It was sunset on an August night, in a forest just a minute’s drive from the gate to Gaza. Gathered between the trees were about 150 combat soldiers; each with eyes that told a story of pain, love, faith—and most of all—determination.
They had just returned from a week of battling terrorists in Central Gaza, and were preparing for a new monumental mission to begin later that night. The break was for just a few hours—they weren’t even heading back to an established base or outpost. Instead, their bags lay between the anthills on the forest ground, and a couple woven mats were spread out for any tired warriors in need of a nap. Family and local volunteer groups hurried over to bring them homemade food, portable showers, and even a mobile laundromat for their well-worn uniforms.
The young reservists barely noticed any of it. Their heads were still deep in battle. They huddled in groups to talk, or sat still on the ground, staring ahead. A quorum soon gathered for evening prayers, and eventually, some others stood in a circle for a game to break the tension.
I had come with my husband and kids, and our good friend Alice from Chamal Gederot. One of the units in the forest needed a custom $22,000 surveillance system for the upcoming mission, and we brought it for them, sponsored by my amazing readers and friends.
The system is put together by Alice and other volunteer engineers, is approved by the IDF, and allows troops to recognize faces as far as 6 kilometers (3.7 miles) in daylight, and 1.8 kilometers (1.1 miles) in pitch dark. It’s lifesaving for our soldiers, and has already assisted in multiple hostage rescue missions.
The guys were thrilled we brought it, and quickly gathered around to pose for a photo. My little son has learned that at any army base there’s a 90% chance of him being lifted into the air by an adoring soldier, and this time he found himself sitting on one of their shoulders, as they all cheered for the camera.
After going over the surveillance system specs and how-to, we broke into conversation about the past ten months. “Every day is another story,” commented the team commander. “But the craziest one you need to hear from these two guys.”
He was pointing at two soldiers in knitted kippas and small beards. Both were wearing their military t-shirts, but Emmanuel, with his wide grin and round glasses, still had his rifle strung over his side. Moshe’s uniform looked impossibly neat and clean for the circumstances, but his face said that he’d been through it all. The two spoke like an old couple; filling in each other’s sentences, and teasing each other over bits of their story.
“We had set up a makeshift base, on what would soon become the Netzarim Corridor,” Emmanuel said. “I remember it like it was yesterday. It was the 27th of Kislev. We spent Shabbat on that base. An entire Shabbat, oblivious.”
It was the beginning of December, fairly early on in the war, at the height of the battles on ground. The soldiers stopped in a strategic area, and used bulldozers to build four walls out of six foot high mounds of dirt. In between the mounds, they pitched their tents, and set up camp for 80. For now, their mission was to hold ground.
“We were relaxed,” Emmanuel continued. “We even sang the Shabbat songs loudly, and learned the Torah portion together. The meals may have been canned tuna and crackers, but we had a great Shabbat.”
Shabbat ended, it was pitch dark, and most of the soldiers were asleep, when the commander got a phone call. He picked up, listened, and his face went pale. In whispers, he commanded his troops, “evacuate immediately!”
Five minutes later, the troops had quickly but silently moved to outside of the mounds, and the commander explained the urgency. IDF intelligence had learned that there was a Hamas tunnel right underneath the soldiers, with an exit shaft hiding in the center of the camp. The terrorists had been spying on the soldiers all Shabbat, and were preparing a surprise attack.
It was 3:00 a.m. Four soldiers were chosen to set up a reverse ambush—among them was Emmanuel and Moshe. They quietly climbed to the top of the dirt mounds, each facing a different direction, watching the grounds where they had been sleeping moments before, and waited.
But it was pitch dark, and the unit only had one pair of night vision goggles. And that one pair didn’t have a helmet clip.
“Moshe held the thing up to his eyes, by hand, for over an hour,” Emmanuel said, while giving him a hearty pat. “The rest of us couldn’t see a thing. We jumped up in shock when he started shooting into the dark night.”
“I saw a man climb out of the ground,” Moshe explained. “I had to quickly drop the goggles to pick up my gun and shoot, hoping I got him. When I looked again, I saw a body falling back into what must have been the tunnel. Then I saw that he had left a large bomb on the ground. Just ten meters away from us.”
Moshe barely had a second to explain to his friends what he saw. Suddenly they heard a shout of “Alahu Akhbar!” and all at once, the night sky lit up, and a powerful explosion broke through the air.
“In that moment,” says Emmanuel, “I felt an angel of G-d holding the fire back. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like the angel made the fire and shrapnel stop right at our feet.”
The campsite was completely destroyed. Several stray cats lay dead, strewn across the ground. Everything, right up to the boots of our soldiers where they stood atop the dirt mounds, was hit.
Usually, during a blast, those nearby are told to lay low—because the shrapnel shoots upwards. But our high up soldiers were left without a scratch.
“So many miracles came together to save us,” Emmanuel started.
“Some seem natural, and some were a clear hand of G-d,” Moshe continued. “But we know that G-d has been at our side this entire time. He’s coming with us tonight, too.”
As my husband and I continued chatting with the duo, I overheard my kids behind me, talking with a soldier in Canadian English. I turned around to see a very tall special forces commander, commiserating with my kids about growing up with immigrant parents.
“I hear you like stories,” he said to me. “You need to meet my guys. Especially Ehud. But I warn you; he’s something else.”
To be continued…
