Israel at 75; A Soldier Tribute

Yitzhak Rabin & Yitzhak Kotler, 1967

As Israel is observing its solemn Memorial Day, and then will be celebrating 75 years of independence; as the kibbutz where I was born had just celebrated 100 years after its establishment, its Aliyah on the ground and conquering the land; and as this political blog (minor as it is in comparison) is celebrating 15 years of existence; I was deliberating long and hard how to commemorate it all, and what to write in tribute. I wanted, for once, to avoid criticism and stick to the positive. Politics are down on a day like this, remembrance is up.

Then it hit me. I realized that nothing would be more appropriate, more significant than to remember a soldier who’d died (one of many) defending the state of Israel. He was my best buddy in the army, and died in a battle behind enemy lines more than 53 years ago. Back then, upon his death, I wrote a piece in his memory that came out in a memorial book dedicated to him and his life; very common in Israel back then when honoring falling soldiers, especially from kibbutzim. At the time I was only 22 and wrote what I wrote straight from the heart. It wasn’t meant for posterity, or aimed at any literary merit. But here it is, without any grammatical corrections or stylistic fine-tuning, translated from Hebrew by me.

The Straightforward Sabra

Yitzhak Kotler, aka Iky

His image—the image of the barefooted sabra, who looks you straight in the eye, quick and agile, knows everything, free of doubts, who doesn’t stop to think, but thinks while running, in khaki shorts and blue shirt; the image of the sabra who always takes the initiative into his own hands; the sabra of the side satchel, the topographic map and the tembel hat; the sabra who plows the land length and width but never sows; the sabra who never stops because he knows he was born too old, 2000 years old; the sabra with the red army boots, with the lieutenant’s ranks on his shoulders, always charging forward, always ahead; the sabra of no problems—everything is going to be all right; the sabra who falls righteous.

His self-confidence and endless energy prevent me from writing about him in the past tense: since he lived always in the present, but with plans lined up for the future. And though his body is no longer with us, it doesn’t mean his spirit and soul are absent. We will never again see his smiling face, but his strong will, his belief that actions always speak stronger than words, will always be with us. He was not a scholar and didn’t leave books behind for prosperity; he was a man of action, of doing tangible things. In that sense—he still is.

He didn’t have many time gaps to fill with deep thoughts. He concluded one deed and already knew what the next one would be. Maybe I won’t remember him along the way, maybe he will be forgotten in the living of the day-to-day—the way others are forgotten, and the way we’ll all be forgotten—but at the hours of doing things, of building something real and worthwhile, we’ll know that that was Yitzhak Kotler’s—known to all his friends as Iky—that was his wish too; that he planned for it and believed in it. When we’ll travel abroad and see the world; when we’ll bear children; when we’ll build a new kibbutz; move the water lines in the cotton fields, play basketball and dance Israeli dances—we’ll remember him.

We’ll remember him when we’ll be out hiking on the slopes of the Galilee mountains, and see the cactus bushes with their prickly orange sabra fruits, as first and foremost an Israeli youth; in his life and in his death. We’ll remember him as the image of the real sabra, running to work in the field of his kibbutz; eager to guide and lead younger kids in the inner city; gladly joining the army, yearning to fulfill his duty. We’ll be remembered Iky as the sabra who grew from the soil of the land, only to return to it too soon; before even producing fruits. The sabra who was destined to die in his twenties.

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Six Days & Fifty Years

Ready to Embark

This Monday evening, June 5th, we at the Mosaic Law Congregation of Sacramento, and its KOH Library and Cultural Center, will be commemorating—with a special program and an excellent film—the 50-year anniversary to the Six-Day War of 1967. A war in which I fought as a young soldier, both at the Egyptian front and at the Syrian front (see the picture above of young paratroopers about to embark on a plane; I’m second from the left). I will take an active role in the program by recalling my experience during that war (to hear my story you’ll have to come to the event itself). I’m mentioning this upfront because many of you, who have been following my political writings here, and events throughout our community, and know my political views regarding the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, may raise an eyebrow or two, to say the least, in wondering how someone with my opinions and inclinations, is so readily participating and organizing such a program.

Well… here’s my explanation. To begin with, our event is not a ‘celebration’ per se, nor it is a ‘mourning’ of sorts. (Most certainly it is not a political event.) Rather—though both elements would be present—it is a commemoration. We will be observing and reflecting on the days leading to the war. Days that began with an act of aggression by Egypt and its leader Camal Abdel Nasser, being pushed from behind by the Russians, which led to a joint effort by all the Arab countries surrounding Israel, aiming to annihilate the young nation and its Jewish people from the face of the earth. Days that plunged Israel into a collective state of anxiety, great worry for its survival, and preparation for the upcoming war. Days of mobilization of all the country’s resources, human and machine, dedicated to the defense of the Jewish state. Days of no school; of no theater; of no street cafes and normal life. Culminating in six days of war that would prove to be decisive, destructive to our enemies, and glorious in term of modern history warfare.

What we will not be observing, reflecting on or discussing, would be the aftermath of that war. The day after. Fifty long years of wars, battles, and yes, some peace. In those years Israel, which at the end of the war—a war of survival per excellence, make no mistake about it—not only secured its long-term existence, but was also began a downfall of sort. At the time, it was situated at its modern zenith as a country, at the highest point on top of the ‘wheel of history.’ But unfortunately, thereafter, it began a downward spiral, continuing to this day. This disastrous descent included, among its many casualties, two warrior leaders turned peacemakers: an Egyptian President and an Israeli Prime Minister, assassinated on the altar of peace. But true: not everything has been bad since then. Far from it: The country, its army, its economy, its high-tech industry—not only its agricultural marvel as before the war—grew into a global leading proportions. After the terrible blunder of the Yom Kippur War, the country had made peace with two of its strongest enemies: Egypt and Jordan. A peace that is lasting, so far. A country of two million people is now a country of more than eight million people. Despite some challenges, it’s still a democracy. Not bad at all.

What went wrong was, still is, the occupation. I’m talking, of course, of the colonial grabbing of the West Bank (the Golan Heights too, to a degree), and the continuation of the conflict with the Palestinian people; which, in historical terms, had begun in 1948 and before. This occupation has led to a situation on the ground where the only solution available; the only solution acceptable on the majorly of both peoples; the only solution accepted on the international community—which regard, and rightly so, the Israeli settlement movement and activity as illegal—has brought us to the dying bed of that Two-State solution. It can still be resurrected and brought to life, I very much want to believe so. But in truth: I don’t see how. Again, I believe the majority of the people on both sides—more even than the politicians—are resigned now to the fact that it’s over and done with.

So what’s wrong with it, you ask? I tell you what. It can bring, potentially, not only the demise, but the end of Israel as a free society, and as a Jewish and democratic state. Maybe still in our lifetime, and maybe not. With it, it would also kill the Zionist dream. Here’s why: It cannot be both. Israel cannot be Jewish and also democratic state, while at the same time continuing to rule over millions of Palestinian people. If Israel would grant them citizenship, it soon won’t be a Jewish state anymore. If it would deprive them of these rights, while continuing to control their lives and treat them as second-class citizens, then it’s no longer a democratic state. It’s an Apartheid state. We did not—I repeat, did not—go to war for that!

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