Winter. Just before Operation "Cast Lead" in 2008. The wind howled, bringing with it a perpetual chill—clouds shrouded the sky, the ground was muddy, darkness prevailed, and rain fell relentlessly. It mirrored our state of mind as we anxiously awaited the commencement of war. The somber atmosphere intensified the gravity of the situation. It's important to grasp that we were always on the front lines, deployed from the very start of our service. However, this conflict within a conflict presented us with a plethora of unknowns and distinct challenges, exacerbating our stress levels.
We were a few hundred soldiers stationed in a makeshift parking lot, composed of nothing more than muddy terrain dotted with puddles and equipped with portable toilets. Hundreds of vehicles stood at the ready, lined up to engage in battle at any given moment, while the Gaza Strip bombarded us with relentless attacks. The rain persisted, and the cold penetrated our bones. We slept in exposed areas, enduring ceaseless mortar and rocket barrages from Hamas. Perpetually drenched, we suffered further by being separated from our units, feeling utterly alone and disconnected from everything. We were hastily pulled from our original assignments and trained to operate armored vehicles.
There we were, cold and wet, on constant alert, poised to enter the fray at a moment's notice. Although we had sustenance, it amounted to minimal combat rations. Our staging area lay right on the front lines, leaving us with no means to acquire additional, palatable food.
After a grueling 1.5 weeks, when despair reached its peak, something extraordinary happened. Amidst the cold, the wetness, the fatigue, and the incessant bombardment, we heard music in the distance. To our surprise, two coach buses emerged on the military road, blaring music from their massive speakers—heading our way, into this war-torn zone.
I won't deny our confusion. For over a week, we had seen no one but ourselves. Who would willingly venture to this frequently bombed, cold, muddy, and desolate place? These buses bypassed the guards, entering the main mobilization area, and suddenly civilians poured out, dancing and singing. They carried an abundance of hot food, soda, cigarettes, thermal clothing, and, most importantly, joy.
They swiftly arranged tables, despite the cold wind and rain, the threat of rockets, the piercing wails of air raid sirens, and the pervasive scent of diesel from the war machines. They organized everything with great care. And then, as abruptly as they arrived, they packed up and departed.
Words fail to capture the profound emotions that surged within us at that moment. Suddenly, everything felt worthwhile. These were the people for whom we endured all of this. They valued us, recognized our sacrifice, supported us, and had our backs.
