I gazed with amazement at the group of senior citizen men who had gathered in the auditorium. Battle-scarred, erect, sinewy, weathered complexion and gruff, for a moment my imagination blended the shapes of these veteran fighters with the ancient olive trees I saw through the window of the auditorium.
I went over to greet my friend Shimon Kahanar (Katche), now 77 years old. Katche was a member of the legendary 101 army unit. A cattleman, a pioneer and a fighter. Even though he has lived for many more years on a cattle ranch at the top of Mount Gilboa, Katche is still known as "Katche from Kibbutz Neve Eitan". He was clearly rather embarrassed to be seen in public using a cane. "At your age and all that you have been through, Katche, you're allowed to use a cane," I said. "After all, you were injured several times during your military career, weren't you?" "More like one big injury that put me in hospital for a year," he replied with a hesitant smile, and quickly changed the subject. "But I feel fine. Everything's great."
I left Katche and went to say hello to Gedalia Gal, aged 78. Gedalia fought as a commander in all of Israel's wars up until the Yom Kippur War and is a former Member of Knesset, a member of a moshav, and still today a public figure. A year ago he underwent major surgery. Despite the operation, he said he was feeling "excellent". "My doctor complains that I won't tell him where it hurts," joked Gedalia.
These veteran fighters were assembled to mark the seventh anniversary since the death of their comrade-in-arms and commander, Rafael (Raful) Eitan. The ceremony took place at the Yezreel Valley College, near Raful's home on Moshav Tel Adashim. Time has not diminished the power of their shared experiences that were burned in their memories over the years in sweat, blood, fear and bravery. When one of the speakers described in detail a night raid on a Jordanian army post in the 50s, during the course of which a Jordanian guard was taken out with a commando knife, I heard a collective gasp from the row of young women soldiers sitting in front of me.
"Every year fewer and fewer people attend," whispered one of the organizers. "The group is getting smaller and smaller, and even among those who are still alive, it's hard for them to get here."
But I saw something beautiful and heroic in the annual gathering of these people of the soil and the sword. What a special group they are! They don't make these kind of people anymore, I thought to myself.
The practical Zionist vision became a reality largely thanks to these people and people like them. Expressing emotion is not one of their "core competencies" - they have no patience for pretty speeches and high-flown rhetoric. On the contrary, when a man from the Yezreel Valley speaks for more than three minutes at a time, he will apologize to his listeners for talking too much. But whenever there were fields to plow, tractors to repair, fortresses to storm, fighters to lead, land to settle - the laconic residents of "The Valley" were always the first in line.
A couple of years ago I attended the graduation ceremony of the air force pilots' course. The announcer read the names and places of residence of each pilot cadet. I began to keep count, and discovered that about 20% of the graduates of the course came from the Yezreel Valley. This year my son Guy, 18, took part in the entry exam for the Navy Seals. When he came home exhausted from the mentally and physically challenging test, he told us that there were more youngsters from the Yezreel Valley where we live, than from the far more populous Tel Aviv area.
It has been over a century since the establishment of Merhavia, Genigar, Nahalal, Kfar Yehoshua, Ein Harod, and the rest of the communities in the Valley. There seems to be something in the Valley's soil, water, air, tradition - something that still, despite everything, provides fertile ground for activist Zionist education.
The massive poster in the Communications Auditorium where we were sitting for Raful's memorial displayed the motto of his life: Farmer - Fighter - Educator.
Nowadays, when to many Israelis "farmer" means "Thai worker", "fighter" means "someone who did not manage to wriggle out of it" and "educator" means "a sucker who is willing to settle for a low-paying job", we should salute the spirit that characterizes the residents of the Valley, and the example of the special breed of people like Gedalia and Katche who built, defended and lead our country by example.
December 2011
Sagi Melamed lives with his family in the community of Hoshaya in the Galilee. He serves as Vice President of External Affairs at the Max Stern Yezreel Valley College, and as Chief Instructor (4th Dan) of the Hoshaya Karate Club. Sagi received his Masters degree from Harvard University in Middle Eastern Studies with a specialty in Conflict Resolution. He can be contacted at: melamed.sagi@gmail.com
their comrade-in-arms and commander, Rafael (Raful) Eitan. The ceremony took place at the Yezreel Valley College, near Raful's home on Moshav Tel Adashim. Time has not diminished the power of their shared experiences that were burned in their memories over the years in sweat, blood, fear and bravery. When one of the speakers described in detail a night raid on a Jordanian army post in the 50s, during the course of which a Jordanian guard was taken out with a commando knife, I heard a collective gasp from the row of young women soldiers sitting in front of me.
