A new update from Dr. Binyamin Klempner guest in episode 276 on The Yakking Show, on the situation in Israel. He writes about trauma, PTSD and the human side of war. Therenay be a while before the next update. Late on Saturday night (13 April 2024) I received an email from Binyamin that the drones, rockets and missiles were flying over his town. We learned on Sunday that almost all the incoming weaponry had been destroyed in the air and that casualties and damage were minimal.
Ilana Cowland wrote a profoundly insightful op-ed published April 3, 2024 on the Times of Israel website. The topic is the need (emotional, mental, and economic) many Haredi Israelis have for joining the IDF. There are several passages from this op-ed I wish to quote. But for the sake of brevity, I will quote only one.
For anyone learning eight hours a day, let us establish a kollel tzva’i (a “military” Torah study program) in every town and yishuv. A corpus that learns half-time and defends the town we are based in the other half. We won’t abandon our Torah, but we will bring it with us. All welcome to join, by the way. And with a little bit of training, in shifts, we will be on active guard duty, so the soldiers are freed for more serious war efforts. If Tzahal (the IDF) is not a great environment for yeshiva bochrim, we will create our own.
This is what I have been saying. If the current military establishment is not willing, or, is simply unable, to provide for the cultural accommodations that would make it possible for others to join, others who wish to join, then, perhaps, it’s time to create a second “Israeli” army. An army open to all. As it currently stands, it would seem that the only members of the military allowed to achieve high rank and to serve in certain units must come from certain kibbutzim, and even then, or so it would seem, come from certain families. An army for the people, but not a people’s army. When Haredim enter the IDF, they’re going to enter all the way to the top.
The first soldiers I stopped to make a coffee for were Druze. I could tell by the necklace. A five-pointed star with the colors of the Druze flag. Unlike a religion, the Druze people are a nation, hence a flag. We spoke for a while. This soldier, and his companion, also Druze, were serving in reservists since October 8th and they committed to serving until the last day of the war. They both came from a nearby settlement where, according to them, ninety through ninety-five percent of all men served in the IDF. One said, while the other nodded in agreement, that they would rather live in Israel than anywhere else. In Israel they’re treated well and can vote. In neighboring countries they’re treated as inferior due to their being a minority. Then we spoke about Druze cuisine. Stuffed peppers. Stuffed zucchini. Stuffed onions. Stuffed grape leaves. Druze yogurt and pita. After having finished making them each a coffee, I gave them each a big hug and continued my route.
In war, as in any trauma, the mask comes off. After the trauma, the mask goes back on. When the mask no longer fits, this is what we call PTSD.
The day was quiet. Stopping at checkpoints. Making coffee. Except for one soldier, a coffee fixanato, who was delighted to speak about all things coffee, none of the soldiers were up for a conversation. But driving from one outpost of soldiers to the next- the day was pleasant and relaxing and the soldiers were, as always, full of appreciation. The last stop was unnerving. An MP approached my car, and, out of the blue, yelled, “Get out of here! You’re not allowed to be here! Go away now!” In disbelief I stated my purpose for being there. “I came to make you guys espresso.” “We don’t like coffee. We don’t drink coffee. We don’t want your coffee! Just get out of here!” This guy was getting me hot under the collar. But I kept my cool saying, “You know. You’ve hurt my feelings. I’ve been coming around here since the first days of the war and no soldier has ever spoken to me like that. You’ve really hurt my feelings.” “I don’t care. I don’t care about your feelings! Just get out of here!” The guy seemed intimidated by me. Fearful. Like the most fearful guys during the first days of the war. Driving down the mountain I passed by this guy’s forward operations command center. Pulling in, I parked my car and found the insolent soldier’s commander. The commander laughed and told me that the guy was new. Just called up for reserve duty after six months of thinking he wasn’t going to be called up. Terribly homesick and doesn’t know how things work. Anyhow, we hung out. I made them coffee and we had a good time together. As I was leaving, the commander asked me to bring a mezuzah for their bunk, a container turned into a comfortable, air conditioned dorm room.
I returned a few days later. The ill-mannered MP began yelling at me. I got out of my car and tried to give him a hug. He jumped back and yelled at me, “Guys don’t hug guys!” I said, “Okay,” and turning to his partner said, “This guy here doesn’t want a hug. How about you?” “I could alway use a hug.” The pathetic MP was incredulous, “I can’t believe it! Guys dont give other guys hugs.” This guy was really pathetic. Anyways, neither of them wanted coffee, but they were happy to take the bag of lollipops I had in the trunk of my car. I told the foolish MP that in lieu of a hug, next time I come I’m bringing him a sushi roll. He discreetly gave me a thumbs up. Discreetly so that nobody else should see. Leaving there, I felt dysregulated. I might have been dysregulated, but he may have recieved the love he needed. After speaking with my good friend and fellow therapist, Mark Smith, about the incident. Mark said it sounds like the guy had major trauma. Trauma that I was somehow triggering, but also, somehow helping him to heal.
I continued to this guy’s commander with the mezuzah. The encampment was deserted. Nothing left but the dorm room trailer, the makeshift water tower, and a box of 10 large liquid soap bottles. It was peaceful. The lawn of the nearby national park that the encampment shared a parking lot with was recently mowed, infusing the air with the scent of mowed grass. Abandoned encampments are always creepy. The more vibrant they were, the more creepy they are when they’re abandoned. I put up the mezuzah for the next crew, should there be another crew that makes it their dwelling. Sad. War is sad. But within the sadness is a quiet happiness. The happiness of doing for others.
In addition to purchasing two copies of my book, one for yourself and a second one for your local public library. Please leave a review on Amazon. Here’s the link to my book Aftermath: An October 7th Memoir:
I’m also still in need of funding for my efforts on behalf of both front line soldiers as well as lone soldiers.
https://thechesedfund.com/theunityfarmfoundation/support-our-israeli-soldiers
Be safe! Be joyful!
Binyamin Klempner