The Israeli charity tending to the souls of the nation's soldiers
'It took me more than 10 years to admit that I suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder'
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Most are in their twenties, others are older. All were wounded in the line of duty. In wars, in operations, during their deployment, or in terrorist attacks. Several carry multiple wounds.
But if some bear no stigmata on their bodies, it is their spirit that is torn.
The Israeli association BeLev Echad ("a heart for all," which could also easily be translated as "wearing your heart on your sleeve") helps soldiers, police officers and members of the security forces considered to be war-wounded and in post-traumatic stress.
A house of refuge
Founded in 2009 by Rabbi Uriel Vigler and his wife Shevy, the association opened a house in Kyriat Ono in central Israel, not far from Tel Aviv. It is a house for all, intended as a refuge. This is where these young people find companionship and talk to those who look like them: those who are "different" and simultaneously the same. Above all, this house offers them unique living comfort: study rooms, sports facilities, relaxation spaces, and even a swimming pool.
The site manager is Raz Bodani. This former senior officer of the Golani infantry brigade was wounded several times on the border with the Gaza Strip. It is in a hotel in the north of Israel, overlooking Lake Tiberias that we find him, while the association has invited several dozen of its members for a long weekend of activities.
"I was not well, not well at all in my life. I did not know where I was. I was looking for myself. It was this project that gave meaning to my life," confides Raz, who wears the insignia of his former brigade around his neck. Protector, he is considered the "father" of these young people. Yet he is only a few years older than them. Raz enjoys almost natural authority with Michal, Dana, Nadav, Ido, Doron, R., Ron, Raz, Barak, Shaul, and many more.
Wounded for life
One could write dozens of pages on each of these young people. Ron was a border guard policeman. He lost his eye due to an improvised explosive device thrown by terrorists outside a crossing point south of Jerusalem. More than 15 years separate Shaul from Barak and Ido.
All three were seriously injured by a mortar shell that fell against their fallback position on the border with Gaza. Shaul lost the use of his left arm, Barak is considered 50 percent disabled. Ido, on his stomach and on his side, bears the scars of his wounds forever.
Nadav is a former special forces officer. He received bomb shrapnel to his legs. After recovering from his injuries for the first time, he was assigned to the Parachute Brigade where he was hurt again. A bullet grazing his ear, burst his ear drum, causing him to lose his hearing on the left side.
For security reasons, it is impossible to identify R. Like his brothers and sisters in arms, he too was wounded. A policeman in one of the border guards' premier units, he took a block of stone to the head, breaking his jaw instantly and leaving his left eye barely functional.
But it was not these injuries that led him to join the BeLev Echad association. “It took me more than 10 years to admit that I suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder,” admits R. as we chat in front of the swimming pool. "My wounds remain anchored in me, they will never disappear. But this desire to get better has become almost vital," he confides.
Learn to rebuild
Maybe that's what binds everyone we talk to. Thanks to social activities and a desire to help them integrate professionally, the BeLev Ehad association has given them a taste for life. They can smile, laugh, cry together. They are also invited to take part in trips several times a year, mainly to the United States. "Being able to find each other is a remedy for us," explains Raz Boudani.
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What also weighs on these victims is their addiction to medical cannabis. "It calms us down, but we want it to stop," says Ido. "It's impossible to be married, to have children and to continue to smoke. It is not compatible with a family life. I really hope to leave all that behind me," he says.
Rabbi Vigler insists on this "moral" and "Jewish" obligation to bring comfort to those who have paid the price for the protection of Israeli civilians and borders.
Benzi, one of the leaders of BeLev Ehad accompanied by his wife Dvorah, traveled specially from the United States to be with the members of the association. "I don't regret any effort," says Benzi. "It is for me a chance, I would even say a blessing, to be able to help and accompany these former soldiers and policemen."
Saturday night arrives. Those present in the hotel lobby hug each other. Their hearts no longer heavy. At least during the time of Shabbat. The BeLev Echad association relies on those who have their hearts in their hands, those that give without counting.
Many hope that one day these veterans can enjoy their lives without having to continue fighting against the bureaucracy of the defense and the social affairs ministries, that sometimes call into question their degree of disability.
"As if we were asked each time to reopen our physical and moral wounds," concludes R.
Matthias Inbar is a security correspondent at i24NEWS, specializing in defense coverage.