Arabs who sought to finish what the Nazis had begun. Facing a harsh enemy and a harsh, neglected land, these survivors drained the swamps, fought off countless Arab invasions, and made the desert bloom. They created one of the greatest fighting forces on earth, and one of the world’s most advanced hi-tech industries. These are the people who make up the nation of Israel. These people know how to survive.
Modern Day Application
There is an old saying, “Tough times never last; tough people do.” It is true in life and it is true in combat and in a fight. The attack will eventually tire out; you simply have to outlast it passively, yet actively wait for your moment. For nearly two thousand years the Jewish people waited for their moment to return to Israel. While it may have been passive, it was also active. Hope was actively kept alive through prayer and study; small opportunities were seized and acted upon. Small groups did reach Israel, strengthening old communities.
The same idea applies to fighting. While fighting, I have often found myself in a bad position; an opponent pinning me down or choking me. Most times I did not have the ability to just throw off my opponent. I responded passively/actively. Holding on for dear life, I prevented the choke or arm bar from being applied, thwarting my opponent’s efforts and conserving my energy. I bided my time. When my opponent began to tire and his hold on me weakened—I made my move and countered successfully.
The same applies in daily life. We are not always in a position to “counter” our life circumstances, but we can respond passively/actively by doing all we can, hanging tough, knowing that if we just hold on long enough, our moment will come. The rabbis say that in the end of days two angels will be holding a rope, and all of mankind will be holding on to this rope for dear life, for if one lets go he is doomed. “I am telling you this,” the rabbi said, “so that you should remember to hold on tight, don’t let go.”
Minimizing Rather than Overreacting
When I began my Krav Maga training in Israel certain things became clear. There was a lot of full contact fighting, but there was no real dressing room, and for drinking water you had to go to the rest room. Clearly this was a no frills operation.
We were located right next to a hospital. Students joked that this location was chosen to accommodate the many students requiring medical care after getting hit. Our instructor himself was a combat medic and usually handled the injuries on his own, only rarely sending a student to the hospital.
When a student would get hurt, the instructor would look at the wound and say, “Lo kara shum davar” (nothing happened, this is no big deal). I figured, well this must be a minor injury. But then I saw some injuries that were clearly more serious and he still said, “Nothing happened, take it easy, it is a minor injury.” Much later I figured out what was going on.
It was only when I observed a group of students from abroad, and saw their reaction, that I understood what he was doing. Our teacher, Itay, is a warrior, he has spent his entire life being a warrior. He has served as a combat medic and he knows that the worst possible response is overreaction. If you overreact you cause panic, you make the situation much worse than it is. What a warrior does is minimize the situation. Do not tell an injured man, “Oh my God! This looks terrible!” That alone can kill him. What you need to say is, “Nothing happened, no big deal, you will be fine.” This will calm him and help the healing process. A warrior knows that he, and those around him, must remain calm. To overreact is to plant the seeds of disaster. You must always minimize any misfortune, get back on your feet and continue.
In fact, in the Bible it says that even in a most critical war, where all are required by law to serve, the cowardly are sent home, as to not cause their brothers’ hearts to melt during combat. “Any man who is fearful and fainthearted let him go and return to his house, lest his brethren’s heart melt like his heart” (Deuteronomy 20:8).
Attitude
There is a popular Hebrew expression: yihiyh b’seder—it will be OK. But yihiyeh b’seder is more than just “it will be OK,” it is an attitude. It is a feeling that nothing will hold us back, no matter how bad things are, no matter how bleak, yihiyeh b’seder, it will be all right, you will see. Sitting on the Suez Canal, being bombarded by the Egyptians, but…yihiyeh b’seder, it will be OK, you will see.
And, yihiyh b’seder is related directly to avarnu at Paroh, naavor gam et zeh—we got through, (survived, outlasted) Pharaoh of Egypt, we will get through this as well. Soldiers sitting in Suez, Egypt, another cup of Turkish coffee, we got through pharaoh once before, we will get through this. It will be OK.
We had the Holocaust, the Spanish/Portuguese/Mexican…Inquisitions, the persecutions of ancient Egypt, the wars of 48, 56, 67, 70, 73, 82, 06, 14. No matter what happens, we survive.
This attitude permeates Israeli society, civilian and military. This attitude is not a simple matter, not just an easy going way of looking at things; it is an attitude of hope, of change. A man’s physical body may be shattered, but his soul is intact. Israel may be bleeding, but its spirit strong. This is not the broken Jew of the exile, this is not a Jew who only grieves and hopes. This is the Jew of Israel, the Jew of hope, the Jew of redemption. No matter how bad things may appear we are, in fact, living in the best of times. We have witnessed the miracles return to Zion; we have witnessed the great victories and the revival of the Jewish people. We can cope with anything.
CHAPTER 2
A True People’s Army
We are a warrior nation out of necessity. We are a small nation and very simply we need everyone, no one is dispensable. This concept goes way back to our earliest days. Long before the modern State of Israel came into being, the ancient people of Israel had already formulated, under God’s direction, this warrior nation concept.
The idea was actually born in the Bible, the Torah, in the book of Bamidbar (“In the Desert” or “Numbers”). “From the age of twenty and upwards, all that are able to go forth in war in Israel, you [Moshe] and Aharon shall number them according to their units” (Bamidbar 1:3). Here it is made clear that this is a national obligation, every man who is able to fight must be ready to do so.
Later, in Bamidbar 32, we read how the members of certain tribes were reluctant to serve, they did not want to cross over into Israel and fight, they wanted to stay where the land was good. “Now the children of Re’uven and the children of Gad had a very great multitude of cattle, and when they saw the land of Ya’azer and the land of Gilad, that, behold, the place was a place for cattle, the children of Gad and the children of Re’uven came and spoke to Moshe, and to Elazar the Cohen (Priest) and the presidents of the community, saying, ‘thy servants have cattle…let this land be given to us for our cattle.’” They did not want to cross over the Jordan River, they wanted to stay put and not participate in the battles against the inhabitants of the land of Cana’an.
Moshe’s answer is relevant even today, “And Moshe said…Shall your brethren go to war, and you shall sit here?” This answer echoes through the generations, “Shall your brethren go forth to battle and you shall sit here!!” We can still hear Moshe, Moses, today; this is a national effort and no one is exempt. Your personal philosophy is of no interest to us, all must serve; all have a responsibility to protect the nation.
Moshe further explains that the act of sitting out the war has a disheartening effect upon the warriors. Not only are you not serving, but you are causing harm to those who do. “And why do you dishearten the children of Yisrael from going over into the land which God has given them?”
Moshe refers to the unfaithful spies who told the people of Israel that the land was too heavily defended and would be impossible to conquer. He compares the current draft dodgers to those spies and refers to them as “a brood of sinful men” who “augmented the fierce anger of God.” Upon hearing these powerful words from the great leader, the men of Re’uven and Gad change their attitude. The women and children and cattle will stay behind in the fertile land, but the men will go and fight alongside their brethren. “But we ourselves will go ready armed before the children of Yisrael until we have brought them to their place.…We will not return to our houses until the children of Yisrael have inherited every man his inheritance.”
“And Moshe said to them, ‘If you will do this thing, if you will go armed before God to war, and will go all of you armed over the Jordan before God, until He has driven out His enemies before Him, and the land be subdued before God, then afterwards you shall return and be guiltless before God, and the land shall be your possession before God. But if you will not do so, behold, you have transgressed against God.’” The answer of the men of Re’uven and Gad was crystal clear. “We will pass over armed into the land of Cana’an.”
A Nation of Warriors – Another Definition
As our ground forces entered Gaza during the war with Hamas, the idea of a “nation of warriors” once again emerged, reflected in the emotion-filled voice of the Minister of Defense and in the look of concern on the faces of the citizens of Israel. For us, deploying the military is not just a matter of “sending in the troops.” The word troops sounds too impersonal, the word troops has no personality.
What we are really sending in are our children, nephews, neighbors, friends, husbands, colleagues, and students. For us it is not “the troops,” it is Moshe, and David, Abraham and Jonathan; it is real people with names and personalities. We know their faces, their smiles, and their laughter.
There is not a home that is unaffected. If it is not your child that is sent in, then it is “all my friends’ kids.” It is the son of the guy at the desk next to you at work. It is the older brother of the boy whose bar mitzvah you just attended. It is the young man whose wedding is scheduled for next month. It is very close and personal.
Every single life is an entire world to us. Every single life is precious. As such, decisions to go to war are not taken lightly. We are not trigger happy. And still, we are a nation of warriors; us, our fathers and our mothers, our sons and our daughters. We do not have “acceptable losses,” each loss is a major tragedy. We cry over each and every soldier, we pray for each and every soldier. Each one is an entire world to us. We want to know as much as we can about each one, each one is an individual, a precious gift.
A Japanese friend commented on how I always say “our army” even though I am no longer in the army. The comment surprised me. She explained that Japanese people do not identify as such with the army; it is not “their” army. For us, yes, it is very much “our” army. We speak in terms of we are going in, or, we are pulling out, we suffered no losses.
One of the most beautiful phrases, music to our ears, is when we hear on the radio, “Kol kohotainu hazru be’shalom.” (All our forces have come home safely, in peace). I nearly get tears in my eyes just thinking these words. When we hear those words, all our emotions come out, and we say…Thank God!!! Thank God everyone is home safe, today no mothers will cry, today no wives will mourn, today no children will become orphans, today no fathers will recite the prayer for the dead, Today we have peace…if only for a day.
A recent first time visitor from Eastern Europe commented to me how surprised he was to be constantly surrounded by guns and soldiers; in the streets of Jerusalem, on the bus, in restaurants, everywhere. He was not prepared for it, but this is our reality.
The Israeli army has been a people’s army from the very beginning. There was no draft, just a bunch of people who said, “If no one fought, everyone would die” (Jerusalem Post, May 2, 2008).
One retired professor who fought in 1948 recently said that despite his preference for books, he chose to fight, “It was natural, it was necessary” (Ibid.). Two generations later, that professor’s grandson is about to be drafted. Now as then, he points out, “There is no questioning military obligations.”
The IDF is composed of three groups: a small number of professional career soldiers and officers, young men and women serving their compulsory military service, and the reserves. The uniqueness of a people’s army is expressed and manifested in Israeli society in three ways.
1. Compulsory Military Service
Every man or woman who turns eighteen years old receives a draft notice, and by law, must report to the draft board. Beginning in 2015, men will serve for thirty-two months, women for twenty four months. At the conclusion of their service some will be offered jobs in the standing army, known as Tzva Keva. The rest will be discharged and will be part of the reserves.
2. Obligatory Reserve Duty
Israel is a small country, always in great danger. Our economy cannot afford to sustain a large standing army even though it needs one. The unique solution is the reserve system where nearly the entire nation takes part in its defense, a true people’s army as envisioned by the American founding fathers in the 1770s. At the time, Americans feared a large standing army. They were concerned that it would lead to centralized power and tyranny. They had fought the British to escape just such a system. They wanted the power to remain with the people, and, in times of need, the people would defend democracy and freedom.
There were problems with the people’s army from the beginning. Although at the time many Americans owned guns and knew how to use them, serving as part of an army was a whole different ball game. General Washington was constantly frustrated by the different mentalities—the New Englanders were very different from the Virginians, the mountain people were different from the city folk. He had a rough time disciplining them to work as a single force. It is an indication of his brilliance, and fervent patriotism, that he succeeded. When the war ended the men went home, back to their farms. There was no reserve system and no follow-up training.
In the period following the Revolutionary War of Independence there was a great debate in America—some favored maintaining a large standing army to protect the newfound freedom while others feared it would become an instrument of tyranny. For the first hundred years or so of American history, the peacetime army remained very small—just big enough to fight the Indians and enforce laws.
In times of war, men were drafted and trained. However once the conflict was over, a familiar pattern developed—the great army that had saved the nation was rapidly demobilized. The people were tired of war and the soldiers went home, leaving only a skeleton force.
When the South seceded in 1861, the United States army consisted of sixteen thousand soldiers. It was a tiny regular army backed up by local militias. There was no reserve force. With the outbreak of the war, men were recruited and trained. Three million men fought in the Civil War, but once the war was over the army and navy were demobilized. The army was left with only twenty-five thousand soldiers while the navy was reduced from nearly seven hundred ships to forty-eight. Once the conflict was over, the great army that had saved the nation was rapidly demobilized, again leaving only a skeleton force.
Eventually the standing army theory prevailed. The United States realized it could not depend on untrained militia; it was simply impractical to expect ordinary citizens to fill the role of professional soldiers. Israel has accomplished just that.
Ordinary Israeli citizens are trained warriors. The standing army is small, but in times of danger it quickly expands, by the rapid mobilization of the reserves, to more than a million and a half well-trained fighting men. Wars in Israel are generally short; they begin suddenly and are over in a matter of weeks. These are not conflicts like the Civil War or the World Wars that last for years and allow time to build up an army. Our army has to be ready for action at all times. In times of war, reserve soldiers make up eighty percent of the ranks.
In 1967, Israel was attacked in the south by Egypt, in the east by Jordan, and in the north by Syria. Other Arab armies sent units to help with the attack. These were professional armies trained and equipped by the Soviet Union. In response, Israel called up the reserves. Universities emptied. Men and women left their jobs. Six days later—it was all over. Israel defeated the combined Arab armies and was on its way to capture all the Arab capital cities when a ceasefire was arranged.
The battle for Jerusalem was particularly difficult. The Israeli forces avoided using heavy artillery in order to spare the ancient holy sites. They avoided harming sites holy not only to Jews, but also sites of historical and religious significance to Christians and Muslims. This made the soldiers’ advance very precarious. The Jordanian Legion, Jordan’s crack troops, defended the ancient walled city. Shimon Cahaner was the commander of a paratroopers unit that was among the first group of soldiers to break into the Old City of Jerusalem. He recalls, “The Jordanians fought hard. The fighting in the narrow alleyways there is etched on my mind. We lost twenty-eight of our battalion in the first two days. They were all reservists with families. It was a mixture of euphoria and sadness” (Jerusalem Post, April 27, 2007). Once again the heroes were ordinary people. Cahaner himself is something of a legend, but balks at the idea that he is a hero.
In the Second Lebanon War, the IDF reported one hundred percent enlistment among the reserve soldiers. The secret is in a nation of reserve soldiers who are trained, motivated, and instantly available.
Upon completion of compulsory service, discharged soldiers automatically join the reserves and can be called up for active duty anywhere from thirty to forty-five days each year—longer in cases of war or emergency. Most will be part of the reserves until their forty-fifth birthday. In most cases, they will serve in the same unit as they did during their compulsory service, and, with the same people. Serving with the same group of guys for so many years creates a special bond. Women with specialized training, such as doctors or technicians, now also serve in the reserves.
3. The Universality of Service
The military becomes a common experience that bonds and connects people from different walks of life and diverse cultural backgrounds. Just as in the martial arts, a high priced lawyer might train and become friends with a construction worker. Due to the military, nearly any two people will automatically have a shared experience and starting point for conversation. Military service is considered essential for anyone who wants to integrate into Israeli society. I know this first hand.
My first day at the base, I arrived early and was told to wait in the dining room. I bumped into an old friend, Tzviyedka. She was born in Russia, moved to the United States as a teenager and now was here in Israel serving with the paratroopers. She had moved up the ranks and, in fact, was in charge of our group. Her diverse background, fluency in three languages, and fervent desire to serve, were typical of the people I would meet.
Soon the rest of my group arrived, one hundred eighty-three men in all. We were all “late joiners,” immigrants well past the age of eighteen. There were seven of us from the United States and Canada, about six Spanish speakers from South America, a bunch of Ethiopians, a truckload of Russian speakers, one guy from Turkey, two guys from India, and one fellow from the Republic of Ghana! Our commanders were nineteen-year-old Israelis. Somehow we would have to coalesce into one coherent unit. I thought to myself, “This would not be easy.” And yet, this was the story of Israeli society. I did not envy our commanders. Younger recruits are easier to mold. In any event, at least their commanders are a full year or two older than the recruits and have a sense of authority.
But age is really not a factor, nor is social or economic standing. They say Israel is the only country in the world where reservists are bossed around and commanded by officers, male and female, younger than their own children. Sometimes they are bossed around by people who had served with their children.
This is an accepted part of life. Whatever you are in your civilian life changes as soon as you put on your uniform, you are back to taking orders, cleaning a tank or the latrines, you are back to a different reality, a reality where we all must contribute to our national safety and nothing is more important.
In a sense it is a returning to your true self, the self you were before you became the CEO of a hi-tech company. Your childhood friend who served with you in a tank unit, and is now running a falafel stand, is once again your equal, he might drive the tank as you load it up. Your life might very well depend on him.
The army tries to break up existing cliques. To be effective, a combat unit must be like a family; brothers, regardless of background or native language. In the case of older recruits, like my group, this proved difficult. Each group kept to itself, spoke its own language, and shared newspapers and magazines in that language. The cultural difference between the Russians and the Ethiopians was particularly difficult to bridge.
Coming in speaking a dozen different languages, we were told that on base we were only to speak Hebrew. Nonetheless, I was often accidentally spoken to in semi-Russian. “Kakdila shmira?” (How was guard duty?) Kakdila is Russian for “how was,” shmira is guard duty in Hebrew.
“Sorry, I don’t speak Russian,” I answered.
“Not at all?” asked Yivgeny.
The common goal of defending the country must unite us despite our vast differences in culture. The lack of knowledge of Hebrew proved to be a real obstacle in our training and led to many comical situations. On one occasion a Russian speaker demanded “kavod” (honor, in Hebrew), when he really meant to say “kova” (hat, in Hebrew). The commander gave him a whole lecture on how kavod, honor, respect, must be earned; you cannot just demand respect; you must earn it over time. The poor soldier, of course, had no idea what the commander was talking about. All he knew was that it was terribly hot and he still did not have a kova to protect him from the blistering heat.
On another occasion, when the latrines were being cleaned and were thus temporarily unavailable, our commander, Riki, told one of the Ethiopian guys to use the “etz” (Hebrew for tree) instead. The poor fellow thought she meant “et” (Hebrew for pen). He took his pen out from his pocket and asked, “But how?”
In the army, you will see people from all sorts of backgrounds, in every sense of the word. Not only is nearly every ethnic and skin color represented, but every type of person as well. You will see Olympic athletes and top scholars alongside the special needs individuals as well as “troubled youth.”
Special Needs
For an Israeli, service in the IDF is part of one’s self-esteem, a feeling that you are contributing to society, you are part of society and you are “just like everybody else.” You have served—where and how long is secondary. In March 2009, for the first time, five men and women with special needs, two of them with Down Syndrome, were accepted into the army. For them it was the “fulfillment of a dream.” Until then many special needs individuals had volunteered, but being a real soldier brought them great pride.
“I feel very happy about my enlistment,” one new soldier explained just before beginning the enlistment process. “I want to see my uniform already.” He can hardly hide his excitement, which is evident even in his clothing choice—army style camouflage pants and a shirt that features the Border Police logo. “Now I finally change from a volunteer into a soldier. Since I was eighteen, I’ve been dreaming of enlisting, and now my dream is finally coming true,” he boasts.
During the emotional event at the Induction Center, the enlistees were accompanied by their friends from the unit who worked with them throughout the past year. “They came to the unit before I got drafted, and at the beginning I was very surprised to meet them,” remembers Private Karin Lovkovski, “but we connected very fast—we have a lot of fun with them and they are amazing people. We all work at similar tasks, and apart from the fact that until now they did not have soldier ID cards and identification tags, they have been soldiers just like us” (Na’ama Rak, Israel Defense Forces website, March 24, 2009, accessed June 30, 2015).
The army finds each person a job they can handle and perform with dignity. Uri, an autistic young man, also wanted to serve in the army. He served for over a year working in the laundry department and other jobs. He had the honor of wearing the uniform of the armed forces of Israel, and like others his age, he could feel the pride of serving his country. Truly this is an army of all of its people.
Troubled Youth
For some, the military experience will be the first time in years that they are in a structured framework. For others, it will be their last chance for a future in society.
An Israeli documentary, “Yes, Miss Commander,” brought to attention the amazing work being done by a group of young women at the Havat HaShomer (Ranch of the Protector) military base in Northern Israel. We see here the kind of youth one normally tries to avoid, an issue we prefer not to deal with. But these people are also part of our society. “I won’t put on the uniform. It’s my father’s grave,” shouts one angry young man. Others fought, swore, and disobeyed the commander’s orders. But the patient commanders do not give up.
These boys are called “Raful’s boys” in honor of former IDF Chief of General Staff, Lt-Gen. Rafael Eitan, known affectionately as Raful. He founded this program thirty years ago. His mission was to bring young soldiers who cannot seem to survive in society, into the army. The military training and discipline will hopefully turn them into productive citizens. These youths all come from disadvantaged homes, difficult backgrounds, and usually have a criminal record. Most have little hope of fitting in with society. Often this is their last chance before a life of crime.
Havat HaShomer has more than four hundred young men. They are divided into groups of one hundred, each led by a female commander. Many of the youth have no parents, or have parents in prison. Most of these young men have dropped out of school long ago, at an early age. Base commander, Raz Karny, said, “I hear stories from these soldiers, where I sometimes have to pinch myself to recognize they are real. I do not believe they are bad people. These are people who do bad things. You cannot blame a boy who is hit by his father from the age of five, or a boy who searches for food in the garbage” (Jerusalem Post, July 27, 2009).
This is their chance, their opportunity to reform, to change the way they lead their lives. A recent graduate of the program went on to become a paratrooper. At the paratrooper graduation ceremony he stood with another young man, who just happened to be the son of Israeli politician, Tzipi Livini. This is Israel, where two young men from such different backgrounds can stand side by side at a graduation ceremony.
The female commanders show a deep concern for all “their” soldiers. “These strong women are the best found in Israel.” They are with the soldiers every day and they are committed to helping them. “You don’t understand how intense it is until you get here,” says Commander Noa Levitt, twenty-one years old. “Your soldiers become a real part of your life, they become you—you become them” (Ibid.).
Some people wonder how wise it is to invest in these young men, but the guiding principle is embodied in the words of Israel’s first Prime Minister, David Ben-Gurion, “The army is not just to guard our country’s walls; it is also for the continuity of future generations.”
The Hesder Yeshiva, Scholars and Warriors
What is a yeshiva? The word yeshiva is Hebrew for “sit.” The institution known throughout Jewish history as yeshiva is a place where Jews sit and study the book. Which book? The book they study is the Bible (Torah) and its commentaries, in particular the Talmud.
The Talmud is a commentary on the Bible, but it is more than that, it is five hundred years of passionate Jewish debate, discussion, and argument on every possible topic of relevance to the Jewish people. It is law, folklore, magic, stories, and mind sharpening dialogue about every topic from the meaning of existence to the details of a marriage contract. It is Jewish life. It is from the Talmud that a Jew learns how to live as a Jew; it is from these ancient teachings that we derive our strength and inspiration.
With the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948, many new voices were heard; they felt it was time for the Jewish people to put down “The Book” and pick up the gun. Others felt that only through prayer and study would our ultimate salvation be achieved. We must abandon all such nonsense, they said, forget politics and guns, and patiently wait for the Messiah. Along came a third approach—combine obligatory military service with traditional religious studies.
This arrangement became known as hesder, Hebrew for “arrangement.” Instead of serving three years, ages eighteen to twenty-one, in the IDF, the boys would join the yeshiva and study for five years. During that time, they would also serve in the IDF. After about a year and a half of study, the young men, as a group, join the IDF and serve for about nine months. During the next few years, they alternate between military training and religious studies.
The result has proven very successful. The hesder soldiers are among the most motivated in the country. Their religious beliefs and training, the idealist nature of these institutions, and their group cohesiveness, produce a highly motivated soldier willing to go to the greatest lengths to protect and defend his people.
Many commanders hope to be assigned to such groups, as the groups’ reputations precede them as the most motivated and self-sacrificing. My nephew’s commander said he had never seen anything like it; everyone was volunteering for extra tasks, each was willing to take the burden off the other, each saw the service as fulfilling a divine commandment. He himself had come from a very non-religious background and was unfamiliar with the sense of duty and commitment exhibited by these young men. His service with them deeply moved him. Sadly, this young commander was killed during the Second Lebanon War.
The hesder boys, as they are known, also take time for community involvement—collecting food for the needy and distributing it, tutoring disadvantaged students, and adding to the quality of life in the community. In my community of Maaleh Adumim, on the holiday known as Simhat Torah, a most joyous holiday marking the completion of the reading of the five books of Moses, the hesder boys go from synagogue to synagogue, dancing with the Torah and adding joy to each and every congregation.
Nearly all hesder students serve in combat units. There are about forty hesder yeshiva institutions in Israel, with about thirteen hundred student/soldiers at any given time. At the end of the five years of the hesder program, some soldiers choose to continue their military service. Many have become high ranking officers. As a result, we have rabbis who are also top military commanders—very reminiscent of biblical days. Like Moses, Joshua, and David, these men are steeped in faith and in the art of warfare. They lead their troops in combat and in prayer. I am proud that my three nephews all serve in hesder units.
Many of Israel’s top combat troops are devoutly religious Jews. Much preparation and attention is devoted to how to observe Jewish law and tradition in difficult combat and military situations. Some students devote a full year of their pre-army time to prepare for their service. They attend special institutions that deal with how to observe Jewish law in combat, and how to cope with morally challenging issues.
My nephew, Arie, and his unit had to deal with the question of how to carry their teffilin into the combat zone in Lebanon. Teffilin, or phylacteries, are the square boxes containing scripture passages that Jewish men wear during weekday prayers, as prescribed in the Bible—but these cannot be carried on Shabbat (the Sabbath). The soldiers had to consult with their rabbis as to how to handle this situation.
Just think about how different this is from combat units in other countries. They were going into battle, going to engage the notorious Hizbullah terrorists, their lives were on the line, and they were concerned with the minutiae of religious observance. They were concerned with serving God with purity. God is part of every daily action.
During Operation Cast Lead in the Gaza Strip, another religious question came up. According to biblical law, a newly wedded man is exempt from military service for one year, to celebrate life with his new wife and make her happy, unless it is a war of survival. “When a man takes a woman in marriage, he will be exempt from military service for one year…so that he may rejoice in his house with his wife whom he married” (Deuteronomy 24). The Talmud clarifies this exemption and limits it, “In a war which is a mitzvah (commandment, that is to say this war is a matter of survival) all go out to fight, even a groom.” The great scholar Maimonides writes, “Let him lean on the God of Israel…let him risk his life and not fear or be scared, and let him not think of his wife…but wipe them from his memory and focus only on war” (Maimonides, Laws of Kings and Wars, accessed June 30, 2015).
Such a case arose during the Gaza war. Lt. Aharon Karov, twenty-two years old and son of Rabbi Ze’ev Karov, married his “heart’s desire.” Aharon Karov served as commander in the elite paratroopers unit. The day after his wedding he was called into action. He had been enjoying his first breakfast with his new wife when his commander called. “We planned to have a relaxed breakfast together and to open the wedding gifts, when Aharon’s commander called,” his wife said. “I was naïve enough to think that he called to congratulate him. In my worst dreams I could not imagine he would be called up for reserve service a day after our wedding, but I am trying to be strong. Ultimately we are at war and the people of Israel need us now, so we must sacrifice our personal life for now” (Jerusalem Post, January 14, 2009). Much religious debate went on; the commandment of making your wife happy was considered versus the commandment to fight for the country, all factors were carefully weighed. It was a religious matter.
The Yom Kippur War of 1973 stretched into the holiday of Sukkoth, the Feast of Tabernacles. Yoel Bin Nun, the future Rabbi Yoel Bin Nun, found himself in the Sinai desert, but without a sukkah. A sukkah is the small hut that Jews erect for the holiday of Sukkoth (plural of sukkah, hut). These Sukkoth huts, are to mark the period of the exodus from Egypt, God’s watching over the nation of Israel during its wanderings in the desert. It is also to symbolize how all life is fragile, thus we leave our strong homes for the fragile huts.
To be in the Sinai desert, where this holiday originated, and not to erect a sukkah, was too much for the young soldier. He was in a foxhole, but decided he could turn that into a sukkah. He knew the exact laws, found some makeshift materials and turned his foxhole into a sukkah, symbolizing God’s watching over Israel. Once it was complete he recited the traditional blessing, “Blessed are You our God, king of the universe who has sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us to dwell in the sukkah.”
After consulting with the rabbis and the holy texts, Karov returned to his unit. He and his troops were among the first to enter Gaza, an operation essential for the defense of Israel. His wife supported his decision to go into combat one hundred percent. She told the press that national security comes before personal happiness. One week later she sent him a note, “I am with you from afar; I strengthen, support and pray for you. I believe in your decision to go to the battle for the sake of the people of Israel, a day after our wedding. Take care of yourself and your soldiers.”
A week later, Karov was critically wounded by an explosion in a booby-trapped house. He was flown in a military helicopter from the battlefield directly to the hospital. At first look, the doctors did not know how he would ever recover as he suffered severe wounds to the head. Against all odds, Karov regained consciousness after a few days. A few weeks later he was walking. Doctors consider it a miracle, although he still had a long way to go. When his trainees finished their course and were awarded their pins (of their unit), Karov was there to participate in the ceremony. For Aharon Karov and others like him, ancient religious texts and rabbinic rulings are as relevant to the battlefield as are the latest advances in military hardware.
At any military camp, you will see soldiers draped in their prayer shawls, their tallith, and holding a prayer book in their hands. These are not hired killers or Spartan warriors, they are religious men fulfilling the word of God and fighting for a worthy cause, a cause they believe in with complete and total faith. Military service is a religious duty, dating back to the days of Moses and Aharon (Bamidbar 1).
They say there are no atheists in foxholes. That is particularly true in Israel. During one of the wars in Gaza, religious faith was integral to many soldiers’ morale. A special hotline was started where soldiers called in and gave their names. They were matched up with a noncombatant who prayed for them on an individual basis. There were many thousands of requests, both from religiously observant soldiers and from “secular” soldiers. “Just the other day an entire battalion of soldiers, just about to enter Gaza, gave us all of their names. They passed the phone from one to the other, secular and religious—not one of them refused” (Jerusalem Post, January 14, 2009).
During the fighting, an IDF rabbi noticed there was a tremendous thirst for “anything spiritual.” The rabbi also said that more than fifteen hundred sets of tzitzit, the four-cornered fringed garment worn by religious men under their shirts, had been distributed to soldiers “who want the spiritual protection of being wrapped in holiness. Tzitzit are a heavenly ‘flak jacket,’” the rabbi commented (Ibid.). The obligation for Jewish men to wear the fringed garment dates back to biblical days. “And God spoke to Moshe saying, ‘Speak to the children of Israel, and bid them that they make them fringes in the corners of their garments throughout their generations…’” (Bamidbar 15:37-38).
Many soldiers also carry small copies of the book of Psalms, written by King David and viewed as providing special protection in times of danger. Rabbis regularly visit the front lines to provide spiritual guidance and inspiration.
In most societies, there are civilians and there are professional warriors. The two groups are very different, have different views of society, war, and lifestyle. If you were to ask a Vietnam veteran and some other “ordinary” citizen to describe the Vietnam War, it would probably sound like two totally different wars; each one’s interpretation might be unacceptable, even incomprehensible, to the other. One might describe “a just, moral, patriotic war that we nearly won. We were over there fighting for democracy, assisting our allies and fulfilling America’s role in the world.” The other group might describe “a disaster, a place we had no right to be, violations of human rights, and horrific war crimes.”
The two classes would have different historical memories, read different books, and in many ways speak a different language. Even their physical appearances would often be different; a muscular fellow, short hair, tattoo, standing erect, and answering with a loud and clear “Sir!” He would speak of “service and devotion, the good old USA, and our role in the world.”
Some civilians, the non-warriors, might lack the military bearing of the warriors, have a more casual attitude about them, and might speak of “corrupt governments duping the public into pointless wars.” There may be a distinct lack of respect for those who serve the nation. Mostly, they seem to lack an understanding and appreciation of what it takes to be a warrior and why without warriors we would all be doomed.
In Israel, these distinctions hardly exist, if at all—almost everyone serves. If you have not been in combat then your brother, father, cousin, neighbor or friend was, and you have lived it through them. During your military service you would have been taught “combat legacy,” the history of Israeli wars, stories of individual bravery, and how one person can make a significant difference.
It is a very small country and the enemy and the threat are real and close by. There are still some who manage to hide from the truth, but few can claim ignorance of the precarious reality of our situation. As one expert said, “I don’t think we have two groups, the uninitiated civilians, nor the professional warrior class; we only have the citizen warrior class.”
The universality of service leads to an understanding of what others have gone through, and an appreciation for their sacrifice and experience. It is said that more than wealth or power a person wants recognition; to be appreciated. No money can buy that, but service to your people can. It is difficult indeed to appreciate another man’s pain or sacrifice. I like to use the boxing analogy.
A few buddies are sitting on the couch watching a professional boxing match on TV. It could be the heavyweight championship. By the tenth round, the fighters look like a swift wind could knock them off their feet. The buddies are relaxing on the couch, eating pizza and guzzling beer and shouting at the fighters on TV, “You bum, stand up and fight, my grandmother fights better than that!” Of course, our beer drinking fan has never been in such a fight. If he had, he would not be shouting those rude insults. He does not seem to realize that he is watching top athletes who have trained long and hard for this bout, that they are giving their all.
Having fought myself, I can testify that after a few rounds of fighting, and of getting hit hard, it takes superhuman will power just to stand and continue. The urge to stop is overwhelming. Like the song, “Burning Heart” in the Rocky films, “Though his body says stop, His spirit cries—never!” (accessed June 30, 2015).
Our pizza-eating fans on the couch have no clue what these fighters are going through. They do not have the background to understand and appreciate what fighting at this level is like. They have not earned the right to criticize.
When I test students for rank, and I watch them get punched, kicked, flipped, and bent, I say to them, “The only reason I can stand here and judge you is because I have experienced every one of those blows myself. I can feel your pain. I can appreciate what you are going through.”
In the United States, when the boys came home from Vietnam, after living through the fires of hell and watching their buddies die, they were greeted with a clear lack of appreciation by the American public. The “fans” back home, did not understand what the soldiers had endured. They did not understand how in war sometimes civilians must die. They did not understand how when fighting in hell sometimes you have to make split second decisions or else you and your men might die.
They did not put themselves in these warriors’ boots—tired, fatigued, scarred and scared, living from day to day never knowing if you or the guy next to you will see the morrow—and yet they criticized. The privilege to criticize must be earned. In a warrior society it is earned.
When my nephew, Arie, came home from the war in Lebanon, the one thing that hurt him was when some people questioned the need for certain battles. It is the right of the citizen to question, but it is his obligation to show respect for those who put their lives on the line to protect him. To question—yes! But first show respect; honor the dead, help the wounded, comfort the mourners, rehabilitate the veterans. This is our obligation.
Korean War Memorial
In Israel, the situation is somewhat different. Almost everyone has served, many have seen combat. Almost everyone knows someone who sacrificed his life. We are more sensitive and respectful.
In the United States, Memorial Day is a day off; a vacation day for most of the population, barbecue and fun. Only a relatively small percentage of the population mourns and visits the graves of their loved ones who died in combat. In Israel, this would be unthinkable, a complete social disgrace. The TV and radio programs are totally devoted to mourning and memorials, only sad songs are played, only memorial programs are broadcasted; the national mood is somber. It is a national pain. We appreciate our warriors; they are the backbone of our society. We stop our cars to give them a ride, we stop at roadblocks to offer them a drink or a snack; we include them in our thoughts and in our prayers.
I was on my way home for my first weekend of leave from the IDF. I got off at the Central Bus Station in Jerusalem. The place was crowded as it always is on Fridays. A young girl approached me, “Chayal,” (soldier) she said, and she handed me a flower. This is Israel.
Chayal – Soldier
Every Hebrew word consists of a three letter source. Whether the word is long or short, it always stems from three “root” letters that will determine all the variations and conjugations of the word. From these three letters, one can compose many related words. This academic linguistic study can shed some light on the true, oftentimes hidden, meaning of a word.
The Hebrew word for soldier is chayal (ha-yal) and consists of the root letters of chet (het), yod (y), and lamed (l). These letters can also form the word chail which means “military force,” as in chail Par’o, “the military force of pharaoh.” Today this word is used for military branches as in chail raglim (infantry) or chail avir (air force). Pronounced slightly differently, these three letters are a different word, cha-yil, which means “valor,” as in “A woman of valor, who shall find” (Proverbs) or, “Choose ye men of valor” (Bible).
If one has done a super act, an act of great altruism, both the biblical and modern Hebrew expression is “he has done chayil” (he has done a great and noble act), in other words he has truly outdone himself for the benefit of others.
The single word “soldier” (chayal) combines and includes all these various meanings. A chayal is a force, both physically and morally. A chayal represents self-sacrifice, valor, and altruism. The word is deep in spiritual and historical meaning, as is the nation of Israel itself.
I will never forget the first time someone called me chayal. It was my first day in the IDF, we had just been issued our uniforms, but still had to go through a battery of medical procedures, X rays, and inoculations. I was standing in a crowd when a female soldier called out to me, “Chayal!” Strange, but somehow I knew she was referring to me even though with that “title” she could have been referring to any individual on the entire base. With that one word I felt I had just been awarded the greatest title, the greatest honor of my life. I already had earned several college degrees and martial arts ranks, yet with that one word, chayal, I felt the greatest honor. I felt I had joined the ranks of the long line of Hebrew warriors dating back to Abraham, Joshua, Samson, and King David. With that one word, I felt I was truly part of Israel.
The young girl came up to me at the bus station, handed me a single flower, smiled, and finished her sentence, “Chayal, todah,” (Soldier, thank you). This girl and her friends spent their free time handing out flowers to soldiers—flowers and smiles. In the United States, in the 1960s, hippies also handed out flowers to soldiers—they put them in the barrels of their guns, but not in gratitude. That was a sign of protest, of disapproval, a way of saying, “you shame us; we protest your violent actions in Vietnam.”
In Jerusalem, these young, sweet girls greet soldiers at the bus station with a single flower. “This single flower is my sign of appreciation to you. Thank you for protecting me; I want you to know that every single one of us appreciates every single one of you. From my heart to yours, here is a single flower.” One smile produces another. A single flower, on a busy Friday afternoon as the Sabbath was approaching, expressed all the beauty of Israeli society.
Perhaps no place tells Israel’s story better than Mount Herzl, for it is those who rest there that have paid the highest price for our independence. It is a national cemetery, divided into two sections which are interconnected. One section is for key political figures in Israel’s history; Dr. Theodor Herzl, Ze’ev Jabotinsky, Golda Meir, and many others. The other section is a military cemetery; soldiers killed in combat and in the line of duty, but there is more, much more.
Interspersed among the many graves are monuments. There is a huge monument to the two hundred fifty thousand Jewish soldiers who died in combat fighting for the Soviet Red Army against the Nazis. Of course they are not buried there, next to this monument there is not a single grave, but they are remembered. They died abroad, fighting for a foreign army, but yet they are given recognition here, in Jerusalem. They are recognized because some say that the Jews did not fight for themselves, but only waited to be rescued by others. In fact, over one and a half million Jews fought as part of the allied armies, with many casualties and many POWs. About five hundred thousand Soviet Jews fought the Nazis and close to two hundred fifty thousand fell in combat. In Jerusalem, at Mount Herzl, these warriors are remembered and honored. Their heroism and sacrifice is part of the story of Israel. Here they shall not be forgotten. To be a Jew is to remember.
There is also a monument honoring the many thousands of Jews from the Land of Israel who volunteered for World War Two in Europe. They joined the British army, left the security of the Land of Israel and fought on European soil, defeating the Nazis in several key battles and contributing to the war effort. They had their own unit, a unit from the Land of Israel with a Star of David. When the downtrodden and victimized Jews of Europe saw these Israeli soldiers they could hardly believe their eyes; Jewish soldiers from the Land of Israel fighting the Nazis! In Israel these brave soldiers are remembered.
Israel honors those warriors who fell before the official establishment of the state; none are forgotten. Among those buried are members of Nili, a pro-British spy network that operated during World War One. These were Israelis under Turkish rule providing information to the British. Their contribution was significant to the British conquest of Israel, ending four hundred years of Turkish rule and helping turn the tide against the Muslim empire. Most of the members of Nili were caught and killed by the Turks. They now lie in Mount Herzl with full military honors. They are remembered.
Here too are members of the pre-state militias; the Haganah, Etzel (Irgun) and Lehi. All these warriors are interned and honored as equal members of the Israeli fighting forces. They are remembered.
During World War Two, a group of Israelis parachuted into Eastern Europe to try to save the remnants of the Jewish community. They were all caught and murdered. Some of their bodies were never found; they are marked here with tombstones. Here they are recognized as soldiers of Israel, as freedom fighters and warriors. They too are remembered.
Grave of Chana Szenes, born in Hungary, immigrated to Israel,
parachuted back into Europe to try to save the Jews. She was caught
and executed. She is buried at Mount Herzl.
Mount Herzl also honors and remembers others who are part of the story of Israel. Many Jews tried to escape Europe, but all they could find were old, unseaworthy ships. Some of those sank with their passengers. The names of the passengers are engraved in stone at Mount Herzl, though their bodies disintegrated at the bottom of the ocean. Alone at sea, escaping a horrible past, they yearned for Israel and dreamed of “being a free people in our own land.” Instead they found tragedy at sea as families, communities, drowned together. Their names live on, each one carved individually in stone. Their names and their heroic efforts to join the community in Israel are remembered and honored.
Mount Herzl added a new monument, a stone wall on which hundreds of names are engraved. These are the victims of modern Arab terrorism. When Israel was established, the Arab nations put aside their differences and united to put an end to Jewish independence. Despite their overwhelming numerical superiority, unlimited resources, and international support; they lost every war. Yet their efforts continue to this day as they terrorize the population of Israel. The stones and the names engraved on them are the innocent civilians killed by suicide bombers, stabbings, drive-by shootings, kidnappings, and torture. They too are remembered and honored. They too are part of the struggle for the Land of Israel. For in Israel, just living is an act of defiance.
Walking around Mount Herzl you can learn the full history of the struggle for Jewish independence and the modern State of Israel, from the thinkers to the builders to the fighters, they all are there. There are sections devoted to each war; the War of Independence, Yom Kippur War, Six Day War, War of Attrition, Lebanon wars, and the Gaza wars.
At the request of bereaved parents, Israel’s Defense Ministry agreed to recognize the 2014 Operation Protective Edge in Gaza as a full-scale war. Eli Ben-Shem, chairman of Yad Lebanim, an organization that supports bereaved families in cooperation with the Defense Ministry, said, “Because both the state and the army now officially recognize Protective Edge as a military campaign, an official memorial ceremony will be held each year on Mount Herzl, as is done for all Israeli military campaigns” (Uzi Baruch, IsraelNationalNews, June 11, 2015, accessed June 12, 2015).
Each grave is cared for; some have grass, some have flowers, some have photos and personal mementos of the fallen, rank, favorite objects, or items left by family and friends who deeply miss them. The tombstones are simple; military insignia, name, name by which the person was called, names of parents, country of birth, date of birth and death, place where the soldier fell. Their countries of birth include Israel, Poland, Yemen, Germany, Tunisia, Romania, Egypt, Holland, South Africa, Iraq, Russia, and the United States.
Tombstone of Daniel (Danny) Hass, American born, moved to Israel,
killed during the First Lebanon War. Danny attended Bar Ilan
University shortly before I did. His sister lives in my community
and is distantly related to me. The stone reads, “Daniel (Danny)
Hass son of Shoshana and Meir, born in the United States, moved to
Israel in 1980, fell during the battle in Lebanon in Operation
‘Peace for the Galilee’”
Kavod HaMet – Respect for the Dead
Jewish tradition and law place a great deal of emphasis on respect for the dead, for the human body. After every terrorist attack, teams of volunteers collect all possible human remains of the bodies. The goal is always to bring the body to a “Jewish burial.” It is a great source of pain for a Jewish family to know that a loved one did not merit a proper Jewish burial. We go to great lengths to insure a proper burial. Israel has been known to trade prisoners of war, as well as terrorists, in exchange for bodies of Israeli soldiers. Everything is done to “bring the boys home,” even if it is only their physical remains.
Israeli soldiers have been known to take risks to retrieve the bodies of fallen comrades, even under fire. One such story is told by former Knesset Member, Yoni Shtabon. Lebanon, Hell, July 26, 2006. The battle of Bint Jebil. Three revered commanders had already fallen in the terrible battle. Commanders Roei Klein, Alex Schwartzman and Amichai Merhavya were lying dead. The area they were in was what is called tofet (a living hell). Yoni Shtabon was in a safe position, a brick house, well protected. The bodies lay five hundred meters away under heavy enemy crossfire. “It was the most difficult decision of my entire life.” He recalled that six years earlier, in another battle, Klein had saved his life. Something inside of him, an inner voice, told him he must retrieve the bodies. Shtabon took six soldiers and began to move toward the olive grove where the bodies of five soldiers lay. One of the soldiers took a bullet in the leg and could not continue. Shtabon sent the injured soldier back, along with another soldier to accompany him. Shtabon continued with four men. When he reached the area near the bodies, he met Itamar Katz, who told him that the body of Klein and four other soldiers were in the olive grove.
Israeli soldiers were on the roof of the house firing at Hizbullah in an attempt to keep them away from the bodies. Despite the incredible odds, Shtabon was determined to enter the grove and make sure that all the bodies were brought to a proper Jewish burial. “I signal to our helicopters to give me air support and to start firing.” As soon as there was an opportunity and Shatbon had proper cover, he decided to go in. He took two soldiers and ran toward the olive grove. “The first body I run into is Schwartzman, near the wall I find Merhavya and Klein, and next to them First Sergeant Asaf Namer and First Sergeant Shimon Dahan. At that moment you don’t think of anything other than the assignment” (Yisrael Hayom, April 16, 2013).
Carrying the bodies was very difficult so Shtabon and the two soldiers with him could only take one body at a time. One man would carry a body and the other two would cover him. They brought each body to the house, and then came back for another. Such they did five times, covering eighty meters each time while the enemy fire did not let up for a minute
Shtabon received an award for bravery from the IDF Chief of Staff. He and his men did not suffer any injuries. After many hours the fighting subsided and Hizbullah retreated. Shatabon was able to bring the boys back to Israel. He took great comfort in that five families could at least give a proper burial to their sons and not have them remain in enemy hands. Since that time, Shtabon spends every Memorial Day with the families of his friends who were killed in that battle.
Young soldiers are brought to Mount Herzl as part of their military education. They will learn the history of those who walked before them, of those who created the army to which these young soldiers now belong, of those who made life in Israel possible. They will learn their names, hear their stories, and feel a bond, the bond of one generation of warriors to another. By the time they leave, Memorial Day will be a personal day, a day they can relate to and understand.
There is a song that was popular when I was a child growing up in Israel, “At Va’Ani Noladnu BeTasha’’CH” (“You and I Were Born in 1948”) (accessed June 30, 2015). In many ways the people of Israel were reborn during that fateful year. 1948 was clearly a turning point, for the first time since the days of General Bar Kochba back in 135 CE, the nation of Israel was living as a free people in its own land. The “hope of two thousand years” had come true. Jews and Christians around the world saw this as a miracle of biblical proportions. (Muslims saw this as an unparalleled, inexplicable tragedy.) Once again the few and the pure had defeated the many and the evil.
Since the days of Muhammad and the birth of Islam thirteen hundred years ago, Jews and Christians had been relegated to the humiliating status of dhimmi, or “protected” people. Muslim persecution of Jews began as soon as Muhammad realized that the Jews did not see him as a prophet along the lines of Moses. The Jews of Arabia did not accept Muhammad’s claims of divine revelation. This rejection would cost them dearly in lives and property.
One after another, the followers of Muhammad laid siege to Jewish areas, each time the terms of surrender were worse. In one case, that of the Jews of Qurayza, all nine hundred Jewish males were decapitated, their wives and children taken as slaves, and their property divided among the “faithful” Muslims.
Under Muslim rule, no Jewish or Christian house of worship could stand at the same height as that of a Muslim mosque, no Jew or Christian could be equal to a Muslim. The dhimmi rules, or all those referred to as “ahl al dimmahh” (the people of the contract), date back to the defeat of the Jews by the Muslims in the year 628 CE. The Jews had fought valiantly, but were defeated after a captured Jewish spy revealed crucial strategic information.
During this dark period, the fortunes of the Jews in this region fluctuated with the times and the rulers, but the Jew was always reminded of his lowly status. Massacres and humiliation were common. When the opportunity arose for the Jews to have a small state of their own, the entire Arab world united against them. Jewish independence was something they had put an end to back in Saudi Arabia. The idea of Jewish independence was something antithetical to the Muslim world-view. Islam rejects the idea of equality among religions.
Thus, David Ben-Gurion understood that the declaration of independence by Jews anywhere in the Dar al Islam, Land of the Muslims, as the Muslims saw it, would provoke a powerful response. Ben-Gurion knew that a terrible attack would be forthcoming and the consequences could be dire.
Arieh Handler, a witness to the signing of the Israeli Declaration of Independence, recalled the difficult deliberations that led to this declaration of freedom. The United States, more specifically President Harry Truman, had approved and backed the idea of Jewish statehood. However, as usual, the State Department objected. They claimed that backing Israel would undermine America’s position with the oil rich Arab countries, and that the people of Israel would be incapable of winning such a war. “On the basis of the Haganah’s limited skirmishes thus far, secretary of state George Marshall and other officials were dubious about the ability of the Jews to repel the regular Arab armies. They warned against the overstretched American army being drawn into the conflict. Some senior officials in Washington argued that a state formed in good part of immigrants from Eastern Europe would inevitably go communist” (Jerusalem Post Magazine, May 8, 2008).
The United States was pushing for a delay and the leaders of Israel had to decide whether to accept the American position. The position of the nation of Israel was difficult; surrounded by enemies whose population was forty times the population of the Jewish community in Israel, possessing regular armies with an abundance of weapons, and being actively assisted by the British. “The Arabs were quite strong and the British didn’t like us,” said Handler (Ibid.). Some delegates felt there was no option but to accept the American position and not declare independence.
The Talmud teaches us that some people earn their place in the “World to Come” in a single instant. For David Green (Grüen), by then David Ben-Gurion, that moment was about to come; it was his passionate speech that decided the issue. He was the man of the hour.
What defines a nation of warriors? What makes a people worthy of such a title? Despite overwhelming odds, without the support of any superpowers, without a real army to speak of, this tiny nation agreed to follow their leader and defy the odds. Handler recalls, “Ben Gurion was almost the only person who didn’t care what the US or Britain said. Or Russia” (Ibid.).
A people long considered unworthy of a fight were taking on the greatest odds. Once again, it was David against Goliath. Once again, it was the spirit of King David, the Maccabees, Samson, and Bar Kochba. An entire nation would fight; women and men, teenagers and the elderly, intellectuals, farmers and rabbis. Ben-Gurion told Golda Meir, herself a future Prime Minister, that it was vital to prepare the population for the inevitability of heavy losses. Indeed Israel would lose one percent of its population in the war, but the State of Israel would be reborn.
During Israel Independence Day celebrations at one of the leading rabbinical academies in Jerusalem, Mercaz HaRav Kook, Rabbi Tzvi Yehuda Kook gave a rousing talk to his students. Those who were there recall his emotion packed words, “Nineteen years ago, on the night when news of the United Nations decision in favor of the re-establishment of the State of Israel reached us, when the people streamed into the streets to celebrate and rejoice, I could not go out and join in the jubilation. I sat alone and silent; a burden lay upon me. During those first hours I could not resign myself to what had been done. I could not accept the fact that indeed ‘they have…divided My land!’ (Joel 4:2). Yes [and now after nineteen years] where is our Hebron—have we forgotten her?! Where is our Shehem, our Jericho—where?! Have we forgotten them?! And all that lies beyond the Jordan—each and every clod of earth, every region, hill, valley, every plot of land, that is part of Eretz Israel [the Land of Israel]—have we the right to give up even one grain of the Land of God?! On that night, nineteen years ago, during those hours, as I sat trembling in every limb of my body, wounded, cut, torn to pieces—I could not then rejoice.”
On the very same day, at the national song competition, a new song was heard. “Sing to God a new song, the entire land” (Psalms 96:1). The song was “Jerusalem of Gold” written by Naomi Shemer and sung by Shuli Natan, a nineteen-year-old Israeli soldier (accessed June 30, 2015). Her voice longed for Jerusalem, from which we were banned by the Arabs. With a voice strong, but sweet, she cried out, “The city that sits in solitude, and its heart a Wall (from the Holy Temple).” As the verse said…the nation sang along. “How the cisterns have dried up, as have the market and the city square, and no one visits the Temple Mount, in the Old City.” Sadness, pain, longing, for a Temple destroyed nearly two thousand years ago.
Three weeks later, as if by prophecy, those words came true. The Six Day War of June 1967 brought many of these regions under the control of the people of Israel. The Temple Mount, the ruins of the Holy Temple, were in Jewish hands. For the first time in nearly two thousand years Jewish soldiers stood at the location of the Temple. It was said, “The Western Wall has seen many things, but it has never seen paratroopers cry.”
Battle hardened soldiers, who had just lost some of their best friends, stood at the Wall. Secular Jews said, “I am not a religious man but standing at the Wall, my emotions are overwhelming. I am at the Wall!”
Rabbi Goren, chief rabbi of the IDF, appeared with a shofar, the ram’s horn, to proclaim the freedom of the Temple. “As God has returned His people to Zion we were as dreamers” (Psalms 126:1). Rabbi Tzvi Yehuda Kook and his friend Rabbi David Cohen, called “the nazir” (the monk), with long flowing white beards, came to the Wall as well. Religious soldiers thought it was the Messiah and his assistant. With such miracles, anything could be true! Commander Motta Gur reported, “The Temple Mount is in our hands.” Holy words had been spoken.
Naomi Shemer, author of “Jerusalem of Gold,” heard the news. She was in the Sinai desert singing for the troops. She grabbed pen and paper, and used a soldier’s back as a desk. She wrote the final verse of the song. “We have returned to the water cisterns, the market and the city square, a shofar—ram’s horn, calls out at the Temple Mount, in the Old City. Jerusalem of Gold, and of bronze and of light, for all your songs I shall be a violin.”
I am six years old, walking through the courtyard at the Savyon school, I hear kids singing this song, “We have returned…” The song runs through me, “for all your songs I shall be a violin.” We live for Jerusalem.
Jerusalem, Shechem, Jericho, and Hebron came under control of the descendants of those who lived there thousands of years earlier. The people felt the prophesies of the Bible being fulfilled in their own times. The warriors of 1967 fought with a bravery reminiscent of biblical days. Into the ancient corridors of Jerusalem they streamed, up the Golan Heights, and into the Sinai desert. Truly they had fought as lions. And as the Bible said, “Behold this is a nation that dwells alone, and among the nations is not recognized” (Bamidbar 23:9).
Israel had promises, guarantees, allies, but in the moment of truth, again Israel stood alone. Again, as in the Holocaust, the Jewish nation felt isolated. Israel’s foreign minister, British born Abba Eban, sought out help around the world, but none responded. France, a close ally at the time, turned against the Jewish state. The United States was busy with other matters, and the United Nations was silent.
“We can only depend upon ourselves,” the young reserve soldiers said over coffee. Nervousness spread across the land. Would it be the destruction of the State of Israel? Could this be happening again to the Jewish people?
The euphoria that was experienced after the war can only be understood in the context of the fear and isolation that was felt before the war. I arrived in Israel only two months after the war. Signs still warned us, “Caution, minefields ahead.”
Jews who had lost their faith, along with their families, during the Holocaust, were reborn with new faith; there was hope. “Our hope is not yet lost” (“Hatikva” – “The Hope”) (accessed June 30, 2015).
Some Israelis thought that we would never be attacked again…
The Yom Kippur War of 1973 was perhaps the greatest victory of all. Unlike the Six Day War of 1967 Israel did not take a preemptive strike. In fact, many key generals were convinced that the Arabs would not, could not, launch a major war—but they did. Israel was caught off guard.
The early days of the war were marked by unprecedented losses. The soldiers fought heroically, many a story is told of a handful of men holding off major enemy attacks and fighting to nearly the last bullet. Yet the numbers were simply impossible to overcome.
“Along the Suez Canal, 450 IDF soldiers with 50 artillery pieces tried in vain to stop 100,000 Egyptian troops crossing the waterway under the covering fire of 2,000 artillery pieces and under the shield of one of the most extensive anti-aircraft ASM missile umbrellas in the world. Within a few days, two whole Egyptian armies had occupied the entire Israeli held east bank of the Suez Canal. Simultaneously, on the Golan Heights, 1,400 Syrian tanks hurled themselves against Israel’s 160. Its defenders fought ferociously at point-blank range, lurching and roaring and dying in an unequal entanglement of tanks and armored personnel carriers and howitzers and other lethal paraphernalia that culminated in a contest of wills which left the IDF hemorrhaging” (Jerusalem Post, September 27, 2009).
The men in the field did not know what the politicians knew, that Israel was low on equipment (some claim this is not entirely accurate) and that Golda Meir was desperately seeking an American airlift. Richard Nixon came through with the airlift, but there was a price; not allowing Israel the full victory that it was able to achieve, and political concessions as soon as the war was over, i.e., being pressured into territorial retreat. Once the supplies arrived, the soldiers fought back and turned the situation around completely.
There were many heroes, but the key was the officers in the field. The turnaround was due mostly to the initiative taken by the field officers, this is how they had been trained; to think on their feet and take decisive action. Individual soldiers took action as well. Survivors of units that had been decimated found each other and formed new units. They returned to the battle. They returned to the hell and inferno of Sinai—burning tanks and hopeless odds. This is Israel. This is the land I call home.
The years pass, but the memories remain…I can still recall my neighbors and my dad walking out of their houses in their IDF uniforms, casually going off to once again fight back the Arab invaders. Unlike the battles in Saudi Arabia thirteen hundred years ago, this time we would prevail. The nation of warriors came alive; our mailman, gardener, teachers, friends, and neighbors were all off to war.
“Reenergized and re-equipped, the IDF decisively moved over to the offensive. What had begun three weeks earlier as an ignoble retreat ended in an almost total rout of the Egyptians and the Syrians, and the humiliation of their patrons – the Soviet Union. Israeli forces advanced to a mere 40 kilometers from the gates of Damascus, battled their way along the highway to Cairo, smashed two Egyptian armies, surrounded a third and were poised to strike a knockout blow when Nixon and Kissinger put the squeeze on” (Ibid., 11).
The war had ended, but the soldiers remained on the front lines for a long time. It seemed like there was no end to this war. Many soldiers remained in the Sinai Peninsula, where one of the bloodiest tank battles in history took place, where so many soldiers fell. But Sinai, to us, means something else as well. The word Sinai to any Jew means the place where God gave us the Ten Commandments, where Moshe went up to Mount Sinai to meet with God, face to face. It was said that when the nation of Israel stood at the footsteps of Mount Sinai they were as a single being, “One nation with one heart,” and now again our people were united. Religious and secular, “hawk” and “dove” sat together in Egypt, in Sinai, for long days and nights. With all the fire and hell there was a unity of brother with brother.
The rabbis teach us that destruction comes from the lack of unity among our people; that God does not like to see us disunited. Perhaps this costly war had brought us together, to some degree. It is said the redemption comes through unity. This war had it all; unity, sacrifice, pain, and heroism. And the singer sang, “May this war be the last war.” (“Hamilchama Ha’achrona” – “The Last War”) (accessed June 30, 2015). But it was not to be…
Israel is a nation of reserve soldiers. Wherever you are, you are among the reserve soldiers. As in the Second Lebanon conflict, the reserves are the backbone of the army. They have the experience and the training. This is a remarkable system—an army of civilians, going about their daily business, students, family men, people in all walks of life receiving yearly military training and refresher courses. The transition from civilian life to military life can be sudden and abrupt. For this transition to be possible, yearly training must take place.
As the reservists enter camp, they must make a quick mental adjustment. Soon, they will be carrying jerry cans (water containers), stretchers, military equipment, guns and ammunition, tens of kilograms of equipment. They will head out for long marches in the heat of the day or in pouring rain. These heavy military demands might take their toll, but the men will keep on going. They have to train to deal with the conditions they will face when they face the enemy—bunkers, tunnels, and possible ambush.
These are just “ordinary guys” doing their reserve training, in preparation for their worst nightmare; Lebanon, Gaza, or the refugee camps. They must face an enemy that is not afraid of death and has no regard for human life. This is our reality; welcome to our nightmare. Anyone can be plucked from his daily routine, taken away from a business negotiation, and within hours find himself on the Lebanese border or in the Gaza strip chasing terrorists or dodging bullets.
This is what happened with our two reserve soldiers whose capture led to the Second Lebanon War. Eldad Regev had just completed his tests to be accepted to the law school at Bar Ilan University. By the time his letter of acceptance arrived, he was already in Hizbullah captivity. His fellow reservist, Ehud Goldwasser, was recently married. They were called from their daily life and sent to the border. Shortly afterward, they were hit with overwhelming enemy fire.
As the war progressed, many more reservists would be called up, putting an abrupt end to anything else they were doing. “August 6, 2006. Things are heating up in Lebanon – it is past midnight, the phone rings. An automated female voice asks me to punch in my service number, and a split second before the voice goes on I understand: ‘The emergency procedure has been activated. You are to report to your unit’s emergency gathering point at 8 am’” (Jerusalem Post, April 23, 2007).
On that day, Sunday, August 6th, in the early afternoon, a tragedy, a terrible loss, took place. As the sky was becoming covered with smoke, twelve Israeli men, twelve bodies of the soldiers of reserve unit 9255, lay on the ground. Only two days earlier, they were going about their daily business when they received their call-up. Now, under a rain of Katyusha rockets, twelve soldiers lay dead and eighteen injured. None of them had hesitated to answer the call. As soon as they were called up, they dropped everything and reported for duty, despite being well aware of the grave dangers at the front.
Some people will serve in the military in a similar position as in civilian life. A public relations expert might be a military spokesman when called up, a doctor will serve as a medic. Dr. David Shashar was an obstetrician at Sheba hospital; he also served in the infantry reserves as a doctor. During the Second Lebanon War, he was busy delivering babies when he received the call to join his reserve unit. He was sent to southern Lebanon. On August 9, 2006, Hizbullah fired antitank missiles at the building where he was taking cover. Nine of his fellow soldiers were killed and he was badly injured, his arm nearly torn off. Ten days later he woke up, back in the same hospital where he was delivering babies, only now he was a patient. His arm was reattached, but no one knew if it would ever function again or if the doctor would ever be able to work again in his field. He knew this was a risk, yet when he was called up, he responded immediately.
Many things go through the mind of the civilian about to become a soldier again. You have to inform your family and your employer or business associates, cancel all your appointments, arrange your military kit, and make sure you have everything. Are you in shape? Perhaps you put on a few pounds, and of course, the idea that you are going into war…
“You meet up with your unit: ‘Have you heard anything? Do you know where we are going?’ We move up north – rockets are landing everywhere; we hear news that the previous reserve unit was bombed before they reached their destination. Twelve reservists are dead. Twelve reserve soldiers just like us – called up last night. 10:15 pm – the battalion commander assembles us. ‘Thank you all for coming,’ he says quietly. ‘We don’t take it for granted that less than 24 hours ago you were all civilians and you dropped everything to come here, knowing the risk’” (Ibid.).
Another soldier, a friend of mine, recalled, “A week after the war began, on July 20, the 401st brigade was ordered to the eastern sector of the Lebanese border. It was a Friday when we were called up to the North; people were home on leave, but everybody rushed in and we had 100 percent reporting for duty. They grew up overnight. I never heard a word of complaint from a single soldier during that time. Not a single argument. It was as if they, 19- and 20-year-olds, suddenly rose up to meet the responsibility that had been placed upon them. They fought among themselves to ‘go in’ and join the operations in Lebanon.” The battalion engaged in close combat operations until the second week of August.
Israeli forces attack Hizbullah terrorists in Lebanon, summer 2007.
Photo: Arie Katz
Moshe, a reservist with the paratroopers, is going abroad for a year, but says, “If they call me up to go to war next year, I’ll be on the plane. That’s the way I was educated in this country” (Jerusalem Post, July 13, 2007).
One of the most difficult times for the reserve army was in October 1973. It was Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, a sacred day in the Jewish religious calendar. Most men were in the synagogue praying.
The Egyptians attacked on the Southern front, men had to put away their prayer shawls and pick up their military gear and travel long distances to get to the front. It is a day of fasting and no one had eaten. Professor Stuart Cohen of Bar Ilan University writes, “They deserve great credit for having performed at all.” The synagogue, the house of prayer, emptied out as all the young, and not so young, men, were called to the front lines.
I was only in seventh grade, but I could see and feel the change that was taking place. Kids had older brothers who were serving in the army, most had dads in the army; no one knew what would happen. Our education was interrupted as all young teachers were called up for action. I recall reading the postcards our teachers sent us; they were posted on the bulletin board. One of our teachers never returned. I can still picture his last postcard from the front, encouraging us kids to be strong and not to worry. I listened to the radio and heard strange things like “Black Snake, Gray Wolf, report to the den.” The reserve units were being called up for action.
One’s reserve unit, as with compulsory service, is a mark of respect. Being a paratrooper is like being a member of the Harvard Rowing Club, only far more important; you put your sticker on your car, you meet periodically with the members of the club; you take pride in being an active member.
I met a commander who said he told his soldiers, “This battalion was in the Palmach (pre-state underground army) and in every war since 1948 it has been in the vanguard. At Mitla Pass, at the canal in ’73, on the Coastal Road in 1982. And now our turn has come to make history.”
Our turn; a soldier views it as his turn to defend his people and be part of history. It is with joy that they go out to battle, performing the sacred duty of defending the people of Israel. It is a mitzvah, a religious obligation.
It was 1982, the country had been suffering from terrorist attacks from Lebanon for some time. The boys in the yeshiva were waiting for their turn. The news arrived, “Our unit is going in! We were so excited,” said my neighbor, Avigdor, “it was our chance to finally do something. We never thought of all the friends who would not come back.”
Among those who would not come home were Yehuda Katz, Zacharia Baumel, and Tzvi Feldman. To this very day they are considered missing in action. The names of the MIA’s are recited each week in the synagogue and the congregation prays for their safe return. Other MIA’s included Sgt. Yosef Fink and Sgt. Rahamim Alsheikh who were taken prisoner on 18 February 1986. The two were part of a Givati brigade escort convoy in South Lebanon. Near the town of Beit Yahoun, Lebanon, the convoy was attacked by Hizbullah terrorists in a surprise ambush. Yossi Fink (my sister-in-law’s cousin) and Rachamim Elshaich were taken prisoner. For years their fate was unknown. In 1991 the chief military rabbi declared them officially dead. After many years the bodies of Fink and Elshaich would come home. The others are still missing.
Despite the danger, there is no sign of hesitation, only eagerness to serve with pride. During the Second Lebanon War, men in the gym teased each other with, “Have you received your call-up yet? No? Well then, that just shows what the army thinks of your unit. I got my call-up today, off to Lebanon soon.”
In Israel, most businesses, even small ones, will be partnerships, enabling one partner to keep the business alive when the other is called up. The reserve service also serves as a motivation to keep in shape. You can go directly from a sedentary desk job to hiking across the Golan Heights carrying an M-16 rifle and heavy supplies. The change is abrupt and you must be prepared.
My friend, Menachem, who I trained when he was an elite security guard, was in the process of moving into his new home when he received his orders. He was a young man with a wife and baby and had recently opened his own business selling fabrics. He was finally preparing to move into his new home. Without warning, he had to drop everything. He spent the next three weeks in Lebanon. “The fighting was fierce,” he said, visibly shaken as he spoke to me. “We lost three men in my unit, we bore the brunt of the fighting in our area,” he relayed to me as we stood in line at the checkout counter of our local supermarket. “They were good guys, good friends, the fighting was very tough.”
Do you see the contrast? Here we were, doing ordinary Friday shopping in preparation for the Sabbath, and he was speaking of house-to-house fighting and watching friends die. Menachem picks up a newspaper, looks at a story about soldiers taking food from people’s homes and says, “Yeah, that’s right, we did take food from Lebanese stores and homes, we had no choice, the trucks bringing our food supplies were fired on with antitank missiles, we were starving, no one was willing to risk driving up to bring us food.” Some soldiers brought US dollars with them and left money in the homes where they had eaten.
The front-page news and the guy standing next to you at the checkout counter are one and the same, a people’s army—ordinary people. “I am going back in [to Lebanon] on Sunday,” he says, with a look of concern taking over his face. I do not know what to say to him. Today he is comparing grocery prices; tomorrow he may be facing armed terrorists and antitank missiles.
In the United States, when you meet a soldier, it is usually obvious. He looks like a soldier, stands like a soldier, and talks like a soldier. He is a professional soldier. In Israel, the warriors do not stand out. You could never guess who they are. They are just ordinary guys who fight because they have to. The words on a soldier’s lips are, “It’s my responsibility, but it’s also my privilege.” The heroes do not act special because they know that so many others are heroes as well. You may have just liquidated a terrorist cell, but the old guy sitting next to you at the bus stop may have defended your hometown back in 1948 using only an M-1 rifle and a couple of hand grenades.
I was asked by one of my American students if Israelis identify with their colleges the way Americans do. In the United States people retain ties with their college for life. They will have bumper stickers on their cars, even thirty or more years after graduation. They might still come to the “big games” and support the school in other ways. Identification with one’s college is a major aspect of the culture.
In Israel, I have never noticed anything of the sort; the identification is with your military unit. Again, years later, people will have bumper stickers proudly declaring their affiliation with their unit. They will take pride in their son serving in the same unit, keeping the “family tradition” much as an American will be proud that his son attends the same college.
Israelis must serve in the military before they go off to college; so their studies rarely begin before the age of twenty-one. For Israelis, college is more of a practical step and not so much a life-changing experience. It is not their first experience away from home and the roof of their parents. They have served at least three years in the military, many have faced life and death situations; they are older and more mature than their American counterparts. College is a training ground for the work force; many students have part time jobs and live off campus. The military will always remain their dominant identification.
It is not only emotionally difficult to balance the transitions between job and combat, university studies and tracking down terrorists, it is also difficult on a practical level. You have to maintain a job, a family, perhaps a business. Today, with laptop computers and cell phones it is a bit easier.
Major A.G. is on a break. He is on his base, sitting outside the firing range, in the shade, working on a business proposal. His cell phone is ringing. He picks it up—it is a business associate from overseas. “What is that noise in the background?” asks his European caller, “Oh, that’s firing, I am doing reserve duty.”
A.G. is an officer in a reserves brigade, a father of four, and a marketing vice president in a hi-tech firm. He has been in the reserves for sixteen years. Why? “I will be honest, there are certain cases where work clashes with reserve duty.” Nonetheless he feels a need to serve; it makes him feel he is contributing something to his country. And then when Holocaust Memorial Day comes around, and he thinks back to what life was like for Jews before the State of Israel, his resolve to serve is reinforced. “A country as small as ours and surrounded by enemies is dependent on us; the army and its reserve soldiers.”
Immediately following the Second Lebanon War cease-fire and the demobilization of some of the reserve forces, something unusual took place. It started with a petition and continued with an active protest; the reserve soldiers were protesting against the government. They felt they were not given the proper chance to fight; they believed they were pulled back too soon before they had a chance to “complete the job.” They said the political and military leadership was not aggressive enough during the war; that the cease-fire left Israel still vulnerable to Hizbullah attacks; that the leadership did not let the IDF win. The petition said the leadership had “cold feet” that led to “inaction,” and that the soldiers wanted “to engage in combat.” The protesters camped outside the government buildings in Jerusalem and would not budge.
Think about it! Rather than running home to their jobs, businesses, and families, these idealistic reserve soldiers were complaining that they were not given the chance to engage the enemy and properly neutralize the threat to our country. There are no words to describe this sense of idealism and patriotism.
“We have doctors, lawyers, company owners and government officials in our unit, and we leave our families and our jobs every year to serve our country, we drop everything and go where the army tells us, to risk our lives” (Jerusalem Post, August 25, 2006).
These are soldiers who served at least three years of compulsory service and for years have been fighting terrorists during their reserve duty. In most countries, people get time off from work to go on vacation and sit on the beach and then complain about going back to work. In Israel, people get time off for reserve duty during which they chase terrorists, put themselves at risk, and push themselves to their mental and physical limits, and their only complaint is, “We need to engage the enemy in combat, just give us the chance.”
This is a small country where the feeling is that every man counts. The Chinese say a single grain of rice can tip the balance. In Israel, many battles have been decided by the heroic actions of one man. Each individual soldier feels important. One soldier writes, “Before the war, I thought the IDF could get along without me, but now I see more clearly that the army depends on everyone taking individual responsibility for it” (Jerusalem Post, July 13, 2007).
Other soldiers feel it is their responsibility to better prepare themselves personally for combat. Lior, a paratrooper, says that he and the other paratroopers in his unit have begun taking more personal responsibility—way beyond the call of duty—for their preparedness to fight. With a nation of warriors, each individual feels a sense of responsibility to the national cause. It is every man’s cause.
In some countries, during some wars, a cry came forward, “rich man’s war, poor man’s fight.” During the American Civil War, many Southerners felt that way; the war was being fought to protect the economic interests of the rich southern plantation owners, but the boys dying on the front lines owned neither land nor slaves. Many wars have been fought for economic reasons yet the rich have been able to buy their way out while the poor fought and died for the economic benefit of others. The wars benefited the rich industrialists, but the bodies in the field belonged to poor boys. In Israel this is not the case.
There is no such thing as “rich man’s war.” The wars are not fought for ideology or for economic gain or political influence; they are fought for survival, nothing more. The Second Lebanon War was fought because for the previous six years Hizbullah had been kidnapping soldiers, bombing civilian homes, and sponsoring terror. Israel fought back because it is the basic obligation of a state to protect its citizens. Thus the war was every man’s war. War is also every man’s fight. No one is exempt; you cannot buy your way out of military service. The draft is universal; it is the law. Not to serve is to be shamed for life.
Bnaya, a gifted tank commander, was killed in the Second Lebanon War. His last words to his mother were, “You raised us to give everything, and sometimes everything means everything.” Despite this tragic loss, his younger brother enlisted in a combat unit.
Uri, killed during the Lebanon war back in 1997, left a note behind. It was found folded up in his wallet, a little motivational thing, it read, “Give your utmost for the nation.”
Lt. Ofer had his left arm shattered when his armored personnel carrier was hit by a roadside bomb in Gaza. He told his commanders that he was coming back—after surgery. “I think about my friends and my country and I realize that I am needed back in the army.” He was given an award for heroism which he played down, saying, “I was only doing my job. I feel like I am on a mission and that I need to return to service. I am concerned about my soldiers and friends and believe that my country needs me” (Jerusalem Post, April 23, 2007).
Roy was hit five times by terrorists in Lebanon. His right femur was shattered, as was his jaw. For two weeks he could not speak, he lay in the hospital and wrote his mother a note telling her he didn’t regret anything for a minute. “If I could go back three and half years to when I was drafted, I would make all the same choices, even if I got hit again, because I’m proud to serve my country. I’m proud to defend it” (Jerusalem Post, July 13, 2007).
Roei Klein, a thirty-one-year-old father of two, a saxophone player and an engineer, ran to help a group of soldiers caught by a Hizbullah ambush. Klein rushed through a hail of fire to the platoon commander’s side, firing as he ran. He prepared to move the wounded officer to cover. Suddenly a grenade landed close to the group. Without hesitation Klein jumped on the grenade, absorbing the blast with his body. Mortally wounded, he uttered the words of the Shma, the affirmation of faith Jews recite when they believe they are about to die: “Shma Yisrael, Hear Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one.” He wired his last report, gave his second in command the code to his encrypted transmission device, and passed away. Klein was such an amazing soldier that he even reported his own death. Yoni Shtabon, now a member of the Israeli Knesset (Parliament) recalls, “The moment I heard over the communication device Roei’s voice shouting ‘Klein dead, Klein dead,’ I understood that he was actually reporting his own death” (Yisrael Hayom, April 16, 2013).
Grave, Roei Klein, died a hero. “This is how you raised me, to give
everything.”
Nimrod Segev, reservist, family man, two children, hi-tech worker. Nimrod is called up. Turns out there was some mistake and he is not needed just yet. He can go home. Nimrod decides to stay until everything is straightened out. Later, his father is notified that Nimrod is in the hospital, he is suffering from dehydration. “He looked as pale as a ghost,” his father recalls.
“Father, I am afraid,” said Nimrod.
“And then I heard for the first time his dream,” says the father.
Nimrod: “From this war I shall not return, I have seen my own death. I will die and in my coffin there will be nothing to bury, they will put bags of sand for weight. We will stumble upon a land mine and we will not be able to proceed. We will take a direct hit. I have seen the tank consumed by fire and explode and we are all burnt alive. I know, I will not return from this war. Father, Abba, I am afraid.” The father shuddered and tried to talk his son out of returning to the front, but he knew it was of no use. Nimrod had this look on his face, with a smile, and with complete peace of mind. He said: “Father, that is not how you raised us. I must be there for my state, for my friends and for my family. I cannot turn my back on the values with which I was raised” (Yisrael Hayom, April 14, 2013).
“Who is like your nation Israel” (Chronicles I 17:21).
Four days later, Nimrod’s tank drove over a land mine and then took a direct hit in the battle of Ayta al Shaab. The announcement came at 11:30 pm, twelve hours after the incident. The father recalls, “I heard the knock on the door, I opened the door and saw the military officer and the doctor. I ran inside the house, I collapsed on my knees and I begged that they would tell me he was injured, that he is alive and not dead. I asked mercy from the heavens, but it did not help. They informed me that Nimrod is dead and that there are no remains.”
Just at that moment the younger brother, Ehud, who was known to have telepathic ability, and who was in Mexico, called home and asked, “I see on the news that Israeli soldiers were killed but they are not giving out all the names yet. Isn’t it true that Nimrod was killed but they are not saying the names since I was not informed yet?”
The father asked the IDF officers what to say. They asked him to say nothing because representatives from the Israeli embassy were on their way to the brother. When the ambassador reached Ehud with the bitter news, he responded; “I know. I have been waiting for you for two days.”
Later, the commander told the father that Nimrod’s death was exactly as Nimrod had seen it four days earlier in his dream. The family established Mitzpe Nimrod, a beautiful park, a peaceful place, to perpetuate the name and memory of Nimrod; a soldier who saw his own death and yet would not abandon his assignment. He was raised to give his all to his people. He is now at peace.
After the difficult war in Lebanon only two years earlier, one might expect a lack of motivation for a very similar war in the South. This time the war was with Hamas in the hellhole known as the Gaza Strip.
The headlines of the local papers read, “Reservists Answer the Call En Masse, Ready to Take on Hamas.” The reservists, as always, dropped everything—work, school, and family—picked up their M-16s and headed for the front with complete and total dedication. As soon as the call went out, tens of thousands of citizens put on their uniforms and headed down to Gaza, ready to give ’em hell. I recall many saying, “We will make the south safe again. The children of southern Israel deserve to sleep in their beds, not in bomb shelters.”
“One reservist showed up a week after his wife gave birth to their firstborn son. Another is scheduled to get married next week” (Jerusalem Post, January 6, 2009).
“Everybody showed up for duty” confirmed Major Ido of the Negev brigade. “There are concerns, but it’s only natural and despite the concerns, everybody answered the emergency orders” (Ibid.).
Chaim Elbaum of Jerusalem, a father of three young children, spoke on behalf of his friends when he said, “We have been preparing for this for three years. We are motivated and ready” (Ibid.).
Yehuda Broyner, a thirty-eight-year-old teacher and father of four, fought in “Defensive Shield” back in 2002. He came back again, this time to fight in Gaza, “In situations like this I don’t think about myself. We are here to protect all of Israel and to bring security to the South.” (Ibid.).
This is the feeling that is echoed again and again; self-sacrifice, selflessness, devotion to the nation. Personal concerns come second. Their sacrifices, in turn, motivate the non-combatants to do their utmost as well; arranging packages, bringing hot meals to the soldiers, donating warm clothing, and praying for their welfare and success.
Another unique aspect of this people’s army is volunteerism. Many people are discharged for various reasons—age, health, family situations such as having many children, or severe financial difficulties. In the Second Lebanon War, as in previous wars, many of these discharged soldiers showed up anyway, uninvited, at the military bases. Despite having no obligation to serve, thousands showed up, eager to volunteer for combat. Men who suffered severe injuries, men too old to serve—they came. It is an unparalleled phenomenon in the modern world. I have seen men in their 70s insisting that they still can serve; “I can still fight! You should have seen me in the Sinai campaign in ’56—I am a fighter!”
One handicapped soldier, Avshalom Erez, lost an eye in the battle of Ayta al Shaab. He was part of the 101st battalion of paratroopers. He no longer had to serve, but said, “Even though I don’t have to do reserve duty now, I think I’ll volunteer. But I can’t fight in a war anymore…that’s the worst part of it all. It’s unbearable to think there could be another war and my friends will fight and risk their lives, and I won’t be there with them” (Jerusalem Post, July 12, 2007).
Volunteers come from all over. Israelis vacationing abroad will often cut their vacations short, take a flight home, and report for active combat in Gaza. Israelis who have emigrated to other countries will often contact their unit and find out if the unit is being called up. If the unit is being activated, these foreign residents will fly home to fight, at their own expense, leaving behind jobs and families. Sadly, there have been stories of Israeli students in American universities flying home only to be killed in combat and never return to complete their degrees.
One such case occurred in the Second Lebanon War. Perhaps this is the highest demonstration of self-sacrifice and patriotism—you are at your desk in Boston or New York, concerned with completing a term paper. You are safe. No one expects you to return and fight, and yet, you drop everything to be with your fellow soldiers dodging enemy bullets. You are part of this people, and being part of this people makes you part of the people’s army. They are your brothers-in-arms for life.
There are also special volunteer programs for non-Israelis. A unique aspect of this people’s army is the presence of foreign volunteers. People of all ages come to Israel on various programs and serve, as non-citizens, in the Israeli army. Speaking English, French, Spanish, German and Dutch, they arrive at the airport and are taken straight to military bases where they change into military fatigues and begin serving. Some do menial tasks, which frees up regular soldiers for more active duty; others use their specific training in medicine or engineering. On some bases, you can find grandmothers cleaning weapons, older men fixing military vehicles. They are all smiles, from ear to ear; they are serving the people of Israel. They are making a difference. Younger men will often be trained for guard duty, again, freeing regular soldiers for more active duty. The motivation level among all soldiers—regulars, reserves, and volunteers, is remarkably high.
These volunteer programs began with the underground freedom fighters before the State of Israel was established. In 1948, the program became official when approximately thirty-five hundred overseas volunteers came from forty-four countries to defend the newborn state. Most were World War Two veterans and their experience was of decisive importance in the War of Independence. They brought with them military experience, knowledge of equipment and arms, and understanding of military frameworks. They contributed a great deal to the newly-formed IDF. In fact, the bulk of the pilots in the first Israeli air force were foreigners. About half of the pilots were Christians.
During the War of Independence, one hundred twenty-one of the volunteers would lose their lives. Over the years, thousands more came and today the program is still going strong. As part of the program, the volunteers learn Hebrew, some live on a kibbutz for a while. During the Second Lebanon War, one unit had one hundred twenty foreign volunteers who flew to Israel to enlist.
There is a great deal of support from the non-military civilian population. There are organizations that arrange “enlistment parties” for all members of a community being drafted that month. Their photos appear in the paper; they are honored in the synagogue. Gifts are purchased for new recruits. Some units are short on supplies such as warm winter clothing. It can take many months of bureaucratic paper shuffling until the clothing is purchased—in the meantime, private donors will often buy the necessary clothing.
My nephew, Ari, arranged for a donation to purchase winter coats for the members of his combat unit. Volunteer groups arrange special food packages for soldiers on the front, offering some treats as well as a feeling that the people back home appreciate their sacrifice. In the Second Lebanon War, one hundred forty thousand packages were sent up in three weeks—each package was celebrated by the soldiers far from home.