In the past 12 weeks, there have been many manifestations of the strength and power of the people of Israel. We might have lost sight of what unites us as a nation in the past two years, but experiencing the greatest tragedy in the 75 years of our existence reminded us once again about unity. A light onto the nations in the darkest of times.
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And no place is a better example of this than the rehabilitation hospital of the Sheba Tel-HaShomer Medical Center where injured soldiers from all walks of life work to recover.
Dry data tells that around 2,000 civilians, soldiers, and police officers have had limbs amputated or become disabled in other ways in the fighting. In the Yom Kippur War, for comparison, that number stood at 7,200.
This figure is going to change Israeli society, and like it usually happens with other issues, has caught Israel off guard, raising questions about treatment and, of course, the future.
With regard to the treatment, we can safely say that the wounded fighters receive the best care at Sheba. Since Oct. 7, the hospital has received about 900 injured with various degrees of disability. Israel Hayom has gotten a rare glimpse into the recovery process of some of them and their personal stories.
Twenty-six-year-old Naor, a reservist, is working with his physical therapist on a large stability ball to restore function in his injured leg. Slowly slowly, there is movement and the hard work begins to pay off. Naor also has surgery scheduled in a few days.
"I was shot several times in the stomach, chest, and leg," he shared. "I was pulled to the warehouse for the wounded and I felt what was happening to me at all times, so I was able to tell my fellow soldiers exactly what I was feeling at any given moment and describe the situation. They talked to me the whole time and I to them, but eventually it got too hard to speak. At that point, I looked at my leg and saw that it was completely open, just like in the movies, with the blood. My consciousness was clouded but I remember every moment."
Naor's voice is calm. The team wishes him success in the surgery and he nods with a smile. Naor is from Even Shmuel, a religious town near Kiryat Gat. He is 26 years old, but "only" a corporal because his life path was different and unconventional, one that led him to war in Gaza and getting injured.
"I think it's a privilege," Naor said. "We went out to defend the people of Israel, and I know it sounds strange when you see me injured like this, but first of all, I was not killed, and second of all, I know my injury was not for nothing. After all, we didn't want this war. We were called to defend our country. Even before us, many soldiers were wounded in battles, now it's our turn to fight for our home."
Before the outbreak of the war, Naor was supposed to begin his third year at Technion - Israel Institute of Technology to fulfill a dream he has had since childhood.
"I've always wanted to establish a space industry in the Negev. Now I have to see how I'll get out of the surgery and how I'll deal with my studies. It's not that the won't wait for me, but I need to find a solution. I can't sit on Zoom all day. It will be impossible because I have rehabilitation.
"Despite everything, I think that it was our abilities in the military that showed me that this dream is possible, certainly in the Negev. I will recover and return to fulfill it, our industry will succeed, I'm sure of it."
We are not allowed to photograph some of the recovering soldiers, and several we are not even allowed to speak to, given their classified positions. They smile when we enter the room and only say to let the readers know that despite the heavy price, they are f***ing up Hamas.
They feel the need to send words of encouragement to you, the reader. Despite the fact that they are the ones in wheelchairs and required to adapt to a new reality. The sounds of frustration and effort are sometimes heard from the physiotherapy and occupational therapy rooms. The weights are too heavy, the body no longer functions the way it used to.
Suddenly, from one of the rooms, the music of a cello and a violin was heard. Someone was playing "Kol Nidrei" by the German composer Max Bruch. It was First Sgt. Mordechai Shenvald, who had already earned the nickname "the wounded fiddler".
Shenvald was hit by a missile that crushed 11 of his 12 pairs of ribs. His lungs were quickly damaged and his life was miraculously saved, after everyone was already sure that the injury was fatal.
"I live in a truck, I travel around Israel," Shenvald said when the music stopped for a moment. "On the eve of the war I arrived in Jerusalem. The Karlin Hassidim hosted me and from Mea Shearim I went to the reserves."
The cello was played by a young academic officer who asked not to be named or photographed because that is how she was instructed by the IDF.
So we will just say that she is 19 years old from Kfar Saba and that her cello playing brought dozens of people into the small room.
The music is suddenly interrupted by screams. It takes a few seconds to understand that these are screams of joy. One of the soldiers in the next room got up from the bed and managed to take a few steps after a great effort, and Shenvald, who was injured along with him, felt the need to take part in the celebration.
"We are a great people with wonderful support," he says when he returns to the room.
There is not a moment of quiet in the ward, and Knesset member Matan Kahana enters the room.
"Do you know that I used to play the trumpet?" he asks, and to everyone's surprise, Shenvald pulls one out from under his bed. Kahana begins to clean the trumpet quickly while telling everyone about his son who is fighting in Gaza. The two play together and again the corridor is filled with people curiously peeking into the room. A fighter and a Knesset member – a former fighter himself – playing together.
They played for a few minutes when smiling female soldiers burst into the room carrying heavy bags. "Yesterday you said you didn't have iPhones and tablets, so United for Israel's Soldiers took care of it for you," they said. The soldiers respond with shouts of joy. Shenvald, who is already experienced in such events, tells Kahana, "Could you wait a minute? I will make a thank-you-video for them in English and Hebrew". He looks at the camera and begins to record.
"Did you know that the average time such a video is watched is three seconds? So you need to be concise, otherwise they won't watch," Kahana advised, having discovered that his lungs are still strong. "In recent years I've been playing the flute more, but you gave me a trumpet and now I want to play it again. Well, it's good that I came to visit you."
On the other side of the rehabilitation hospital is the orthopedic department. The amputees come here to learn to adapt to their new lives. The families shower them with love, but the road to recovery is long.
For every small success, there is great frustration, but soldiers say that in the end, as cliché as it sounds, at least in the hospital they go through it together. Many Israelis come to volunteer here as well, for instance, a group of retired women who knitted hats and blankets for the injured soldiers "so they'll be warm in the winter."
A star patient in the physical therapy room is 22-year-old Yonatan Ben Hamou. The young officer, who was on the first bulldozer to enter Gaza to help clear the way for other troops, filmed the moment an RPG struck the vehicle and his evacuation to the hospital. He had his left knee amputated under the knee.
The fact that Yonatan is proud to share his story has made him a known figure among Israelis, who, he says, often ask for selfies.
"Everyone wants to take pictures, I have become someone special," Yonatan says while being pushed in his wheelchair by his smiling parents.
A special moment occurs in the room when Yonatan succeeds in standing on one leg. Excitement and worry mix in his mother's face, the physiotherapist smiles from ear to ear and others present in the room try to hold back their tears. If you are looking for an image of victory, perhaps it manifests itself in this small moment of Yonatan Ben Hamou, a young officer who mustered the strength – only God knows from where – to stand on one leg, which carries his muscular body.
"What happened? Why are you so excited? Have you been given a tablet? Calm down," he tells his injured friends who cheer at his progress.
Yonathan's right leg was hit with shrapnel and the toes are still broken. Meanwhile, more wounded enter the room. They still do not understand what happened to them and are somewhat withdrawn. Yonatan is not representative of the group, as he does not express his frustration even for a single moment. He projects strength all the way.
We move to the spacious balcony.
"It's much more pleasant here than anywhere else, spacious," Yonatan says and asks his family for another pack of cigarettes. "In Gaza, I smoked three packs a day easy. You don't see the terrorists at all. They come out of a shaft for a moment and disappear, so you sit and smoke all the time."
The RPG set the bulldozer Yonatan was in on fire. Resourcefully, and "even though I already felt the hot currents in my legs", he jumped from the narrow window to the ground, an action that apparently saved his life. At this point, of all the things he could have done, he pulled out his cell phone and filmed injecting himself with morphine.
"I felt great heat in my legs, but I was conscious and filmed everything. I understood what was happening around me," he recalled while surrounded by friends and family. "You know, officers spend an entire career with the goal of entering Gaza and fighting the way we fight. Even though I was wounded, it's a privilege. I know it seems strange to you that I lost a leg and I'm smiling, but it's a feeling shared by everyone here."
Ben Hamous was born in the Afridar neighborhood of Ashkelon, which has been bombed for years and is largely unprotected. His older friends were also injured, "because that's how it is in wars." A year ago, on the eve of Yom Kippur, he became the hero of the city.
"I arrived at the beach at 2:30 pm and saw crowds of people," he recalled. "When I got closer to the shoreline I saw in the sea, in the distance, people waving their hands. I only saw the head of one of them – then a big wave came and turned him on his stomach and I saw him just floating.
"People tried to break into the lifeguard booth because the lifeguards had finished their shift earlier. In the end, we broke in. I grabbed a surfboard and started paddling. I fought the waves, I came to two people that were waving and I had to choose whom I would save. Based on intuition I chose one and the other I said to wait for the rescue that I already saw coming from afar.
"The guy I put on the surfboard held my legs, and on the way to the beach, we came across another person floating on his belly. I held him under the armpit and started paddling with one hand. At some point I got tired, and the person holding my legs told me he had recovered and could hold the other one. We reached the beach exhausted. After Yom Kippur, I read in the newspaper that one of the people who were there did not survive, but the feeling was that I saved people's lives. That's how I was taught at home."
Before we part, Yonatan has just one request. "My building and apartment are not accessible, so I am forced to stay here on Friday and Saturday because I cannot enter my building and my house. You know, in the army, when you do something bad, you stay in on Saturday. I stay here because I did something good. I lost, I sacrificed for the country and fought for it, I think the minimum that should be done for us is to help us with the apartment."
His father tells him not to worry, and that they will move into a rented house. "Why, father?" Jonathan asks. "Why do we have to pay more, have we not paid enough?"
With this one question, the young Yonatan aptly summarized another problem that Israel is going to face in the coming years. As a country that is largely inaccessible, Israel is also the only country in the Western world that had to run a campaign to prevent people from parking in handicapped parking spots.
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While the stumps of the hundreds of wounded men and women are slowly healing, to soon fit a prosthesis, the state needs to quickly do what it can so that Yonathan and his fellow soldiers can return to their homes and to a public that understands their sacrifice.
We were privileged to accompany them this week in their first steps, but we need to make sure that we will be by their side in the coming years as well, in the long struggle likely ahead of them. This is the minimum that can and should be demanded for them.
