Veterans tell Haaretz how a 31-mile trek in the cold and rain is well worth the effort when Benjamin Netanyahu’s government is trying to eviscerate democracy
Judy Maltz
Gadi Benjamin was called up to fight in the Yom Kippur War half a century ago. At this stage of his life, he never expected to be heading out to battle again, but neither did he expect to see his beloved country veer off course so suddenly and dramatically.
“It feels like we’re being suffocated,” says the 77-year-old retired economist from Tel Aviv.
While this is a very different type of war, to Benjamin it is no less existential. Huddled with his 50-year-old daughter and 10-year-old grandson, he tries to explain what brought him outside on this cold, rainy day.
“This isn’t about my future any longer,” he says. “It’s about the future of my children and grandchildren in this place.”
Benjamin is among hundreds of combat veterans – according to the event’s organizers, as many as 1,500 – who turned out Wednesday morning for a 50-kilometer (31-mile) trek to Jerusalem, spread out over three days. Their starting point was Latrun, a hilltop that overlooks the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv highway and, symbolically, was the site of fierce fighting during Israel’s 1948 War of Independence.
“Brothers in Arms: The March to Save Democracy” is the title chosen by the organizers, reservists from Sayeret Matkal – the most elite commando unit in the Israel Defense Forces. It’s a force hailed worldwide for its daring hostage rescue operations. Ironically, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu – now these protesters’ sworn political enemy – also served in this unit.
Benjamin’s parents immigrated to British Mandatory Palestine from Nazi Germany. His grandparents did not escape in time. “I’ve been thinking about them a lot these days,” he says, resting his hands on his walking sticks.
These words resonate strongly with his daughter Pavani, a midwife who has taken the day off and pulled her son out of school to accompany her dad on the march.
“I feel that my house is shaking, and I won’t have anywhere to go if things continue this way,” she says. “I don’t want to live in a country that’s not a democracy.”
For their grandchildren and grandparents
At the meeting point near the Latrun parking lot, the reservists are welcomed with cups of hot tea and huge crates of oranges. Volunteers in yellow vests are directing traffic, while others are handing out umbrellas and Israeli flags. A sound system is blaring a mix of popular Israeli folk music from days gone by – and more recent rap-style protest songs.
It’s a gray-haired crowd for the most part. Many of these weathered-looking men are veterans of the Yom Kippur War, and some also fought in the 1967 Six-Day War. Many are proudly wearing T-shirts or carrying flags bearing the insignias of their military units. Quite a few have brought along their wives and partners.
There are many warm hugs and lots of back-slapping as they greet each other in the rain. The gathering almost has the feel of a happy reunion.
But the mood is far from upbeat. As these seasoned fighters see it, the country they once risked their lives for has fallen victim to a hostile takeover. The sense is that the government’s plan to eviscerate the judiciary will ultimately spell the end of democracy in Israel.
“I took an oath when I joined the army that I would defend this country and fight to ensure that it remained a free country, a democracy with a system of checks and balances, a democracy where the rights of minorities are upheld,” says Eyal Naveh, an organizer of the march. “What we are now embarking on is a war to save our democracy.”
Since the government announced its plan to strip the judiciary of its independence, various groups have taken to the streets to protest, among them high-tech employees, doctors and students. Naveh, a real estate developer from Herzliya north of Tel Aviv, believes that the reservists’ initiative is especially noteworthy.
“What are army reservists, after all?” Many reservists serve until age 40, often putting in a month of military duty a year. “Reservists are people who love their country with all their heart, who work and pay taxes and are the backbone of Israeli society. We’re the guys who at the drop of a hat rush to defend our country and sacrifice our lives.”
As a woman, 57-year-old Stav Segev insists she doesn’t feel out of place in the crowd. “When I was a soldier, I served in Lebanon,” she says.
“In fact, I volunteered to serve there – and I’ve always considered myself a full partner in defending my country, both from its external enemies and – as is the case right now – its internal enemies.”
Although she’s an experienced walker, Segev says she detests cold weather and would never walk miles in this weather if the situation wasn’t so desperate.
“The reason I’m here is because of my son,” says the project manager who hails from the northern town of Pardes Hannah. “He’s my only child, he was a commander in the army, and I want to do everything in my power to make sure I leave him and his children a democratic country.”
As she puts it, “Raising them in Berlin would be easy, but I want them to grow up here. I owe this to my grandparents who built this country, and I owe this to my future grandchildren.”
The very best civics lesson
At a tent set up in the middle of a parking lot, the marchers gather for an opening ceremony that is part pep talk and part sing-along. A few well-known faces stand out, among them a former defense minister and chief of staff of the Israel Defense Forces, Moshe Ya’alon. There’s also a former public security minister and Sayeret Matkal chief, Omer Bar-Lev, and a former deputy chief of staff and legislator from the left-wing Meretz party, Yair Golan.
The opening-day trek will take them from Latrun to Sha’ar Hagai, a landmark on the Tel Aviv-Jerusalem highway. The route is flat, winding through gorgeous vineyards and olive groves. But because of the rain – it’s the third day of an unusually fierce storm in Israel – the ground is extremely muddy and often slippery, making every step an effort.
For a very small stretch of the 7.5-kilometer journey, the marchers divert from the hiking trail and walk along the shoulders of the busy Tel Aviv-Jerusalem highway. They are greeted with solidarity honks as the cars pass by. At the halfway point, volunteers hand out tea, and many marchers use the opportunity to break for a quick stand-up lunch.
The final stretch will conclude at midday Friday at the Supreme Court in Jerusalem, where Naveh, the organizer, is confident that “many thousands” will join the reservists standing in support of this symbol of Israeli democracy that’s now under attack by the new far-right government.
Among the marchers is a father whose son was killed in Lebanon. He holds a sign with a photo of his son and the words: “The price wasn’t worth it.”
The organizers advised the marchers not to bring children along because of the treacherous weather, but quite a few have joined. One small boy, wrapped in his winter coat, carries a sign that reads: “We won’t enlist in a dictatorship.”
Yochai Halevi, from Kibbutz Ramat Hashofet in the north, has his arm around his 10-year-old son Michael. “When I was growing up, democracy was something so obvious that you didn’t have to think about it,” he says. “Today, that’s no longer the case.”
Asked why he dragged his young son along on this cold and rainy day, the 40-year-old sports therapist responds: “What we’re doing today is defending our democracy. I don’t think he could get as good a lesson in civics anywhere else.”
Yair Suari, a resident of the northern city of Hadera, is walking with his teenage son Yonatan. “We’re here because we believe that the revolution this government is planning is dangerous for all of us,” says the 50-year-old lecturer in marine sciences at Ruppin College.
“Checks and balances are a good thing,” his son pipes in.
Ezra Barnea, 72, prefers not to divulge where he served in the army. “I was a soldier,” he says when pressed.
An arborist, Barnea owns and runs an oak tree farm at a small agricultural community south of Hadera. This is his first protest.
“Bibi managed to pull a lot of us out of the woodwork,” he says, using Netanyahu’s nickname. “How can I stay home when this country is about to disappear between our fingers?”
Source: Haaretz Newspaper
