Who Will Die Tomorrow?

Abstract

Who Will Die Tomorrow? Ted Gross Author 's introduction When the second Intifada (meaning “uprising”) rained down upon Israel in the year 2000, a protracted terrorist war broke out in which hundreds of innocent civilians were murdered, coming to its end when Israel finally invaded many Palestinian towns and villages in Operation Defensive Shield during the last days of March 2002. Our unit, in which I have served as a battlefield medic for over twenty years, was called up immediately. Due to our expertise in warfare within towns and cities, where trained armored foot soldiers must do most of the fighting, we were sent to Jenin. On March 8, 2002, three weeks before Operation Defensive Shield began, the following event took place. In the town of Atzmona where a Yeshiva (Jewish Study Center) had been built, a terrorist managed to infiltrate the defenses of the town during the day and went into hiding until late that night. Afterwards he cut the fence into the school grounds, which were divided into a study hall and dormitories. The terrorist started his rampage of killing in the dormitories, where he killed three 19‐year‐old students. He then made his way to the study hall and with a combination of bullets and grenades he left twenty injured, some paralyzed for life. When it was over and the terrorist was killed by an off‐duty Israeli soldier home for the weekend, my future son‐in‐law was one of the injured with shrapnel all over his body and a broken arm. The following are the events which took place on the night of March 8th, 2002, in Jerusalem far away from the death and devastation left by the lone terrorist. It always seems to begin with a phone call in the middle of the night. Possibly within the scheme of things, the divine scheme, if there is such a notion as a divine scheme, no hour or minute takes precedence over the other. Yet vindictive fate is jealous of those peaceful hours during sleep’s forgetfulness, and with calculated spite destroys our stolen tranquility. That night, actually early morning of March 8th, more than three weeks before Jenin would enter into the scheme of things, I fell asleep on the couch. On those nights when the body refuses to find sleep’s pleasure in bed and its magic lure fills me with fear, I gravitate to that couch. Some may call it an inner voice, or a message that the soul receives but the brain refuses to recognize. Still, when the couch beckons and the body acquiesces to its call by falling into a deep troubled sleep, an inner ear is always listening for soft, ghostly footfalls during dream’s pandemonium. A ring of the cell phone at 2 a.m. Instantly and completely awake, adrenalin surging, blood pumping wildly its echo in my inner ear. With three rings to answer before voice‐messaging takes control, the “Hello” comes out at the end of the second. Ted? It is Debbie, my ex‐wife. You don’t live with a woman for twenty‐two years without learning the nuances in her voice. “What happened?” I asked, realizing how stupid that sounded. Of course something happened. Did you hear about the terrorist attack? Debbie knows I don’t react well to surprises. Good or bad. Her voice, that tone, tells me she does not have time. Yet she was trying her best not to just come out with it. Giving a chance to acclimate and the brain to react without immobilizing panic. We have had seven children together. Six are still alive. Sharing that roller coaster to hell and back together and separately, I immediately wonder if six has just become five. Morbid thoughts always ready for that “something else” to happen. Always expecting it. What attack? “In Atzmona,” Debbie answers and then stops waiting for that to sink in. The brain does a quick check. Six kids but none even near Atzmona. The two little ones are sleeping upstairs. What the hell is this about? Debbie knows I have not made the connection. So she rushes on, no time left. Eli is still alive but...