Dear Diary,
I’m haunted by the images
From my three years of military service
In the Israeli army as a staff sergeant
It was in the late 90s,
A period of relative calm and quiet
Yet our leaders called it
A necessary duty and urgent

I was assigned at a checkpoint
Deep into the Gaza strip
Around the settlement
Of Gush Katif
The experience has turned
Each one in our unit
From being a sensitive
Normal person
To a criminal,
A violent person
And a thief

No one wants to talk about it
Two generations of criminals
The fathers went through it
Now it’s the sons’ turn
To be transformed from
Ordinary human beings
Into sadistic animals

Shahar pissed on the head of an Arab
Because the man had the nerve
To smile
Dado forced one to stand on four legs
To bark like a dog
In his moment of bile
Miro broke someone’s hands
When he refused to give him cigarettes
Taking his prayer beads
Tossing it with the stolen items
In a pile
Boaz slashed their tires
Whenever he felt like it
Displaying a painful lesson
Of how to hate and revile
Our commander invented a game
When checking identity cards
We’d throw it in the air
Getting a kick of seeing an Arab
Chasing his identity card in style
We’d beat them up
Humiliate them
Have them sing in Hebrew
Engaging in a behavior
Of shame and guile

But the trophy, dear diary
Perhaps ought to go to me
I caught my hunt
On the road one day
I punched him so hard
Right in the face
Never punched anyone that way
Pulled his hands behind his back
Bound him so tight with plastic cuffs
Leaving no space

I blindfolded him so he wouldn’t see
Threw him in the back of the jeep
Blood trickling from his nose
Tears from his eyes
Saliva down his chin
A disgusting scene
He was dirtying my shoes
I pulled his hair
Turning his face to the side
We sat on his back
Harder and harder
Until he quieted down
His head starting to spin

Good work tigers
Our commander said teasingly
Arriving at the station
Everyone was whistling
Applauding wildly
But he was still crying softly
So someone kicked him hard
In the stomach
He doubled over and grunted
Good kick we said laughingly
I then kicked him deep
In his butt
He flew forward as I’d hoped
Our Arab was just a 16 year-old boy
Who was retarded mentally

Dear Diary,
We were received by our countrymen
As heroes, warriors
And celebrities
But we were no better than beasts
Displaying animalistic behavior,
Heartless entities
This was not odd behavior
But normal conduct by soldiers
Given unrestrained freedom
To abuse, to punish
In any ways and varieties

I fell into the same trap
As most soldiers do
Carried away by acting
In the most savage kind
Without fear of punishment or supervision
Deprived of my humanity
Forsaking my most core beliefs
Losing my mind

Dear Diary,
At checkpoints,
Young people have the chance
To be rulers and masters
To act out their sadistic impulses
To project power
To feel strong
But such deviant behavior
Would lead to nothing
But disasters

If the Arabs are angry and furious
Having the basic desire to resist
I definitely understand
Their motivations
Although it’s risky to say
But I feel they’re completely
Justified and legitimate
In their condemnations
Unless we radically change
And wake up from our intoxication
We will be doomed
Cursed by history
For many generations

*Based on the true personal account of Israeli soldier Liran Ron Furer as detailed in his book, “Checkpoint Syndrome.”