Dr. Binyamin Klempner’s latest update from Israel.
It’s two-ten in the morning and the F-15s are nagging me with their roar to write about them. They don’t stop for an inhale or an exhale. They just roar on. With their ferocious war, rather, roar.There’s a lot to be said about F-15s, F-16s, and F-35s. For one thing, we know little about the people who fly them. I’ve never met one. And yet, they’re an integral part of the war. They are here. A frequent presence. We hear them. The closest I’ve come to meeting a fighter pilot was a conversation I had over the phone with a US drone pilot. He dropped bombs on Iraq and Afghanistan and elsewhere in the Middle East and then went to coach his son’s t-ball team in Middle America. Killing’s easier when it’s impersonal. He told me how much he enjoyed looking at the images of Israel on his monitor as he flew over. That was the closest I came to meeting a fighter pilot. The fighter pilots here in Israel are about as secretive as secretive gets. Most live on base. Raise their families on base. One big happy family. Like a kibbutz. No one on the outside knows much about them. But we hear them. It brings to mind a client I once worked with nearly twenty years ago. A large homeless heroin junkie. A black man. He did seven years in Attica for gang related ax murder. One of the other therapists, Kenya, asked me to stop working with this guy. I asked Kenya why he feared my client. Kenya said, “The guy killed somebody with an ax.” I said, “The guy had no choice. It was gang warfare. Kill or be killed.” Kenya retorted, “But couldn’t he have at least used a gun? A gun’s cleaner.” The greater the distance between trigger and target the easier the kill. The shorter the distance, the greater the integrity of the kill. Nonetheless, it’s to our advantage to have air superiority in our exciting skies; and, for that, I’m grateful despite the lack of sleep. And besides, the pilots are courageous men, and for that, I’m also grateful. And proud. I suppose our pilots are sharing their sleepless nights with me. (Parenthetically: The morning after writing this it turns out we killed several of Iran’s highest ranking generals. Dropped our bombs on them. In the navy they say “anchors away,” in the air force they say “bombs away…”).
So here’s where things get goosebumps weird. Several hours after writing the above paragraph I go for my daily walk in the local forest. I’m the only Jew in the forest as it’s packed with Muslims during the feasts that follow Ramadan. And because I want to have my own space for quiet and contemplation and because it’s so packed with Muslims having family bar-b-q and get-togethers, I keep walking deeper and deeper into the forest. I get to a road deep in the woods. There’s what appears to be a couple in the woods. A young man and woman. They are both wearing uniforms and her uniform is an officer’s uniform. I’m not sure if they’re Muslim or Jewish. It’s not the right time for a Jewish army couple to be in the woods. But why would a Muslim army couple be in uniform on such a day. Anyway, I was curious and wanted to check them out a bit. As I walked closer two more army guys both with relatively high ranks drove by in the same type of rental car as the first two. Then more and more. All in the same small little rental cars. It turns out the female officer I first saw was the office manager and the guy I thought was her boyfriend was pulling security. Aside from that guy, all the men were about the same height. With the same airman crew cuts. And all wore their pistols the way airmen do, in the back. All with the rank of Major. And I noticed they wore air force colors. Fighter Pilots. About sixty fighter pilots all huddling together in the woods. I tried speaking a few nice words to one of the commanding officers, two leaves on his shoulder, a Lieutenant Colonel, an older white-haired fellow, but he had clearly been too indoctrinated to speak with somebody who looks like me, or, at least, who doesn’t look like himself. But one of the younger pilots (and I’m making an assumption that they were pilots. It’s not like they’re allowed to tell me that), a Major, was interested in conversation. Although we spoke no longer than a minute, it was clear we could have had an hours long marathon conversation, making fast friends out of each other. Although I think I appreciate the work they do, all and all, I didn’t dig the deep state vibe. I felt excluded.
(April 13th)
Well, now it makes sense. It was a pep-talk. Nobody knew what to expect from Iran. Sunday, 2 a.m., the sky above my house was full of Iranian ballistic missiles and Israeli F-16s shooting them down. It looked like World War III. Maybe it was. Kudos to the pilots. With God’s help, they performed well.
In addition to visiting the soldiers near the front line, I’ve begun to be much more involved with Lone Soldiers. Lone Soldiers. There are different types of soldiers the Israeli army classifies as Lone Soldiers. Some are Israeli who grew up in the social welfare system, others grew up and came to fight from other countries. The one thing all Lone Soldiers have in common is that they’re all disadvantaged. I give out ice cream and sushi. I play the gong with them. Tell them stories. Listen to them tell me stories. I listen to them. I connect with them. They take down my number. If they want to talk or get together on their time off, I’m available to them. If they need private therapy sessions I provide up to five sessions at no cost to the soldier. In some cases it comes down to suicide prevention. In all cases it comes down to support. All of this comes at a cost of time and money. The army provides a great deal. But when it comes to taking care of lone soldiers, the army often, not always, but often, falls short. And this shortcoming is the gap the Unity Farm Foundation Lone Soldier Fund fills. But the Unity Farm Foundation desperately needs your financial support. Please support my work and the work of the Unity Farm Foundation.
https://thechesedfund.com/theunityfarmfoundation/support-our-israeli-soldiers
Also, if you haven’t already, please go to Amazon and purchase your copy of Aftermath: An October 7th Memoir and leave a review.
Stay Safe! Stay Joyful!
Happy Passover!
Binyamin Klempner