Let me tell you about a most unusual adventure, the likes of which I haven't experienced in the last twenty years.
I am 57, married and a father of four children. I immigrated to Israel as a young man about 30 years ago. I served in the Israeli army and participated in the Yom Kippur War from beginning to end, as well as in the Lebanon Campaign.
After my military service, I started working in Israel, but got into serious economic and professional difficulties. Like many others, I decided to try my luck abroad. I moved to Germany and managed to get established there. Despite the fact that I was totally involved in my work and my career, my guilty conscience didn't stop bothering me, because I believe that the proper place for a Jew is in the land of Israel.
I intended, as most emigrants do, to stay abroad for ten years, after which I would have the financial means to establish myself back in Israel.
Israel was always foremost in my thoughts. We talked about events in Israel, we checked the local press for every little snippet about Israel, and two or three times a year, we visited Israel.
However, we gradually became used to life in Germany. Clearly, to sell up would be bordering on insanity. Ten years stretched into twenty. My wife doesn't want to give up the comfortable life to which she has become accustomed for the hardships of Israel. My children speak German as their mother tongue. From a temporary place of residence, Germany became my home and I started to understand and appreciate that country.
And yet, a voice inside kept on at me. "Traitor!" said the voice. First, your are a traitor to yourself, your beliefs; then to your colleagues in the Soviet Zionist underground movement of the 1970s. You are betraying your forefathers, who waited 2,000 years in the Diaspora to return to their roots. And you are also betraying your offspring and future generations, because only in Israel can you be sure they will remain Jews.
In the midst of this disheartening predicament, I searched for something to cling to. On Sundays, I take the children to the local rabbi to give them some basic grounding in Jewish religion and tradition. I don't remember when I last went to synagogue in Israel. But in the Diaspora I realized that religion is fundamental to Jewish existence. Without the framework of religion and tradition, assimilation is bound to occur after one or two generations.
I joined the German Zionist movement and participated in meetings and demonstrations for Israel. I talked with friends and had discussions with enemies.
Then I discovered that the Zionist Organization arranges for groups to work at IDF bases, and for volunteers to work alongside the police and Civil Defense units. I dreamed of being a soldier once again. At the start of the last Intifada, news was received that the IDF was recruiting volunteers. Those eligible were Israelis, regardless of where they lived, who had served in the IDF, but, for whatever reason, were not on the reserve duty call-up list. I contacted a friend who had already served in this capacity, and he enthusiastically told me all about it. We decided that next time, we would go together.
I contacted the unit, completed the questionnaire and in two months got the OK. I later learned that out of 7,000 volunteers, only 2,000 had qualified. I was elated to have been picked. Now all I had to do was find time in my calendar and advise the unit.
I arrived in Israel in mid-February, 2004. There were 42 volunteers in my group, between the ages of 20 and 60. Three of these were women, one of them not religious at all, and two of them religious students who considered it a holy mitzvah to serve as reserve volunteers defending Israel.
We were a wide cross-section of Israelis: Sabras and new immigrants, Ashkenazis and Sephardis, residents of Israel and residents of other countries. Some had jobs, some were unemployed, some were businessmen and some employees, and they ranged from the far-left to the far-right. There was one unifying factor: a fervent desire to serve the country. No one spoke about the reasons why they had volunteered, it was taken for granted. No one talked about their economic situation or their previous army service. These details only emerged incidentally later on. It turned out that many of us had been officers, sometimes quite senior. But nobody displayed their rank.
Like any group of Jews who get together, we discussed current politics in our few hours of free time. But we never mentioned money, stock markets, or other such material concerns. The Dow Jones index and the Dax were forgotten, as was the price of oil, and the latest exchange rates. We were in another world.
Even though I hadn't been in uniform for over 22 years - since the Lebanon War - I was amazed how quickly the instinctive reflexes of a soldier came back to me.
I also found myself experiencing a special feeling for religion. I never used to go to synagogue when I lived in Israel. Yet, I was frequently visiting the caravan that had been designated as a synagogue, where rifles and prayer books lay side by side. In this caravan, I stood as if naked before some supreme power; mindful of the clear and present danger to my life.
After handing out uniforms and equipment, and assigning us tents, the Commander made a short speech. "My compliments to you all for volunteering to be here. Well done," he said. "But from now on, no more compliments, you are ordinary soldiers. However, the demands placed on you are greater, because you are mature people with life experience. You will be dispersed to serve alongside regular troops at checkpoints between Israel and the Palestinian Authority. This is a delicate job, and there is no better way to detect terrorists than by human experience. It will be your responsibility to decide who enters Israeli territory, and whom to stop. Whom to search, and when to use firearms."
We were given M-16 rifles and 150 bullets. Under the guidance of an instructor, we attempted to renew our fighting skills and sharpen our instincts, so as to be ready to react in seconds, as all the advantages of a sudden surprise attack were with the terrorists.
We split up into groups. Along with eight other volunteers, I was sent to the checkpoint at Kalandia, one of the main exits from Ramallah, where Yasser Arafat's residence is located.
Ten regular soldiers, a handful of reservists and eight volunteers worked in shifts trying to identify and neutralize terrorists among the 25,000 people wishing to cross the checkpoint on foot, plus 5,000 vehicles crammed full with passengers and baggage. Day in, day out, from six in the morning until ten at night.
We became part of a great political drama. Like a family where everyone hates everyone else, but they have to live in the same house and can't get away from each other, so do these two peoples, Jews and Arabs, who both claim the same land, come together at the checkpoint.
It is a meeting of nationalities, cultures and religions: West and East, democracy and totalitarianism, religious fanaticism and bleeding-heart liberalism - to the point of self-loathing. It would take a writer more proficient than myself, someone like Maxim Gorky, who wrote about the human soul, to describe the gamut of personal psychological tragedies acted out repeatedly in this historical theater of the absurd. I am certain that the fallibility of democracy against the conviction of religious fanaticism has never been so vividly expressed as at the checkpoint.
As a result of constant terrorism, the only Palestinians allowed entry into Israel are those holding special permits issued by the Israeli police. However, various exceptions to this rule have been introduced, as a result of pressure from human rights groups, the international community and friendly countries. In effect, this concern on the part of human rights groups has merely opened the door for terrorists and criminals, and made the life of the majority of the Palestinian people intolerable.
Heightened vigilance means the inspection lines get longer, and ambiguous instructions mean that the soldiers at the checkpoint have to make on-the-spot decisions. For example, the age of a potential terrorist was deemed to be between 15 and 40. This complicates matters considerably. Does one or two years age difference either way automatically clear someone?
The rules, which change weekly, permitted entry to teachers, doctors, health workers, patients with doctor appointments, and anyone working for an international organization. Credentials for doctors and teachers are issued by the Palestinian Authority. But even if they are genuine, what do they prove?
For example: a 30-year-old Palestinian showed me a Jordanian passport, with no Israeli entry visa. Naturally I couldn't let him through. He produced a Palestinian document, with no Israeli police permit. Again, I couldn't let him through. He then showed me his credentials as a medical doctor. When I questioned him as to what the human heart is composed of, he was at a loss to reply, which led me to doubt his medical proficiency. Then he came up with a teacher's certificate. What subject? Arabic! I didn't let him through. After all that, how could I?
It's impossible to search every single person and every piece of baggage at the checkpoint. Manual searches are made at random. This allows two possibilities: either the suspect is clean, or we both get blown up together. In effect, if one of the Palestinians is a walking bomb, we were the living shields of the State of Israel.
When I asked why they don't use dogs to search for explosives, I was told officially that if we did, we would offend Muslims, who consider dogs to be unclean. Dogs also provoke negative associations with concentration camps.
Of course, we realize that 99.99% of the Palestinians wishing to cross the checkpoint are ordinary people with ordinary problems. Their distress is caused primarily because the leaders of the Palestinian Authority, who received billions of dollars in aid over the years, didn't build an economic infrastructure, which would have permitted them not to be dependent on the Israeli labor market.
Yet, 0.01% of those trying to get through are terrorists who blow up buses, restaurants and discotheques. Finding and neutralizing them is the job of boys and girls aged 18 to 20, who have to stay alert at all times, as they don't know which direction death may come from. This is the way they spend their entire military service, at the checkpoint.
According to the radio, a boy of ten wearing a suicide belt was stopped at the next checkpoint; then, we caught a car containing tens of pounds of explosives.
The soldiers manning the checkpoints are under continual pressure. People want to get to work, children want to get to school, an ambulance driver wants to get a patient to hospital. A young man accompanies an old man. His father, he says. The old man has trouble with his eyesight, and the son wants to get him to the doctor. But yesterday someone blew up a bus in Jerusalem. I refuse them entry.
Was I right? The rules and the exceptions have become so complicated that during one daily briefing a soldier asked: "Where's the logic?" The reply was succinct: "Logic has been discharged from the army."
The presence of experienced adults is of the utmost importance, although no amount of experience can give all the answers. There are only eight or ten of us. Behind us is the State of Israel, which, despite all its armed might, is helpless.
A young man, a resident of the Palestinian Authority, needs to get to his wife, who is about to give birth on the other side. No documents. I let him pass. Did I do right?
Another comes up and asks jovially, "How are you today?" From his question I can deduce he has no documents on him. But is he a terrorist?
The older Palestinians speak Hebrew. Their papers are in order. They grew up before the Oslo Agreements and the intifadas. They don't like the Jews particularly, but they know it is possible to live in security with them and to get a job. On the other hand, the youngsters, who grew up with peace agreements and intifadas, radiate hate. Still, even among them, there are those who just want to earn their daily bread and have some fun in Israel.
A young man arrives, well dressed, with his hair sleeked back. He wants to get to a discotheque in Israel. There was one in Ramallah but it was burnt down, he complains. He probably only wants what every normal youth of his age wants. But a youth of his age blew up the Dolphinarium discotheque. Should he come through?
Some of the Palestinians do not disguise their hatred of Yasser Arafat and his cronies. One told me outright: "The worst things you Jews did for the Palestinians was to bring that gang back from Tunis." Does he mean it? The checkpoint and the gun slung around my neck are not exactly conducive to an honest exchange of views.
Embassy staff go by - German, French, Scandinavian. So do representatives of all sorts of international companies and left-wing organizations. Sometimes, they try and intervene. We explain our position, keeping it short and to the point. The volunteers do this better than the soldiers. They have the advantage of age, languages and experience. Occasionally, we can provide some positive public relations, which Israel needs so badly.
For three consecutive days, a 20-year-old from England stood at the checkpoint holding up a placard in protest of the occupation of Palestinian lands. We didn't bother him. One of our officers, who spoke good English and was the same age, had a long talk with him. I don't know what was said. It was an encounter of two worlds, the fate of two peoples meet at the checkpoint.
I heard a lot about coarse behavior by soldiers. Maybe this happens, too. At the end of the day, it depends on the level of education of the individual concerned. At our checkpoint, there was nothing of the sort during the two weeks I was there. Suddenly, I hear there has been an explosion at the Erez crossing. Three soldiers killed, two of them boys and one a 19-year-old girl. I wonder what the three of them were doing wrong.
Near the checkpoint stand a group of women from the Israeli Human Rights Association. They come there every day as if reporting for duty. In principle, they are doing important, valiant work. A Palestinian who has not been permitted entry into Israeli territory can approach them and explain his problem. They can then try and persuade us to change our decision. It would be a good thing if they limited themselves to this. I wanted to talk to one of them. Her reply was cold and sharp: "There's nothing to talk about. You're a bunch of Nazis."
What on earth...? I wonder. We are there to protect them and their relatives. They may disagree with political decisions, and can vote accordingly in elections. But to compare us to Nazis?
If, after every terrorist action, they were to explain to the Palestinians the reason they have to wait in line for hours at the checkpoints, they would serve a more useful purpose. Prior to the Oslo Accords, there were no checkpoints. Arabs moved around freely wherever they liked in Israel. Can any psychologist explain to me this self-hatred and where it comes from?
Which human rights organization on the Palestinian side tries to protect our children? Nowhere in the world have there been demonstrations by the Palestinians against the killing of innocent people. Are the Jews not people any more? Don't they deserve protection? Maybe some people think this is the case.
I returned to Germany, to the material world I belong to. But during those two weeks, I lived outside my horizons and replenished my soul. This may sound romantic or even foolish for someone of my age and times, but it was so.
I am 57, married and a father of four children. I immigrated to Israel as a young man about 30 years ago. I served in the Israeli army and participated in the Yom Kippur War from beginning to end, as well as in the Lebanon Campaign.
After my military service, I started working in Israel, but got into serious economic and professional difficulties. Like many others, I decided to try my luck abroad. I moved to Germany and managed to get established there. Despite the fact that I was totally involved in my work and my career, my guilty conscience didn't stop bothering me, because I believe that the proper place for a Jew is in the land of Israel.
I intended, as most emigrants do, to stay abroad for ten years, after which I would have the financial means to establish myself back in Israel.
Israel was always foremost in my thoughts. We talked about events in Israel, we checked the local press for every little snippet about Israel, and two or three times a year, we visited Israel.
However, we gradually became used to life in Germany. Clearly, to sell up would be bordering on insanity. Ten years stretched into twenty. My wife doesn't want to give up the comfortable life to which she has become accustomed for the hardships of Israel. My children speak German as their mother tongue. From a temporary place of residence, Germany became my home and I started to understand and appreciate that country.
And yet, a voice inside kept on at me. "Traitor!" said the voice. First, your are a traitor to yourself, your beliefs; then to your colleagues in the Soviet Zionist underground movement of the 1970s. You are betraying your forefathers, who waited 2,000 years in the Diaspora to return to their roots. And you are also betraying your offspring and future generations, because only in Israel can you be sure they will remain Jews.
In the midst of this disheartening predicament, I searched for something to cling to. On Sundays, I take the children to the local rabbi to give them some basic grounding in Jewish religion and tradition. I don't remember when I last went to synagogue in Israel. But in the Diaspora I realized that religion is fundamental to Jewish existence. Without the framework of religion and tradition, assimilation is bound to occur after one or two generations.
I joined the German Zionist movement and participated in meetings and demonstrations for Israel. I talked with friends and had discussions with enemies.
Then I discovered that the Zionist Organization arranges for groups to work at IDF bases, and for volunteers to work alongside the police and Civil Defense units. I dreamed of being a soldier once again. At the start of the last Intifada, news was received that the IDF was recruiting volunteers. Those eligible were Israelis, regardless of where they lived, who had served in the IDF, but, for whatever reason, were not on the reserve duty call-up list. I contacted a friend who had already served in this capacity, and he enthusiastically told me all about it. We decided that next time, we would go together.
I contacted the unit, completed the questionnaire and in two months got the OK. I later learned that out of 7,000 volunteers, only 2,000 had qualified. I was elated to have been picked. Now all I had to do was find time in my calendar and advise the unit.
I arrived in Israel in mid-February, 2004. There were 42 volunteers in my group, between the ages of 20 and 60. Three of these were women, one of them not religious at all, and two of them religious students who considered it a holy mitzvah to serve as reserve volunteers defending Israel.
We were a wide cross-section of Israelis: Sabras and new immigrants, Ashkenazis and Sephardis, residents of Israel and residents of other countries. Some had jobs, some were unemployed, some were businessmen and some employees, and they ranged from the far-left to the far-right. There was one unifying factor: a fervent desire to serve the country. No one spoke about the reasons why they had volunteered, it was taken for granted. No one talked about their economic situation or their previous army service. These details only emerged incidentally later on. It turned out that many of us had been officers, sometimes quite senior. But nobody displayed their rank.
Like any group of Jews who get together, we discussed current politics in our few hours of free time. But we never mentioned money, stock markets, or other such material concerns. The Dow Jones index and the Dax were forgotten, as was the price of oil, and the latest exchange rates. We were in another world.
Even though I hadn't been in uniform for over 22 years - since the Lebanon War - I was amazed how quickly the instinctive reflexes of a soldier came back to me.
I also found myself experiencing a special feeling for religion. I never used to go to synagogue when I lived in Israel. Yet, I was frequently visiting the caravan that had been designated as a synagogue, where rifles and prayer books lay side by side. In this caravan, I stood as if naked before some supreme power; mindful of the clear and present danger to my life.
After handing out uniforms and equipment, and assigning us tents, the Commander made a short speech. "My compliments to you all for volunteering to be here. Well done," he said. "But from now on, no more compliments, you are ordinary soldiers. However, the demands placed on you are greater, because you are mature people with life experience. You will be dispersed to serve alongside regular troops at checkpoints between Israel and the Palestinian Authority. This is a delicate job, and there is no better way to detect terrorists than by human experience. It will be your responsibility to decide who enters Israeli territory, and whom to stop. Whom to search, and when to use firearms."
We were given M-16 rifles and 150 bullets. Under the guidance of an instructor, we attempted to renew our fighting skills and sharpen our instincts, so as to be ready to react in seconds, as all the advantages of a sudden surprise attack were with the terrorists.
We split up into groups. Along with eight other volunteers, I was sent to the checkpoint at Kalandia, one of the main exits from Ramallah, where Yasser Arafat's residence is located.
Ten regular soldiers, a handful of reservists and eight volunteers worked in shifts trying to identify and neutralize terrorists among the 25,000 people wishing to cross the checkpoint on foot, plus 5,000 vehicles crammed full with passengers and baggage. Day in, day out, from six in the morning until ten at night.
We became part of a great political drama. Like a family where everyone hates everyone else, but they have to live in the same house and can't get away from each other, so do these two peoples, Jews and Arabs, who both claim the same land, come together at the checkpoint.
It is a meeting of nationalities, cultures and religions: West and East, democracy and totalitarianism, religious fanaticism and bleeding-heart liberalism - to the point of self-loathing. It would take a writer more proficient than myself, someone like Maxim Gorky, who wrote about the human soul, to describe the gamut of personal psychological tragedies acted out repeatedly in this historical theater of the absurd. I am certain that the fallibility of democracy against the conviction of religious fanaticism has never been so vividly expressed as at the checkpoint.
As a result of constant terrorism, the only Palestinians allowed entry into Israel are those holding special permits issued by the Israeli police. However, various exceptions to this rule have been introduced, as a result of pressure from human rights groups, the international community and friendly countries. In effect, this concern on the part of human rights groups has merely opened the door for terrorists and criminals, and made the life of the majority of the Palestinian people intolerable.
Heightened vigilance means the inspection lines get longer, and ambiguous instructions mean that the soldiers at the checkpoint have to make on-the-spot decisions. For example, the age of a potential terrorist was deemed to be between 15 and 40. This complicates matters considerably. Does one or two years age difference either way automatically clear someone?
The rules, which change weekly, permitted entry to teachers, doctors, health workers, patients with doctor appointments, and anyone working for an international organization. Credentials for doctors and teachers are issued by the Palestinian Authority. But even if they are genuine, what do they prove?
For example: a 30-year-old Palestinian showed me a Jordanian passport, with no Israeli entry visa. Naturally I couldn't let him through. He produced a Palestinian document, with no Israeli police permit. Again, I couldn't let him through. He then showed me his credentials as a medical doctor. When I questioned him as to what the human heart is composed of, he was at a loss to reply, which led me to doubt his medical proficiency. Then he came up with a teacher's certificate. What subject? Arabic! I didn't let him through. After all that, how could I?
It's impossible to search every single person and every piece of baggage at the checkpoint. Manual searches are made at random. This allows two possibilities: either the suspect is clean, or we both get blown up together. In effect, if one of the Palestinians is a walking bomb, we were the living shields of the State of Israel.
When I asked why they don't use dogs to search for explosives, I was told officially that if we did, we would offend Muslims, who consider dogs to be unclean. Dogs also provoke negative associations with concentration camps.
Of course, we realize that 99.99% of the Palestinians wishing to cross the checkpoint are ordinary people with ordinary problems. Their distress is caused primarily because the leaders of the Palestinian Authority, who received billions of dollars in aid over the years, didn't build an economic infrastructure, which would have permitted them not to be dependent on the Israeli labor market.
Yet, 0.01% of those trying to get through are terrorists who blow up buses, restaurants and discotheques. Finding and neutralizing them is the job of boys and girls aged 18 to 20, who have to stay alert at all times, as they don't know which direction death may come from. This is the way they spend their entire military service, at the checkpoint.
According to the radio, a boy of ten wearing a suicide belt was stopped at the next checkpoint; then, we caught a car containing tens of pounds of explosives.
The soldiers manning the checkpoints are under continual pressure. People want to get to work, children want to get to school, an ambulance driver wants to get a patient to hospital. A young man accompanies an old man. His father, he says. The old man has trouble with his eyesight, and the son wants to get him to the doctor. But yesterday someone blew up a bus in Jerusalem. I refuse them entry.
Was I right? The rules and the exceptions have become so complicated that during one daily briefing a soldier asked: "Where's the logic?" The reply was succinct: "Logic has been discharged from the army."
The presence of experienced adults is of the utmost importance, although no amount of experience can give all the answers. There are only eight or ten of us. Behind us is the State of Israel, which, despite all its armed might, is helpless.
A young man, a resident of the Palestinian Authority, needs to get to his wife, who is about to give birth on the other side. No documents. I let him pass. Did I do right?
Another comes up and asks jovially, "How are you today?" From his question I can deduce he has no documents on him. But is he a terrorist?
The older Palestinians speak Hebrew. Their papers are in order. They grew up before the Oslo Agreements and the intifadas. They don't like the Jews particularly, but they know it is possible to live in security with them and to get a job. On the other hand, the youngsters, who grew up with peace agreements and intifadas, radiate hate. Still, even among them, there are those who just want to earn their daily bread and have some fun in Israel.
A young man arrives, well dressed, with his hair sleeked back. He wants to get to a discotheque in Israel. There was one in Ramallah but it was burnt down, he complains. He probably only wants what every normal youth of his age wants. But a youth of his age blew up the Dolphinarium discotheque. Should he come through?
Some of the Palestinians do not disguise their hatred of Yasser Arafat and his cronies. One told me outright: "The worst things you Jews did for the Palestinians was to bring that gang back from Tunis." Does he mean it? The checkpoint and the gun slung around my neck are not exactly conducive to an honest exchange of views.
Embassy staff go by - German, French, Scandinavian. So do representatives of all sorts of international companies and left-wing organizations. Sometimes, they try and intervene. We explain our position, keeping it short and to the point. The volunteers do this better than the soldiers. They have the advantage of age, languages and experience. Occasionally, we can provide some positive public relations, which Israel needs so badly.
For three consecutive days, a 20-year-old from England stood at the checkpoint holding up a placard in protest of the occupation of Palestinian lands. We didn't bother him. One of our officers, who spoke good English and was the same age, had a long talk with him. I don't know what was said. It was an encounter of two worlds, the fate of two peoples meet at the checkpoint.
I heard a lot about coarse behavior by soldiers. Maybe this happens, too. At the end of the day, it depends on the level of education of the individual concerned. At our checkpoint, there was nothing of the sort during the two weeks I was there. Suddenly, I hear there has been an explosion at the Erez crossing. Three soldiers killed, two of them boys and one a 19-year-old girl. I wonder what the three of them were doing wrong.
Near the checkpoint stand a group of women from the Israeli Human Rights Association. They come there every day as if reporting for duty. In principle, they are doing important, valiant work. A Palestinian who has not been permitted entry into Israeli territory can approach them and explain his problem. They can then try and persuade us to change our decision. It would be a good thing if they limited themselves to this. I wanted to talk to one of them. Her reply was cold and sharp: "There's nothing to talk about. You're a bunch of Nazis."
What on earth...? I wonder. We are there to protect them and their relatives. They may disagree with political decisions, and can vote accordingly in elections. But to compare us to Nazis?
If, after every terrorist action, they were to explain to the Palestinians the reason they have to wait in line for hours at the checkpoints, they would serve a more useful purpose. Prior to the Oslo Accords, there were no checkpoints. Arabs moved around freely wherever they liked in Israel. Can any psychologist explain to me this self-hatred and where it comes from?
Which human rights organization on the Palestinian side tries to protect our children? Nowhere in the world have there been demonstrations by the Palestinians against the killing of innocent people. Are the Jews not people any more? Don't they deserve protection? Maybe some people think this is the case.
I returned to Germany, to the material world I belong to. But during those two weeks, I lived outside my horizons and replenished my soul. This may sound romantic or even foolish for someone of my age and times, but it was so.