I recently made a sudden trip to Israel for the 40th anniversary of the 1973 Yom Kippur War in order to reunite with my former tank battalion.
In early October, I received a phone call from Ofer Barovsky, an old friend from my former kibbutz, Ma’agan Michael. He told me that as he traveled to Chicago to catch a flight to Israel, he had received an email saying that the Israel Defense Force was looking for me to participate in the reunion on Oct. 23.
Right away I made arrangements for this trip of a lifetime, not as a tourist but as member returning to his family. Having dealt with post-traumatic stress from the aftermath of this war, I knew that this facing the past would be a positive experience.
As we approached Tel Aviv, I became teary-eyed because we flew over the sand dunes where in 1972 I participated in the parachuting course. Now I was feeling really close to home and wondering how I would react with all the huge changes awaiting me.
The biggest surprise was how fast I moved through Ben-Gurion Airport on the way to the exit. To my amazement my luggage was already on the carousel, so I left the airport to board a Sherut (shared limo) to my hotel in Jerusalem.
First, I noticed all the newer cars on roads that now had different routes to when I last traveled. It was now Oct. 21 and I had one full day to relish before my reunion on Oct. 23.
On Oct. 22, I started early by taking the bus from Bakah across town to catch the light rail to the Yad Vashem Holocaust Memorial and Museum. I was astonished how quickly my Hebrew had returned, but I looked like an Israeli astronaut returning from Mars when attempting to buy the rail ticket.
As I walked to Yad Vashem, a man was kind enough to stop and offer me a lift. After 37 years, I was noticing a kinder, gentler generation. All day people were friendly and helpful and I found this very comforting.
I now took a cab across the busy streets to the Old City as I had an appointment to visit the amazing tunnels by the Western Wall. After laying tefillin at the wall, I retreated to the back of the plaza to relax on the stone bench.
Then a young, religious, man struck up a conversation with me to seek my advice in Hebrew with a dilemma he was troubled with. This was a most spiritual experience, as on this day everything had a purpose.
Oct. 23 arrived, my big day to journey into my past. The reunion was held at Yad La’Shiryon, the Israeli Armored Corps Memorial Site and Museumat Latrun. This amazing place was dedicated after I left Israel and I did not know of its existence until I planned the trip.
For years I have been volunteering with veterans from World War II and other wars, but for the first time ever I was thanked for my own service.
A couple of young soldiers came up to me and called me “a member of the greatest generation.” This was my Honor Flight, my Vietnam Wall. Now I was certain I was on the way to a healing experience.
Between the time that Ofer contacted me and the reunion, I had received email from a few fellow vets. My former commander, Uzi Lev T’zur, who was now a retired general; Shoshi his wife; Shlomo Lemberger from Kibbutz Merhavia; and others were all looking forward to meeting me after all these years.
In fact Shlomo phoned to ask me to conduct a joint interview in Hebrew on Kol Y’srael B on Oct. 21 to talk about the reunion. Later I discovered people attended just because of this.
Before the event at 2 p.m., I spent the morning looking at the old tanks and the newer Merkava (which I had never seen before). Then all of a sudden I saw the bridges that we crossed over the Suez Canal when General Ariel Sharon boldly took the fight over to the Egyptian side.
The meeting of some 200 of us was very moving as we had all changed during these 40 years. This was memory lane, the road to healing. People started filling into the hall inside the fortress and it was so wonderful to see people who I had been close with during the fighting.
I was the senior medic of the unit and I was delighted to meet my deputy, Yacov Fogel, who took command during the first day of the war as I was still making my way down to the front.
My greatest joy was meeting Rami Tauber, an officer I had rescued. I had wondered what became of him all these years. We spotted each other and embraced as he wondered what had happened to me. Then we were all together with his beautiful family
As we all reflected this moment in history we made our way to a serene park. There we had recognition and memorialized the fallen of Battalion 195, the spearhead of the largest tank battle since Kursk in World War II.
There was emotion and tears but all that angst lifted, and I did not leave until almost 9 p.m.
Peter Gilbert lives in Milwaukee and was profiled in the November 2013 issue.
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