When serving in the army my mom will send me a weekly or biweekly box with letters and goodies. It was a different time, no cell phones, after seeing our family and classmate daily for 18 years, there was a total separation for weeks on end.We yearned for any sign of home. Every letter every package are critical life lines, something to look forward to.
Passover cleaning is an obsession in my family, which brings forth all kind of surprises from the past. This week I received an unexpected package, in that package there was, among other items, a group photo of my army unit graduation from a grueling 6 months of boot camp, army training, personal insults and above all isolation from the known world of our childhood left behind, our known world.
6 months of walking with heavy loads on the back, conquering imagined enemies up the hills, sleepless nights at cold guarding posts, fighting sleep deprivation and loneliness in our sentry duty, carrying mock wounded soldiers on stretchers on long night walks, sleep walking, testing the limits of our physical, emotional and mental endurance, becoming men, becoming soldiers, protectors of the country we inherited, testing our young bodies limits
I am looking at the 100 or so young faces on this photo, my soldiers comrades for 6 months I thought I have completely forgot about, and it brings back memories. The commander who was a year older than me but from another religious Kibbutz, giving me hard time just to spur me to show my virtue, the virtue of a Religious Kibbutz fighter. Every commander has its own character, they had almost a complete command over our lives, being only few months older than us in the army and in life.
One face in particular jumped out of the photo, it is the face of Gabbi Assaiag, a tall, thin, gentle, quiet young man. One of the 60 of us who lived for 6 months on bank beds, in the same barracks. He volunteered to escort me back to my Kibbutz after hearing my dad had passed away. He accompany me on the bus to the Kibbutz. He was a friend. Of cause my father did not pass away, he is still alive today.
We were on a morning routine inspection, when an officer came from headquarters ordering me to change my bet (dagmach) uniform to an alef uniform, from the daily army training uniform to the official uniform, saying I should go immediately to the headquarters of our base, which I did. Sitting in front of a different officer who told me in a somber voice that my dad had passed away.
I stayed silence. It was so out of the blue, I was stumped speechless. Accompanied by my comrade soldier, Gabbi Asayag, we took a bus to Jerusalem and then to the Kibbutz , I was in a daze, I could not say much, trying to imagine a life without my dad. Daydreaming, how would I take care of my mom, my family, now without our dad. Our lives are going to be different, that was for sure.
Arriving at the Kibbutz, no one was waiting for me, I wondered around the kibbutz paths in a semi conscious state, it was the middle of the workday, the Kibbutz seemed empty and suspiciously normal for that time of the day, nothing gave an indication of what had just happened, losing a prominent Kibbutz member.
Not finding anyone to talk with, I have decided to go to my dad office. My dad secretary was just leaving the office. She is asking me if I heard what happened, I said yes, assuming she meant the death of my father. Few sentences later it became clear that it was my grandfather who died not my father. You can imagine the intense relief and rapture I felt, I have just got my dad back.
My granddad was for me quiet a mythological character, bigger than life, a scholar, a writer, a school principle, and someone who lives in the big city of Tel Aviv, which to my young eyes, seemed huge beyond comprehension.
Boaz Pnini
Bridges 2 Israel
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