Showing posts with label Yom Kippur war. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Yom Kippur war. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 10, 2016

The Narrative Of My Generation Is The Yom Kippur War

In the summer of 1974, nine months after the end of the Yom Kippur War, I met the man who became my husband. When the war broke, he was already on vacation, just before his release from the army. Since he was a combat medic, he knew that he was needed in the war and kept on trying to enlist. But was told, "We don't need you; we are winning the war."
Eventually, he too was called to the front, however, by then the heavy fighting was over. My husband was lucky; other men his age had a very different experience. Five students from his year (the class of 1970) in Boyer high school in Jerusalem were killed.
Among them was David Moskowitz, a  good friend of my husband, and his name was mentioned often especially in the first years after the war. I remember my husband saying that he'd gotten married during his army service, and hadn't kept in touch.
Only recently I heard that shortly after he was killed, in May 1974, his wife had a baby daughter. At the age of 40, that daughter embarked on a journey to discover the father she never got to meet. Toward that end, she interviewed several of his friends, and last Saturday, a group of school friends from Boyer gathered around to watch the film that she had produced. The film: “Tal Is Looking for Dad” records her search and reveals the circumstances surrounding her father's death on October 8th.
Tal interviewed family members and friends, and through photos and interviews managed to create a vibrant picture of her young father. The film follows him from the time he was a young boy until his army service at the Armored Warfare. David immigrated to Israel from Czechoslovakia in 1960, with his mother and his sister. His parents were Holocaust survivors, and his father died when he was only 32, on the day of David’s 5th birthday.
They settled in a tiny apartment in Ir Ganim, a very modest new-immigrants neighborhood of Jerusalem. David was an inquisitive youth. He loved photography, math and playing the guitar. Most of his friends were new immigrants like him, who lived in apartments very similar to his.
The second part of the film is about the war. Tal was able to find  the driver of her father's  tank who told her about his  last hours. She thanked him for staying alive so that he could tell her his story. It gave me goose bumps.
At the memorial service for the soldiers of the Armored Warfare in 2013, it was Tal who gave the speech. She said, "My father wasn’t there when I was born. He didn't hold  my hand on the first day of first grade, didn’t shed a tear in the army recruiting office, and didn’t give me away at my wedding. He gave me life. Today, I know that he gave his, surrounded by the best people."
David Moskowitz and his friends from school and the neighborhood were typical new immigrants, they were good students and worked hard  in order to get ahead. He would have gone far, but, from what I saw in the film, David  managed to make the most of his 22 short years. When he was in the eleventh grade he and a friend had a photography business. Moreover, he fell in love, got married, moved to a kibbutz and knew that he and his wife were going to have a baby.
I regret not asking my husband to meet David's family. I have no explanation why we didn't,  apart for the fact that we were young, confused, and even scared. Today, I realize that we had been suffering from trauma.
The screening of the film happened two days after Holocaust Memorial Day, and on the way out, my partner commented that, even more than the Holocaust, the narrative of our generation is the Yom Kippur War. Its  trauma has gone on to affect the next generation as well. It explains a lot about our life.
The essay appeared in the Times of Israel

Friday, July 11, 2014

An Unexpected Boon


Almost two years after my husband’s passing I got a surprising email from a woman with a familiar name.  Although I had never met her, I knew of her existence, heard stories about her and even saw her photo together with my husband, as she was his first great love.
My husband and I met when we were 22 and 19 respectively, he was a first year student at the university and I was a soldier. Thus, that love had taken place when they even younger. But these were the days around the Yom Kippur War (1973) and  young  people were serious, anxious, and intense. I never doubted the depth of their feelings or the significance of their relationship.
Throughout the years my husband mentioned her but never expressed a wish to seek her out. Also her family name was a very common name in Israel, and it was would have been quite a challenege to track her down.
Thinking back I don’t remember ever feeling jealous of the love that my husband had for her. The two of us met six months after the war and a short while after they parted.  I felt sorry for his plight, going through a war, combined with the grief over the loss of his love. 
When my husband got ill,  I had a sudden urge to let her know, but I didn’t mention it to him, and then suddenly he said that he was thinking of her.
After my husband died I remembered her again, but had no idea where to find her. Part of the magic of their love was that they met outside their ordinary life in time of war and did not have even a single friend in common.
Then came her email, she only wrote that she had known my husband before his university days, nothing else about their past. She added that she was very sorry, that she has just then found out.  I wrote back telling her how much my husband loved her, and that we, his family, knew what she has meant to him. We arranged to speak and then to meet.
From the first time that we met we felt a bond; like me she is a widow who lost her husband to cancer. In other respects we are not alike, but we both loved the same man. 
This month we commemorate 40 years to the Yom Kippur War; the men of my generation are still haunted by the trauma of this war. In retrospect I believe that for my husband the bitter memories of those turbulent times were somewhat alleviated by the sweetness of his first love.
And I got unexpected boon when this new/old  friend entered  into my life willing to share with me an unknown chapter of my husband’s past. 


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