The bloodstained jacket: Yom Kippur, 1973
The bloodstained jacket: Yom Kippur, 1973
It was the sirens that pierced the silence. We gathered in the dining room and learned that Israel had been attacked
My Golani Brothers-in-Arms, 13th Battalion, Plugah Bet, Syria 1973
Throughout the night the bright flashes of light pierced the darkness. My hands, shaking so badly the previous afternoon, the afternoon of the sixth day of October, had somehow calmed themselves. We gathered there, those of us who were called late, who were not called at all, who knew to find their brothers-in-arms, just below the ascent to the now ever more exploding hell.
A captured but emptied Soviet-era troop carrier was brought to our group, but our commander declined. He preferred the World War II vintage half-track that would carry us to outpost 104.
I opened the door to the BTR. Blood stained the interior walls, and there it was, a green jacket, soaked in places with blood, whose blood I did not know, nor did I care.
I...
