First-Person Accounts

I move on and talk to soldier after soldier. I hand them all letters, and their reaction is more or less similar to my friend's. Profoundly grateful, but bemused as to why they deserve any thanks.

"All the guys are praying for one another," said Levi. "Each one prays that the guy behind him, and the guy in front of him will come out of this okay."

Some know my brother-in-law as Avraham Meir Ostfeld, but we call him Amo. He’s a member of the IDF, serving in an elite Golani brigade, and currently part of the Gaza operation...

A man sings a prayer. And soldiers shoot into the air. As they shoot, the family can be heard wailing, as if the fired bullets have released something within them.

It is not scary to hear the siren, it's the anticipation of if and when the siren will go off that causes the anxiety.

Suddenly, everyone looks up. A military ambulance is coming. The press bustles around, excited. The video cameras are turned on. The men talk. And everyone crowds towards the ambulance as it pulls in...

"What is it like for you to have a son poised to begin the ground assault? To come face to face with his enemies?" I ask Lily.

IDF Paratrooper Yared Ben Caro is taking some time each day to text us updates from the field of operations.

I laugh as I write this. I have tears in my eyes as I write this. I was assured that the pipes would withstand an explosion close by but not a direct hit. Our bit of security.

My family and I live in Netivot, ten kilometers from Gaza. Netivot is hooked up to a warning sirent. When the siren rings, it means you have forty-five seconds to go into your safe room or a public bomb shelter...

You don't think. You run. You have twenty seconds.

I held up the heavy rusted tail, and presented it to the sixth grade class. It was in excellent condition with all its fins, and with the screw still attached at the end...