This chronicle about Israel was originally published in March 2022. Some names have been changed.
-
About a hundred steps away was Lebanon. From where we were, we could see the red, white and green flag flying high above. Between Lebanon and us there were a few meters that were under the control of the United Nations. There is supposedly a war, but there has not been a formal conflict for years, beyond some misunderstandings. But still, the area is tense, because Hezbollah, the Iranian-funded terrorist group, operates in Lebanon and wants to destroy Israel.
We were waiting for the commander. He leads a large group of boys whose responsibility is to protect the Israeli border from threats coming from Lebanon. While we waited, two uniformed girls holding long rifles talked to us. They were beautiful, but above all very young. They had recently left school and now they were there, with a huge responsibility.
“There is usually no conflict here, unlike the border with Gaza; however, every so often there are provocations,” one of the girls told us. “A few months ago, for example, a Lebanese soldier aimed at us, after we did some military training. Fortunately, the United Nations intervened and no one shot.”
The girls smiled as they talked about their responsibility. One walked away and started looking at her phone, an iPhone. She took a photo of the landscape, which was overwhelming: the Mediterranean Sea, surrounded on the right side by the mountains of northern Israel. It was cloudy, cold and raining, but only lightly.
The commander arrived. At a glance, he was tall, but evidently young, most would probably assume that he is too young to be the boss. He moved towards us and introduced himself, it was a polite introduction which unusually included his age: “Hello, I'm Moshe, and I'm 25 years old.” He was in charge of the entire border with Lebanon. It covered kilometers of conflict zone, subjected to the tension of a combat that could break out at any moment.
Moshe continued his military career, because at 25 years old it is no longer usual for someone who does not wish to be a soldier to continue in the Israel Defense Forces. Normally, young people serve almost three years of service, leave their military career, venture on a months-long trip to the most exotic countries possible (most choose those in Latin America) and, then, at around 26, they begin their university studies. It is like this, it has been like this for years, and it is not a problem.
Perhaps Israel is the only country in the world with this dynamic, completely disconcerting for those who come from the West and, above all, from any Latin American country. In Israel, young people do not flee from the army. In Israel, the army is the young people. But they are not young people, they are children, for anyone who is a little older than them.
Seeing a 19-year-old girl holding a rifle and protecting the few meters that separate her from a terrorist organization that wants to kill her automatically turns her into a girl, which is moving. Because it's disconcerting. In most Western countries, at 19 years old a young woman is thinking about clubs and uploading photos to Instagram. “But I don't stop going to clubs,” Jana tells me. “
“We live a normal life, with a normal social life,” she insists, laughing. She shows me her Instagram: she is a normal young woman, with photos of her trips to Cappadocia and Petra. “If you want, I can recommend some very good nightclubs in Tel Aviv,” she tells me, after which I told her that I had gone out drinking last Friday in Tel Aviv and had been impressed by the nightlife.
They are young people with normal lives, who also serve time in the Defense Forces. An easier way to look at it is like this: going through the army is simply another step in the educational process. You go to school, you go to the army, you go to university. Everyone goes, because everyone wants to go. The conversations on the eve of being drafted are about what you want to do during military service. Whether to be a combatant, or be designated to the area of communications, music or technology. Technology, everyone wants to go into technology, because from there they come out with tremendous skills that lead to a successful career in high-tech fields, which, in todays Israel, pays like no other profession.
A little over a year ago, Israel experienced some of its toughest moments in decades. After an episode of tension in Jerusalem between Jews and Palestinians, the Palestinian terrorist organization, Hamas, launched thousands of missiles from the Gaza Strip towards Israel. This, of course, is not unusual. A missile flies from Gaza almost every week. However, this time Hamas crossed a red line. For the first time, the missiles were targeting large cities such as Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. Missiles that went further that they had ever gone before, and, were directed against the civilian population. There were thousands. A rain of missiles on restaurants, art galleries and bars. Surprisingly, there were almost no deaths. What kept the population safe? Or, rather, who? The same 'children', of course.
After being on the border with Lebanon, we went to a unit of the famous Iron Dome. The pompous name simply covers up a square missile launcher, which is not as giant as I thought. The device is alone, in the middle of the asphalt, a few meters from the buildings of the military unit. It is a small area, where what is necessary for the maintenance of the missile launcher is done. In short, what the Iron Dome does is intercept missiles flying from Gaza (or any other origin) that are directed towards civilian populations. If a missile is going to land in the middle of a farm or a quiet street, it will probably not be intercepted, because each missile costs thousands and thousands of dollars and Israel's defense is already a multi-billion dollar expense.
It's unfair that what transcends is that missile launcher, which really doesn't look that intimidating. It is unfair because it is not automatic and behind each of the hulks we call the Iron Dome there are dozens of soldiers, who are the real Dome.
“In this unit we operate the Iron Dome,” Ronel proudly announces. “I come from Australia, I arrived in Israel about 12 years ago and I came mainly because I wanted to be part of the army,” he says. He, of course, is very young. He is 22 years old. Two other companions show up, 19 and 21 years old. “Here we are in charge of reloading the Iron Dome with missiles. We maintain them and operate them.”
“It is important to insist that The Dome is not automatic. There is a team that works 24 hours a day and is waiting to intercept every missile that is detected." Someone asks him how this works, if they have to fire each missile to intercept each missile. Ronel says yes, but clarifies: “It's not a red button and that's it. It's more complex than that."
You can see from afar their pride in being part of the Iron Dome. Is it contagious. They are heroes, without a doubt. If thousands of families did not die in Israel a year ago, it was thanks to them. And they know it, but we must recognize them: the responsibility is enormous. So much responsibility is terrifying, and it is in the hands of young people.
While they were talking to us, they were lined up, and on the far right, almost imperceptible, was a small, very adorable girl, who did not intervene. At that, Ronel introduces her: she is Alea, the commander of the unit. The boss, the one who gives the orders. Was presented. She was 22 years old, but she looked 17, with freckles and her hair in a ponytail. She didn't talk much, she was shy. “About fifteen people live here, and we make sure that everything with the Iron Dome works well. We do military exercises and try to have a normal life within the unit. We eat and sleep here.”
I started talking to Alea and asked her if she wasn't afraid of being where she is. She told me that it happens to her sometimes, however, she understands that she needs to avoid it. Then I asked her what the most difficult moment had been so far. “Last year, in May, missiles rained down, the dome intercepted them, however, they do not disappear, but they also fall like projectiles. We had to lie down on the floor, with our hands on our backs, and hoping that none of them fell on us. It's difficult, because I am the commander, and I must be brave and firm. I am responsible for keeping the morale of my boys high.” Alea told me that she wants to be a lawyer, and that in a few months she will leave the army. She will travel to Latin America, probably passing through Medellín and Rio de Janeiro.
That surprised me about the Israeli army. In this country, the commander is not behind his men and women, but in front. They do not lead from a barracks or the rear. At one point, we asked a general how he kept the morale of his men intact, he responded bluntly, without hesitation: “By example.” Then he added: “I have never asked my boys to do what I am not willing to do. If I have to jump, I jump first. If you have to run, I run first.”
And I delved further into that in an honest conversation with Isaías, a 19-year-old soldier who ate pizza for dinner without letting go of the rifle that hung from his shoulder. "That's how it is. There are those who believe, from the outside, that we are in the army for an ideological or nationalist reason; but it's not like that. We are by ourselves, I know that people my age come and take risks, but I can't not take risks. Because I know that when I'm here, I have to protect my teammates because they protect me. And because I know, above all, that if my commander does something I must be able to do it too.”
With Isaías I talked about the notion that young people have about this military life. What if there are people who work to avoid being recruited, who protest, who flee from their duty. But he said no, at least in general terms. Obviously each person has their ideas and their principles and their dreams and desires; but in general, military life is completely inscribed in society. It doesn't matter if you are a Jew of Russian, Uruguayan or American origin; whether you are black, arab, gay, man, woman, disabled, like art or hate guns. Everyone wants, must and goes to the army. And there is a place for everyone, without prejudice or discrimination.
“In the army you build the strongest bonds. I have experienced with my colleagues what I have not experienced with anyone and probably will not experience with anyone. We really are family, we are brothers, and that alone makes us commit to staying here and giving our all.”
There are moving stories of how Israeli soldiers have given their lives for their comrades. There is that of Roi Klein, a hero – “a hero, he is,” Isaías insists to me – who, as a commander in the battle of Bint Jbeil, during the 2006 war with Lebanon, jumped on a grenade that had been thrown by the enemy, he was killed, but he saved the lives of at least 8 soldiers.
Before he died, Klein quoted the Jewish prayer of Shema Yisrael ( listen, O Israel: the lord is our God, the lord is one ). Nathan Elbaz, in 1954, did something similar: he sacrificed himself with a grenade so that his companions would not die. Here it is true that no man is left behind. Another commander was shot in the temple for turning back and rescuing a wounded comrade in Gaza, who survived.
That, of course, reinforces the commitment of every young man in Israel to military life. But it's just a stage, for most. They are not all, of course, those who dedicate themselves to a military life (although it is quite attractive, since they receive very good salaries and privileges). The majority live through the stage, without sacrificing their social life (because everyone continues to upload photos of the tequila bottle or the hookah at the bar to their Instagram stories on Thursday nights); and then they continue their normal lives—normal, for us, who shy away from the idea of walking around with camouflage and a rifle. Some leave military life, but enlist in a kind of civil reserve, so they are called to pick up a weapon again when necessary.
Ah, the gun. They never let her go. They never leave her. They even take them home when they return to their parents on the weekends so that their mother can wash their clothes. while they spend the early morning with the rest of the soldiers, but now without uniforms but with blundstone boots, Zara shirts and perfumes. They party like no one else, because Tel Aviv is well known for its intense nightlife. And that contrast is, of course, disconcerting.
During dinner, Isaiah quotes Golda Meier to me: “If they lay down their weapons, there will be peace; If we leave them, we disappear.” I don't know if the quote is really his, but it is clear: Israel is in the middle of a neighborhood that wants its disappearance. All of its neighbors, since the Jewish State was born in 1948, have sought to annihilate it. They have not been able to. Israel remains intact as a modern state, as the only democracy in the Middle East, with liberal cities not so different from New York or London—unthinkable in Riyadh, Tehran or Ramallah. The key is the Israeli Defense Forces, founded on May 26, 1948, fourteen days after the creation of the State.
“Here in the iron dome we have a motto, which I want you to repeat with us,” Ronel told us. “The dome is made of iron,” he began. “people are golden!”. We all applaud. It was quite exciting. In the end, those children, with their dreams, their social life, their tastes, principles and desires, are heroes. Heroes of a peculiar country, which has resisted thanks to Moshe, Ronel, Alea or Isaías. That it grows, that it revolutionizes the technological world, because its young people defend it and defend its people, who are happy and love their routine despite the missiles.
