When he was 6 years old, A. lost his mother in a stabbing attack at his doorstep.
Staff Sergeant A // Photo: From the IDF website
We walk in two quiet columns on the outskirts of a central city in the US. Everyone wears the vests, weapons with a bullet in the barrel and we wear full face masks - we are looking for threats in the space. I number two in the left column. We quickly cross a bright square - we must not be identified.
When we reach the destination, the commander points to the locator and every fighter already knows exactly what he is doing. My squad quickly and quietly ran to the wall that surrounds the detector. We open a ladder. Everyone in the yard. A quick scan to make sure no one can reveal the power and that's it - settle down In positions.
I climb the ladder and watch over the house where the wanted one should be. Cars pass through the street. We break into the house. It's fifteen minutes past and we're already heading back in two columns on the way to the pickup point back to base. We found the wanted and the money he was hiding through which he planned to buy weapons to carry out an attack. The night is cold and quiet. Citizens sleep peacefully.
My name is A., 21, living in the Beit Shemesh area. My story starts in 2004. I was six when a terrorist armed with a knife from the Gush Etzion area crossed the fence and entered our seat. My mom just came back from shopping and was at the house. We found her lying in the entrance when we returned from school. I don't remember much of those days. Mostly people who come, walk, cry, laugh. What has been a six-year-old from his life?
A with his mother, father and brother // Photo: From the IDF website
Two years pass. Wintry Friday. My dad is standing under the canopy with a new woman. I'm excited, how many more people in the world can say they were at their dad's wedding? Thoughts of a child.
Another wedding. This time at 16. My singing, my sister, is getting married. The first of the family. Suddenly, during the canopy, I get a nose. Mother is not here and she will not be here either.
Age 17. Sitting in a circle. Everyone in the group around me lost a mother, father, brother or sister in the attack, and this place became a second family for him. "One Family" is called the group, and not just one. Everyone has a place to vent, cry, laugh or shut up. one big family.
Age 18. Preparing. Looking for a significant place to enlist in that I can really protect your home. I hear and be exposed to the Kfir Brigade.
Photo: From the IDF website
Arrived today, November 19, 2017. I am joining the Kfir Brigade. After two weeks, he goes out for consolidation and from there goes on to recruiting in the Haruv Patrol. Hard training. Lots of runs, journeys, exercises, ranges, touchdown, lessons. I give everything - I know what losing a mother is because of terror.
And here's the end of a track. Now the real thing begins. The MPO wants me to take an MCH course. It's a wink to me. Suddenly I get a phone call: "Get to the offices. You have an interview for a war department."
Counterterrorism Training Course at Human Facility. Does not stop thinking about the role and the right to train fighters. Outstanding course. What not to do for Mom.
The column was first published on the IDF website