By Binjamin Casey
It’s two fifteen in the morning and the low roar of the F15s flying overhead on their constant patrols wakens me once again. Even with the gentle hum of the window fan we use for “white noise” the deep throated vibration disturbs my slumber and my body tenses from the stress of “is this just another sortie, or is this the real thing?”
The airplane banks overhead and begins its wide turn that takes it over the Hermon Mountain Range, across the Jordan valley and then down the Lebanese border back into central Israel across the Kinneret or Sea of Galilee.
Ever since October’s Black Sabbath, just over six months ago, aerial patrols and strikes into Syria and Lebanon have become a fact of life and a constant physical reminder to those of us in the Golan Heights that we are indeed at war. The noise should be reassuring and logically is, most of the time. During the daylight hours we look upward to see the aircraft as they fly overhead. It’s somewhat difficult spotting the planes as they fly so high and so fast. You have to judge elevation by the noise intensity and then look ahead of where the sound appears to be. Sometimes you are lucky and get a glimpse of an F15, F16 or F35. Other times you are fooled because an aircraft may have made a tight turn and is going back towards the sound.
But, as I said earlier, reassuring as it should be, I find the sound after six months beginning to wear on my war weary mind. This is the eleventh major conflict I have been involved in and it is the longest and most conflicted one.
A few days ago my PTSD damaged mind finally gave into the sound and I broke down in tears from the stress. As I sat in our yard with my head in my hands weeping, my long-haired German Shepherd Simcha, (joy in Hebrew), came and gently laid her massive shaggy head in my lap. She looked up at me with her big doleful eyes and gently licked me. I broke into a torrent of tears and slowly the tension began to subside. Whatever dark recess of my mind that had allowed the ghosts of the past to emerge, slowly closed their doors and the demons receded.
I’m sure many of us in Israel have felt this overwhelming sorrow of late but not all of us have a Simcha to help us through it. Sensing my change in mood it was now her turn for some attention. It was payback time and this two year old bundle of love wanted some serious playtime in return for her affection.
The days rolled on until one morning the news we had expected but dreaded arrived. Iran, the state sponsor of global terror, had finally decided to launch an attack on Israel. We were warned that a massive missile attack had been launched and that we were situated between 1 1⁄2 to two hours before the onslaught depending on which type of projectile was launched. Take your pick; UAVs, ballistic and cruise missiles–so while we waited our erstwhile cousins in Lebanon were upping their quota of Quassam and Katyusha short range rockets.
My eyes caught the view across the valley of the Yarden or River Jordan, which was as always beautiful. Below the massive mound of Mount Canaan the lights of Rosh Pina and Hazor Hagalil twinkled in the night-time darkness whilst the crown of the mountain was lit from the lights of Birya. Hazor which is where the prophet Joshua, the protege of Moses fought his final battle after entering the land some 3500 years ago after the years of exile in Egypt then the saga of the Exodus. This area was about to witness yet another onslaught against the children of Yisrael.
The lights continued to twinkle reassuringly and there was an unusual quiet to the night as if the whole countryside was holding its breath in anticipation. Either the airplanes had gone back to base to rearm and fuel or they were heading eastwards through Syria to meet the coming onslaught.
The attack itself was not entirely unexpected as saber rattling had been going on for days, if not weeks. What did surprise me though was a rush of messages from friends in Britain and even the USA asking if all was well and ensuring us that we were in their thoughts and prayers.
Since I had spent most of the night awake from my adrenaline waiting for whatever would befall us, there was nothing much to do but wait. So as any good Brit would do in a crisis, I went to make myself a cup of tea and settle down while I waited.
At 1:45 a.m. the home front alarm on my phone started blaring out warnings of attack after attack and this now came faster than I could read them. So far, the majority of the strikes were in the south in the empty expanses of the Negev desert. Suddenly my eye caught the glow of a red orb slowly rising into the sky in the direction of Tiberius, the ancient Roman and biblical city on the Kinneret. I knew at that moment that it had started. The orb rises into the sky reminiscent of happier days long ago when people would sit and watch Roman Candles throw their orbs into the night sky on July Fourth or Bonfire Night to the delight of the children. This time though the purpose was far more deadly as a sudden bright flash indicated. At least one missile would not now reach its target thanks to the amazing Iron Dome system of air defense that has saved so many lives since its first deployment in 2011. Countless thousands of rockets have been fired into Israel since 2007 when Hamas took control of the Gaza strip and Hezbollah the Iranian proxy in Lebanon and since then jointly fire frequent and indiscriminate rockets into Israel. The financial cost of stopping these rockets is outrageous and yet without the Iron Dome it is only a guess to calculate the cost in lost human lives.
The sound of explosions began to echo up and down the valley and the loud boom of an exploding rocket knocked out by our defenses. The Iron Dome is able to track and compute the speed, direction and probable landing point of the incoming missiles so only fires at those that it deems are likely to hit populated areas. Even so the cost of each missile is around 60,000 dollars–Millions of dollars that could have been spent on schools, hospitals or used for scientific exploration to the benefit of mankind have been used instead to knock rockets out of the sky launched by ultra religious fanatical muslims.
Surprisingly the attack was over very quickly and the initial reports started to come in. The only reported injury was a young Bedouin girl who had sustained shrapnel injuries and some buildings which were hit on an airbase. Truly a miracle was being witnessed this night but to what extent we still did not know.
The night returned to its solemnity, the aircraft had returned to base and no more explosions were to be heard in the valley. I took one last look out of the window, amazed that so little damage or injury had been caused, then finally headed off to the comfort of my bed for a couple of hours of sleep.
Suddenly I was awakened by the shrill air raid siren rising and falling and warning us we had 30 seconds to get to our safe room. This time we were the target, we had slept in our clothes knowing that this possibility might happen so we grabbed an emergency bag and of course Simcha, who thought this was just a fun game. We headed for our alcove beneath the stairs. This time the sound of the Iron Dome interceptions were much louder, like a clap of thunder directly over our heads, but much more ominous as we understood the danger that the shrapnel from these rockets could cause. Again after what seemed a very short time it was over, and the sudden silence reminded me of tales my Grandfather had told me about how after an artillery barrage in WW1 the sudden silence was almost as oppressive as the noise of the bombardment itself. All hell for 15 minutes then silence like the grave as your ears returned to normal. Later that morning we found out that a rocket, probably a Katushkya, had indeed landed in our town. Without taking any of the credit away from the members of the IDF and IAF who had all done an amazing job that night the real credit has to go to the Almighty without whom our country would lay a smoking patch of land with untold casualties.
The rocket that had landed in the town had impacted about two meters from a concrete and rock wall topped by an iron fence into the only patch of soft dirt in the vicinity. The rock wall directed the blast away from the houses across the street and threw small clods of dirt and small stones some two blocks away. There were several fruit trees on the piece of ground and it was easy to see how the roots of the trees also helped to contain the blast and direct it away from the houses some ten to fifteen meters away. All around the point of impact there were multi story dwellings that could easily have been hit and destroyed. Had the rocket landed on the other side of the brick wall it would have buried itself into a cobblestone road made with three kilo bricks. Each one of those bricks could have become missiles themselves and the damage they would have caused is not hard to imagine. However, the only damage and it was slight, was to a nearby car, the railing on top of the wall and several solar panels damaged by clods of dirt thrown into the air by the impact.
Since that night, it has been confirmed that some three hundred projectiles were fired at Israel on that occasion. The vast majority were either shot down by the armed forces of Israel and the Iron Dome and possibly some of our so-called allies, while others were allowed to fall into open areas.
Thanks to the Creator only one major injury occurred that night and we pray that she recovers to full health speedily.
All in all the attack was a complete and miserable failure as far as Iran is concerned. With the largest missile attack in history being launched against us, our defenses stood up to the test and humiliated the aggressor.
In the ensuing days the aircraft have resumed their patrols and attacks on targets inside Lebanon, but the noise of their passage still grates on my nerves.
Even though I know the commitment of our brave soldiers and pilots, their skill, dedication and commitment continually amaze me but above all I give thanks to the Eternal for his mercy and guidance.
I am also grateful to my wife, Ariella and dear friends for their encouragement and support. Lastly, my sweet puppy Simcha, I know it’s time to play–Again!
Take Hold the Tzitzit 