To understand all the faces of war, you have to experience it yourself, continuously over some time. Not just the short noisy, dangerous actions that make the news.
Most people’s perceptions of war are coloured by scenes from war movies or reports on TV and radio from excited war correspondents wearing helmets. Even those with family members who have served in conflict don’t get the full picture. What are generally reported, are the newsworthy bits, when the guns are firing, the tanks are rolling or the bombs exploding.
In his update for the week ending 17 January 2024 on the situation on the front lines in Israel, Dr. Binyamin Klempner (a guest on The Yakking Show episode 277) paints a realistic picture of all the faces of war. He writes about the dangerous, the mundane, and the reality in a way that reminds me vividly of my own experiences in the Rhodesian Terrorist war in the late 1960s and 70s. Long periods of excruciating boredom were interrupted by brief moments of anxiety and sometimes real fear.
Conversations about dead cows and lock picking mingled with questions about philosophy and guns, medical supplies and wives at home. I remember those conversations. I remember being able to walk past injured and dead terrorists awaiting removal by the medics and have a beer or a meal without thinking about the victims. To talk about everyday things as if those dead bodies were from a different planet. I remember being able to calmly help a fellow soldier with a bullet wound, then carry on normally. No drama, just do what had to be done and get on with it.
That may sound callous, but it’s the only way to survive in a war situation.
More of my own story here.
Here is his update.
Dear Friends,
On days that I’m sitting and writing, I feel like I’m missing out. Especially on days like today when the Hezbollah rockets are falling, I really feel like I’m missing out. Being where the enemy doesn’t want me to be is my way of taunting the enemy. It’s my way of sabotaging the enemy’s morale, all the more so when I’m boosting the morale of our soldiers. It’s my way of defying the enemy. It’s my way of counting the coup.
The nights are dark and spooky. Speaking shoos away some of the creepiness of the black forested nights. As I drive along the highway I make stops. Stopping for soldiers. Stopping for conversations.
The things we spoke about. Tactical gear. A handsome blond bearded soldier lamented that weapon flashlights have become so popular amongst Israeli combat soldiers. He said he didn’t understand why anyone would attach a flashlight to his weapon. “Essentially, that’s letting your enemy know your exact position. Why would anyone want to do such a thing? It doesn’t make any sense. Don’t use a flashlight. Learn to see in the dark. Learn to fire your weapon in the dark.”
Waiting
The things we spoke about. Waiting. The handsome blond bearded soldier told me that I shouldn’t let my sons go into combat. “Most of combat isn’t about fighting,” he said, “it’s about waiting on the side of dark empty highways at night. Waiting. Sometimes for days and weeks, until you’re given different orders. Most times you don’t make decisions. Most times you don’t inform decisions. Most times you just sit. Waiting. Have your son go into intelligence. He’ll sit in front of a computer always with some information to analyze. Informing combat. It’s like being on the intellectual front lines. In Tel Aviv. 9-5. With air conditioning.”
The things we spoke about. Politics. I said that the reason for this war is the arrogance of the politicians, both left and right, and the military’s top brass. The handsome blond bearded soldier thought about it for a moment and countered, “No. They’re not the problem. We’re the problem. Us. The citizens. It’s our division and fighting that caused this war. You can’t blame the politicians or the top brass. We are to blame.”
The things we spoke about. Lebanon. Why we don’t go in? The blond bearded soldier speculated it’s because the US doesn’t support us. Doesn’t give us adequate ammunition to fight a war. “The problem,” he said, “is that we’re too dependent on the US.”
Weapons
The things we spoke about. Weapons. What makes the best weapon for a civilian? A concealed pistol. But even better than that would be a pistol converted into a semi-automatic through use of an inexpensive conversion kit and decked out with a scope, longer barrel, heavy stock, extended magazine, and front handle. He said that any pistol that isn’t concealed can be easily stolen. He said, “They’ll follow you home. And when they see you’ve gone out, they’ll break into your home and steal your gun. If they can’t break into the safe your gun is stored in, they’ll just take the safe with the gun in it. Too much responsibility to own a firearm.” Funny thing is, I dislike guns. Never fired a pistol. And have no interest in firing a pistol. It’s about speaking to soldiers about the things that matter to them.
The things we spoke about. Dead cows and friendly fire. A soldier told me he just got back from the dead cows. “What dead cows?” I asked. “You missed the action. About an hour ago they shot a rocket near our position. Every day around sunset. That’s when they fire rockets and missiles at us. Landed in the woods. We were huddled in the shelter. Landed in the woods killing a bunch of cows. That’s where I was just now. Looking at the dead cows. Some were still alive. But just lying on the ground. Moaning. Dying real slow. See, I took a video.” He showed me the video. “Well,” I said, “Let’s go see.” “We can’t.” “Why not? We’ll take your army vehicle.” “No. But, we can’t.” “Why not.” “Because there’s other troops there defending the place.” “So.” “So, they’ll shoot us.” “We’ll radio them that we’re coming.” “No radios. Too dangerous. They’ll shoot us. Haven’t you heard of friendly fire?”
Wine
The things we spoke about. Wine. “So what do you do outside of the army?” The paratrooper was a particularly tall and handsome fellow in his mid-thirties. “I work as an agronomist.” “Oh. In what area of the country?” “The Ella Valley.” “Oh. So you work in grapes?” “Yes. But how do know that?” “What else does an agronomist in the Ella Valley work in? So let me ask you a question. That stretch of valley between Beit Shemesh and Beitar…you know the vineyards I’m talking about…?” “Of course I do. They are some of the best in the country.” “Well, here’s my question, some of those vines are close to the highway. I’d like to know the effect of auto exhaust on the variables of the grape.” “That’s a brilliant question! I’ve never heard it asked before. But anyway, those are big vineyards and most of the vines are far from the road.” “Most but not all. Anyway, you could write your dissertation on the topic.” “I could, but I’m actually writing my doctoral dissertation on the topic of ‘water stress,’ also called ‘drought stress’ and ‘heat stress’ on the grapes and then, ultimately, on the flavor profiles of the wine.”
We continued speaking about terroir and agribusiness versus agriculture and the beautiful science of the grape which blends hard science with high culture until they become undiscernible one from the other. And the metaphor of it all. War stresses the soldier into something more than he was before the battle. Drought stresses the grape into something more than it was before the drought. The suffering of the grape somehow parallels the suffering of the drinker. I asked which wine he considers to be the best in the country. He said Flam. “Not only is it great wine, but the Flam family are nice people to work with, and the personality of the winemaker is reflected in the wine.”
Picking Locks
The things we spoke about. Picking locks. Speaking with a very chilled-out master locksmith from Hawaii, who left his locksmithing business in Hawaii to come fight in Israel the day after the war began, I said to him, “Here you are as a military police officer. Surely the army has a greater need for master locksmiths than military police.” He smiled his chilled-out surfer smile and said, with a voice laden with irony, amusement, and resentment, “I guess the army doesn’t know what questions to ask.” I took out my phone and showed him Shane Wighton’s YouTube videos of building unpickable locks, which, of course, were picked. We had a blast. I told him that if I spoke Hebrew I’d take his weapon and uniform and man his post for a few days so that he could go on R&R. We both agreed that if not for the lack of Hebrew being a factor, nobody would notice. He suggested that instead I come with my son to the outpost, pitch a tent nearby, and hang out with them for a few days of fun in the wartime sun.
The things we spoke about. Observation. In a shelter built centuries ago by the Ottomans for this very purpose. For tactical observation. “Are these infrared binoculars?” “Yes.” “Can I have a look?” “Of course.” “Should I take off my glasses?” “I keep mine on.” “Wow! That’s incredible! Rosh Hanikra. Green! Tactical Psychedelia! Tactical Psychedelic Superpower Vision!” “Yeah! It’s really cool! Isn’t it!?” “And if you see a boat infiltrating you shoot it?” “That’s what we’d do.” Looking around I noticed a huge rifle mounted to a stand that was massive and yet obviously too small for the rifle. I said, “And this is the rifle you’d use?” “It’s the rifle we’re supposed to use. But the stand is a bit small. We need a bigger stand and some rigging we don’t have.” “What kind of rifle is it?” “They say it’s a Magnum.” I recalled an episode from my late teens when I asked my Blackfeet Indian friend, Tiny Man Yellowkidney, what type of rifle his father, Buster Yellowkidney, a retired FBI agent, used to shoot Grizzley bears after a human mauling incident. He said a Magnum. I asked if I could shoot it. He told me no because I’m not stout enough. He said it would tear my shoulder off. Looking at this massive rifle I was amazed that any man, no matter how large, could fire it with his shoulder intact. I advised the soldier, “Well…if you ever need to shoot it…lean in with all you’ve got…and pray for your shoulder…” Meanwhile, behind us, a soldier rode his long skateboard on the smooth ancient marble floor, M-16 slung over his shoulder.
Trauma And Medical Supplies
The things we spoke about. Trauma. I met with a medic about procuring supplies for her men. She requested 280 trauma scissors, 280 Sharpie permanent markers, and 20 Pulse Oximeters. The reasons for each one: A pair of trauma scissors for each soldier, the reason being that it takes time to cut off clothing to get to the body, it’s time better spent doing something more important, like plugging up holes. If the soldier, first to respond, cuts off the clothing of his wounded friend, by the time she gets the guy she can go straight to plugging up holes rather than cutting off his clothes. Sharpie permanent markers, so that in the case of a wounded man the soldier first to respond can write on his friend’s skin when the wound was inflicted and when the tourniquet was put on. The Oximeter: she explained, that in the case of a real trauma situation, the hands of most medics will be shaking so uncontrollably that they won’t be able to find a pulse. The Oximeter easily does the work for them.
The things we spoke about. Rockets. The nineteen-year-old from Brooklyn serving in the border police had cortisol in her voice. She just saw a rocket for the first time in her life. It was shot down by an Iron Dome missile. No big deal I thought. A common appearance depending on where in the country you live. A year and a half in the military and just seen her first glimpse of war. A quirky concept: A soldier without knowledge of war. Welcome, I thought. Welcome.
Faces of War – Battle And Valor
The things we spoke about. Battle and valor. I was leaning over a green railing with the green grass below my feet. The young reservist was standing below me on the walkway below the other side of the railing. I said to him in a hushed tone, the tone you use when saying the taboo, “You have to admit, there’s something nice, something wonderful about war.” The young reservist seemed a bit uneasy and squirmed ever so slightly at what I had just said. “Be honest. I mean…you don’t have to be honest if you don’t want to…but…if you want to be honest…there is something about war…I can’t explain it…it’s just…wonderful…I mean… it’s terrible that people die in war, that’s obvious…I can’t explain it…” The young reservist nodded and said, “I’ll tell you the truth. I’ll tell you what it is. It’s purpose. It’s meaningfulness. It’s doing something beyond yourself. I’ll tell you. My grandfather was in the Palmach. He died recently. At ninety-three. He was the soldier who blew up the bridges connecting British Palestine with Syria. He pushed down the valve on the TNT box that blew up all the bridges. He had a large happy family. He was a successful businessman. He had a lot to be proud of. A few years before he passed away he lost his memory. Didn’t know who anyone was. Didn’t remember any of his accomplishments. The only thing he remembered and the only thing he spoke about was blowing up those bridges.”
The war continues. The wives of many reservists are sending their children to sleep hungry. Don’t blame the government for not doing enough. They are doing enough. It’s a war. A war. Simple as that. It’s up to us, the civilians to pick up the slack. To work on behalf of the war effort. If you live in the USA, you can help financially, in fact, to be honest, it really is the only way you can help, but it’s a big help, it’s a help that feeds the families of the soldiers so that the soldiers can focus on the task at hand, the task of fighting, rather than worrying about their children’s empty stomachs.
Donations can be made online at 
https://thechesedfund.com/
Stay safe!
Binyamin Klempner
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