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We are the children Israel today

2021-09-15T15:20:16.695Z


"I woke up to noises I had not known before. Wounded animal cries, moans of pain and suffocated whimpers were heard from the next room ... My mother motioned for me to be quiet. "The next day began a journey that never ended for me to this day. This attempt to understand without words what is going on inside, in his head, in his heart" Trauma, the children of the heroes who returned from captivity, whose souls were broken in the cellars of the heart and in the dungeons of consciousness


I head south on Ayalon in the dusty jeep.

The radio talks about the wars, the battles, the acts of heroism and pain.

Between stories a song that opens the eyes.

How much bereavement in such a small and young country.

This day is heavy on me.

I feel it in my body, as if a few pounds have been added to it overnight.

I have a hard time breathing.

I think of him, always think of him.

About the stories I sucked from my birthday, and especially about the ones he never told.

I ache for his pain as if I too were there, crying over a life that could have looked different, about the wounds that gnaw at him day and night for forty years and refuse to release him.

I'm in pain and angry.

Mostly about myself.

"Winter 73" begins to play in the background and my vision is blurred.

"We are the children of the winter of the year seventy - three, you first dreamed of us at dawn, at the end of the battles [...] and when you raised us with love, in the winter of seventy - three, you wanted to fill in your body what the war lacked."

I am on KKL-JNF Boulevard, a red light. Out of the fog of tears I look at the vehicle next to me. An older man, probably my father's age, wipes away the tears, looking for a tissue in the glove compartment. Is he going to visit his son's grave now, I wonder, maybe his brother ? He looks back at me, tear after tear, and nods in pain. I try to send him an encouraging smile. The traffic light turns green, today no one honks their nerves, everyone is self-contained. "[...] "We just wanted to whisper, we are the children of that winter, seventy-three years old."

I take a deep breath, wipe a rebellious tear, and go out.


Yifat and her good eyes open the door for me and suddenly all the reasons I came to her in the first place disappear, and there is only that war, and this mission of mine that I have never been able to fulfill, and the frustration and self-anger, and the blow.


"How are you?"

She asks and her eyes already know the answer, and I choke and find it hard to answer.

"On the way they played 'Winter 73' '. It is so accurate, you understand? Our generation has a responsibility, the war took so much and we were supposed to compensate, to fill the void, the loss. , To draw a smile, to evoke feelings that the war has put out. That we came here with a mission. I came with a mission, and I do not feel that I stand by it with dignity.


"I always lived in the shadow of the war. No one hid but no one said either, it was just there, part of our reality, and I was so proud of him. In the muscular calves, in the chain marks in the ankles, even in the injured eye. When we were kids he would come too. A year for our class and tells us with the help of lots of drawings and maps and pictures, how the war started and what happened there, and would add half a sentence about the captivity ... And the girls, and also in captivity my father agreed to touch a little more, and when the lecture was over and we would go out for a break, my classmates would come to me and say to me with sparkling eyes, wow light, your father is a real hero!


"And I would seriously reply respecting a captive's daughter, yes, a not-so-simple story, and stand up straight and take a deep breath and be proud to be 'the daughter of.' Well with what happened there. And I remember looking at him, with that twinkle of admiration in my eyes, and telling him, 'But Dad, look at you, after all you went through, you managed to get up and rebuild yourself. It's inconceivable and admirable. And he answered me with a tired look. "And maybe a little shy, it's not light heroism, it's survival. And I think it was only when we went on the first mission, and I moved in with them, with the parents, that I understood what he was talking about."

"What happened there?"


"I remember that night like it was yesterday ... I woke up to noises I had not known before. I was confused and then frightened. Wounded animal cries, moans of pain and suffocating whimper were heard from the next room. I sat on the bed wondering what it was and what to do. I got up, I remember The shirt touches the wooden floor and my legs refuse to move but I push them, and the beam of light from the bathroom in the hallway leads me there, to their room, my parents'. And he screams and groans and growls.

"My heart once tightened, maybe his heart, and I tried to understand what my eyes saw. My mother motioned for me to be quiet. I approached her side in silence and she wrapped her arm around my legs and whispered to me, not to wake him, it scares him more. "With terrible distress in my heart. The next day a journey began for me that has not ended to this day. This attempt to understand without words what is going on inside, in his head, in his heart. I followed every piece of information, collected, saved, documented."

"How old were you?"


"Twelve years old. And only then did I begin to realize that behind the hero who survived the impossible, there is a wounded and very painful man, and to the infinite pride I felt was now added pity, and I so wanted to be there for him and mend the wounds for him ...


" A year of war. At that time, many articles about the post-trauma phenomenon also began to be published. I swallowed them eagerly. It felt so close, so precise. I saved them. Until then, there has always been talk of disability percentages due to the physical injury, which is visible, but suddenly a different, more threatening dimension appeared.


"" What was the trigger that led to this crisis in your opinion? "


"My sister, Ziv, who is three years younger than me, received a draft order. His world collapsed on him ... all of a sudden he is a villain in front of our eyes. "He himself was silent. His eyes were red, his gaze was sunken on the floor or at an obscure point. He walked like a shadow between us and there was silence tense in the air. Or silence or outbursts of rage. There was no middle. It was not the father we knew. It was stronger than him."


"That period, when everything erupted, was very shaky. It was the first time I saw my father breaking a vessel. And then I also started writing. I felt I had to tell his story. Over the years I notice that it's my story too. I can not imagine. "Who I am today without that war. It is ingrained in me."

"And that's why you did not enlist ..."


"Yes. I could not do that to him. When the first order came I felt that something in him was completely undermined. He tried to maintain restraint, but through the red eyes one could see that he was like a wounded animal."


"And what did your mother say about your decision?"


"She did not like it. She wanted me to enlist, to be like everyone else, but it was most important to her that I make a decision according to what I really want and think, and not just because of him. But it was not at all relevant to me what she said or thought, even if in retrospect she "Charity, at that moment I had to put out the fire that had not yet broken out. In those days only he stood before my eyes, and whoever did not join me in defending him - I would just ignore him or stand against him."

"It is very common in families that the father suffers from post-trauma Uri," Yifat looks at me. The rescuer - but the girl, you have to protect, hug, protect. "

√ √ √


I am silent for a moment, trying to recreate those days.


"At the end of the twelfth grade, I went down to Sinai with my friend, Aviv. I went to think. I was the youngest in the class, so I had more time to decide. We drove to where it all started. We had some amazing days there. The parentheses in life I was looking for. I thought a lot ... "


I remember standing on the waterline letting the tiny waves caress my feet and thinking about him, how young and optimistic he was then when he sat on this golden sand and how everything shattered in an instant. How much suffering he went through there, and how much he bears the war This is every second of his life, and how the sights of the battle and the cries of the wounded and the smell of scorched corpses and the blood mixed with the sand, do not leave him even for a second.

"And I felt, I just knew, that I should not enlist, that it was irresponsible and unfair, and that this was the least I could do to help him cope, relieve him of something." "The children of the Galilee finger, and when everything was back to normal and we returned to the kibbutz, I went up to the recruitment bureau in Tiberias. All the way, I tried to figure out what exactly I wanted."

I see before my eyes myself sitting there in the hallway waiting for a doctor. He looks tired, and the truth is, I did not blame him. He probably imagined a more brilliant career than sitting in an old room with a small window overlooking a neglected parking lot surrounded by unspecified painted walls, a sort of mixture of blue and gray, and masses of boys and girls entering it daily for a routine check against his fateful decision. Whereas I, did not know what exactly I wanted or what I was hoping for. I just sat in his room and waited for him to finish perusing my briefcase.


"After I finished the medical examinations and had already walked towards the exit, I stopped suddenly and the spirit of the decision just landed on me. I plucked up the courage and went back inside and asked to speak to the superintendent."

I remember the soldier with the pink nails who looked at me with contempt, you again? What do you want? And I told her in a slightly apologetic voice that I would like to talk to the chief, and she said that if I wanted to wait for him until the end of the queues I was invited, and pointed to the end of the corridor. "Like that, I said straight away that there is no problem.


" I remember that as soon as I saw him all of a sudden all the pressure and distress that was sitting in the center of my stomach while I was waiting outside dissipated.

"He asked me the reason for my request and the answer just came out of my mouth. I can not enlist. For a moment it seemed to me that he was a little surprised, but he expressed interest. To my surprise he smiled softly and asked me to tell him a little about him. And I told. Everything. , That he has already suffered enough.that the feeling is that they are just waiting for them to disappear from the world, and this case, which may be sitting on someone's conscience, or reminding someone of an unpleasant period, will evaporate.

"I also mentioned that my father did not know I came to see him today, and through his eyes I saw both wonder and understanding. I quietly added that I did not know either. I was already out after the tests and felt I had to make that move and I came. And I told him what I told you.


"At this point he leaned forward a little and asked quietly, and what do you say? What do you want? I replied that it didn't really matter what I wanted, that I just couldn't and that I would never forgive myself. Then he took a deep breath and told me that he had no doubt that the army would lose a soldier with potential, but he must tell me that he fully understands what I am saying and can not help but identify with me, adding that in every house it is different, and there are boys and girls Part of the military, but it's really very personal. He looked at me and said he would help me.

"I remember how I looked up at him and discovered a fatherly and containing smile and how almost without a voice I asked him, really? "My hand, and he wrapped it in both hands and said warmly, it will be all right. And that's it. When I left the bureau I said to myself over and over again as a mantra, 'You have taken the right step, he deserves it.'"

A Foreigner Will Not Understand, Hila Florsheim-Brown, Editing: Michal Heruti,


Cover Design: Racheli Ramon-Nofek, 223 pages, Nofek Publishing

Source: israelhayom

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