To T.E.B

Dog Tagged in Gaza

Three days before I turned nineteen, I said goodbye to my folks and hopped on a bus crammed with other boys my age. Two hours later, as we passed through the barbed wire gates of the main recruit base, I contemplated on how things would turn out for me in the next 36months in this “prison”. You see, I couldn’t shake the ‘prison’ feeling, since the moment, many months earlier, when I signed on a piece of paper that I agreed to be “the property of the IDF for 36months.” Later that day, already in full uniform, boots and with a dog tag around my neck, I was shipped on another bus, this time through the West Bank, in order to begin my 6months “basic training” in Golani - The Lions of the Golan - one of the fiercest infantry brigades in the IDF. I felt proud as we entered that base, ignoring-not-ignoring the stones thrown at our shielded bus, as it passed through a Palestinian village moments earlier. I felt proud to follow my father’s lead, proud to be defending our country from the enemy.

An hour later, it was already dusk, I found myself in a courtyard, standing perplexed in a small queue, waiting to see the army shrink. As I stood there, I contemplated about that time when I signed that piece of paper around the age of sixteen… It was during an interview with a young pretty female soldier. She asked about this and that, and as I was trying to impress her with my “charm”, I told her of the suicidal thoughts I had around the age of twelve, and the year of weekly visits I had with the psychologist as a consequence. I also told her how I loved playing D&D... I’m not sure I managed to charm her really, but as I stood in that queue in the dark, in front of the empty classroom where the army shrink was about to interview me, I wondered whether it was the mentioning of the suicidal thoughts or the D&D that brought me here.

I don’t remember anything significant from meeting that shrink - I reckon he just had to make sure I wasn’t suicidal at that point, but I believe it was the next day when I learned the most important lesson of all! My platoon of recruits was sat with our officer, and we were taught about the meaning of the term “A Blatantly Illegal Order” - an order that you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that is morally wrong. The classic example is: you have a handcuffed prisoner on his knees on the floor and your commander orders you to shoot the guy. In a case like this, when an order has a clear “black flag” hanging over it, you are entitled, at least in the IDF, to disobey that order. Your commander might want to court-martial you, but you can refuse to and demand to be trialed by his superiors. I guess I registered that moment significant, because it was the only refuge given to me in that ‘prison’, in order to keep one’s autonomy around their mind and soul.

The following 6months were very tough. Made to break your individuality and conform, you would be referred to only by your surname…

As the weeks of extreme physical and mental training progressed, bonding grew stronger with our new “mother” and “father” who headed our platoon and were actually only 2years older than us… I vividly remember the two holes in the corrugated iron roof of the toilets. As you sat there in a cubicle, you could see the stars glistening through those two holes. Two holes made by two bullets shot from two M16 assault rifles by two individuals from the previous draft of recruits, four months earlier, who I guess, had just had enough of the army, and planet Earth.

As our 6months were about to conclude, we prepared for our first tour of duty in the Occupied Territories. The Sergeants kept firing us up about the ‘fun and games’ we were going to have with the local Palestinian population: taking their cars for a spin, riding willy-nilly on their donkeys, keeping them standing forever at the checkpoint just to prove a point. Those stories horrified me. I knew I would not be able to “enjoy” taking part in such actions without compassion to civilians, no matter what ethnicity or religion they belonged to, and so I felt I was heading on a collision course with my commanders. It was at this point that I asked both my superiors and my family to help me get transferred out of Golani, into a different unit. And so, with a bit of luck (and favouritism) I managed to leave Golani at the end of my “basic training”.

A month later I arrived to the special forces’ dog-handlers unit Oketz (lit. Sting). And a month after that, following a long selection process, I finally got chosen to join their Tracking&Trailing team… Oh, how I loved those dogs. I grew up with a dog from the day I remember myself, and getting a chance to work with these sensitive creatures professionally was a relief and a joy. I proclaimed: “working with dogs is better than working with people!”

After almost a year of further training, both learning how to train a dog in basic commands and operating it in our specific designated job of tracking and trailing in a combat environment, our small team of dog-handlers was almost ready to be fully operational and we were told that soon we would be deployed to the Gaza strip. We were all super excited. Then, one morning, while we were doing yet another mock tracking&trailing exercise, something happened that changed everything. The exercise took place in an orchard next to an Israeli village. As one of the dogs was deployed - working its way on the foot tracks (that another soldier laid half an hour earlier), suddenly, out of nowhere, a ‘civilian’ miniature pinscher appeared and approached our working dog, which in turn got distracted and started playing about happily with the little creature. Our professional instructor (and direct commander) vented frustration in rage and kicked the tiny dog in the ribs with his army boot - sending it flying! The pinscher disappeared into the shrubbery, shrieking in pain and distress. Seeing this transgression, I got enraged myself and picked up a stone -ready to bash my commander’s head. But I immediately dropped it. I was shocked, trying to digest the act I had just witnessed.

As we returned back to base, it became clear to me that I did not trust that commander anymore. I immediately went to file a complaint describing the incident and I announced that I would be refusing to be deployed to the Gaza strip, as long as I was under this person’s command, because: “with a commander that treats dogs like that, I do not want to see how he’ll be treating people.” This in turn created an uproar. Over the next few days, other officers and professional personnel from my unit approached me to try to convince me to drop my complaint and conform. They told me that if I won’t back down, I would end up in an army prison, and that later - after the army, I wouldn’t be able to find a decent job, as this would appear on my record forever. But I just kept refusing to listen, saying: “I don’t care about the consequences.”

Finally, I was sent for a disciplinary trial in front of the Lieutenant Colonel unit&base commander. You put your beret on - and following the protocol - as rehearsed moments prior with the Sergeant Major - you take a deep breath and walk in the door. The Lieutenant Colonel was sitting behind his large desk, his beret on as well and a stenographer sat in the back of the room. I saluted and the trial started per the protocol. It was pretty straightforward: I clearly stated to him what happened and why I did not trust my direct commander anymore and why I would not agree to be deployed to the Gaza Strip under his command. I was ready to go to jail. Instead, I just received a warning and was released back to my quarters.

I think it was a week or two later, as we were about to be deployed, that I was called for another meeting with the base commander. This time he announced that I was to be promoted and become the new professional instructor of our team, and that my direct professional commander would not be part of our team anymore; instead he would be instructed to stay in our home base to take charge of the next young group of trainees that were about to join our unit, while we were to head to the Gaza Strip.

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During the 42months I spent in total in the IDF, from 29th March 1994 to 29th September 1997, I found myself having to refuse such orders a couple of times. Both times I was threatened with jail time and other negative consequences, but I insisted that I was in the right. As described above, on one of these occasions I ended up getting promoted to lead my special forces team. On the other occasion I was just dismissed, without any trial. With that in mind, I believe that first lesson I learned in the IDF was the only one which kept my sanity during my whole time there. It kept my soul. It kept me.

written in support of #BLM May - June, 2020

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post-mortem

There were five of them crouching… All in different heights, different ages, from 12 maybe to a 20 year old. Hiding in a wheat field, the wheat already cut waist high.

(My grandfather was kicked in the face by a Nazi officer in Auschwitz, when he was caught rummaging though a bin for some food scraps)

My soul cracked in Gaza when a high rank officer kicked a Palestinian man in the face, the man maybe 20 was on his knees, handcuffed. What seemed like his siblings were on their knees too. I was ordered to ‘join in’ and set Jango on him — my majestic red American bloodhound. I stood there dumbfounded while he talked in Arabic to the man and kicked him in the face again. I mumbled “he is not made for biting" turned around and walked away, ordering my soldiers to get into our minibus. It was our first active operation, first time ever in Gaza. From that point onwards I always feared that officer. He never kicked another man again, not in front of me.

(but he did appear from behind bushes with one or two Palestinian men with what seemed like a damaged limb, later on)

My soul never really healed properly I’ve now come to accept, as the war of wars rages on in Gaza, liquidating mainly women&children, now at over 40 thousand, the stray dogs dig out the bones from the shallow graves. They want to do it biblical.

I was part of the problem, not the solution, not like these few brave young men&women who refuse to join the IDF today. Yet, even that I ran away to a different ‘island’ more than 20years ago, it is all still done in my name! Still my tax money is paying for this.

Dec 2024