Here is a guest blog written by the commander of the IDF's
Operation Good Neighbour, which provides humanitarian aid to Syrians harmed in their
country's bloody civil war. The IDF prohibits the naming of his identity.
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I remember the beginning of Operation Good Neighbor as if it were yesterday.
The truth is that we had serious doubts about whether it would really
happen — whether the Syrians would actually arrive. Then, at 3:00 am in the
freezing cold of the Golan Heights, we noticed them walking along the fence.
Twenty-five children holding their mothers’ hands passed through
the gates in what seemed like a modern Exodus. The phrase “The Syrians are at
the border” took on new meaning.
You could see the suspicion in their eyes. Tired and barefoot in
the darkness, they met IDF soldiers for the very first time, we who had been so
demonized by their culture. After many conversations with quite a few Syrians,
I have come to realize that it’s no myth: up until the day they received our
help, many Syrians genuinely believed IDF soldiers had horns and tails.
It was surreal to see a mother holding her little daughter’s
hands, almost collapsing from weakness. Instinctively, one of the Golani soldiers
on the scene noticed the woman stumble and leapt towards her, gathering the
child up in his arms. Suddenly, it seemed the border had disappeared: it was a
human moment shared between people, a moment of distress on the one hand and of
compassion on the other. A moment I will never forget.
Since then, we have come a long way. That operation marked the
beginning of an intensive period of humanitarian activity. Every day and every
night, 24/7, we operated a system that did only good. We provided flour, baby
food, medical supplies and medicine in huge quantities, and that was only the
beginning.
Across the border there is a civil war – the cruelest of its
kind — and our job was to make history and be remembered as the ones who did
the right thing. Today, with the perspective I have gained from nearly a year,
I realize that that very first moment at the fence was historic. A moment, I
hope, that will be engraved in our memory – a moment of Israeli pride and
Jewish compassion.
Before all else, I always remember that my mission is to ensure
security – to create good neighborly relations on both sides of the border –
and we do this, perhaps, in the most noble way possible. It is a great
privilege to command a unit with this mission, in this place and at this time.
We have been given the opportunity to reshape reality, and with a lot of
motivation and good people I believe we will continue to do our very best.
Over the past year I can count dozens of meaningful moments, but
one has become engraved in my memory, and I think there is nothing more
appropriate to describe the activity of being a “good neighbor.” A week into
the winter, during a severe rainstorm, we decided, at the request of the
Syrians, to go forward with a plan to take in sick children although the harsh
weather dictated otherwise. At the end of the activity, I found myself standing
with the Syrian doctor, the operation’s civil liaison in one of the villages in
the area. The two of us, soaking wet, looked at each other and laughed.
“I told you it would be difficult,” I told him.
Without hesitating, he replied with a smile, “Every day
hundreds of bombs fall on the Syrian people – a little rain will not break us.”
Then the doctor became serious. “Every time you accept us,”
he said, “we will come.”
