"Galei Tzahal, hello! We are a group of soldiers on the other side of the canal, asking to correspond with girls from the Netanya and Tel Aviv area. Every letter will be answered willingly." On November 19, 1973, shortly after the Yom Kippur War ended, the soldiers sent this postcard, in which they did not forget to mention that "your programs here are very popular, especially since they continue throughout the night," on November <>, <>, shortly after the Yom Kippur War ended, to the "Regards with a Song" program on Army Radio.
The military station, which in that war began broadcasting around the clock for the first time, then sent regards from the fighters at the front, with the addition of songs requested by the writers. Before the age of smartphones, social media, and the endless availability we've become accustomed to, it was the main – perhaps almost the only way – to keep in touch with those who hadn't seen their home for months, and were, as many postcards have pointed out, "somewhere in Africa," "in the land of Goshen," "somewhere in Syria," and "in the far north."
From Syria and Africa, photo: from Israel Parker's postcard collection
50 years later, the same many postcards tell the story of the war and the months that followed it in a unique way, one that may not have been told almost. They include pleas for contact during the fighting itself, greetings for spouses and young children over the years, and requests for the return of personal belongings forgotten by hitchhiking. And most importantly - they have, like a second thread woven between the lines, a tremendous desire for a moment of smile and joy.
There was also great pain and worry in the same manifestations. One was sent to the station on 17 October, 11 days after the outbreak of war. "I would very much like to give a reading on your broadcast program to my brother F. (name on file; J.P.) from Ashkelon," writes Haim. "Let him write to his parents or try in any way to communicate with them. This worries my parents a lot, because from the day he was drafted until today, we haven't heard anything from him." Our attempts to locate F. from Ashkelon were unsuccessful, so we were unable to find out in the preparation of the article whether he had really made the desired contact, or what had happened to him.
"Let him write to parents or try to communicate with them",
Many other postcards wish to convey condolences and greetings to wives and children who remained at home, as well as to relatives who served elsewhere in the war. Baruch, who served in the Golan Heights, asked on 23 December to send his regards to his two brothers, Zvika and Saadia, who served "somewhere in Africa and Sinai." Three brothers, three different fronts. One can only imagine what the parents went through at home.
Three brothers, three fronts,
"To my dear wife Rebecca," wrote the longing husband on November 9, 1973, who asked to dedicate to her the song "New Light" performed by a pair of bad guys from the Hasidic Song Festival. "Congratulations on your birthday (better late than never, due to the circumstances time has caused). Up to one hundred and twenty years of happiness and wealth together from your loving husband, as well as warm kisses to my dear son Moti. I love and miss me and hope to be back soon."
Another moving greeting was written by a soldier named Yoel, who sent a postcard on 15 November and asked to broadcast it on the 20th. "To my wife Smadar, on the three-month anniversary of our marriage, you received many, many blessings from your loving and longing husband." A simple time calculation reveals that only a month and a half after the marriage, Yoel went to war, and he wanted to dedicate to his wife the song "Once to Love" by Ilanit, or any other song of hers.
Three months of marriage, photo: from Israel Parker's postcard collection
On the very same day, November 15, my father wrote these words to his beloved: "Sweethearted brunette, you have color. No need to sunbathe too much. Get the song, well, of course, Esther Ofarim's 'Brunette.'"
"Don't sunbathe too much", photo: from Israel Parker's postcard collection
"Put your glasses back!"
There were also those who sought to use the radio in an attempt to recover losses – such as an umbrella forgotten on a ride, a personal backpack with important study materials, and more. "I would like you to broadcast a report about the loss of the SEIKO watch on October 7 near the Shakam in Refidim," wrote Moshe from Ramat Gan, who went through the war without the watch, which he lost on its second day.
Where's the clock?, Photo: from Israel Parker's postcard collection
A similar postcard, albeit in slightly irritated language, wrote on December 1, 1973, a soldier named Israel: "I ask you to publish this announcement as many times as possible. During the first week of the war, I lent my private glasses to a tank commander. This happened in Baluza, and I will very much ask that soldier return the glasses."
Return the glasses, photo: from Israel Parker's postcard collection
Another series of postcards reveals some of the spirit, the way of life and even the dark humor that developed among IDF soldiers during and after the war. "Finish there and deal with a little faster," Shuki, who was wounded and in the hospital in Nahariya, wrote to his brother Chaim, who served on one of the fronts.
In another postcard, "A Bunch of Coffee Cups" wrote a poem for the Shaltiel cook, with the following words: "To the excellent cook Shaltiel, thank you for the burnt coffee, I love you so much, thank you also for the loaf delicacy. Standing guard day and night, turning meatballs into squares, be healthy, you don't screw up, the surfer is delicious and smells pleasant." The army, as we know, marches on its stomach.
Thanks for the coffee and the loof, photo: from Israel Parker's postcard collection
Further and thought-provoking testimony to the spirit that served in the army in those days can be found in the songs that the soldiers wanted to hear. Alongside names such as Kaveret, Ilanit, Aris Sun and Yehoram Gaon, one song stands out above all of them, and that is Nissim Seroussi's "I Can't", which appears in the postcard collection many times. Seroussi's piercing cry of "I can't," written shortly before the war to her lover who left him, penetrated the hearts of the fighters, who remained conscripted for many months after the difficult war they endured.
"Bags full of postcards"
The person who makes it possible to read these hundreds of postcards is 73-year-old Israel Parker from Rishon LeZion, who during the war was a technician and shift supervisor at the Army Radio studios in Jaffa. He collected the postcards diligently during the war and for several months afterward, and he guards them to this day.
"I made sure not to take her open twice." Israel Parker and the Postcard Collection, Photo: Joshua Yosef
Parker was born about a month after his uncle, the late Israel Parker, after whom he is named, was killed in the War of Independence in a battle near Nahariya, which took place on 1948 Iyar 1968 (32), the day the establishment of the State of Israel was declared. In <> he enlisted in IDF Radio and served as a technician and head of the broadcasting shifts, and after his discharge continued to work part-time at the station for <> years, as a civilian and as a reservist, while working as an engineer.
"The Yom Kippur War caught me as an engineering student," he recalls. "In parallel to my studies, I used to do night and weekend duty on Army Radio, and on the same weekend when the war broke out I happened to be a technician on duty, and I had a jeep for the station. Suddenly, at about 13:00 P.M., the phone rang and they called me to come urgently. I didn't really understand what had happened, but on the way I started seeing cars on the road and people running, so I was worried there was some kind of security incident. When I got to the radio, I understood what was happening.
Parker serving in Army Radio, photo: from the private album
"Because of the war, the station started broadcasting 24 hours a day, and I was asked to work the night shift. Every morning bags full of postcards would arrive, from which the announcers would choose what to read, and then throw them on the table. After the long nights of work, I collected various painted postcards from their tables, with letters and messages from the soldiers, but since I couldn't collect everything, I made sure not to take the same postcard twice. This created a collection of several hundred postcards, which I also scanned and uploaded to a special website I established."
"Great emotional difficulty"
Parker's collection shows that the IDF invested quite a bit in postcards distributed to soldiers. There are those who warn the fighters to maintain field security, to put "hand to mouth" and "not to chat", there are those with paintings by the mythological illustrators Dosh (Kariel Gardosh) and Ze'ev (Yaakov Farkas).
The image of "Srulik" on a postcard illustrated by Dosh, photo: from Israel Parker's postcard collection
There is also a postcard in different colors with a poem called "Melodies in Holot" composed by Yoram Taharlev: "Farouk remained in Holot in 1948, and Nasser is also laid in Holot. And there is no need to be a prophet, whoever he has now brought, with all his combat ability, will also go to him to bring, in Holot."
The postcard with Yoram Taharlev's poem, photo: from Israel Parker's postcard collection
One of the IDF Radio broadcasters during the war was radio and television personality Pnina Bat Zvi (71), now a presenter on Radio 103FM. "When the war broke out, I was 21 years old, a discharged soldier on a trip to London," she says. "I remember turning on the TV and seeing on the BBC the reports coming from the Egyptian side. I saw a lot of Egyptian soldiers with their bright uniforms, and I was sure that was it, the country was gone.
"I immediately called the embassy, and later found out that regardless of me, the broadcasters Uri Lotan and Liora Nir had just been to London, and each of us called the embassy. I quickly returned to Israel, on a flight that started in Los Angeles, passed through New York and London and landed in Israel, full of soldiers who had come to fight. That very night we arrived at the station and started working, we had a very strong commitment.
"During the war there was an open wave and we divided the guards between us. I remember mainly the most difficult thing of the war – reading the names of those killed. There were dozens of them every day, most of them my age, including people I knew, friends of mine from Ironi A High School in Tel Aviv. Things were very close, which means it's not like there's a war going on somewhere. It was a great pain and a great emotional difficulty to read these names every day."
Do you remember the postcards that arrived at the station at that time?
"Actually, that's when we started with the Night Birds program. Uri Lotan and I presented music together and read postcards and letters from soldiers. As the war dragged on, and in the weeks that followed, we wanted to 'normalize' the broadcast schedule a bit. The idea for the program was born on a flight back to Israel, where I was together with Uri. We said we'd take the night strip and make such a plan, and we even thought about the name.
Pnina Bat Zvi, photo: courtesy of 103FM
"I kept postcards written to me by soldiers who listened to me at night. Many soldiers came from the reserves, and of course also from the regular soldiers. I received love letters from listeners who developed feelings for me from listening at night. I didn't know what these letters were answering, I understood that it was infatuation from creating my image in the listener's imagination. Years later, at a social event, I met a friend with her partner. He looked at me for a long time and said, 'I listened to you at night during the war, I thought you were blonde.'"
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