It is dawning. The first day of the month of Av. The sun has yet to rise. I spent that night in an ambush with my soldiers, overlooking the village of Bint Jbeil in Southern Lebanon. It was our third day in the country. The sound of gunfire is getting louder. Over the radio I hear the encounter. We strap on our flak jackets, cock our firearms and we are ready to engage. Meanwhile, we realize that the battalion is counting casualties.
Amihai Merhavia, platoon commander, advance guard point, Rifle Company C in the 51st Battalion of the Golani Brigade, leads his soldiers down a narrow passageway. Deputy Commander Roi Klein joins them. While they're busy busting open the door, a terrorist appears suddenly beyond the gate. The troops open fire. Amihai leads the attack, but he is wounded. Shimon Dahan leads the second onslaught. Asaf and Shimon Adega treat Amihai's wounds. Recognizing the situation, Klein makes a fateful decision to leap onto the grenade, sacrificing his own life to save his soldiers. He wails, "Shma Yisrael." Alex and Idan engage in the battle and they too are wounded. Evacuating casualties, Ohad is also wounded, struck by a bullet. Eight dead total in battle.
I give the order for each pair of soldiers to gather a stretcher and begin heading toward Israel. I lead the convoy carrying a stretcher. I sense that the body isn't strapped in as it's supposed to be, so we lower it down to the ground. The blanket moves to reveal the dead man's face. Amihai. The two of us had met the day of our enlistment. We served together in the same platoon, took the same commanders course and ended up commanding the 51st battalion. Our souls were bound.
Tu B'Av. The convoy is moving beyond Bint Jbeil and then -- a distant flash of light, a ball of fire flies toward us. An anti-tank missile penetrates our defenses, puncturing my body.
Lying in the hospital, seriously wounded, I already know I have to keep looking ahead. Life has been diverted from its natural course, but hope is not lost. I was granted a new life.
While suffering and ample pain naturally accompany war and injury, they also provide unique experiences for the individual to derive good and grow. One gets a sense of proportion regarding the many things of life. Undertakings that involve injury demand we overcome our weaknesses, discover the resilience of our faith, and become elevated on a spiritual level. The sense of gratitude for the Creator expands, becoming immovable and constant.
Throughout the war, I received support, warmth and love from several different circles. During my rehabilitation, I met both veteran and junior soldiers who were wounded. I met individuals of great mental fortitude, people who knew how to live lives of depth and quality despite their handicaps. I was treated medically in different hospitals, but I grew stronger at the Beit Halohem (House of the Warrior) in Jerusalem. During my rehabilitation and while attempting to cope, I began to get to know a new and exciting world -- a medical team doing the utmost for the sake of its patients.
And it was from there I decided to apply for medical school in Jerusalem. The experience of being wounded vigorously builds character. It's not a recommended method, and I wouldn't wish the experience upon anybody else, but in the existing circumstances it can be a formative experience that accompanies the individual for the rest of his life. Optimism is the conscious decision to restore one's normal existence, to be grateful for what one has and to remain on an upright path.
And no, the questions never let up. What do we do with our experiences? Where do we channel the strength and courage developed in war? We must ensure that the legacy of our fallen soldiers is taught, and that their bravery and dedication remains with each and every Israeli. We must fulfill their vision, and follow through with the life's direction they left us.
On Tu B'Av, my wife, Avital, gave birth to our second child. We called him Neve Amihai.
טעינו? נתקן! אם מצאתם טעות בכתבה, נשמח שתשתפו אותנו