We had already experienced two severe crises in the army. The first was during our first few days in the training camp. The second was when we went into battle for the first time. And now, after eleven terrible days of fighting, we headed for Tel Aviv for a short leave - and the third crisis, which was to be the most difficult of all.
In celebration of the unbelievable fact that we were still alive, still breathing, and still able to walk on our own two legs, we went to Tel Aviv. Our heads were still full of our awful experiences in Ibdis and Beit Affa, where the unit had been bloodied and lost half its strength, and the front was desperate for reserves.
When we reached the city, we saw hundreds and thousands of healthy youngmen, who hadn’t the slightest intention of following our example. We saw smartly dressed men sporting officer’s insignia, who engaged in "important" tasks in their offices.
We had been practically cut off from headquarters for months. We came home for short leaves, "organized" ourselves an evening in the town, and returned to the front. The slogan went: "the whole people - one army." We were told that the whole nation was fighting, that the shortage of manpower was a general shortage.
And then we discovered that this was a lie. Only part of the nation, only part of the youth went to fight. And behind their backs there arose and thrived the "headquarters." A gigantic structure which had pro-duced its own lifestyle, its own philosophy of life.
We remembered going into action night after night, for lack of reserves. We thought of the fate of our company number one, which twice had to suffer defeat for the same reason.
And in the city we heard from self-appointed aristocrats in fine uniforms that in every army in the world, for every soldier at the front