Oct. 7 Commemoration Art Gallery

Beeri, 2023

The teddy bear on the lawn in Beeri, embracing a story that will never be known.

This was one of our first assignments before the ground operation: we were asked to accompany the Air Force commander on a tour of Kibbutz Beeri. Two weeks after that Black Shabbat, the bodies had been removed but the stench of death was still strong in the air.
My heart skips a beat when I see children’s toys scattered everywhere, toys just like those of my own children, and the understanding of what happened here hits me hard.
[Nadav O.]

Hatzav Kindergarten, 2023

An incomprehensible reality in the rubble of the kindergarten in Beeri.

On one of those first days, when the force of the massacre was still fresh and a sense of uncertainty was everywhere, we went to Kibbutz Beeri with the Air Force commander. From the moment we entered the kibbutz, we were assaulted by the stench of death, the foul odor of blood and excrement mixed together. No matter where we went, the smell followed us.

The contrasts were all around. Burned and blackened houses with gardens blooming untouched in front of them. Instead of children playing on the lawns there were grenades and Kalatchnikov rifles scattered around.

In the playground there were piles of armaments captured in the kindergarten nearby, where the terrorists had holed up. We tried, unsuccessfully, not to imagine what had transpired here. As we moved along the sidewalks of the kibbutz all we could think about were the helpless residents and their children being held hostage by those monsters not far from us.

We must bring them back.
[Ron P.]

Against Time, 2023

A mobile rescue mission

We move from place to place by jeep. They are the best the IDF has today. They’re called “Z-D” and there are only three of them. They were given to us specially. Straight from the factory. We’ve even got a Z-Mag command car. Everyone stops to looks at us in the army rest areas. Gasps and photos.

But what good is all this? On that Black Shabbat even the most sophisticated vehicle wasn’t able to save anyone.
[Iftach M.]

Nova, 2023

The orphaned scenery screams the story of those who attended their final party.

We are confronted for the first time with the scope of the horrors at the site of the Nova Festival in Re’im. Overturned cars everywhere, torn decorations, skid marks on the road, items of clothing, a burnt forest, and the smell of death.
[Iftach M.]

Among Horses, 2023

The team is on alert at Doron’s stables in case of injuries from the battles still raging inside Israeli communities.

As part of the IDF deployment in the Gaza Envelope, three days after the war broke out, we were sent to be on standby to evacuate the wounded in the southern part of the area. We set up a base in Doron’s horse stable in the farming community of Sde Avraham and waited to go into action. Four of us guarded the farm and we stayed in our compound. Uncertain of what lay ahead, the tension rose.
[Iftach M.]

A Living Shield, 202

A first look at water.

As November followed October, the ground operation in Gaza began on Saturday night, and I was called up to join the unit the next morning, to put on my olive drabs. I had waited for this and I was excited – a huge weight was lifted from me leaving a pure, clean space in its stead.

But the space was quickly filled with fear – am I afraid I’ll be wounded there? Is the responsibility too much for me? What will happen to my dog, and how will he sleep without me? Whenever he’s sad he curls up in a ball as if trying to console himself. I knew that we do everything by the book and there would be time – at least a few days – to steady myself, so I packed my things with confidence.

I got to the unit in the morning and by that night I was already in the field at the outskirts of Khan Younis, providing cover for the team with a heavy Negev machine gun, surrounded by gunfire and smoke. I was scared; I’m really in a war here. My teammates bring me up to speed, and everything stills feels too fast.

There is unceasing gunfire and I’m learning to distinguish the different kinds; and there is artillery fire and bombing in Gaza. It is scary and exhilarating at the same time but I silently repeat a mantra to myself, and hear my voice repeating – thank you. Thank you that I am here. Thank you that I am part of this. That’s how the war began for me on that night. 134 days passed until I was released but 134 hostages are still there.
[Dan S.]

On the Way, 2023

The smell of the vegetable fields near Beit Hanoun greets the team on the way to our mission.

Every time we went in to Gaza, the path became more familiar and we discovered new details that added to our sense of certainty and confidence – interesting, beautiful, dangerous… At the same time, the landscape keeps changing as the army and the weather don’t let up…
[Shacham P.]

Hand to Hand, 2023

Connecting with our first injured soldier deep in Gaza and transferring him from hand to hand

Ilan is a 25 year old reservist from Ashdod who was about to start law school when the war broke out. On Shabbat afternoon he was shot in the chest by friendly fire while he was going to the bathroom, three kilometres inside Gaza.

Trying to keep him awake as we stabilized him, I told him I’m from Canada and he told me that he loves to travel and that this would be his first time in a helicopter.

A bullet through the chest is pretty serious and life threatening, but as we were moving him, he turned to the four of us carrying the stretcher and asked if we could get in touch with the soldier who accidentally shot him and tell him that he forgives him and he is not mad.

This is war and these things happen, and he does not want him to go into Shabbat feeling guilty and unfocused. On the GoPro you can see the four of us speechless.
[Sam M.]

Up! Into the vehicles! comes the order. We jump into our jeeps, wearing our bulletproof vests and turning on our personal walkie-talkies. The convoy is ready and starts to move out within a minute. The team commander gives a short briefing: “Guys, an injured soldier for urgent evacuation on the outskirts of Beit Hanoun. We’ll be taking him out from inside, linking up with the tank in the safe zone where we were last night.”

The convoy speeds toward the Gaza border, and along the way we coordinate with other forces and request cover. This is the first time we are crossing the border in daylight and the area has not yet been cleared. Lots of buildings and orchards that are hiding places for terrorists.

And most worrisome is that all of them have solar panels – which usually indicates enemy attack tunnels. “Five hundred meters ‘til we cross the border” we hear on our radios. We all tense up, understanding the importance of this moment. “G-Team, this is your cover. I have eyes on; the road is clear; you can cross the border.”

Crossing the border, weapons drawn, and we are in Gaza in broad daylight. A fast trip on the route that has been cleared and within minutes we are in the safe zone. The guard unit quickly unloads, sets up positions, and we hear a shout: Tank coming from the north. Over the radio we hear, “Team-G, this is the evacuation tank, 30 seconds to the safe zone.” “Team-G here waiting for you in the safe zone.”

The tank arrives, stops near us, the medical team climbs on and pulls out the stretcher. Quick examination and treatment by the doctor and the decision: immediate evacuation to the nearest landing pad. Barely a minute and a half elapse from the arrival of the tank until the convoy starts to move out toward the closest landing pad within Israeli territory.

A short trip back, scanning every building and every orchard. The order comes over the radio: “Five hundred meters to the border.” We cross the border and let out a sigh of relief – we’re out! The wounded soldier is stable and conscious. We get to the landing pad and link up with the helicopter. The door closes and the chopper lifts off. The timing is amazing – forty minutes from the first call until the patient is put into the helicopter. Well done!
[Sagie B.]

Apocalypse, 2023

More soldiers join the fighting.

Those nights. The heart pounds before each entry into Gaza and every view seems like a war movie. Trucks unload equipment on the outskirts of Beit Hanoun, soldiers rush from place to place; the air is filled with gunfire and the boom of bombs.

I look to the north and see the chimneys of the Ashkelon power station glowing in the distance. Never before have I seen them from this angle. The penny refuses to drop and then there is another flash of light from the payload of an air force fighter jet. War.
[Iftach M.]

Remainders, 2023

Silent testimony to the massacre on Black Shabbat near the border fence.

The border! The report on our walkie-talkies pulls everyone up short. Whether it’s ours or not, it’s like a billboard, “Welcome to the war”. The fence is high and impressive but you can’t miss the white pickup trucks standing nearby. They are testimony to how weak the fence was in the moment of truth.

Along the fence are fields of the kibbutzim, green, pastoral, but one look at the smoke rising from the houses in Gaza is enough to understand that we are already inside.

We cross the fence quickly, without waiting for approval, in a hurry to reach the wounded. The submachine gunner gives us cover and we switch gears – we’ve passed through the gate to the war.

As we move, we see the fence from a distance. Later we pass back through the opening after another rescue of fighters we have managed to save and of some we haven’t…
[Liad T.]

Within the Soul, 2023

What does a fighter feel in his soul that prevents him from continuing to fight?

We get a report on fifteen wounded. We all hear the report and get ready quickly. The next two words are unfamiliar to us: “shell shock.” We understand that they are alive and whole and we won’t need to bandage them or open a vein, but what should we call a soldier in shell shock?

A convoy of Humvees with the soldiers who have just left Gaza and are no longer able to fight stops near us. One after another the soldiers exit the vehicles, bent, sad, mumbling, weeping, quiet.
[Iftach M.]

Shell Shock, 2023

Evacuation of fifteen soldiers who were shell shocked in the first week of the war.

In normal times, this is a plowed field bordered by a row of cypress trees at the entrance to a pastoral kibbutz.

For us it is a helicopter landing pad. Blood transfusions, stretchers on board. A smoke grenade and the chopper lifts off. Kibbutz Erez.
[Tom P.]

Signs of Life, 2023

A classified operation in the heart of Beit Hanoun.

We were called into operation mid-day. A particularly special mission and different from what we had done thus far in the war.

It was especially moving because we worked together with forces from an outside unit and I was blessed that a good friend from home joined our team.

We were deeply proud when we returned and we all prayed that the information we brought back would shed light on people who are no longer with us…
[Aviv O.]

A Matter of Life, 2023

A classified operation in the heart of Beit Hanoun

We head out for a mission. Not just another mission. In the briefing we hear about entry into Beit Hanoun. There’s someone very valuable there, says the team commander. We all understand immediately. We’ve already carried out a number of strange and different high quality missions, but this time something feels different. There are hundreds of hostages being held in Gaza in inhuman conditions. Alive, or wounded, or dead. Our mission is to bring them home to their loved ones.

We set out into the night, cross the fence, sounds of blasts coming from every direction. There is a fierce battle with Hamas terrorists going on in Beit Hanoun. Earlier today we treated casualties not far from here, wounded soldiers whom we treated under fire and evacuated to the airborne team of our unit. Saving lives. Our team sits alert in the vehicles, continuously scanning the area and searching for terrorists.

The trip is quiet, navigating to a predetermined point, and everyone knows the route by heart. On the way, a single thought runs through my mind – we will bring our brothers home. We already know that they are no longer alive and yet we move forward determined to bring them back to their families. So that at least there will be a grave to grieve over, I think to myself.

We arrive at the location in darkness. Gunfire all around, war. On the ground there are eight black body bags. Suddenly everything goes silent. The sounds of gunfire and artillery, of static in our radios all disappear. We look at one another, and without a word begin to load them, one black bag up onto the jeep and then another. We all know how precious their contents are. I lean over, bend down, and pick up the last bag. I didn’t expect or want it to be so light. I didn’t expect to pick up an angel…
[Barak L.]

Mass Casualties, 2023

The outstretched arm says it all

I particularly remember this event because it was the first big event we took part in at the beginning of the ground operation. There was chaos and the sights were hard to take. When I saw the injured for the first time, their entire bodies blackened almost like dolls from the scene of a Hollywood movie, I was overcome by feelings I had never experienced before. For a moment I almost began to cry – something that had never happened to me in situations like this in the past.

All of a sudden I understood what we were getting into. I shook off the thoughts and resumed the stance I had been prepared for from my first day in the army. I continued our mission to treat and evacuate whoever we could as quickly as possible. At the edge of the chaos there was a stretcher with a soldier covered with a blanket whom we could no longer save.

I especially remember his hand lying on the ground. I had to lift his arm and place it on the stretcher in order to move him. His arm was heavy and the weight of it is etched in my memory. We did what we could.
[Ori K.]

Signs of Life, 2023

A classified operation in the heart of Beit Hanoun.

Sometimes you say to yourself, I have been preparing my whole life for this moment. Two weeks into the war, after the ground operation began, Dan, our commander gave all the team drivers their mission. And we felt that that moment had arrived.

The preparations had to be swift and professional, and each of us needed to know his exact role. We were very precise. We all understood what was expected of us every second. The mission required that we remain out from cover for quite a while in broad daylight, and the danger was that we could attract too much attention.

It was one of the most valuable, important, and emotional missions that we undertook during our entire five months in Gaza. I’m proud of every one of the drivers in our team for their understanding of the mission, their implementation, and the results. I was proud to lead the convoy that day to the mission. Another emotional moment was the sight of the faces of the Shaldag commandos when we returned.
[Niv B.]

The Shaft, 2023

What is hiding down the shaft this time.

The entrance to another tunnel blown up. This one inside a mosque. Another one in the street. Sometimes the explosion brings down an entire house and sometimes the pier causes damage to the soldier standing closest to it.
[Iftach M.]

Bringing Them Home, 2023

The chopper is here and the stretchers are airborne.

The helicopters land one after another. At one landing pad or another. We receive the wounded soldiers, give them life-saving first treatment and pass them on to other hands as close to home as possible.
[Iftach M.]

The Casbah of Bet Hanoun, 2023

A flock of chickens peeks out among the rubble.

In the casbah of Beit Hanoun. To the right a tumbled down house with chickens pecking in the rubble. To the left a big school with a sign: NO GUNS. Who would even bring weapons to a school? You think to yourself what a crazy world we live in.

Ten kilometers from home. Children are playing near a huge sign that forbids bringing weapons into a school. And those annoying chickens straggle past our vehicles looking for something to peck at.
[Iftach M.]

Nir Oz, 2023

The peacocks that remained in Nir Oz after the massacre on Black Shabbat.

We arrived at Nir Oz and wandered around the kibbutz. Curious. What will we see? No idea. As we walk along the paths of the kibbutz the horrific sights come into view one house after another.

I suddenly hear a strange sound. Lift my eyes and see peacocks up in a tree. Big ones. And suddenly they spread their wings and fly from branch to branch, never touching the desecrated earth. Since when do peacocks climb trees? Since that horrific Shabbat, it seems.
[Iftach M.]

The Edge of the House, 2023

What remained.

We got to Nir Oz almost two months after that Black Shabbat. We walked all around the kibbutz trying to feel the scope of what had happened there. Time seemed to stand still and the blackened houses told the story of that Shabbat.

Every time we walked around we would stop at the house at the end. When you stand in front of it there is no need to explain anything. One look is enough to understand how a whole world was destroyed.

The carefully tended cactus garden and the washing machine lying burnt hint at the life that you can’t even imagine as you stand in front of the house. It has no walls or roof, only piles of ashes. We finish our recon and light a campfire. I look at the flames and ask, how can that be? In the end everything goes up in flames and we are left only with questions…
[Liad T.]

Not a Game, 2023

Who goes in first and who goes in last

Soldiers enter Gaza and soldiers pull out. Who will go in this time? Where to?
[Iftach M.]

Before and After, 2023

Sometimes the soldiers we brought into Gaza at night lay wounded on our stretchers in the morning.

Soldiers enter Gaza and soldiers pull out. Who will go in this time? Where to?
[Iftach M.]

Rebirth, 2023

Natan, a member of Kibbutz Nir Oz, lights the first candle of Chanuka with our team in the traditional kibbutz Chanukiah.

It’s the first candle of Chanuka in Nir Oz, a torch of rebirth, and the knowledge that at this moment we are the only ones who can bring light to this place where the gates of hell were opened.
[Raz T.]

Under Fire, 2023

Evacuating the wounded in the heart of Khan Younis while a tank gives us fire cover.

And it always hurt to look at them. Most of the casualties we treated were considered “for urgent evacuation,” once known as “seriously injured,” meaning if they didn’t get to the operating room of a hospital within an hour of their injury – that “golden hour” – they might not make it.

I did my best, and I hope it was enough for the injured and fallen.

We have extraordinary people in this nation, and I feel sorry for people who don’t see that.

Thousands and thousands and tens of thousands of soldiers and reservists are searching for the hostages, bravely working to restore security and a sense of security to Israel. Many have been wounded and survived to tell the story.

And many of them have given their lives for us. Silently rising up into the light.

Like the wings of a bird.
[Raz T.]

White Check Post, 2023

Exposed to enemy drones that try to locate our team’s position.

The white check post is the jumping off point before we cross over into Gaza. Before we enter there is a moment of reflection and understanding, where, who, what, how many?

We get to the check post with lots of unknowns. The navigator plans a route, but no one has the full picture and the commanders don’t want to send us in under fire, but our team won’t remain outside when there are wounded soldiers.

Then suddenly the radio in the command post screeches: Iftach explains/ orders the division commander to let us enter right now! Leaves him no choice but to trust our team and let us rush in to the situation.

We’re back at the check post after two serious events. As we’re debriefing, we suddenly spot a drone overhead! Someone shouts; we pull ourselves together and instantly shoot at it. The drone disappears and we go out to check the fortifications. The drone has disappeared and is no longer a threat. In the end we return to NIr Oz exhausted but with a sense of achievement.
[Liad T.]

The Total Victory, 2023

Fifteen minutes of real war to open a flight path end with a sigh of relief, just before the chopper touches ground.

This was one of the longest times we treated soldiers in the field. We were sent out to the scene of an anti-tank missile hit where there were a number of casualties, some of them seriously injured.

We worked on one of the wounded who needed to be intubated but it was difficult because of the multiple burns on his face. We had been in this danger zone for a while with gunfire all around and enemy drones overhead, trying every possible procedure to save the life of this injured soldier.

The attempts at intubation took time and since we had to get the soldier to a hospital as quickly as possible, it was decided to call in a helicopter.

Sometimes all you need is a little luck in these kinds of situations and this time we had it. Seconds after the chopper landed we managed to intubate and load the soldier on board. We found out afterwards that he had made it to the hospital alive and regained consciousness several hours later.
[Yarden Eaz T.]

In Their Memory, 2023

Ido, Ben, Rom, Nati, and Shai of blessed memory, who lost their lives while trying to save the lives of others.

The job requires you to repress, to treat the injured or dead soldier in front of you like a doll, a job to be done and no more. During the 551 brigade mass casualty event, when some of our team feared they would encounter their friends, it was paralyzing. But we can’t allow ourselves to react that way. That’s why Rom and Ben’s death were such a surprise for some of us. And Nati’s death after them.

Suddenly it wasn’t just a mission. Not just a doll. These are people, some of whom we know, remember, talked to just a month ago. They’re from our unit, part of the 669 Airborne Rescue family. Suddenly it’s harder to repress; suddenly the injured are not just dolls anymore.

May their memory be a blessing.
[Ron P.]

Behind the Lens, 2023

Between blood and tears.

An invisible wall protects me
I see everything through it
The frame is etched in my memory
Between separation and connection
Between presence to distance
Between long exposure
To a burned picture
Between wide lens to shutter
Between blood and tears
There is new growth.
[Shibi E.]

Into the Unknown, 2023

A long and complicated evacuation from the heart of Khan Younis.

Into action at dusk.

There’s still some light so it isn’t a case of friendly fire. Pressure over the radio; the heavy vehicles lumber along; the paramedics stop to provide urgent treatment and we get to the site. It’s dark now.

The safe zone is rutted by the tracks of tanks and troop carriers. It’s impossible to walk without using your hands. No serious injuries, everything’s under control. And then shouts – go over there, there’s an injured soldier there, but we can’t see a thing. Running in the dark.

A very serious head injury, intubated, unstable. No stretcher. We put him on a stretcher and head into the darkness. Khan Younis. Nightime. Wounded warriors, some slightly and some seriously injured. And an enormous attack dog sitting quietly next to the machine gun. An hour later we’re lighting a campfire.
[Tom P.]

How Many Flowers, 2023

Mass casualties just before Shabbat dinner.

A mass casualty event in the Givati brigade a few hours before Shabbat begins. We receive more and more injured.

A helicopter lands and another one lifts off. More urgent evacuations.

More children whose lives have changed.
[Iftach M.]

Homecoming, 2023

A soldier carries his wounded comrade to the gathering point for the injured.

In the tumult of treating the injured, the evacuation troop carrier opens to reveal a soldier carrying a wounded comrade wearing only his underwear. He brings him to us in the treatment area, cradling him like a father.
[Iftach M.]

The Commander’s Home, 2023

A light-hearted evening at Kelner’s headquarters.

We won’t sleep in Nir Oz tonight. All day we’ve been looking for somewhere to set up and the brigade commander won’t let us camp at his base… why? That’s another story…

We thought we’d spend the time at a dark spot on the route, we’d lie down for a few hours covered by a safe zone on the way to the center of Khan Younis…and then the notice came – we’re setting up in the house of the deputy brigade commander!

We arrived in darkness, go through the door and discover the surprise – the house is all you could ask for, a smiling team has set aside a comfortable space for us, the kitchen is fully equipped and the pantry is full of sweets. We’re all set!
[Tom P.]

Family, 2023

The team together at the commander’s headquarters

Sometimes in quiet moments, silence.

When the words have gone and the mind is tired

The body aches, thoughts wander, and I long for home I look at the people around me,

Friends who have become family and I know we are in this together

Forever.
[Dor E.]

Signs of the Landing Pad, 2023

Communications, placing the stretcher, aiming for the entry to the landing pad, a smoke grenade, and the location of the vehicles according to the hands of a clock.

Traveling to the site. We get to the landing pad and unload the vehicles. All of a sudden I realized. There is an illusion here that everything is under control. We create it and maintain it, call it all sorts of things. Expertise, experience, professionalism – and as long as we believe it, it works.

Works really well. No one promises you anything. The creaks and squeaks of the troop carriers bringing the wounded can be heard and the pulse begins to race. We are “ready.” You have no idea what will emerge from this damn vehicle. Did I bring everything? Do I know where everything I’ll need to treat them is? Let me run through the drill in my head just before it all begins.

Ten minutes fly by like ten seconds, and the noise overhead of the helicopter with the wounded on board is already fading into the distance.

We’re finished. Stretchers, bags, and containers that held medical equipment just a minute ago are scattered all around. Another mission successfully completed (I think…). A feeling of euphoria together with a bizarre thought that a stranger wouldn’t understand – somehow, I wish the mission hadn’t ended.

And then it hits me and I realize that the lives of people here have changed in an instant, perhaps forever.
[Dov C.]

The Disaster of the 21, 2023

“Get my people out of here!”

When the guys go out on the mission and you stay behind, you see things differently. January 22, 2024, late afternoon, some of the guys were shooting hoops, some were exercising, and some were drinking coffee. In the midst of all this they get the signal to go into action. I’ve never seen professionals like this before. Within seconds they’re ready to go, with indescribable modesty and calm.

The team heads out. Again. The place is empty and the time until they return is totally nerve wracking. This time it takes longer than usual. You realize that something unusual is happening. You worry, sure, but you trust them. What can we do to spoil them when they get back? A campfire is a must; hot food, check; coffee and tea of course. We start to prepare things to ease the tension.

When they returned several hours later, I saw on the face of each of them that something had happened to them. Twenty one. Twenty one dead. Incomprehensible. You go to them slowly, cautiously, gently. Each of these heroes experiences the situation differently. You hug them, care for them, want to be there for them.

We all went to sit together around the campfire. They talked, shared, probed. You are simply amazed by them, these people, each and every one of them. We were a team there, looking out for one another, united, attentive, supportive. We sat at the campfire, drinking hot tea,with Arik Einstein’s songs playing softly in the background, because there’s nothing more Israeli than that. It was a challenging day and night for everyone, but they are still on alert; they have to stay strong, physically and emotionally, ready for what may lie ahead.

Thank you, dear warriors. You are a gift to us.
[Tal P.]

Into the Unknown, 2023

The path to the scene of the disaster leads through a mine field; one false step can lead to another disaster.

We marched along the booby-trapped street For an eternity
Fearful of every step
And what we would find at the end

And at the end of the street
Chaos and darkness
The earth
Has opened up Our jaws dropping
We
Hold our nose
Clench our hands

Twenty one.
Hearts racing
Eyes weeping
For three buildings collapsed
For one tank smashed
For twenty one worlds
Gone
Forever
[Shibi E.]

List of Names, 2023

The disaster notebook detailing the search for missing soldiers in the disaster of the 21

We moved ahead through the booby-trapped neighborhood.
Linked up with the troops.
Searched.
Dug.
Covered.
Carried.
Arranged. But this time we did not hurry.
And in the notebook are rows of names, not injuries. The chopper is called off, and then another.
Three hours.
[Tom P.]

Roots, 2023

A tractor helps the team to uncover the site of the disaster of the 21

There was a lot of uncertainty about the situation. It was dusk. We get the green light to move to the site of the event; we cross the border and move ahead several hundred meters. The convoy stops and the commanders decide to send in a small force with the medical team.

There’s a lot of gunfire not far from us.

We’re on edge as if every doorway may conceal a terrorist. We move forward along a row of booby-trapped buildings, unaware that the IDF has mined the buildings to take them down. So as far as I’m concerned, if someone sees us moving close to these buildings we’re done for.

It’s all over for us. Absolutely deadly fear.

I remember thinking as we walked – why didn’t I call my wife the last time? But in the same instant you are sharp and focused, searching for our soldiers who have been hit and looking out for the enemy.

Moving forward until we join the troops at the site searching for bodies under the rubble, broken and despairing. We may enter and leave this world alone but we are privileged to be there together and to go through one of the most wrenching experiences of this war together. We lost so many heroes that awful day. My heart goes out to their families and to everyone whose world was destroyed that night.
[Avinoam K.]

Broken Arm, 2023

The first arm gesturing toward us hints at what will follow.

Nachal Oz. In two days we finish our final standby. The ground operation is at its fiercest and the tension is sky high, but we manage to stay calm. Under the guidance of the logistical team, we prepare a delicious breakfast. Salad vegetables, dough for pitas with za’atar, an egg prepping station worthy of a hotel buffet.

Fresh squeezed orange juice, and fresh coffee from the Galilee that Einan brought yesterday afternoon. Throughout the whole period of the war we have learned that keeping up a pleasant routine in the midst of the inferno will keep us resilient. After a good meal, we’ve finished a second cup of coffee and a cigarette.

It’s quiet. The radio comes alive. An event. Injured. The deputy brigade commander doesn’t explain, “Don’t know exact details. The Givati brigade in Zeytoun. Mass casualties.” Within three minutes we’re at the gate of the base – a group of reservists leaping up in less than three minutes like a bunch of rookies. Over the radio they ask when we’ll be ready.

“We’re crossing the fence,” we reply. At the site we receive our first injured soldier, very badly wounded, very urgent. There’s a lot to do but our procedures are already in place – we call in a helicopter now and within two minutes there is a Black Hawk overhead. “Stretcher up!” Another minute and the injured man is on board. We’ve stopped his bleeding, a blood transfusion is flowing into his veins, and an oxygen mask is on his face.

It’s quiet.
“Are there more wounded?”
“Four more but not badly injured.”

Calm… And then. The troop carriers begin to arrive. Five vehicles, nine wounded, all urgent, all bleeding. Chaos. But this is our place; this is our strength. We were surprised, but we fight our war, we fight for lives.

And we win. The “golden hour” is less than an hour for us. We sum up. All of us feel that the time has come to sum up. Quiet.
[Tom P.]