Lt. Col. Shankar also had a personal stake in the hostages' return. On October 7, she managed a command center as part of the army, in addition to a personal command center. Her brother Yakir Cohen, a resident of Kibbutz Nir Oz, fought with terrorists in his home and was wounded by gunfire, but he and his family survived, and she was in contact with them until the rescue. "I personally know people who were murdered or kidnapped on that day, dear friends, some of whom I grew up with," she recounts, her voice trembling. "In this role, I find not only a professional mission, but also personal closure that has not yet ended."

For several days, the team was on standby near Reim Base, in case there would be a flash release. On Monday, they arrived at the compound at 5:30 a.m. to complete preparations and ensure every room was ready for the returnees, including new sheets, a razor, and a shaving machine. If any of the captivity survivors wanted a festive haircut immediately after returning – a barber was on standby in the adjacent room.

It turns out that one of the returnees bought a new PlayStation before he was kidnapped, so they brought him one, but sent it straight to the hospital, where he is supposed to stay for several days. At the Reim compound, these were mainly small and personal gestures that waited in the rooms, to make clear to the returnees how much they were thought about at home. For Matan Angrest, a Maccabi Haifa fan, a green scarf of the club waited, while for Rom Braslavski, a Beitar Jerusalem game shirt and a pair of glasses in the appropriate prescription waited.

The officers in the compound were already nicknamed "the dream fulfillers." Everything the hostages asked for was given to them, even if it didn't wait in the room. First cigarette after returning to the country, tasty food with doctor's approval, and if they wanted a snack that wasn't on the base – a driver team was rushed to a nearby supermarket or convenience store, to bring them as quickly as possible.

"In the last two years, we've been in intensive fighting. As a mother who took part in the war and felt October 7 intensely from friends and commanders – to be part of their return, which in my eyes was a commitment, is an enormous privilege," she says. "I'm grateful for the fact that I was there in those moments."

The post How hospitals prepare rooms for hostages appeared first on www.israelhayom.com.

Recently I met S. (23) without her ballet shoes, wearing dusty army boots and grease-marked fatigues, proof that she had swapped out a Namer engine earlier that morning. The gifted dancer is a platoon commander in TnA with the Givati Reconnaissance Unit.

"The decision was hard, because dance was a great love," she says. "I danced from age three and started flying to competitions at ten, but I told myself that if I am part of this country, there is no way I am not enlisting. I grew up on my  parents' stories and my grandfather's stories from a mortar unit on the Suez Canal. Dance is a career, but from ninth grade I decided I would serve, and field work attracted me in particular."

Until a few years ago, the very idea of a woman in combat roles was hard to swallow in certain quarters. Even Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich, who also serves as a minister in the Defense Ministry, said on one occasion, "The army's role  is to fight and win, not to promote feminist beliefs."

But the Swords of Iron war shattered outdated stereotypes and proved that female combat soldiers can eliminate terrorists, can survive captivity, and are capable of commanding a company, regardless of gender.

Aiming for the edge

In 2025, light years from the social attitudes that allowed the publication of songs steeped in chauvinism, we met four women from elite units who say gender simply is not part of the equation: Lt. S. from Givati Reconnaissance; Lt. K., who serves alongside her in the unit as a fire support officer; Lt. Dr. A., the medical officer of the Nahal Reconnaissance Unit; and Maj. N., the operations officer of the Haruv Reconnaissance Unit.

"Once, a senior figure in the country said that on the day there are female pilots he would grow hair on his palms," begins Maj. N. (25). "Back then the idea that a woman could carry a stretcher or run with a weapon shouting 'Forward, assault!' was unthinkable. Everyone was horrified by the thought of a woman falling into captivity. But today we are all horrified by the thought of men in captivity. As long as my life is worth the same as a man's, there is no dilemma about being a combat soldier and crossing enemy lines."

Lt. Dr. A. (26), medical officer of the Nahal Reconnaissance Unit: "Staff Sgt. Agam Naim, of blessed memory, who served as a paramedic, fell during the war, and it was just as shocking as when a man falls. You cannot treat it differently, because in my eyes that cheapens men's lives."

Dr. A. began medical studies in 2016. She says that from age 17 she dreamed of being a combat physician and knew she would sign on for career service. She just did not plan on her service coinciding with Israel's longest war.

"I have practiced karate since age four, so the world of combat is not foreign to me," she laughs. "In the end you ask, where can I realize my potential, and the war clarified the need for all of us. If I had hesitated about the quality of life I wanted in the army, the war sharpened my desire to go to the limit. After their studies, academic-track officers are placed in roles, and I knew I wanted to reach a recon unit."

The tree-climbing middle sister

Lt. K. (22), a fire support officer in Givati Reconnaissance, grew up in a military home and already in high school her path was clear. "I always wanted combat," she recalls. "I am the middle of three sisters, the problematic one who climbed trees from a young age. I did a pre-military fitness program in high school and passed the Naval Officers' screening, but I never expected to serve in a maneuvering battalion during a war."

Maj. N., operations officer in the Haruv Reconnaissance Unit, initially thought about serving in the Education Corps and working with at-risk youth, until she realized that education can always be done, but defending the country is an opportunity offered for a limited time.

"I enlisted in the Caracal Battalion, served there as a squad commanders' instructor and later as a company commander," she says. "Then I got a call from the Haruv commander who asked me to interview to be his operations officer. I was sure he was messing with me, that someone was recording 'haha, very funny.' Turned out he was serious, and when I arrived I encountered lots of raised eyebrows, because people did not believe it. Today it is different.

"Anyone who does not understand the value a woman brings to the battlefield has never been in combat alongside a woman. I thought it would be harder to convince people that someone 1.60 meters tall saying on the radio where to go really means it. I was glad to discover how much we are measured by professionalism, not by the fact that we are women."

They entered units traditionally considered very masculine, with familiar macho codes. Lt. S., a TnA platoon commander in Givati Reconnaissance: "At first I felt I had to fight for my professional opinion. After all, I am in a field that, to put it mildly, is not very feminine, spending all day with hands covered in grease and oil. Or I would declare a vehicle non-operational, explain the rationale, and get the response, 'What are you talking about?'

"I always felt obliged to study extra, to ask the NCOs about every bolt and screw. Then came a conversation with the battalion commander who told me, 'Don't worry, I see you as a professional.' From that moment I relaxed."

Lt. Dr. A.: "Right after I took the job our unit ran battle procedures for an operation that began a week later. A reservist I had just met called the doctor I replaced and said about me, 'She seems sweet, but what does she have to do with this?' He had not grasped that they had brought in a woman physician, but for the unit commander this was not an issue. Maybe at first there were concerns I would lag behind, but once they see there is someone to rely on, that disappears.

"During service there is a stage called a 'baptism by fire,' an attachment to a place that is not your original assignment. I did mine with the Paratroopers Reconnaissance Unit. I went in with them for two weeks of fighting in al-Khiam in Lebanon, 11 kilometers from the border. They spoke about it as 'the hardest thing.' I thought to myself, if so, how is this my first maneuver, and on foot, with a 30-kilo pack on my back? But you go and do it without overthinking. I was more occupied with whether the readiness kit worked and whether the equipment was complete than with the significance of my being a woman there."

"Mom would prefer something else"

Lt. S. arrived at Givati Reconnaissance less than a year ago. Before that she served in the Egoz Reconnaissance Unit. There she was not allowed to enter Gaza and was assigned to shifts in the war room. Only when she moved to Battalion 931 of the Nahal Brigade, a stop before Recon, did she feel what it means to cross the border.

"It came as a surprise," she recalls. "At midnight the maintenance chief came over and asked me, 'Have you been in Gaza?' I said no. He said, 'Good luck, you are going in tomorrow at 7 a.m.' I deliberately chose 931 because I wanted more field time, to help from the inside."

How did your family react?
"I come from a Polish family. Grandma worries, so she only hears things after the fact, not in real time. My mom has accepted it, and we have an agreement that every time I go into Gaza I text 'entered,' and every time I come out I text 'exited.' That way my parents can be calmer. They understood that I am in a role like any combat soldier."

Maj. N.: "At first I didn't tell my parents I had gone into Gaza, and I dodged with lines like 'we are on leave lockdown, I am very busy.' My mom would have preferred I serve in Education Corps, but for me serving as a combat soldier was not a dilemma, and at worst the family can drink a glass of water and relax."

As combat soldiers, you have surely faced complex situations.
Maj. N.: "During Operation Iron Wall, entering Jenin after two relatively quiet weeks, there was an incident in which Staff Sgt. Liam Hazi, of blessed memory, was killed. Two terrorists fired on a team that had opened a search in a house. The complexity in Judea and Samaria is in many ways twice as hard as elsewhere, because you cannot just roam a neighborhood with heavy fire and call in artillery. Chasing terrorists and calling in airstrikes is a complex event, certainly as an operations officer who manages, coordinates and links forces."

Lt. K.: "Our force from the Rotem Battalion hit IEDs 50 meters from our fortified position. Three soldiers were killed and there were wounded. We gave a rapid response, and the fire mission was based on my actions. It went on for two hours, hundreds of shells, because we feared terrorists would emerge from tunnels and hit the evacuation forces.

"The adrenaline is insane, because you know you are creating a ring of fire around our forces and keeping the enemy from approaching them. You have to be sharp and precise, because if you get the grid wrong you could drop a shell in the middle of our position, which could cost our troops killed and wounded."

Lt. S.: "There was a case where combat soldiers came up on the radio and said that in the Namer they were riding, the gears were gone, it only moved forward and backward. Then you find yourself between houses, in an area nobody has been in yet, reassembling the gear linkage, otherwise the Namer will not move. It is intimidating, because you hear shooting and explosions all around. You see vehicles speeding by and it spikes your adrenaline, because the moment you fix it and the vehicle returns to service, you know we are the ones who made that possible."

Do you feel fluent in mechanics?
"Not a pro yet, but I try to stick close to the professionals. Today, for example, I detached two engines. See, there is still a bit of black paint on my forearms. My parents still cannot process it."

"Of course there are differences compared to the men"

Lt. S.: "Of course there are physiological differences between women and men. I can carry less weight, and Namer spare parts are heavy, about my size. The NCOs are aware and support me, because they know I came to work. Today, when I opened an engine, the crane operator stared in shock, asked to photograph me and send it to friends. A mechanic working, with sky-blue gel polish on her nails. I got the NCOs used to this: you assign tasks, 'open this bolt,' 'close with the drill,' and I do it. I can heft a pry bar and disconnect a U-joint to tow a Namer out. Heavy? Heavy."

Maj. N.: "You should have seen me with a large rucksack, carrying the dismembered body of a terrorist on a stretcher while shots were being fired around. Changing perceptions in the army does not take a day. Would anyone once have imagined a circle of female officers talking about maneuver experiences in Gaza? They would have said we were crazy."

There are still those who argue that women are "more sensitive" compared to male combat soldier.
Maj. N.: "Mixing men and women is excellent. I maneuvered with the 74th Armored Battalion. I stepped into the battalion commander's house and met a female fire support officer, a female intelligence officer, a female combat communications officer, and a woman doctor. All in Gaza, in the middle of a fortified compound. The emotional and cognitive differences we bring create a whole that is many times more powerful. I will allow myself to say that the male environment can sometimes be macho and 'caveman-like,' and placing a woman among them often balances and provides a counterweight. The perspective changes."

Lt. K.: "You live with men 24/7, and I find myself brushing my teeth with the battalion commander next to me. In the middle of an attack I have said to the radioman, 'Hold here, I am going to pee.' The differences are less noticeable because you live together."

Lt. A.: "Life in a recon unit taught me that men are much more sensitive than many women I know."

As combat soldiers, you surely hear the world's claims about "indiscriminate killing" in Gaza.
Maj. N.: "People do not know how moral the IDF is, and what process targets must go through to be approved. The army will not budge an inch from the permissible level of collateral damage under international law regarding harm to noncombatants. An example: we were in the middle of an assault and suddenly saw a woman. Force protection is paramount, but gradually, through escalation of force, we managed to move her to the humanitarian area. I was so proud to be part of that."

Lt. K.: "In the fires world there is constant attention to the percentage of civilian evacuations and to sensitive sites like hospitals, schools and clinics, where we nevertheless find booby traps and terrorist infrastructure. With us, everything is done surgically and accompanied by approvals from a division commander and a major general. Maximum precision."

Lt. A.: "We encounter this all the time, and the law is the law. In the end you do not consider who the person in front of you is. You have to provide the best care possible with the means and constraints you have."

"Being strong for myself"

Lt. Dr. A., the doctor in Nahal Reconnaissance, encountered harsh sights in the war already in her first days in the role. "I was an intern, so I experienced it from the side that receives the wounded in the hospital, and that is even harder," she recalls.

"On the battlefield you think only about functioning, you do not really process the emotional meaning of the event, where I focus only on evacuating and running from casualty to casualty. In the first month on the job we were in Beit Hanoun with the unit, and there was a mass-casualty incident with five dead and 11 wounded. I dismounted, heard explosions, and it felt unnatural to walk around like that, but you have to operate. I am a cool-headed person, and that is my advantage."

You have all faced the realities of war.
Lt. S.: "When I was with Nahal in the Zaytoun neighborhood, a platoon commander who was in my high school class was badly wounded. You hear it on the radio and have to shut off emotion to stay cool-headed in making decisions. The only thing going through your mind is that if I am not strong enough, no one will do it in my place."

Maj. N.: "Two weeks before he fell, I sent Staff Sgt. Liam Hazi, of blessed memory, on a mission, and he excelled. When he was killed, and we returned that night to the battalion commander's house, I said it was terrible. War can be interesting and exhilarating, but in the end it takes the lives of so many young people. It is sad. The price is unbearable, and we understand its weight and know how to carry on."

Has something in your character changed during service?
Lt. A.: "I have dealt with situations I would never face anywhere else. Two weeks ago a soldier with a catastrophic head injury returned to the unit. Seeing him walking was a feeling unlike anything else. The challenge is great, but the payoff is huge. It draws out traits you did not know you had and puts things in proportion. In the end you function coolly in situations that could deeply unsettle others."

Lt. S.: "Command moves me. Commanding a platoon, with married soldiers with kids on one side and, on the other, young troops straight out of high school now fixing weapons, and I treat them like an older sister, like a mother. I have their backs. It is funny, because some of the NCOs are my parents' age. As hard as the war is, and we are all tired, it opened the door to many new things."

Lt. K.: "Our generation has experienced things that people two decades older did not. It matures and toughens you. From the small things, like sleeping two hours a night, not showering for a month and not going home, to operational events where you meet death up close. It feels like October 7 happened a second and a half ago. Our generation is built stronger now."

Maj. N.: "It put into proportion what you have to protect, and how blessed the quiet routine is when all your loved ones are with you. My understanding of the importance of the army and the defense establishment also changed. Knowing it is necessary and you cannot run from it. In my view this change will open more paths for women in the military. Screening should be professional and not gender-based. I am not asking to lower the bar, but I do aspire to a situation where I can tell 16-year-old girls, 'If you meet the physical standards, you are in.'"

There is now strong demand to recruit female combat soldiers.
Maj. N.: "We are back to the days of the War of Independence, to an existential war. The State of Israel will endure, but we see what is happening in the world and understand that this is our home and that it is a privilege to enlist and serve as combat soldiers. Israeli women are tough. We had women combat soldiers even before the state was founded, from Hannah Szenes to Esther Arditi. It is in our blood."

At no stage did you have doubts like, "Why do I need this?"
Lt. S.: "More than once I stand on a Namer and think that I could just as easily be walking on the beach in Barcelona after a ballet class. But then I remember the best times in the army and know I would not trade the path. It is the best decision I made, which is why I extended my service. I could not imagine hearing about an operation in Gaza while I was sunbathing in Thailand."

Lt. K.: "The thought crossed my mind when I did not see my boyfriend for two months, or now, when my sister is getting married and I do not know when I will get out for the wedding. After a month without a shower you cannot say you are enjoying yourself, but it is worth it, because this is why I enlisted in combat. I wanted to give because I knew I could. It is the role I dreamed of."

Maj. N.: "What is a woman? To be strong, to do everything to succeed and meet the mission. Whoever thinks otherwise is a bit confused."

Maj. N. is on track for a military career. She recently completed her position in the recon unit and will serve as deputy commander of the mixed infantry battalion Lavi HaBik'a. "I want to be a mother and start a family, and there is no doubt it is a demanding and complex balance," she says, "but the army does a lot to make it possible, and there are many examples. It is hard, but it is also hard to be a father who is an officer."

One could joke that many officers would prefer Gaza over changing diapers at home.
Maj. N.: "That is why they say women are multitaskers."

Looking ahead, how do you see your future in the army?
Lt. K.: "My role is meaningful, and I still have time in service, but later I want to study medicine."

Lt. S.: "My enlistment dispelled outdated stigmas. TnA is one of the most amazing corps, and you feel it in wartime. But I have a dream to study law and international relations. For now I am considering maybe staying another year."

Lt. A.: "I would not have chosen this track if I did not aspire to be a doctor in civilian life, specifically a neurosurgeon. I do not know how long I will stay in the army, but in the end I will do what excited me from the start."

"Only at the end did I realize I was capable"

Before we parted, I asked the four combat soldiers to share a special moment they will carry with them from the war.

Lt. K.: "I think about the first time I ended up in a firefight, two days after I started my role in the recon unit. An anti-tank missile was fired at us. I panicked, because I did not have all my gear on me, and the communications with the artillery battery were tenuous, yet I still functioned. When the incident ended I realized I could handle it, and from there it just flowed."

Lt. A.: "There was a gravely wounded soldier in the field, and we did everything possible to save him, from opening an airway to giving a blood transfusion. He was in bad shape, sedated and ventilated. Later I went to visit the wounded in rehab, and because I heard that his family was there and frustrated by his condition, I hesitated to approach. I told myself it might be too soon. Only after some time did I meet his mother, and she hugged me and thanked me. A weight lifted off my heart."

Lt. S.: "After the stint with Nahal I thought I would be discharged, and I said that if I continue, it would only be in a role that gives me butterflies. Positions opened, including Givati Reconnaissance, and I went for it with everything. I told the TnA officer in the brigade, 'Recon or discharge.' I knew that if I did not get the recon unit, my heart would break.

"One day I was with the APC inspector in the middle of maintenance, and suddenly I got a call from an unknown number. It was the Givati Reconnaissance battalion commander calling to wish me congratulations. From joy I tossed the wrench in the air. I knew this was where I was meant to be."

Maj. N.: "I went home and sat in a café in central Tel Aviv, wearing tactical fatigues and my weapon. Suddenly two girls came up, saw the rank and the Haruv Recon patch, and said it was amazing and that they wanted to serve like that too. Before they left they said to me, 'Thank you for protecting us.' A small sentence, but one that strengthens your motivation to get up in the morning and keep working even after 30 grueling days in Gaza."

The post The women fighting terrorists and stereotypes: 'The male environment can be a bit caveman-like' appeared first on www.israelhayom.com.

"When I used to meet Yael, I would call her 'my future sister-in-law,'" Tom, Jonathan's sister, recalls. "Once she whispered to me, 'Stop, you're pressuring Joni' – but who cared, I wanted him to get engaged. Today, all their friends are getting married, and it's really hard because it's clear to me that he would have proposed. He was already talking to my mom about a ring."

If there's a small piece of comfort in this tragedy, it lies in the connection that was formed after the death of the two. On October 7, Tom and her sister Danielle met Yellena, Yael's sister, for the first time. The three understood that fate had connected them – and since then they haven't separated. They even have a tradition they created for themselves – they fly together on vacation abroad immediately after Memorial Day, with the mothers of Yael and Joni.

"Between me and Yael, there was an 11-year age difference", Yellena recounts. "For many years, I was an only child, and suddenly I returned to that same point at an adult stage of my life. It was terribly difficult. Now I received Tom and Danielle as sisters, and their children as family."

Tom adds, "Yellena is like the aunt to the children. She watches over them, buys them gifts. I won't forget that during the shiva she came and asked, 'So now you're my sisters?' Even our WhatsApp group is called 'Sisters or Not to Be.'"

Jonathan from Hod Hasharon met Yael from Kfar Saba when they studied business administration and marketing at the Rupin Academic Center. Initially, they emphasized that they were friends only, and nothing more.

"Yael told me about Joni from school and said he works in a coffee shop", Yellena recalls. "One day, I sat in that coffee shop without saying who I was, and Joni was a total catch. Usually I'm critical of waiters, but he was fire."

Over time, the connection between the two grew warmer. Family meals, joint vacations, and finally moving together to a modest apartment in Florentin. "The way we met Yael, we said 'she's ours,'" Danielle remembers. "We always asked her and Joni when they would get married, because we knew it was heading in that direction."

"She didn't leave him wounded"

On October 7, Danielle and Tom were unaware that their brother and his girlfriend had attended the Nova Festival. Yellena also wasn't in on it, but as soon as the alarms began at 6:30 a.m. she texted Yael – "Awake?"

"Yael answered relatively quickly, 'We're at a party in the south, it's over,'" Yellena remembers. "She said there's chaos and they're packing up. I wrote 'Find a protected space' and asked her to send me a live location. The moment she sent it, I closed the phone and made myself coffee. I was convinced they were already managing. After fifteen minutes, I checked WhatsApp to see where they were and realized they were stuck. I texted Yael to drive to the parents of my friend, who live in the area. She wrote that there's chaos and stopped answering. My last message to her was 'Is Joni with you?'"

Only on Monday, two days after the massacre, the Rozman family was informed that Yael was murdered, and only toward the end of the week did the Ken-Dror family receive the terrible news that Jonathan also didn't survive.

Gradually, details began to emerge about what happened that black Saturday morning. A friend who was with the two in the car and managed to survive said that immediately after the first missiles were fired, they packed up from the festival and got in the car, with Jonathan sitting in the driver's seat. At the exit from Re'im parking lot, the turn north was blocked by police, so they drove south toward Gaza Division, and after four kilometers, they encountered terrorists.

"They passed by a Hamas squad, and according to the friend, Jonathan ran over one of them and continued driving", Danielle recounts. "The shooting didn't stop, and Jonathan caught a bullet that hit the main artery in his right arm. They were forced to stop by the roadside and get out. The friend left them when they were still alive."

The story details were completed only after Jonathan's personal belongings were returned to the family, including Yael's mobile phone, which was found beside him. It turned out that at 7:38 a.m. four calls were made from the device – two to the police, which weren't answered, and two more to Magen David Adom. The last call, between Yael and the dispatcher, lasted 5:40 minutes.

"Yael took care of Joni when he was wounded. She's our hero, she didn't leave him until the last minute," Tom says. "I would have preferred a different ending, and that at least she would come out alive, but when they left the car, he was in really bad condition. You also hear her telling Magen David Adom that he's losing a lot of blood and that his face is pale. She was focused, tried to explain where they were located, and said she couldn't leave him. I think she understood she was losing Jonathan, and at some point, the call became difficult. You hear in her voice that she understands the terrorists are closing in on them. In their lives and their deaths, they weren't separated."

Yellena didn't hear her sister's last phone call; it was too hard for her, but she read the transcript. "I couldn't contain this thing, but I know there's no way Yael would have left Joni, just as he wouldn't have left her", she's convinced. "Not even a slim chance of 0.001 percent."

Danielle nods, "When people tell me 'your brother was murdered', I always correct that I didn't lose just him, but also Yael. People think she's not from the family, but she is. We lost two."

Last breaths in the recording

Only a month after Joni and Yael's deaths, the sisters decided to enter their rented apartment and found notes the two had written to each other, fragments of lives that were cut short. "Yael and Joni were positive people full of joy of life, who left quite a mark on this world", Tom says. "Within the absence and crazy pain, there are two families that united movingly. We adopted each other as sisters, and our mothers are really good friends. We celebrate holidays together as a whole family. In the end, this is the gift they left. True, it hurts that we didn't meet at a bachelorette party or wedding, and that we had to meet under such circumstances, but there's an amazing connection here of cruel and shared fate."

The three know that at least for them, the circle is closed, unlike many who remained without answers about what happened to their loved ones that Saturday. "We have a narrative, but there are families who know nothing and received only a box," Danielle says. "With all the difficulty of hearing the recording and my brother's last breaths, at least our story is complete. That's why a national commission of inquiry must be established. Not just so people will be held accountable, but also so everyone the event touched will understand what happened, where we fell, and what there is to learn from all this."

The post Three sisters bonded by loss on Oct. 7 become family appeared first on www.israelhayom.com.

"I don't remember anymore how many times I've been in Israel, but it's probably a lot," he laughed in an interview he gave Thursday evening to Israel Today. "It's a beautiful place, with wonderful people. I've always had Israeli friends, and I will continue coming here until my dying day."

Floyd Mayweather, 48, arrived at BAYZ restaurant on Tel Aviv's Hilton Beach to meet with soldiers who have spent recent years in Gaza's alleyways or battles against Hezbollah in Lebanon. As he likes to walk around here, the soldiers showered him with love. "I've been dying over you since childhood. If you're looking for a bodyguard, I'm here," one of them told him.

"These are young fighters," he said when we spoke, "I was a young fighter. I know how it is."

Does war remind you of a boxing match?

"A fighter is a fighter and of course when you fight you want to win and it doesn't always happen, but in boxing there's usually another opportunity. There are many boxers in my company 'Mayweather Promotions,' some win, some lose, but I love them all the same."

In recent years, when we refer to a complete victory, we primarily mean a military victory.

"Everyone wants to win in life, and that's not true only for your country, but for the entire world. Victory is a matter of being positive, humble, respectful, and appreciating what you have."

Mayweather walked around Tel Aviv's seaside, surrounded by heavy security, befitting his status as a mega-celebrity who earned about a billion dollars during his career. He had four American 'refrigerators,' each two meters tall and of similar width, but even the intimidating bodyguards couldn't prevent fans from approaching the legend.

"Know that you are winners," the boxer acknowledged the warm reception. "I'm here to support you, and I will continue coming. I am proud of the State of Israel. Thank you for receiving me."

Mayweather is no longer an active boxer. The man who won every possible title with a record of 50-0 as a professional says he doesn't really miss the days in the ring. "Because it's very different from the period when I boxed," he tried to explain. "But boxing is still boxing."

Why is it different?

"I paved the way from the bottom to the top and achieved everything, while today guys want to achieve everything within ten fights, they shorten the path and don't build themselves from the bottom up."

Do you identify an heir in the ring today?

"There are many talented young people in the boxing world, but as an icon in this sport, a legend, my job is to encourage young fighters to work hard and push each other to excellence so that one day they will surpass me."

One of Mayweather's prominent advantages in the ring was self-confidence. Going up to fight when you know there's no chance you'll lose. Therefore, his answer to the question of who is the greatest boxer of all time was not surprising.

"I didn't enter this sport to say someone is better than me," he clarified, "I know that every time an opponent was facing me, I won and that's a blessing. My job is not to talk about others' careers, but to take care of Floyd Mayweather and every time I boxed I gave 100 percent and came out with my hand on top."

Mayweather's entourage signaled that he needed to continue his schedule and also breathe some air in Tel Aviv's oppressive late July humidity. Before we parted, I asked if Israel, a judo powerhouse, also has a chance in boxing, or if we're talking about a sport with a long tradition.

"If you get your head right, then it doesn't matter where we come from, we're capable of winning," he gave his perspective. "All you need is faith, patience, and a lot of hard work."

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"You know what I'd want most?" Almog asked those present without waiting for an answer. "For at least a million Jews to come here, a real ingathering of exiles. Send WhatsApp messages to friends and families, and tell them there's a country at war here and that we need as many as possible, to be big and strong. If any of you need help with Aliya issues with authorities and the Ministry of Interior – contact me, don't be shy."

M, a soldier who came to Israel from Miami, asked Almog why a decorated warrior like him chooses to deal specifically with Aliya issues. "Almost everything that happens with me is thanks to my son Eran, who was born disabled and never spoke or called me 'dad,'" Almog quickly answered. "Eran, who was completely dependent on the mercy of others, taught me what love, kindness, and Judaism are. Weak Eran, who was called 'retarded,' is the Jewish people during 2,000 years. With him, we discovered what racism and discrimination are: a child nobody wants. I once went with him to a country club in Nes Ziona, and someone shouted, 'Take him out of here.' My son taught me what it means to be weak and what tikkun olam is. Fighting in battle is important and existential, but tikkun olam is the most important thing."

Almog asked those present why they chose to come to Israel in the midst of war. M from Miami volunteered to answer, "On October 7, I was living in New York, and there were lots of demonstrations against the war and against the hostages. Every day, I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, and sometimes they hung a huge Palestinian flag there. I felt helpless, and that pushed me to enlist."

S from New York also left his 14 brothers and sisters to come to Israel. "October 7 was the final push for me. Because of it, I got the courage to leave everything behind. There you can't contribute, here you feel you have a purpose."

P from Paris told Almog that for him, enlisting was always the goal. "I came to Israel for vacations, and when I saw soldiers, I wanted to be like them. From age 12, I started nagging at home about enlisting, until at 18 I studied for a year at a yeshiva in Israel and said, 'it's time.' After October 7, my mom was really worried, but I explained to her that if I don't do it now, I'll regret it all my life."

Asher from Sydney, "I'm 20, and I thought I'd come to Israel for a year at a yeshiva and then return to university in Australia. But here I felt I belonged. After I saw antisemitic videos from the university where I was supposed to study, I said, 'there's no way I'm going back.' My two sisters also immigrated, and after that my parents, who didn't want to stay alone."

Speaking of which, Almog recalled a visit he made to Australia recently with his wife, Didi. "Because of things I did as Southern Command General, 20 years ago, they issued three arrest warrants against me in England. When we arrived in Australia, someone caught on to this and asked the Minister of Justice there not to give me a visa. Fortunately, the minister didn't respond, but there were still protests against me. We met with the Jewish community in the major cities, and protesters followed our vehicle. Since October 7, more than 40,000 Olim have arrived in Israel, with assistance from the Jewish Agency and the Ministry of Aliya and Absorption, including 15,000 young people aged 18. Many enlisted, and unfortunately, some were also killed."

Who was Judah Maccabee?

D from Bnei Brak suddenly asked for permission to speak. "My family opposed my enlistment," he said. "I have brothers who protest against the army, and when I go home, I sleep at my sister's. My father doesn't like the idea, and my mother is also afraid, she doesn't think I should serve."

Almog: "If you get married, will your parents come to the wedding?" D: "Yes, even though I don't talk much with my father, because the conversation always ends with 'how bad the army is.'" Almog: "I'm sure your father loves you and is proud. Maybe not now, but one day he'll tell you that."

Later, when we parted from the soldiers, Almog explained, "Some of the stories are painful. Look at this, a child goes to fight, and maybe give his life to defend the country, and the parent sees him as a traitor to the faith."

Is this a problem that can be solved?

"Tears within the nation have existed throughout history. We must slowly persuade them, too, that for the only Jewish state, one must enlist, each in a different way. Take, for example, Judah Maccabee. Is he a yeshiva head? No, he's a warrior. Whose calls were 'Whoever is for God, to me'?" We need to hurry, because the army currently lacks manpower."

"We need to talk to them. David Ben-Gurion decided to give them exemptions: 'Torah study is their occupation.' He probably thought these would be few, maybe a few hundred, but didn't imagine the number would reach hundreds of thousands and that this would be a disaster for generations. It cannot be that an American Orthodox Jew works for a living, because he understands he lives according to US laws, and here there's a group that enjoys the benefits of government and doesn't serve. Why did I ask D if his parents would come to the wedding? Because this rift is in the deepest place."

Major E, commander of Company Chetz, gave a glimmer of optimism when he recounted that the company celebrated the last Passover together, despite all the limitations. "Every commander here understands that he has a professional and national responsibility to show that it's possible to recruit orthodox Jews," he explained. "As a secular person, I learned and understood new things, such as the differences between types of kosher certifications. We were used to sending the Chabad followers home, because of food restrictions, but this year everyone celebrated the holiday at the base in a great atmosphere. I learn from them what spirit is."

When Almog asked soldiers what was most difficult for them, besides being away from home, H from Raanana replied that the greatest difficulty actually lay in the fact that they "aren't fighting enough" on the northern border, which is currently considered calm.

Almog, the veteran warrior, immediately reassured him, "Don't worry, war doesn't run away, and it doesn't come by invitation. You can sit at an outpost, and suddenly they'll ambush you at 2:00 at night, when you're least prepared. I enlisted in 1969, two years after the Six-Day War, and I was angry because I thought the battles were over. You are a generation that unfortunately has many wars."

"This place is more precious than we are"

Almog, who next month will celebrate his 74th birthday, was born in Rishon LeZion and enlisted in the IDF in 1969. He was a company commander in Battalion 202 during the Yom Kippur War, and in the midst of the battles was informed that his younger brother, tank corps Lieutenant Eran Avrutsky, was killed in the Golan Heights, about 18 miles from where he now met with the soldiers of Company Chetz.

In Operation Entebbe, 1976, Almog led the Paratroopers Reconnaissance Unit. In the First Lebanon War, 1982, he commanded the spearhead force of the brigade that first reached Beirut. Among other roles, he commanded the Shaldag Unit, the Paratroopers Brigade, and the Southern Command. He admits it's a "great miracle" that he now stands in one piece and on two healthy legs.

Before joining the Jewish Agency in 2022, Almog was known for founding in the south in 2006 "ADI Negev – Nahalat Eran," a rehabilitation village for children and adults with disabilities, an idea that took shape inspired by his son, Eran, who was born with severe intellectual and developmental disabilities and passed away in 2007, at age 23. For his contribution to society and the state, Almog received the Israel Prize for lifetime achievement in 2016.

Almog, who spent 34 years in uniform, shared with the soldiers the personal and family pain he experienced in the military. "My brother Eran was a platoon commander 2 in Company D, Battalion 82 in Brigade 7. In the Yom Kippur War, he fought in the southern Golan Heights and was hit by a Syrian tank. He was thrown out, lay for a week next to his tank, begging for help, and no one came. My brother Eran was the reason for my long service, and to this day, I'm hurt that I wasn't with him. I always had the feeling I could have saved him. Until my last day, I'll live with guilt for not being beside my brother when he bled to death."

After the meeting with the soldiers, Almog suggested we conduct the interview near the memorial he built at the end of that war in memory of his brother, exactly where Eran's tank was hit. A few weeks after the Yom Kippur War, Almog took steel plates from the damaged tank, along with a mortar barrel he found among the charred armored vehicle skeletons, and brought them to Alex the welder from Moshav Ramat Magshimim. Alex created a modest memorial that stands intact to this day, not far from Tel Saki.

We sat on a rock by the memorial, in minimal shade, and Almog read a poem he wrote a few years ago in memory of his brother, "On Yom Kippur I am wrapped in a tallit of deafening silence / On Yom Kippur I lie with you next to the burning tank, wrapped in torn tanker overalls / And your screams cut through me, and your dying pleas are swallowed in the roar of war / I try to rescue you with all my might, clinging with my nails to basalt rocks, pulling you from the fire / And your voice grows weaker, growing cracked / And we are embraced together and your heart beats in my body / And our body is wrapped in a blood-soaked tallit, and around is deafening silence."

"Guilt isn't rational," he admitted after finishing the reading. "Eran was two years younger than me. I'm the eldest, the experienced fighter. He lay wounded, injured in his left leg, and could have been saved if someone had applied a tourniquet. This is a feeling I'll take with me to my last day."

Despite the 51 and a half years that have passed since?

"My brother Eran would say, 'you're right, but there's no one to justify you.' Yesterday, David Hodak called me, a prominent attorney. In a photo from the officers' course, my brother stands next to him. Eran remains a young man of 20, and Hodak is now 72. He has achieved great economic prosperity, and still tells me, 'We must influence democracy here, connect me to Jewish communities worldwide, I want to help, I want a liberal, progressive society here.'"

"You see, I'm bleeding from the Yom Kippur War, but the question is what do we do with the pain? Do we find formulas that will keep us together despite our differences – or do we want to highlight the differences and create rifts?"

We need to assure the soldiers we met a bright horizon.

"You can't promise anything. Do you know what will happen tomorrow? Everything is connected to something internal that drives, like salmon swimming upstream against the current. My family, Avrutsky, came from Ukraine in 1910 because of the pogroms there. Did someone promise them? They decided to buy land under Turkish rule. My parents were born here during the British period, and I grew up in a home where there was an understanding that this place is precious, even more than we are. That we need to be ready to give our lives to protect the only Jewish state."

That many feel is now being destroyed from within.

"The greatest danger is from within, and I hope we'll come to our senses and find what unites. That we'll understand diversity can be a promoter of hatred and division, as in the destruction of the First and Second Temples. The great danger is not from the Iranians or Hamas, but from the perception that the truth is only mine and only I am right. We are in a terrible place in terms of internal atmosphere. We must find a way to bring hearts closer."

We are closer, God forbid, to civil war.

"I'll do everything so it doesn't happen, but we must enter a period of healing and rehabilitation, so we need to act differently and calm things down. I hear terrible statements toward the hostages' families and toward kibbutz members who live near Gaza. What happened in the kibbutzim was their fault? I would expect them to embrace the hostages' families, and if they want to speak in the Knesset for 48 consecutive hours, then let them, because you don't judge a person in their grief. The children were kidnapped, raped, and murdered because the state failed."

You raise and educate about values and ideals. Does anything of them remain today?

"The reality is concerning. It's concerning that there's erosion and lashing out at state institutions, the Supreme Court, the army, and the Shin Bet. In the end, with all due respect to leadership, security comes from those willing to risk their lives. On October 7, there was a terrible failure, from the prime minister down, but who took responsibility without saying 'I am responsible'? The fighters.

"People were willing to give their lives, and showed heroism. Many other countries would have collapsed in the same situation. France in World War II, and Poland, which fell, because they didn't have a fighting spirit. We are in a terrible crisis – but it's not the only one we've gone through, and not the first time trust has collapsed."

You mean the Yom Kippur War in 1973?

"And also the First Lebanon War. I led the paratroopers then from the landing on the Awali River to Beirut. We were there for years. Friends were killed, and there were demonstrations in Jerusalem against the government. And what did we go to fight for? For a new order, like in Gaza. We thought we'd let the Christians rule and they would manage, but when we arrived, we discovered they were driving Mercedes and not fighting. They wanted us to fight for them. There aren't many countries that have successfully appointed a government in another country."

We need a radical change in Gaza for us to continue living here.

"I spent ten years of my life in Gaza. Hamas is a strong force. There's talk of implementing a civil administration that will bring civilian companies into the Strip, but what will they do? They'll take locals who will distribute bread and build houses. Who are the locals? Hamas."

"We can talk about continuing the military move. We can hit Hamas a bit more. But I was the commander of the Gaza Division, and there was always terrorism there. Today, there are more than 2 million residents in the Strip. I guarantee you that even if we kill another 200,000, there will still be 100,000 Kalashnikovs left, and we won't get to the last rifle. The question is whether we act wisely. I've long said we should have built a strong defense system, made a deal to return all the hostages, and stopped the war when the right of defense is on our side. Whenever we want, we'll enter based on intelligence. If we stay inside, we'll pay a heavy price. The main threat comes from Iran anyway."

Oath on the graves

The Almog family has known quite a few tragedies over the years. In the attack at Maxim restaurant in Haifa in October 2003, five family members were killed, Doron's uncle Zeev Almog, his wife Ruth, their son Moshe, and their grandchildren Tomer Almog and Assaf Shtayer. Two decades later, in the October 7 massacre, the family suffered another blow when Nadav Goldstein-Almog and his daughter Yam were murdered in Kibbutz Kfar Aza. Chen, Nadav's wife (and daughter of Doron's cousin), was kidnapped with their three children, Agam, Gal, and Tal, and all four were released in the first hostage deal.

"When they were released from captivity, I cried," says Almog. "I was very worried they would kill them because of me. For 51 nights, I didn't sleep. I was constantly in touch with Major General (Res.) Nitzan Alon (commander of the intelligence effort in the area of prisoners and missing persons), and he used to tell me, 'Don't worry, they're fine.' I collapsed.

"Before the funeral of Yam and Nadav, I called the head of IDF Field Security and the then-IDF spokesperson, Daniel Hagari, and consulted with them about whether to eulogize, because I knew it would reach the networks. In the end, I eulogized."

At the open grave of his family members, Almog said, "We are not people of revenge and punishment. Here, in the Shefayim cemetery, next to the bleeding graves of Nadav and Yam, here I swear with you to rebuild Kfar Aza, together with all the communities near Gaza."

"What Golda did"

Next to the memorial for his brother, Almog continued, "In January, when they returned Emily Damari, Doron Steinbrecher, and Romi Gonen from captivity, they published the list of terrorists being released in the deal. Number 9 on the list was Sami Jardat, the terrorist who planned the attack at Maxim. I sent the news to Oren Almog, who was blinded in the attack and lost his father, Moshik, his brother, Tomer, and his grandparents. He was then 10, today he's 32. Oren wrote to me 'I saw, thanks. It's difficult, but the hostages can be returned, and the dead cannot. Let's hope they'll hold the terrorists accountable in the future, and that the released hostages will have happy lives.' I replied, 'I think exactly like you. A big hug, I love you very much.'"

As someone who fought in the Yom Kippur War, what's the situation today, in your opinion?

"Much more difficult, because the failure is greater. Then communities weren't captured. It's true that in the first 24 hours, the Syrians conquered the Golan Heights and reached the Sea of Galilee – but on October 9, we already went on the offensive, and very quickly, we reached 25 miles from Damascus. There were soldiers taken prisoner, but there weren't women who were raped. The failure of October 7 was much, much greater. Some of the components of pride are similar, including the feeling that the other side was deterred."

You didn't believe in the concept?

"I studied Gaza for ten years. In the First Lebanon War, we wanted a new order, and what? The Iranians and Hezbollah entered there. After the Oslo Accords, we met Arafat's seven brigades. One was called 'al-Quds,' the second 'al-Aqsa,' the third 'Kastel.' I asked what the names meant, and they answered, 'Until we get there, we won't stop fighting.' When I asked General Nasser Youssef why their families remained in Yemen and Iraq, he answered, 'Until you return Ashdod and Sheikh Munis to us – we won't bring them.' They said clear things, and we were somewhere else."

"I was there when the political echelon decided on joint patrols and offices, and they killed us. In 1994, IDF Chief of Staff Ehud Barak was with me when one of our policemen was killed by a Palestinian policeman's fire near the Erez checkpoint. Barak was the prime minister when I presented him with the investigation into the death of an officer killed in Khan Younis by a bomb planted by a Palestinian policeman. Yitzhak Rabin was the one who told Arafat 'fight Hamas' – and nothing happened."

"There's a common denominator of not understanding the Middle East. We stopped listening to what happens beyond the fence and what they talk about in mosques. Yahya Sinwar said 'destruction of the State of Israel,' and they continue to talk about it even today. Who strengthened Hamas? The IDF Chief of Staff? The Attorney General? It's a decision of the Israeli government. You can't boast and say 'the security echelons are subordinate to us' only when convenient."

This issue of taking responsibility pains you?

"It's a terrible breach, the ABC of leadership. I have quite a bit of criticism of Golda Meir, but a month and a half after the Yom Kippur War, she appointed Judge Agranat, and on April 1, 1974, the first report of the state commission of inquiry was already issued. IDF Chief of Staff Dado resigned, and Golda resigned.

"What the current government should have done, two months after October 7, was to announce 'we have failed the greatest failure of the state since its establishment, and therefore, 1 – we are appointing a state commission of inquiry, and 2 – we will soon go to elections and do everything to continue hitting Hamas and returning the hostages and achieving the objectives.' There should have been a different leadership statement."

Some have already taken the heat.

"I look at the IDF Chief of Staff who retired, Hertzi Halevi, who gave all his years, and at Shin Bet head Ronen Bar, who, despite all the failure,s brought successes and targeted eliminations. Did he betray all these years? He fought for the state. Is he free from mistakes? Of course not. There is no one who hasn't sinned. People made mistakes and said, 'I failed.'"

"Let's not forget that a leader's job isn't just to take credit for successes. And it hurts, because who brought intelligence for the targets? Who are the pilots? Those who care, and therefore there's no truth that belongs only to one side. Take Ben-Gurion. In the Declaration of Independence, he didn't want to write the word 'God,' so instead he wrote 'Rock of Israel,' which is supposed to satisfy everyone. We need to find formulas in the style of 'Rock of Israel' about how to continue living here together."

"We haven't missed the train"

Why didn't you go into politics?

"I don't want to be there. I thought I'd dedicate my life to the wounded and disabled, like my son, until I received a phone call asking me to be chairman of the Jewish Agency. I come from a connecting place, trying to fix things. You see, my son Eran had no place in a prayer quorum. Someone in his condition isn't included in the count of ten for a minyan."

"In contrast, in the synagogue we built in the 'ADI Negev - Nahalat Eran' village there can be nine people with severe disabilities, like Eran, and one more who will pray. Is this a religious ruling? No. But that's how it is with me, and I'll also give a moral rationale for it. Who are you praying for – for the strong and healthy? And you are ephemeral, who in a split second could be confined to a wheelchair. And then what? For me, the minyan is for the sick and the weak and the hostages."

And you call on people to come and immigrate to this conflicted place.

"We are in a great crisis, but we'll emerge from it, first of all, thanks to the excellent youth, and thanks to the fighting spirit and unconditional love that Jews who immigrate to Israel have, and millions who live here have. I hear the Religious Zionist people, how much they're pained by the heavy price they paid, and how much it hurts that others aren't willing to share the burden. Where does this come from? From love. Eventually, there will be a coming to senses here. When? I don't know, but I'm convinced we haven't missed the train."

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"It was a historic battle," emphasized Col. (res.) Udi Erel, then a young captain and operations officer of Flotilla 3, which carried out the mission. "Two hours of fierce exchanges that established a wartime fact: any Syrian or Egyptian vessel that entered the sea never returned to port. The Navy relied heavily on past traditions. Once, in such victories, it was customary to place a broom atop the mast to symbolize that the sea had been 'swept clean.' But the flotilla commander, Micha Ram, refused out of respect for the enemy and to signal that the mission was not yet complete."

Video: The Israeli Air Force strike on the Syrian Navy, December last year // IDF Spokesperson

Amid the chaos of the Swords of Iron War, the heroic operation "Arrow of Bashan," launched on December 8, 2024, after the fall of the Syrian regime, nearly faded from public memory. Fearing that strategic Syrian weapons left behind would fall into hostile hands, a joint operation was launched involving ground, naval, and air forces, ultimately neutralizing 80 percent of the capabilities left by Assad's military.

As part of the operation, Flotilla 3 returned to Latakia, the site of its Yom Kippur War legacy, and sank 15 vessels carrying weaponry that could have posed a serious threat to Israeli national security.

"In the end, we're walking in the paths of our predecessors," said Maj. T., commander of INS Yaffo, which took part in the operation. "Every naval officer grows up on those stories and the routes we sailed. When I addressed the crew before the mission, I felt chills, I knew we were about to undertake a mission of deep significance. I spoke to the sailors about the Battle of Latakia, because without historical awareness, we are nothing. Just as the 7th Armored Brigade draws strength from the Battle of the Valley of Tears, we too must know our past. In the end, it's the spirit that wins battles."

Maj. T. welcomed us aboard the INS Yaffo. Just 28 years old, he had been on leave when the war broke out but rushed back, initially serving as a deputy before formally taking command eight months ago.

With him were two strike officers from neighboring vessels in the flotilla who had participated in the operation: Lt. T. from INS Herev, who had still been in naval officers' training when the war erupted and found himself at sea by October 8; and Lt. G., who had joined INS Kidon only a week before the war began.

"I didn't even know the names of the sailors," said Lt. G., 24, laughing. "Everything happened in motion. In officers' training they told us we'd be the generation facing a war, but they say that to everyone. For us, it became reality. It wasn't a shock, but it was pressure, especially when you don't know anyone, you've got no one to lean on, and you're suddenly in endless shifts at sea. You go out for weeks at a time, come back for supplies, and head out again. On a ship like the Nirit, the intimacy is intense. It's crowded, soldiers and officers live together, creating a unique closeness. And in wartime, it's like that closeness on steroids."

What do you mean by that?

"I'm with the soldiers 24/7, they see me at my most upbeat and my most complex moments. During the war, we got news of friends or relatives being killed, more than once. You need to absorb that, be the supportive figure, and still function."

Lt. T., 23, the strike officer aboard INS Herev, understood all too well. "When I first went out to sea, I still didn't know the fate of two classmates who were at the Nova music festival and listed as missing. We returned from the mission after a week, and I immediately called my sister. She told me their bodies had been found. Throughout the war, we kept thinking about how to maintain our combat intensity while staying connected to home."

When Lt. G. described life aboard the Nirit, it called for a look at the vessels that make up the missile boat flotilla based in Haifa. The Nirit is a Saar 4.5-class missile boat, the smallest and oldest of the fleet, with the first of its type launched in the early 1980s. Measuring 61 meters in length and housing about 60 crew members, it's mainly used for strike missions.

Next to it is the Saar 5-class ship, in service for about 30 years, 85 meters long and considered multi-mission. But the standout vessel is the futuristic Saar 6, just six years into service and resembling a spaceship at 89 meters in length.

"The Saar 6 is the crown jewel," admitted Lt. T., the strike officer aboard INS Herev, one of the older models. "They're the newest and primarily used for defense, but when we head to sea, each ship has its own specific mission."

Strike officers are responsible for the ship's precision weaponry, arms capable of engaging distant targets. During the war, ships often made the long journey from the north to the Gaza Strip to guard gas rigs. It was non-stop.

"Imagine being a combat sailor in the flotilla, exposed to four different combat arenas and having to master them all," said Maj. T. "There's no debating professionalism here. Our ability to reach every front demands mental flexibility from each fighter."

The window of opportunity

Operation "Arrow of Bashan" in Syria caught the sailors completely by surprise. Nothing indicated that an offensive in enemy territory was imminent. except at the highest levels of the military, where concern over the collapse of Bashar Assad's regime emerged in early December.

The greatest fear was the unknown. Israel's security establishment had no idea how Syria's new leadership would view Israel, particularly since the rising figure, Ahmad al-Sharaa - known as al-Julani - had a jihadist past and deep ties to the terrorist organization al-Qaida.

"The operation started as a surprise," confirmed Lt. Col. D., head of Naval Superiority, responsible for coordinating firepower and strike planning. "The operations director at Navy HQ called us all in on Friday for a situational briefing after the coup began. We pulled out contingency plans listing all strategic weapons that could fall into hostile hands. My division handles precise targeting - where to strike, how - and we coordinated with the IDF General Staff and Military Intelligence's Operations Division."

What was the threat posed by the Syrian navy?

"Missile boats that could fall into hostile hands. Each missile on those ships carries dozens of kilograms of explosives and could pose a threat to Israeli civilian or military vessels. The fall of the regime opened a brief window of opportunity, to remove that threat."

On Saturday, Navy HQ continued working on the strike plans. Only on Sunday morning, December 8, did an order go out to Flotilla 3: within hours, they were to head to Latakia port in northern Syria to destroy Syrian vessels deemed a threat to national security.

"INS Kidon was in what we call 'stand-down week,'" said Lt. G. "Every so often, a ship docks for maintenance that can't be done during normal operations. Ours was mid-refit, the kitchen had been removed for replacement. Then Sunday morning, we got the order: 'You're sailing this afternoon.' The mission was simple: 'Sink Syrian ships carrying strategic weapons.' I thought it was insane at first. Set sail in a few hours? I just told myself, 'Okay then.'"

Maj. T., commander of INS Yaffo, also received the order on Sunday morning. "A missile boat has four divisions," he explained. "Detection, navigation and communications, which handles route planning; the weapons division, which handles munitions; the engine and machine crew, responsible for engines and generators that run simultaneously and demand high energy; and the electronics system that protects the ship, detects threats and intercepts. On mornings like this, the captain sits down with division heads, each of whom lays out their plan. It's like preparing for a presentation to top brass. Then we get mission approval and sail out. It's extreme dynamism. We know how to prep under tight deadlines, even in surprise situations. We looked the crews in the eye and said: 'Friends, we're heading north to get the job done.'"

In the weapons division, preparations for the strike began immediately. "Everything moved fast, but we've trained for this since day one," said Lt. T., INS Herev's strike officer. "We studied the operational protocols, the intelligence, and each crew got its target and had to present a plan. No one tells you how to do it, that's your job."

Lt. G. was aboard INS Kidon reviewing the target sheet. "I knew what each target was and where it was docked," she said. "I sat with the mission commander and my controller, and we planned the best execution method."

The port of Latakia, home to Syria's naval base, lies in the north of the country and is considered its primary seaport. It regularly handles shipments of construction materials, minerals, and vehicles, and maintains regular maritime lines to Alexandria, Beirut, and Izmir in Turkey.

Operation "Arrow of Bashan" concentrated primarily on the military port in Latakia and the nearby Mina al-Bayda port. Fifteen vessels were targeted, some of them Osa 2-class missile boats, others Tir 2-class Iranian-manufactured ships modeled on a North Korean missile boat design. The primary concern was that among the weapons onboard were Noor missiles with a range of 200 kilometers and Styx missiles with a 90-kilometer range, which could end up in the wrong hands.

In an operation like this, where time is critical and the window of opportunity is narrow, there's no room to consider moonlight or sea conditions. This was early December, mid-winter, with high seas. Before leaving the Haifa naval base, all vessels underwent "lashing," securing loose objects to prevent damage or loss during the stormy voyage.

In the afternoon hours, Flotilla 3 departed the port, heading north in a secure and quiet formation. On the way, they could see the lights of Lebanon, and even Cyprus didn't seem far. It was a multi-hour journey, with no knowing what lay ahead. At the time, Russian vessels were also docked at Tartus port, just south of Latakia, a base used mainly for maintenance.

"When you're sailing through a hostile area, there are threats I can't even talk about," said Maj. T., commander of INS Yaffo. "We know we're being targeted, and every fighter heading out to sea understands that returning home is not a given. Civilians may think our encounters are low-risk, but the friction is high, and this requires surgical precision by seasoned fighters."

What kinds of dangers do you face?

"When operating a warship, you need a degree of humility. As far as I'm concerned, I know nothing. I enter a combat zone, operate the vessel and the fighters, and I respect the enemy. Because if we act arrogantly, thinking we're invincible, well, history has shown what happens to those who do."

Is there concern about an incident like the one with INS Hanit in the Second Lebanon War?

"Absolutely."

Joint force

During the voyage, a new directive was issued: before striking the Syrian vessels, the flotilla would need to take out surface-to-air missile systems scattered throughout the area, to create an aerial corridor for Israeli Air Force jets that would simultaneously strike in Syria.

"We created a fusion of sea, air, and ground forces that was a game-changer, a new X-factor in combat," said Maj. T. "This cooperation played out in corridor openings, targeting terrorists, and everything you can imagine. We maintained communication throughout the voyage, an unprecedented level of synergy not seen at this intensity in previous wars."

The missile boats struck the surface-to-air batteries. Then the fighter jets flew in through the corridor, hitting missile warehouses and launchers positioned onshore and threatening Israeli vessels. With air defenses down, all was ready for the operation's grand finale, planned for Monday afternoon: the sinking of the Syrian navy's warships.

"Until it happens, it doesn't really happen," Maj. T. said with a wry smile. "Even once we arrived, we knew things could still go wrong. We could be ordered to turn back at any moment, too many variables. And even when you hear the launch, it's not over, after impact, you still have to get back through a challenging zone. Until the ship is docked and we're on land, it's not over."

On Monday, December 9, around 6 p.m., under cover of darkness, 15 Syrian vessels were destroyed in the ports of Latakia and Mina al-Bayda.

"I'm sure a ship commander sees it differently," said Lt. G., the strike officer aboard INS Kidon, "but at least in my role, there's a clear sequence of actions to follow, and this was something I had done several times throughout the war. Still, this time felt far more intense and different. Yet we performed those steps automatically. In a way, I couldn't believe it was actually happening. It still feels surreal, to sink ships. When it was over, I felt privileged to be part of this, to contribute, even if I'm just a small cog in the machine."

Lt. T., the strike officer aboard INS Herev, also recalled the exact moment when the missiles left the ship en route to their targets. "Everything went by the book," he said. "We heard the weapons fire. There was a kind of ceremonial silence. We saw a Syrian navy vessel that we had studied as a target, we looked at each other and said, 'It's happening now.'"

Is there a cheer of victory when the strike lands?

"That would be childish, and I'll explain why," Maj. T. said. "The celebratory 'Yes!' distracts from other responsibilities. When you're in a hostile arena, there are multiple actions that must be carried out simultaneously. In the Combat Information Center of a missile ship, it's a fascinating world, one soldier may be focused on aerial detection while the person sitting next to them handles offensive strikes. They sit side-by-side, but their missions are completely different. That's the beauty of these ships. And to your question, if you start cheering, you lose focus. I told the team: until the debriefing, we don't know if we truly succeeded. Only once we complete the strike, conduct a review, acknowledge the ethos, briefly touch on the history, give a smile, a pat on the back, then we move forward."

Lt. T. knew exactly what his commander meant. "You finish the most significant strike of your military service, and then you're back on duty, standing watch on the bridge," he said with a grin.

Two hours ashore

While the operation was underway, Israel Navy Commander Maj. Gen. David Saar Salama and other senior officers were in the control center monitoring real-time assessments. It quickly became clear that the hits were precise and the mission goals achieved.

"To all our forces, at sea and onshore, I want to express my deep appreciation," Salama said over the communication system as the ships sailed back. "It was executed professionally. A historic day. But it's not over until it's over, until the next mission. Well done."

"For us, the mission went smoothly," said Lt. Col. D., head of Naval Superiority, who had overseen the operation remotely. "We had the honor of being part of history, of eliminating 80 percent of the Syrian army's capabilities."

By Tuesday morning, the vessels reached Haifa Port, where top brass awaited them. "Navy Commander Salama greeted us and commended the clean execution," Maj. T. recalled. "He explained the strategic layer, how this operation degraded enemy capabilities, which is our mission. Then I addressed the crew. I spoke of the honor we'd been given. I said we would debrief and learn how to improve. We refueled, grabbed two crates of fruits and vegetables, and set out again on a defense mission. We were ashore for less than two hours. Someone once talked to me about euphoria, there's no euphoria in war until it's over."

For the Israeli Navy, this war has meant non-stop operations. There's no downtime, no rotations. It's simply from one mission to the next.

"There are fighters who've been aboard the ship since before October 7, and they've been here the entire war," said Maj. T., commander of INS Yaffo. "Some were fresh high school graduates at the start. We don't have a reserve force that rotates in to replace us. It's demanding, intense work. But in the end, our mindset is: 'Whatever needs to be done, we'll do it.' These are intelligent fighters, spending countless hours at sea, in rough conditions and storms, and this past winter had plenty. We need to finish our work thoroughly and professionally. From our perspective, we'll be here for the next ten years, ready to pass the torch."

Staying under the radar

Unlike the many heroic stories that surfaced during the war, the Israeli Navy largely stayed in the shadows, maintaining secrecy. Even in this interview, the information had to be extracted gently. "The further from the spotlight, the better," they said. Lt. G. even shared that her own family barely knew what major operation she had taken part in.

"Honestly, I was a bit disappointed that the operation's story was published," she admitted. "It's important to keep our capabilities quiet, so we can use them again. When I was invited to take part in this piece, I thought I wouldn't be able to help, I worried that talking might reveal details that could undermine future strikes or defensive actions. On the other hand, people rarely hear about the Navy, and it's important to give our sailors the recognition they deserve."

These young officers will eventually learn that such stories are the building blocks of legacy, and that even closely guarded secrets sometimes make their way into the headlines. Because while humility is admirable, reputation and pride also need cultivation.

"They're amazing, and what they did was amazing," said Col. (res.) Udi Erel, who fought in the 1973 Battle of Latakia. "It was a clean, professional strike with short notice. True, in our time we were under direct fire, but the surgical precision won out in both cases. I have no doubt this operation will become part of the Navy's heritage. As the British say, they cleaned the area."

Maj. T., commander of INS Yaffo, agrees. He's certain that one day, this operation will be taught to new recruits. "It's our job to ensure this mission is firmly anchored in the Navy's heritage. Just as they spoke to us about the history of the Navy and how it achieved superiority during the Yom Kippur War, I believe that in 20 years, they'll know what we did."

The post How Israel destroyed Assad's Syrian Navy appeared first on www.israelhayom.com.

Mengistu was born in Ethiopia in 1986. When he was five he immigrated to Israel with his parents and siblings in Operation Solomon. He grew up in a one-bedroom apartment in Ashkelon alongside nine brothers and sisters. After the death of his older brother, Michael, to whom he was close, Avera began to isolate himself and conduct long walks throughout Israel.

On September 7, 2014, he left his home in Ashkelon with a backpack on his back, and walked towards Zikim beach to the security fence between Israel and Gaza Strip. IDF soldiers asked him to stop, but he continued walking, climbed the high fence, and crossed into Gaza Strip territory. He then sat among Gaza fishermen. The soldiers suspected Avera was an infiltrator from Africa who decided to cross to Gaza, and only after his Israeli ID card was found was his identity discovered.

In mid-January 2023 Hamas released a video of Avera in which he said: "I am the prisoner Avera Mengistu. Until when will I be here? After my painful years here where is the State of Israel? Who will save us from our fate?"

His brother Yaalo then referred to the video and said: "On one hand it looks like him, on the other hand, it doesn't look like him at all."

The post After a decade in captivity, Avera Mengistu is released appeared first on www.israelhayom.com.

"I can't say a bad word about the families of the hostages, as whenever they speak, they speak from the heart," says Avner Slapak as he reclines in his chair. "I remember how my father said to me, when I returned from captivity, that he had tried everything in his power to get me back. I was young then, not even a father myself, and I was unable to grasp the essence of the relationship between a father and his son.

"We were 12 men who were taken captive and only one of us spoke about the possibility of a prisoner exchange. All the others, including me, agreed that the bastards who had abducted us did not deserve the prize of having even a single murderer released in return for us. All the time we said, 'the government of Israel will ensure that we are released.'"

In the summer of 1968, Slapak, now 82 years old, was one of those abducted on the El-Al plane that was forced to land in Algiers, the capital of Algeria in North Africa. He was held together with an additional 11 Israelis for 39 days, until the government of Israel decided to release, in return for the return of all twelve, no less than 24 terrorists 'with no blood on their hands' – and thus to bring an end to the first airplane hijacking that occurred due to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

"On the plane, I planned to take an oxygen mask and breath through it, and the moment that the terrorist was dazed himself due to a lack of oxygen, I would be able to overpower him. I reached for the oxygen mask but the hijacker immediately cottoned on. He stuck the pistol in the back of my neck and said: 'If you move your hand once again, I will shoot.'"

"Until I got back home I did not agree that that any exorbitant price should be paid for my release," stresses Slapak. "It reminds me of something that Geula Cohen OBM said once when she was asked what she would do if her son was kidnapped. She replied: 'I will move heaven and earth to release him, but on the other hand I fully expect not to be listened to.'

"Today, I am clearly thinking about this even more. Should we betray the State of Israel? They might not understand me, they may think that I do not share the pain or that I don't care, as they say about 'Bibi', Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. Believe me that I care much more than all those lefties together. You're a leftie too, right?"

I'm in the center.

"There is no center. That is an invention of the left-wingers. There is left and right, and don't say that it hurts me less than you."

We will get back to Slapak, who calls himself a "Bibist" or Netanyahu loyalist, and his political opinions, but first we should recount the background to the incident in which that airplane was hijacked, back in July 1968, and which since has largely been forgotten, paling into insignificance in the wake of the raid on Entebbe eight years later, possibly because in 1976 the hostages were rescued in a heroic military operation that inspired books and movies, while the hijacking of the plane to Algeria ended in Israel's surrender to the conditions laid down by the hijackers.

"It was a disgrace," laughs Slapak, "for abducted IDF soldier Gilad Shalit Israel released 1,027 terrorists, while they released a mere two for me (based on a calculation of 24 terrorists for 12 hostages – E.L.). Is that all that I am really worth?"

"I thought it was a drunken passenger"

Slapak was born in December 1941 in Beilinson Hospital, Petach Tiqwa; he grew up in Ramat Gan and completed his studies at the Agricultural School in Pardes Hanna. When he was recruited into the army he went straight to the pilot training course. "My parents were typically anxiety-ridden, neurotic Poles," he recalls. "I was scared to tell them that I was going to the pilot training course. I was on the course for six months and they had absolutely no idea, until the IAF invited the parents of the cadets to a flight in the sky above Israel – and at that point it was already too late and I was left with no choice. But then, they were actually really proud."

Slapak was the pilot of a Mirage fighter jet, he participated in the Six-Day War and took part in heroic moments during dog fights, but after the war, came an end to the action he had been looking for in the skies. "The victory in the Six-Day War was remarkable," he recalls, "but then after it we used to sit around in the squadron bored out of our minds. There wasn't a single plane in the entire Middle East that dared to take off. We thought that we had attained world peace and that our time in the military had now come to an end."

For many pilots, working for Israel's national airline, El Al, became almost an essential stage in their later career. Slapak had to undergo the transition from flying Mirage fighter jets to Boeing 707 passenger aircraft. On July 22, 1968, as a trainee pilot, he joined the crew flying flight El Al 426 from London via Rome to Israel. The captain was Oded Abarbanell, and the first office was Major (res.) Maoz Poraz, Slapak's colleague from the IAF squadron.

This was due to be Slapak's last flight as a trainee pilot, and Abarbanell, the chief pilot who was training him, said that as far he was concerned Slapak could already be considered as a regular pilot. Essentially, it is the trainee who actually flies the plane, alongside the captain, with the first officer supervising from the seat behind them.

The flight to Rome went by without any problems, and the plane then took off on its homeward leg for Israel during a nighttime flight. "There was total silence," Slapak recalls. "The radio channel was quiet for the most part, apart from the American pilot of an Ethiopian Airlines flight that was flying not too far away from us, and he just didn't stop talking. The cockpit was dark, so that we could see what was going on outside.

"Suddenly, I heard noises from behind. The door separating the cockpit from the passenger cabin was open, it was a regular door rather than the hardened flight deck doors in service today. At the time, talk had just begun about the danger of hijackings, and the funny thing is that the Shin Bet (Israel's Security Agency) had actually issued a directive to shut the door – but only when the plane was east of Athens. You see? We were flying with the door open as we were still to the west of the Greek capital. Okay, so you learn from experience."

"At the site where we were held there was hardly any food, and they didn't let us move without a guard standing close by. At some point the negotiations progressed, so they moved us to a luxurious villa in the city, including a cook and a bar with the most expensive drinks. They wanted us to say that we had been treated well. It didn't take them long to return us to the terrible conditions we had endured beforehand"

Slapak looked back to try and understand what the cause of the noise was, and then he became aware of the stewardess, Yehudit Avnet, struggling with one of the passengers. "I was sure that this was just a drunk who wanted to enter the cockpit," he recalls, "I told her: 'Get him out of here,' and then all of a sudden he produced a pistol.

"Maoz Poraz, who was sitting next to me, slapped his hand in an attempt to knock the pistol out of his hand, but he failed to do so. In response, the terrorist pistol-whipped him hard on the head and Maoz lay on the floor bleeding profusely. I was 26 years-old, I believed that I was a hero, and I thought to myself, is this what they do to someone who has just conquered half of the Middle East? I said to Abarbanell 'take the sticks' and I released the seatbelt with the intention of trying to take out the terrorist.

"Suddenly, I saw the barrel of a pistol in front of my eyes. The terrorist squeezed the trigger, releasing a shot – and I stopped. I felt hot spots on my forehead. I concluded that this must have been a blank, but later on it transpired that I was wrong. The bullet simply hit the light above my head and the shards flew everywhere. But at that moment I was convinced that he had fired a blank, and I felt that I had nothing to fear.

"I tried to get closer, but the terrorist aimed the pistol at me and once again squeezed the trigger. This time the gun jammed. He tried to clear the jam, and suddenly I noticed that he was holding a hand grenade. Now go and take him on. I sat back down in my seat."

"It was the Holocaust survivor who calmed us down"

Slapak recounts that apart from the terrorist in the cockpit, there were two more of them among the passengers, members of George Habash's Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP), an organization, which at the time was stepping up its spectacular terrorist activity with the aim of "shoving the Palestinian problem down the world's throat." The leading terrorist knew what he was doing. He was familiar with the flight path and knew by which control towers the plan was due to pass. He didn't tell the Israeli pilots that their final destination was in fact Algeria.

"At some point the control tower called us: 'El Al, what is going on with you?'", Slapak continues. "The terrorist replied 'This is not El Al, this is an 'Al-Asfa' plane, we have been given instructions to fly to Algiers – and the air traffic controller didn't understand. Then, the American pilot of the Ethiopian Airlines flight, who was flying close by, told the air traffic controller on the radio 'Don't you understand that this is a hijacking?'

Yonah Lichtman was the flight engineer on board the flight. I told him: 'Take up the plane to high altitude,' so that the air pressure inside the cabin would go down, and this should cause everybody to lose consciousness. "My plan was to take an oxygen mask and breath through it, and the moment that the terrorist was dazed – I would overpower him. At that time, this was how we used to wage war, by improvising. So, I reached for the oxygen mask but the hijacker immediately cottoned on. He stuck the pistol in the back of my neck and said: 'If you move your hand once again, I will shoot.'"

Q: Weren't you afraid?

"What is really amazing is that I wasn't afraid even for a single moment. Just as during battle, there is a rush of excitement and adrenalin before you engage the enemy, and then suddenly everything is calm and quiet. You do what you have learned. The terrorist, on the other hand, was extremely excited. I was afraid that he might shoot at us out of pure pressure. Abarbanell tried to calm him down while flying the plane, he talked with him as a mother talks to her son.

"After a few hours, we landed in Algeria. All the time, I remembered that in my wallet I kept an IAF crew member's card. I needed the card on a routine basis to enter the base, and also, at that time, if a cop would stop you for speeding the IAF card would be sufficient to prevent you getting a fine.

In Algeria, I didn't want anybody to know that I was an IAF pilot. So, as soon as we landed and turned off the engines, I took advantage of the moment that the plane was without power, before they had time to reconnect it from an external power source. In the second of darkness that I had, I took out the card and threw it into a slot in the instrument panel. I then calmed down."

Once the plane landed in Algeria, the Palestinian terrorists took a back seat and passed over command of the incident to the Algerian security police. The women and children on board, along with the foreign nationals, were released, and the hijackers kept the remaining 12 Israeli males – seven crew members and five passengers – hostage as a bargaining chip. They were kept at the security police base near to the airport.

"If I knew that our current captives in Gaza were in the hands of kidnappers like the Algerians, then today I would be at ease," says Slapak. "They were nothing like the Hamas Nazis. It didn't take me long to realize that they were in way over their heads. They had not planned for us; they didn't want us and above all they were angry at the Palestinians.

"On the day we landed back in Israel, the IAF commander, Motti Hod, hugged me and said: 'Had they decided to hold you for another few days, we already had a plan to extract you.' Afterwards, I came to realize that they took the outline of the rescue operation that was intended for us to form the basis of the raid on Entebbe in 1976."

On the first day, their sergeant major, who was in charge of the guards, told us 'Don't worry, everything will be fine.' He said that if Algeria's ruler at the time, Houari Boumédiène, would have wanted to kill us, we would never have even set foot on Algerian soil. They would have shot us on the aircraft boarding stairs."

Q: Did you believe him?

"There was concern and there were disagreements among us. There was one, whose name I shan't mention, who scared us. He said that at best they would execute us by shooting, but he thought that they would not waste bullets on us, so they would do it by hanging. One of the passengers felt ill once he heard that, but most of us were not afraid. We had the confidence that everything would be okay."

A protest hunger strike

In Israel, in the meantime, a drama was unfolding during those fateful days. The newspaper headlines dealt with the hijacking, and the Minister of Transport, Moshe Carmel, said from the Knesset podium: "The Algerian government's conduct is essentially sponsoring skyjacking and lending a helping hand to dangerous gangsters on international air routes, and this is something that both we and the civilized and cultured world cannot tolerate.

"The Government of Israel stipulates that the people of Israel will in no way accept the fact that the Government of Algeria shall continue to hold the hijacked plane and its people, and neither will it be disconcerted by the intentional playing for time nor surrender to acts of blackmail. It is Algeria's absolute and unconditional duty to release the aircraft.

"Anybody who lends a hand to these barbaric acts that turn international air travel into a real jungle, should know that we shall use all the means at our disposal to protect the means of transportation to and from Israel, and shall do everything in our power to deter those gangsters who seek to sow anarchy around the world."

"We did not have good conditions at the base where we were held," Slapak recalls. "There was hardly any food and the guards wouldn't let us move without their close attention. I remember that I was sitting on the toilet and the entire time there was a guard there with a pistol aimed at me. I am sitting there, he is sitting opposite me, until I told him 'I no longer have the will to do this.'"

Sarah, Avner's wife, sits next to us in the lounge during the interview. The couple were already married when Avner was taken hostage, and Sarah was in an advanced stage of pregnancy in Israel. "It is nothing like the situation today, as at that time there was no media or communications and we knew nothing about the fate of the hostages," she recalls.

"Once every two weeks, the wives of the hostages would meet up, and somebody would inform the captain's wife if there were news. They tried to constantly calm us down 'it will be alright, there are ongoing diplomatic negotiations.' But pressure? At home we didn't even have a phone, never mind a television. Today there is too much media – 'a deal is on, there is no deal.' We remained silent."

Slapak recounts that the Algerians took each of the hostages for questioning, but it was neither threatening nor aggressive.  "I am not an orderly or organized person," he laughs. "I had an El Al bag, and Sarah can testify to the fact that I used to throw everything in that bag. So, the interrogator took our papers from the bag, he examined a letter from El Al that he proceeded to question me about.

"Afterwards he took out a letter from the IAF squadron about a special exercise that they wanted me to take part in. He looked at it, folded it and threw it in the trash can. When the IAF commander, Motti Hod, met me immediately following our release, he told me that the Egyptians had asked the Algerians to interrogate us if we were IAF pilots, so the Algerians said 'Give us material that we will be able to use to corroborate this with them' – and the Egyptians said that they didn't have any. This goes to show that the Algerians had no intention of working on us."

The negotiations for the release of the hostages went on and on. The hijackers, with mediation by the Algerians, insisted on the release of terrorists in return for the hostages, the Israeli government refused – and the world tried to mediate via diplomatic channels. "There were apparently advanced negotiations to find a solution, so one day they transferred us to a luxury villa in the center of town," recalls Slapak. "You can't imagine what conditions we were now given. Suddenly there was a chef, a bar with all the most expensive drinks that I would never even fantasize about ordering at a pub.

"They did all this so that afterwards, we would say that we were treated well. It was like that for about three or four days, until the talks hit a brick wall – and then they returned us to the base near the airport, and here we were soon back to the terrible conditions we had endured beforehand. I remember being constantly hungry, after we decided to go on a hunger strike in protest, for as far as we were concerned this was a decline in conditions. The Algerians were apparently taken aback, so they ordered food for us from Air Algeria. Hamgashiot (disposable airline meal trays) as people today like to call them."

Q: What were the relations like among you, the 12 male captives?

"They were fine. The person who made the greatest impression was Yonah Lichtman, the flight engineer, who was a Holocaust survivor. From time to time, when one of us would be overcome by a sense of acute anxiety, Yonah would calm us down and say 'Guys, what the Nazis did to me the Arabs cannot do. Don't worry, I am here.'"

 "Go and shave, you are about to be released"

The captivity ended after 39 days, without any prior warning for the hostages. "While in captivity, we began to grow beards, Slapak recalls and laughs. "I was sporting a black mustache and a ginger beard, so I shaved it all off. In the end, everybody became fed up with it so they shaved, apart from Elkana Shamen, who kept his beard. An Algerian officer came and asked, 'Why haven't you shaved?', and Shamen replied: 'I will only shave once we have been released.'

"On one Shabbat, without any prior warning, the officer came and told Elkana 'Go and shave.' Shamen answered him 'I have explained to you that I will only shave on the day that we are released.' So the officer repeated: 'Go and shave.' We understood that we were about to go home and there was a tremendous feeling of joy and happiness."

The released hostages flew to Rome and then from there on to Israel. Sarah, a young woman who came to meet her returning husband while in an advanced stage of pregnancy, remembers how she was forced to contend with hordes of journalists who came to the airport in Lod. Was the State of Israel about to release the hostages in a military operation? In his book, Hoy Artzi Moladeti (Oh, My Country, My Homeland), published in 2015, Colonel (res.) Eliezer (Cheetah) Cohen went on to write about the operation to release the hostages that had already been planned, prepared and drilled, and according to Cohen, it was called off at the last minute after the then Minister of Defense, Moshe Dayan, got cold feet.

"Post-trauma? At that time, there was no such thing. But every time I would see a prison movie or barbed wire – I found that to be an extremely difficult experience. It is for this reason that I say that it will take years, if ever, for the hostages who will hopefully return from Gaza, until they are able to laugh at such things. I can only imagine that they are suffering terribly."

According to Cohen, who at the time commanded a force of six Bell-205 helicopters, the operation was due to take place in a number of stages: silent infiltration into enemy territory, a raid on the location where the hostages were being held, taking out their guards and then flying the hostages to an Israeli ship waiting in open sea. There, Cohen wrote in his book, they were supposed to arm the helicopters, which were then to fly back to the international airport in Algiers and destroy the national airline, Air Algeria.

The helicopters were then to return to the Israeli ship, from where it was due to continue its voyage to the Netherlands. The combat operators taking part in this operation were then due to return to Israel as regular tourists on an El Al flight. "Had Dayan given us the green light to stage the operation, just like the drill on the model, which was conducted in the presence of the Chief of the General Staff, it would have been an overwhelming success," wrote Cohen. And by the way, the French press also reported that when the plane was on the ground in Algeria, a group of Israeli James Bonds is making plans to rescue the hostages.

Slapak has his own version of the events: "On the day we landed back in Israel, the first person to come and meet me was the then IAF commander, Motti Hod. He hugged me and said: 'Had they decided to hold you for another few days, we already had a plan to extract you.' Afterwards, I found out that they took the outline of the rescue operation that was intended for us to form the basis of the raid on Entebbe, so that it didn't take long to prepare for the Entebbe operation in 1976.

"In our case, they didn't cancel the operational plan, they simply succeeded in bringing us back home before it was time to put the plan into action. I remember that Elkana Shamen woke me up one night due to noises he heard, as we were constantly convinced that IDF's elite Sayeret Matkal commando unit would arrive at any moment, as we were sure that the army would not sit idly by. As I said, we were totally against any prisoner exchange deals."

Following the hijacking, and additional terrorist attacks that were later aimed at El Al aircraft, Israel began to implement a meticulous security check program as well as security measures on its commercial flights. The hijacking predated the establishment of the civil aviation security unit, which was run by Shin Bet, and contributed to the formulation of an established set of rules for conducting negotiations with terrorists along with preparations for hostage rescue and takeover operations to be carried out by special forces.

In addition, the IDF embarked on a reprisal operation, Operation Gift (Mivtza T'shura in Hebrew), in which passenger aircraft belonging to Arab airlines were destroyed at Beirut International Airport, after information revealed that the terrorists who had hijacked the El Al plane and abducted Slapak and his colleagues had set off from Lebanon.

Nothing but admiration for today's combat soldiers

All those who were with Slapak in the cockpit on the day of the hijacking are no longer with us, or as Slapak puts it: "They are flying in another world." Abarbanell OBM, who was the flight captain, passed away two years ago at the age of 96, while Maoz Poraz OBM, was killed in the Yom Kippur War when his plane crashed over Sinai on October 17, 1973.

His son, Captain Nir Poraz OBM, was a Sayeret Matkal officer who was killed in October 1994 during the botched attempt to rescue Sergeant Nachshon Wachsman OBM, a young soldier who had been kidnapped by Hamas. Slapak returned to flying for El Al, and in fact he worked as a pilot there until his retirement.

Q: Over the years did you experience flashbacks from the hijacking?

"Today, people tend to speak about post-trauma, but at that time, there was no such thing, just as smoking cigarettes and exposure to the sun were not considered to be dangerous then. But every time I saw a prison movie – it would startle me and make me jumpy. Or, for example, I went with my wife to the movies only a few days after my release and there were barbed wire fences in the movie, I found it difficult to look at them. It is for this reason that I say that it will take years, if ever, for the hostages who will hopefully return from Gaza, until they are able to laugh at such things. I can only imagine that they are suffering terribly."

Slapak sits at his home in Moshav Ben Shemen, not far from Ben Gurion Airport, and he has no doubts as to what should be done now with the current hostage situation. As far as he is concerned, he relies on the prime minister to guide us back to safety and stability.

"I am no great expert in Judaism, although I have a son who is a ba'al teshuva or newly-religious, but now since everybody has started talking about pidyon shevuyim, the mitzvah to redeem captives or hostages, I began to read up on the topic," he explains. "It is true that pidyon shevuyim is a great mitzvah, and our sages said that an individual must do everything in his power to redeem his wife, but as far as the state is concerned – it must do what is necessary to redeem captives, but not pay an overly exorbitant price. The sages explain this by saying that it is forbidden to encourage bandits from kidnapping more people, and this is something that you simply do not hear today. What does it mean 'everything'? Does it include giving up the state?

"I have heard one of the bereaved fathers say: 'Those who are prepared to give up everything, are they prepared to exchange their children with the hostages?'. We should be prepared to give up a lot, but if we agree to end the war and Yahya Sinwar returns to ruling over the Gaza Strip, then the State of Israel will be lost. There will not be a single Jew, either in Israel or around the world, who will be safe from abduction.

"They will be arming these callous murderers with the ultimate doomsday weapon, more than an atomic bomb. I have nothing against the families of the hostages who are constantly out there screaming and shouting. That is okay, I am really sorry for them. I feel deeply for them, but Bibi's brother was also killed during the attempt to rescue hostages, so he doesn't want them to return home?"

Q: Many people claim that the prime minister is simply trying to survive politically.

"Oh, do me a favor. His real political survival lies in bringing back the hostages. If he were to bring them all back, he would secure reelection for another 20 years as prime minister. He is much cleverer than anybody else in politics right now."

Q: Are you a member of the Likud Central Committee?

"I actually used to be a member of the Labor Party. I was a card-carrying, paying member. I used to go along with Yitzhak Rabin, and whenever my friends ask, 'How can you go along with Netanyahu?' I answer: 'The Labor Party, when I was a member, was more to the right than today's Likud party.'

"Who was it that expelled hundreds of Hamas terrorists to Lebanon, Bibi? They say, 'We are Rabin's legacy,' and I say 'You have no idea what Rabin's legacy is. You are inventing a completely new legacy.' I get on just fine with my left-wing friends. Why should I lose those who fought beside me because of political opinions? Never. If they decide to lose me, that's something else entirely."

Q: It is remarkable that you are still in favor of the prime minister after October 7.

"I do have a score to settle with him, but we will settle everything after we bring back victory and then there will be elections. I believe that new leaders will come forward after the war, just as they did after the Yom Kippur War. The heroic fighters in Gaza are the ones who will lead the people, I have nothing but admiration for them. Until this current war, my grandchildren used to say, 'Our grandfather is a hero,' but we are nothing compared to them. What fighters."

Avner, who after the hijacking served in the Yom Kippur War and the First Lebanon War in 1982, has two grandsons serving in the current combat. Iddo, Avner's son, returned to reserve duty as a 54-year-old volunteer, and he repairs D9 armored bulldozers that go into action in the Gaza Strip.

"Our country has a great future ahead of it," Slapak is convinced. "I hear how my grandchildren speak, what a fighting spirit they have. In one of the wars, I was lying on the bed in the standby room, ready for the squadron to be scrambled, and I was reading the newspaper. I remember how I started laughing all of a sudden, and then someone asked, 'What's the matter?' I said to him 'It's written in the newspaper that if you don't have a son on the front line – then you have no idea what war is all about.' It was only after my children joined up that I stopped laughing."

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On Monday morning, a moment after they completed the rescue of Fernando Marman and Louis Har from Hamas captivity in the heart of Rafah, Superintendent Y, the commander of the primary assault force for Operation Yad Zahav, sat in the vehicle on its way to Israel and said to the soldiers, who were regulating their breathing: "Listen, guys, we're crazy psychopaths."

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There's probably no better way to describe the heroic rescue operation that took place in the heart of enemy territory infested with terrorists. If a Hollywood scriptwriter had placed a script like that on a producer's table, he would have been immediately asked to remove a few scenes to make the story more realistic.

"Everything is possible," explains Superintendent Y, who met us this week at the Yamam (National Counter-Terrorism Unit) base in central Israel. "Regarding our unit and our friends from the Shin Bet and from the other units that took part in the operation, even if the conditions right now don't seem right for the rescue of more hostages, it doesn't mean that we won't do everything to keep trying, whether its intelligence or operations, and we'll take every risk on ourselves to carry out the next operation. We won't rest on our laurels for a moment, and we hope that we are only getting started."

Superintendent Y met us together with three Yamam officers, who on Monday morning were at the heart of the operation. Four men you may have met this week in the supermarket or asked about the time on the street, but only a few know about the dramatic event they participated in and how good it is that they are protecting us.

Superintendent Y (35), married with one child, who serves as deputy squadron commander in Yamam, already knew about the operation a few weeks ago. Because of the secrecy, only he and the squadron commander received the initial information about the possibility of rescuing hostages from the depths of Rafah. "There was great secrecy about the identity of the hostages we were going to rescue," he says. "During the following weeks, we revealed the information to the unit captains, and only a week before the operation, at the end of the preparations, did the operational soldiers learn who the target was."

Every soldier who took part knew everything about Fernando Marman (60) and Louis Har (70), who were captured on October 7^th from their home in Kibbutz Nir Yitzhak. Their facial features, qualities, and personalities. They also knew that the operation would be tough because it would take place in a Hamas stronghold that the IDF still hadn't targeted, full of terrorists for whom Rafah is their last bastion.

The unit trained non-stop during those weeks, with an emphasis on the fact that the difference between success and failure was measured in millimeters. "There's an extremely extensive process of intelligence gathering for the event," says Superintendent Y. "We go down to fine details and there's a long process of learning the territory, of understanding what the challenges are in planning."

Commander A (35), married with two children, is the only reservist among the four soldiers we met. A veteran, experienced soldier who quickly understood that everything he had done in his military service thus far didn't compare to what he was going to experience. "Feelings of something new, but also an event that we had been training for since the day we were recruited," he says. "There's an instructor who always says, 'If you're privileged to be part of this event, then you're privileged to be the first to enter the room where the hostages are held; say thank you and do your best," and that was the feeling from the first day of preparations, that we were privileged to be part of something big."

With all the excitement, the soldiers also understood the possibility that some of them wouldn't return from the mission. The more intelligence that came in, the more they understood the complexity of the operation. "We don't talk about risks, we do the best we can, and we're always developing and sharpening the plans and how we act to increase the chances among the decision-makers," Superintendent Y explains. "In preparations and battle procedure, we increased the success rates to quite high percentages, with an extremely significant risk to the force, and without hesitation, this was 100% acceptable to us as soldiers. In the end, I think we convinced the decision-makers to believe in the operation and our plans."

Q: What was the worst scenario?

"Even if we were surprised and ultimately injured, and if several soldiers were killed, that was a reasonable scenario - even if we didn't have a response."

Q: We know every window at the target

 During the preparations, Superintendent Y returned home several times and tried to broadcast business as usual, but his wife already knew who she was dealing with. "She understood that we were in battle procedure; in any case, I've been in the unit for more than 10 years, but she also noticed that this time was more intensive and different because usually, battle procedures in Yamam are short because the implementation is quick. She began to realize when she caught me one night, while we were in bed, checking the weather in Rafah. She asked: 'When is it?' I answered: 'Soon.' The next time I only updated her after the operation." Superintendent A understood exactly what his friend was talking about: "I told my wife that I would be in the forward command room, and only afterward did I tell her that I had been inside [Gaza]."

The operation was supposed to take place several times, but it was postponed because, in the opinion of the decision-makers, the conditions in the field weren't yet ripe. At the start of the week, when the stars aligned and every force knew its mission – not only Yamam but also those supporting it – the Shin Bet, Shayetet 13, and the IAF – the go-ahead was given. This kind of operation involves hundreds of people. "The operation was planned to the level that each one of us knew exactly which window he was supposed to guard or which building threatened him during the operation," says Superintendent Y. "In breaking into the home, the soldiers knew how and when and which means they would use."

They are young men with families. I asked them if all this risk was worth the rescue of two people. Commander D doesn't think for long and answers: "We don't look at in terms of a person being worth the life of another, and if two soldiers die the operation is a failure. It's not a zero-sum game. There is something here that's far bigger in its substance. I won't say that we in the unit are worth less, but we've taken on ourselves the understanding that we're ready to be harmed for something bigger than a single person, that's who we are."

Commander D (34), married with one child, said that the day before the operation he was mostly concerned for his family. "I took out life insurance. Seriously. I sorted it out the day before the operation," he says. "Since October 7 everything has become much more real, and one needs to be practical. We've lost friends, and I think about the worst thing that could happen and [because of that] I'm responsible for my family." Commander A said he thought the same thing. "I checked the insurance and I saw that I had left a decent sum, my wife would be sorted," he jokes.

High Risk, Low Pulse

The day of the operation arrived. Alongside the excitement and the tension, there were also fears. "The hours before you're mainly playing with your mind, speaking with specific people who you know are thinking the same things," says Commander E (31), who is married with three children. "I tried to say to myself, and I also said it to my friends on the force: 'We're going to do what we do every evening, only the field is different.' That's the idea. We will do what we do, only on a bigger field, and that makes you turn up for the operation with a low pulse because that's what we know."

The issue of the pulse, it becomes clear, also impacted Commander A: "On a personal level there was fear. During the preparations and the battle procedure, I had big butterflies in my stomach and thoughts about what might happen and how to respond during the operation. I can say that all day I walked around and said to myself "If this happens, I'll do this, and if I'm hit from there, I know how to respond.' For weeks that was the routine, walking and describing what I would do in each situation. During the operation itself, my pulse was 60. I can't explain it."

Before departure, the platoon commander, Chief Superintendent A, came to speak with the soldiers. Yamam has lost nine soldiers since 7 October and even the unit commander himself, Deputy Superintendent H, lost his son, who was with the Shin Bet and killed at the party in Re'im. Even while he was sitting shiva, he continued managing the Yamam operations.

"The commander spoke with us about the importance of the mission, that the hostages are like our parents, and we'd naturally do everything to save our parents," says Superintendent Y, commander of the rescue force. "He spoke with us about the fallen, about how we're doing the operation for them, and we are continuing their heritage and concluded with the same words as before every departure – 'We leave together and we return together,' and this time it happened."

Yamam began the operation with the knowledge of past failings in hostage rescues. Thirty years ago, in October 1994, Sayeret Matkal failed to rescue Sergeant Nachson Waksman, who was taken hostage by Hamas in northern Jerusalem, and during the operation, Sergeant Nir Poraz was also killed. During the current war, three hostages – Yotam Haim, Alon Shamriz, and Samar Talalka – were killed by IDF fire, even though they had succeeded in escaping from their captors.

"Processes of learning lessons and studying past mistakes are in our DNA," says Superintendent Y. "In every operation, there are clauses in the orders that are lessons from earlier operations, and they always remain with us."

Commander A says that these events personally impacted him. "Its main impact is modesty," he says. "The understanding that even if you plan down to the last detail and prepare the force, you need a lot of modesty, and this is something that is taught at the unit from the day you start here, and even more so before a big operation. The tragedy that happened only sharpened and strengthened the size of the responsibility and the modesty."

Returning fire

 Before departing for the operation, perhaps as a superstition, Superintendent Y decided not to remove any personal items. "I was afraid to leave behind a bracelet, watch, or chain, that afterward my wife wouldn't be able to get them." He doesn't say the words explicitly, but he's referring to a bad ending. "Even though it wasn't comfortable I left everything on me."

It was a slow and secretive entrance into the alleyways of Rafah, about which they are forbidden to talk. "The movement was extremely secretive and professional, with the support of everything you can imagine," says Superintendent Y.

Commander E, meanwhile, doesn't remember the entry into Rafah but instead, the moments that passed until they reached the border fence. "Those we lost from our unit accompanied us because as we were traveling, we passed the points where they were killed," he says. "Sha'ar HaNegev Junction, Sderot, it was almost surreal. You travel and say, 'This is for them.'"

Each of them absorbed the tension in their way. Commander E and Commander D mostly spoke about life, while Superintendent Y and Commander A, even in the stressful situation of traveling into the unknown, hadn't left the humor back on base. "We mostly told dark jokes," laughs Superintendent Y. 'We imagined this interview via breathing tubes, in the rehabilitation unit." Commander A: "We argued over who would be hospitalized and who would be under the ground." Even now, Commander E isn't amused: "Only them, we didn't talk like that."

They parked in an agreed place, and from there went on foot toward the house in Rafah where the hostages were held. "The process was extremely slow," says Superintendent Y. "We needed to reach a two-story house that was built as a private home, a kind of cottage, but the movement was on foot by several forces and from several directions. We avoided being encountered on the way, we used many techniques to advance and to avoid detection until we arrived at the agreed points from where we began the noisy assault."

Once at the target, the Yamam soldier operates on automatic, like a machine with precise operating instructions. He carries out actions that were practiced in the previous weeks so there wouldn't be any mistakes. "We know where we need to reach," says Commander A. "We place a munitions charge on the door and burst inside. I enter the room first and identify opposite me two terrorists, I deal with them both. I see Fernando and Louis on the floor, crawling toward the captors, who told them to come. Y captured Fernando and succeeded in taking him to the balcony, while Louis continued to crawl toward the captors. I caught him, dragged him toward me, and said 'We've come to take you home.'"

Q: You weren't afraid, when you killed the terrorists, that maybe you were mistakenly shooting at the hostages?

"The faces of Louis and Fernando have already been in my head for a long time. They were engraved in my mind, and I knew that if I wasn't sure then I wouldn't shoot."

Q: Even at the price of the terrorists shooting at you?

"I think we've all already made our peace with that."

Q: No longer an imaginary operation

Superintendent Y and Commander A took Fernando and Louis to the balcony and lay on top of them to protect them, since the munitions charge and the bursts of gunfire had woken up the street, and armed terrorists were leaving their homes. "Inside the home and the home next door there was massive fire via the walls and the windows, and there was also fire from the periphery (the peripheral arena), from where armed terrorists came," says Superintendent Y. "Inside the home there was a terrorist or two who threw grenades at us, so D, who was guarding from the outside, came with his team and killed them."

Outside Commander E was standing with his soldiers. "It was very dark, and I don't know if the terrorists saw us, but we felt the bullets flying around us from every direction," says E. "We succeeded in creating pressure that I think only exists for us in the unit. From a state of secret arrival, something very gentle in our movement, to go immediately to the violent stage, which is our domain. The moment there was the first explosion we shifted gears to effective aggression, and I think that's what created the defense. We were firing non-stop."

Superintendent Y: "Every terrorist who peeked took a bullet. Anti-tank missile snipers. The protection forces were very strong and precise." At the same time, the IAF began to support the rescue of the force that had been encountered. "We saw flashes from all kinds of distant places, and at a certain point we began to get supporting fires from the IAF – I don't think they have ever fired from so close to our forces before," says Commander E. "Just a few meters."

The force understood that they needed to complete the mission and rescue the two hostages since the area was becoming noisier by the moment. They decided to remove Fernando and Louis together with them, by abseiling from the second floor of the building. "That was planned," Superintendent Y says. "The preference was to remove both with a slide and not to spend too much time dealing with the terrorists inside the home. The moment they were in our hands, we wanted to remove them from the fighting in any way possible. Listen, in training, we were removing them on stretchers, but both were fantastic."

The Yamam put the two hostages in vehicles, on their way to meet Shayetet 13, who were supposed to lead Fernando and Louis to a helicopter that would return them to Israel. "We told them that we were taking them home. They were in shock because there was a lot of shooting going on, the sound of explosions, but they behaved excellently," says Commander A. "They seemed cool, sharp. They were incredibly disciplined; we didn't think it would be like that.

We spoke with Fernando, and he said that in captivity they showered once a week, and that some of the time they were left to their own devices. "I told him: 'Soon you'll be home, and you can invite me for coffee.'"

Yamam returned to Israeli territory crowned with glory. Some compared it to Operation Entebbe, and the fact that there were no injuries will long be taught in the military schools. "Yamam has been involved in many operations over the years," Superintendent Y clarifies. "There was the Mothers' Bus Attack in 1988, which was a complicated hostage rescue, and on 7 October the unit fought on many fronts with the rescue of hostages in Ofakim, Sderot, and Kibbutz Be'eri. The whole time, the loss of our soldiers has remained with us."

Superintendent Y says there weren't special celebrations at the base. They cleaned the weapons, organized the special equipment, and are now waiting again for the next operation. "We are waiting. This operation also began in the imagination."

Q: Not only a rescue, on the way it's also possible to kill Yahya Sinwar.

"That's easy."

Meanwhile, the wait for the next action allows them some rest at home. They've managed to see their wives and children and to tell them as much as they can about that dramatic night. "My wife said I'm a crazy psychopath. Only joking – she said that it was exciting, and we're champions and things that women usually say," Superintendent Y, the head of the force says, laughing.

Commander A, the reservist in the team, has also already managed to taste a bit of regular life, light years away from the bullets that whistled above his head last week when he killed terrorists and rescued hostages. "My wife said: 'It's really exciting, but you need to go to the supermarket'."

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At the beginning of the summer, Colonel Omer Cohen was appointed head of the Commando Brigade, which incorporates the IDF's elite units – Maglan, Egoz, and Duvdevan. A month later he embarked on Operation Bayit Vagan through the narrow alleys of Jenin, did not have time to even take off his helmet – and already entered full force into the Swords of Iron war.

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Since the outbreak of fighting on October 7, Colonel Cohen has been home for 12 hours of rest, of which he slept for six, and then hurried back to his soldiers. He missed the birthdays of his wife and three children but promised that would bring them victory as a compensation gift.

"I released an armored unit that fought with us," he says, "and in my closing speech, I said to the soldiers, 'What will victory on the day after look like – will rockets be fired from Gaza? Maybe. Will there still be terrorists there? Maybe. Will another generation of murderers grow up there? Almost certainly. But will we have collapsed Hamas' operational system? In the locations where we fought – without a doubt, yes.' You break down their ability to work as a system. Something else I said to them was that 'from my part, the most important thing is the unity of the Jewish People. Look after this human mosaic when you leave Gaza.'"

Last week we met in Khan Younis, just before he left with his officers to visit the Maglan unit's soldiers, who were holding down a zone of ​​the crowded camp, and from there he said that we would go to the Egoz unit, who were deployed on a nearby compound. When he saw that we were wearing coats under our armored vests, he recommended that we take them off, "Believe me," he promised. "It is going to be hot there."

The method and the response

The officers were moving on foot into the deserted alleys of the gloomy refugee camp. It is hard to describe the level of destruction that one can see there. There is not a house that is not covered in holes from bullets and shells. Some houses were crushed and turned into dust. Abandoned dogs and cats wander the street and a drone that repeatedly announces that whoever remains there should go west, towards the sea, to protect their lives.

We entered the main street, and one of the soldiers hurried to throw a smoke grenade so that Hamas snipers would not hit us while moving. Within a short time, we reached Major G, the commander of the Maglan company, who only several hours earlier had, together with his soldiers, eliminated three terrorists, whose bodies were still lying a few meters from us.

In the video taken from the GoPro camera on the body of one of the terrorists, they were seen hiding in a small alley, from where they sent an innocent-looking person to the main street to see if there were any soldiers around. When he signaled that the coast was clear, they came out with an RPG, that was rolled inside a carpet to hide it.

Colonel Cohen explains the method: "They act like civilians, and when they recognize you, they enter one of the houses, arm themselves, shoot, throw away the weapon, and continue as if nothing happened. If I have intelligence information about their points of preparation and smart observations identify them ahead of time, we know to wait for them and strike."

Major G. says that his soldiers have killed about ten terrorists since the morning hours, and the brigade commander is proud to report that the young commander returned to them after being wounded by grenade fragments, some of which are still inside his body. "I have to command over 70 soldiers. They get injured and come back," explains the commander modestly. "Our unit has lost members, and they and the bereaved families are pushing us. They want us to continue for them."

Good competition

We had just left when we received a report about a dog from the unit that was killed and an encounter with a terrorist in a house next to a mosque, which we passed only a few moments ago. The brigade commander asks the officers to urgently return to headquarters to coordinate an attack with the assistance of the Israeli Air Force. "A somewhat complex event," he explains.

About fifteen minutes later, Colonel Cohen leaves the war room with a solution to the problem and announces that we are headed to a meeting with the Egoz unit, whose commander, Lieutenant Colonel M., who was seriously wounded on October 7, is returning to them this week. "There is good competition between the units of the brigade," he says while walking quickly, "and that is why part of the commander's responsibility is to preserve the unique nature of each. Every commander here is a lion, and you have to let him be successful. When you give regional boundaries, they do amazing things."

What is the difference between the units?

"They are all excellent raiding units that specialize in night fighting and fighting in built-up areas. They have a high firing capability in all types of antitank weapons, and each one has a specific purpose. Egoz is a guerilla unit that knows how to hit the enemy in places he didn't expect. Maglan is a collection, exposure, and attack unit that knows how to identify an enemy from a distance and destroy it. Duvdevan is a leader in fighting in built-up territory, and because of its target and challenges has returned to fight in Judea and Samaria.

We arrived at the Egoz compound where we were shown a Russian-made "Fagot" anti-tank missile from Russia, which was captured just recently. It is a new missile, in packaging, ready to operate. "Almost every house here is loaded with arms," explains Colonel Cohen. "After all, what was life like here beforehand? Terror and more terror, and hatred for the State of Israel. You can find it behind every closed door. You ask what is an existential war? It is an enemy you cannot exist next to."

We entered the neighboring house through an open door in one of the walls, so that the soldiers would not walk down the main street or enter through a door that might be boobytrapped. It was the home of a Hamas operative, who, in addition to festive chains that hung in honor of the birthday of one of the family members, also had a map of the Gaza surrounding settlements hanging on the wall and a variety of weapons on the bed.

"We are in the area of ​​the Nasser Hospital," explains Major A., ​​the operational officer of the Ezoz unit. "Here we found a 60 mm mortar, an IED, improvised grenades, and Kalashnikov ammo. In the last week, our unit killed about eighty terrorists or more in the camp compound and all of them were armed."

A well-oiled machine

Colonel Cohen says that in the past week, thousands of residents have walked south on the street we are walking on, and hundreds of terrorists were arrested from among them. Is it possible that hostages were also smuggled out within this crowd? The brigadier general says that they have not stopped thinking about it and Major D., an officer of the Maglan unit makes it clear: "Every morning we think about what happened here more than one hundred days ago, and that gives us the strength to keep going, regardless of how long we will be here. All of us dream of bringing all the hostages home."

The commando brigadier general remembers every second since October 7^th, from the moment he was urgently summoned from his home until he reached the tunnel where the hostages were held – and the determination is only growing. "Planning evil is unfathomable," he emphasizes every word. "The building of the cages, the mechanism they created with logistics and services. You go inside there after a fierce fight and see children's drawings and women's clothes. You just can't let go."

"These are super-Nazis, and we continue to talk to the soldiers about values. We are not like them, we don't need to align our actions with evil. The commando soldiers know how to do their job properly."

We left Gaza late at night. Colonel Cohen was right; we didn't need a coat. The adrenaline and the fast running through the alleys were sufficient warm-up. We were there for one day, but he and his units have lost 32 soldiers since the fighting began, and they continue to operate like a well-oiled machine.

"I am so proud of my soldiers," concludes the 41-year-old brigadier general. "There are many heroes here, comrades who were killed and wounded, and their story has yet to be told. I am aware of the parents' concern, but first and foremost, we have a mission. We are determined. We are strong and want to win. As far as I am concerned, I am just the matchmaker."

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