It could be me....

You may recall that I earlier mentioned my reasons for choosing to come to the base I did, based primarily on the frequency of the visits home. There are several bases like mine based around the country, each one for a different Battalion, each one a training base for the new soldiers to arrive.

My second choice was a base down in the south of the country, between the city of Be’er Sheva and the city of Eilat, deep in the desert. The perk of my base is that it’s fairly close to Jerusalem, and a three hour bus journey gets me home, whereas the other base is at least 6 hours’ bus travel. On the other hand, the other base has a swimming pool, and a daily flight to Tel Aviv, meaning that the journey home would only be about three hours... as long as I managed to get a place on the flight (and overlooking my environmental principles).

In the end, I left it to fate, and ended up here. A good friend of mine went to the other base – a new immigrant from Russia, just engaged and due to marry in a few months, and a thoroughly nice bloke.

Two weeks after I arrived on the base, occurred the terrorist attacks in the south of the country that resulted in the current tensions with Egypt; in short, a group of terrorists from Gaza entered Egypt, travelled south, and infiltrated Israel close to Eilat. Armed with Kalashnikovs, grenades, surface-to-air missiles, and various explosives, they started to attack traffic on the roads – targeting two civilian buses taking people north from the Red Sea. In the resulting gunfight when Israeli troops arrived at the scene, several Egyptian policemen who had also responded to the attack were killed. Though it is still not clear whether they were killed by the terrorists or by friendly fire from Israel, their deaths have resulted in a massive uproar among the Egyptian population. Even though the Egyptian government does not view the deaths as an act of aggression, the population has rioted, attacked the Israeli embassy, and held regular demonstrations calling for Israel’s destruction. Nice.

I learned on my gap year here many moons ago that it was no surprise to find friends involved in terrorist attacks. I lost a British friend to a suicide bomber in 2002, and myself have had some very blessed moments – for example, when I caught my bus with less than a minute to spare, only to hear that the next one had been blown up, killing twenty people. When I found that a friend had just missed the first bus targeted in the Eilat attack, I was of course relieved, but it was not a life-changing moment.

This week, I found out that the attack happened in the catchment area of my second-choice base. The result: at the precise moment of the attack, while I was sitting in a conference about follow-up of radiology in the army with a load of the region’s bureaucrats, my friend was scrambled to the scene in his ambulance.

As the first medics, they quickly entered the scene and began to treat the multiple wounded, identifying those with no possibility of survival and treating the rest, as per the protocols drilled into us during our training.

Within a short time, the gunfire started. The terrorists had set an ambush, killing innocents and then waiting for the army to arrive. Powerless, weaponless, and outnumbered by the terrorists, the medical team ran for cover and hid behind rocks, waiting for infantry to arrive. As their armoured ambulance was sprayed with bullets, and civilians lay bleeding on the floor, there was literally nothing to do.

In time, backup arrived, the threats were neutralised (not before they tried to shoot down a helicopter ambulance with a missile), and none of the medical team were badly injured (although an infantry soldier of 20 years old lost his life).

My friend’s experiences hammered home two things to me; ironically, I’m the one in the dangerous base. We have both armoured and unarmoured ambulances, we never leave the base without at least one weapon, and my roads are amongst the most treacherous in the region from a traffic point of view. It was just the decision of G-d that I’m here and not there. Despite the mundane intensity of much of my clinic work, it taught me to remember that there could be a time when I’m in that position.

Several months ago, an old friend of mine came to visit from the UK – a Christian girl I knew in University, who came on a ‘study trip’ to learn about the Israel-Palestinian conflict, and the area as a whole. We only had time to meet for a short period, but it was a very difficult meeting; I had come from my base, in uniform, complete with my weapon; and immediately that she saw it, the look of dismay was evident. As we talked through the group’s itinerary, it became horrifyingly obvious that the group was receiving a warped view of the entire situation. From the trip to graffiti on the ‘apartheid wall’, to the art displays of the ‘victims of occupation’, to the very fact that their guide the entire time was a Palestinian, their choice of accommodation primarily in Arab areas, and the lack of time spent in any main-stream Israeli society, it became so clear to me how easily people can be shown a story from one view point and develop a sincere impression that they understand ‘the bigger picture’.

After a walk around, I took her back to her group, who were touring the Old City. As we approached, most of the group simply turned their backs and refused to look at or talk to this mercenary of the illegal Zionist occupation of Palestine. Two or three graciously managed to smile and say hello, and one even shook my hand. As my friend pointed out, it takes a great deal of courage for a pacifist to shake the hand of a soldier holding a semi-automatic  machine gun. She also pointed out, ‘if you just put down your weapons, there wouldn’t need to be any fighting’. Apparently.

When I arrived to my position on my base, I made the decision not to take a weapon. I decided that, as a doctor, who declared both at graduation, and at my swearing-in ceremony to the army, that I will treat all humans equally, friend or foe, carrying a weapon would be a paradox.

As the United Nations stands to hear a Palestinian declaration of independence, my base has ascended to full alert, in anticipation of the potential chaos that may ensue. As my colleague more than 50 miles from any disputed territory drives around in an ambulance with matching holes on each side where bullets passed through, I’ve made my decision. Next week, I shall sign on for a weapon, at least until things settle down, and I will feel no shame. If our enemies cannot respect the sanctity of life, they could at least respect the rules of international warfare and the Geneva Convention, that state that medical personnel and vehicles cannot be targeted. While Hamas used ambulances to carry weapons for exactly that reason in the Gaza war of 2006, I will continue to honour my pledge to protect human life.

Including my own.