Thirty-seven years ago, a slightly skinnier version of myself entered the Israeli Security Zone in South Lebanon with my Givati platoon. We were all geared up with state-of-the-art tactical battle equipment of the day.
Being the platoon’s combat medic, in addition to my weapon, helmet, flak jacket, heavy tactical vest, ammunition, and grenades, I had a lot of medical equipment, anti-mine shoes, and a portable stretcher on my back.
Before we set out on our daily patrols and nightly anti-terrorist ambushes on the other side of the international border, whatever our mission briefing was, it always ended with the same mantra: “Our mission is to defend the northern settlements (from Hezbollah terrorists).”
My 20-year-old self would have been incredulous to learn that, almost four decades later, I am in the same place, with the same mission statement. Despite the intervening years, nothing seems to have changed. It is a depressing situation.
I see young men and women in my PALMAR medical extraction unit who are not much older than I was the first time I was in Lebanon. The thought that they will be there in another four decades is a grim one.
I would also not have thought when I fought to reenlist in the IDF after the October 7 massacre – thus becoming the oldest combat medic in the IDF – that I would still be serving on an emergency call-up almost three years later, with Hamas still in power in an albeit reduced area in Gaza and Hezbollah – despite being weakened – still calling the shots in Lebanon.
I distinctly remember the feeling of waiting on an ambush in Lebanon. It felt like a game of Russian roulette.
Many thoughts went on in our heads as we lay for hours in enemy territory protecting our northern border, chief of which was “Will it be our turn tonight to fight the Hezbollah terrorists attempting to infiltrate our homeland to leave a trail of murder and destruction?”
In today’s Lebanon, the troops have a similar feeling when wondering if they will encounter the still unsolved problem of fiber-optic first-person view (FPV) explosive drones.
I attended my first funeral during this time. I remember the sea of purple berets and the bereaved siblings, parents, and grandparents as if it were yesterday. Psychologists refer to this as a “reverse-order death.” In a normal world, children are supposed to bury their parents, not the other way round.
Nothing seems to have changed, as every week we are still losing our best. As Billy Joel observed, “only the good die young.” This is not even factoring in the many wounded soldiers who my unit treats on an almost daily basis, whose lives will never be the same again. For what?
We never seem to be able to win a war. As Matti Friedman observed, a war needs to have a clear strategic goal to succeed. We are still fighting Hezbollah, which is still entrenched in every element of Lebanese society. We don’t know what victory looks like.
The North has been largely abandoned since October 7. Tens of thousands of residents are still unable, or do not want, to return home. We face the grim reality that this war of attrition seems to be never-ending.
Israel is the only country that is not allowed, by its “allies,” to win a war. What is it all for, if we are not allowed to win this war?
The writer, currently stationed in Lebanon, is the oldest combat medic in the IDF. His latest book, Heroes of Palmar, How One IDF Unit Revolutionized Combat Medicine in Gaza, is available on Amazon and from Gefen Publishers.