Ben Kerido
The sun began to set as our military transport dropped us off at the entrance of a Jewish community not far from Gaza. We gathered our equipment and formed a defensive formation amidst the rural homes and gardens of the local Israeli Jewish residents.
“Tzeva Adom! Red Alert!” Per our training and protocols, we dove to the ground with our helmets and body armor as the stoic, eerily calm female voice announced the danger of incoming missiles and rockets from Gaza. Meanwhile, the seasoned locals remained sitting unperturbed, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee.
In response, Israeli jets and helicopters converged on the location, and massive IDF artillery pieces pummeled Gaza with a heavy bombardment. The wave of projectile attacks from Palestinian Arab terrorists passed, and we moved silently through the darkness into our defensive positions.
A white minivan sat forlorn on the side of the road. Its windows had been smashed and shot out. The passengers were nowhere to be found. The scooter of a food delivery driver stood in silent testimony to the unknown, nightmarish fate of its rider. I don’t know his name.
For days we held the defensive line to ensure that no more Palestinian Arabs from the Hamas-controlled Gaza Strip infiltrated any further into Israeli Jewish territory. We slept very little at night, which was especially onerous since most of us had already pulled an all-nighter.
By day, the incessant booming of both incoming and outgoing bombardments and corresponding explosions as well as the sound of Israeli aircraft flying overhead made it difficult to catch up our sleep in the daylight hours. And the fact that we were encamped in a wooded location swarming with flies attacking our face and exposed skin to a level resembling the onset of an Egyptian plague didn’t help, either.
At night we watched the bombing exchange. Orange tails of fire soared out of the Gaza Strip along with a whooshing sound, indicating the deadly launch of terrorist missiles and rockets. In response, the Iron Dome fired counter-missiles with their own glowing tails to arch and twist in the night until they intercepted and collided with the Gaza projectiles.
Upon impact, the sky was illuminated by a ball of fire and sparkling debris. In one instance, I watched as terrorists fired missiles in the direction of Yerushalayim and near my apartment where my wife was bunkered down. I called her on the phone and told her to get to shelter, because about twelve missiles were headed her way.
Sure enough, she counted as the booms of Iron Dome interceptions echoed in our neighborhood. She corrected my count, insisting it was actually thirteen. Contrary to Hollywood portrayals, large, distant thunder has a lightning-thunder effect. In other words, when the Israeli Air Force launched a counter strike on a terrorist target in Gaza, we would first see the flash of light — and in some cases a massive mushroom of fire — and only later would we hear the corresponding rumbling booming.
On the second night of the bombardment, there was an odd thunderstorm hovering above the Gaza Strip only with no rain. The flashes and booming of dry yet fierce lightning mingled with the Israel counter attack. It was almost as though the Almighty Himself joined in the response, displaying ominous signals of His wrath at the murderers of His people.
The outgoing and incoming bombardments continued for days. At a certain point the religious soldiers — including myself — put on our tallit (prayer shawl with fringes) and tefillin (black prayer boxes and straps) for the morning prayer service of shacharit. As we finished the Amidah prayer, coincidentally the bombardment became particularly intense.
The final lines, “Oseh Shalom…”, in which we ask the Most High to mercifully bless us with peace, were punctuated by one explosion after another. Peace — especially for the Jewish people— is a blessing that should never be taken for granted.
And this is certainly not my first combat operation in the Gaza Strip and the Yehudah v’ Shomron region (also known as the West Bank). Drawing from my own experiences and the experiences of others, I incorporated much of what really happens in the Gaza Strip and during IDF operations in our full-length novel, The American Holocaust: Early Tomorrow Morning. It is also known by its free promotional title, Let’s Go, Brandon! – The Novel.
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