They were young and fit. They had this shiny spark in their eyes. They were proud of their military service. Particularly the guys who served in special forces. They were in heaven. I know, they were my friends. All week long they worked like dogs, perfecting techniques, improving their skills in running, sharpshooting, planning. They were wearing uniform covered with mud and blood. Their feet were filled with blisters, their eyes tired. But for the weekend, they wore the representation uniform, with the shiny silver wings, the red cap, the red polished shoes, the cleaned and spotless gun, and they went home. It was a show off. A pride that can only be displayed by nineteen years old men. Their left shoulders were slightly elevated to present their unit tag. Paratroopers, commandos, fighter jets pilots and navy captains. Green, blue and white uniform. Young men and women, proudly wearing the symbols of independence, and even more importantly, the symbol of appreciation and recognition – they were the best of the best, the cream of the crop, creme de la creme.
We all grew up, some lost their hair and added a belly. Many went to school and acquired a profession. We dated girls, married, divorced, married again. We had children, we got promoted, disappointed. We celebrated birthdays, went on vacations, saw the world. We enjoyed the results of pregnancy tests, the first steps of a child. We experienced the worrying over a sickness. We aged.
And they, they remained young, with the bright look in their eyes, their shiny uniform, and their never changing age. They stayed behind. I remember many. Israel is celebrating its sixty first birthday. Twenty two thousand, five hundred and seventy young men and women, who will remain forever young, who will never experience what we take for granted. If you think that Israel is a war monger, think again. Almost every single person I know, who actually aged, mourns the dead, and yet knows that if the sacrifice wouldn’t have been made, then it would have meant death to us all. I wish, we all wish, that at some point we will be able to stop the count. Remember the dead, always, but let everyone age.
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