My Occupation

IDF Basic Values – Human Dignity: ‘The IDF and its soldiers are obligated to protect human dignity. Every human being is of value regardless of his or her origin, religion, nationality, gender, status or position.’

Why am I here?

 I mean, I know how I’m here. I remember the letter, discussing our options in school, the glory of Zion and Eretz Israel. I remember the news reports, the car bombings and the dead children, the abyss of their wasted eyes... Or maybe the television didn’t show us them.

‘I can’t fucking think in this heat. You want a drink?’ Shiri jammed the butt of her rifle into the dehydrated earth but I didn’t reply… I couldn’t think either.

It’s funny how you can know somebody for months and still only communicate through small talk. Although what could I say to her? That I’m having doubts? That I don’t entirely believe in the validity of this occupation. That we don’t meet with terrorists, we meet with ourselves. It would be stupid, she would just give me that look, that twitch of the eyelids that scorns and condemns, shamefully reserved for petulant animals and refuseniks.

I don’t really fancy a year behind bars, but I feel like a charlatan. A refusenik refusing to refuse. Can I really be homogenised into one phrase, a phrase that barely makes sense? I guess that’s quite fitting.

Why can’t I just ignore it though? Why must I bear this unease? I read about those five criminals, the ones who refused to serve, sitting there awaiting their fate amidst comparisons to Mahatma Ghandi and Nelson Mandela. The whole thing seems quite unreal; as if it only exists to me, as if my memory is the only thing perpetuating their existence, maybe if I forgot about them I would be able to think like Shiri, think like my dad.

‘What’s wrong with you? You look fucking depressed.’ Shiri glared at me, ‘Our job is a calling, we are protecting our land! You should be happy.’

How did she know what I was thinking? Maybe she is right. If they would just disappear I wouldn’t be standing here with a gun in my hand. I wouldn’t have to wake up at five every morning to a cup of grey coffee and another day of heat and angst and boredom. It is their fault that I must guard this spot for hours, weeks, months. That I must sacrifice three years of my life. They are the germ of this lurching angst which stumbles drunkenly through my mind, making me question my education, the IDF, this holy war, the occupation…

I didn’t notice the car until Shiri was stood in front of it, ushering the Arabs out. I can barely control my temper as I join her.

‘I left my licence at home by mistake. I live here in Deir Ghassanah, so I can bring it to you in ten minutes.’

I start to tremble and can’t look the man in the face, when I do it is completely featureless. It looks unreal. All I can do is yell with a plagiarised rage:

‘THIS IS THE STATE OF ISRAEL, UNDERSTAND? YOU ARE DRIVING A CAR IN THE STATE OF ISRAEL.’