In Israel, old soldiers don’t fade away — they return, year after year, to gravesites and battlefields, carrying the weight of memory and the devotion to legacy. The fallen and the new generations of soldiers are forever in their hearts.
Two years ago, I wrote here about a touching ceremony on Mt. Hermon commemorating 14 elite Golani reconnaissance fighters who fell in the Yom Kippur War during attempts to retake that vital site. I only knew about one of them, Chaim Horan (Chuck Hornstein), through stories I’d heard over the years at his annual azkara – memorial – at Mt. Herzl.
Back in the ‘60s, my husband David and his friends were members of a close-knit youth movement in Manhattan. When young Chaim joined the movement, these older members became his leaders and mentors until, by the early ‘70s, they had all made aliyah. When Chaim eventually followed them to Israel, the movement friends became his family. When he joined Golani recon, one of Israel’s most elite infantry brigades, they had his back. And they have kept his memory alive since he fell on the Hermon in 1973. Recently, they created a scholarship in his name for deserving Golani recon soldiers.
It’s been 52 years since the Yom Kippur War. Chaim’s friends are getting older, some in their eighties, yet continue to navigate the hilly Mt. Herzl Military Cemetery in Jerusalem to honor Chaim’s memory each year. As I walked up the stone steps to the Yom Kippur War section of the cemetery, I noticed a group of men going in the same direction and wondered why they were at Chuck’s grave. As the hazzan was starting the ceremony, one of the strangers gently broke in, changing the tone of the azkara.
“Would you mind if I said a few words before we start?” he asked.
Very unusual.
“Let’s each introduce ourselves and say how we knew Chaim.”
Chaim! Yes. His army gang. They call him “Chaim” while the New York crowd uses “Chuck.” This was Chaim’s former commander, Eitan. The others were members of the team – from the ceremony – the ones who had stood before us on Mt. Hermon and recounted the battles. The ones desperately trying to hold back the tears. Now they were here to get to know the people who for 52 years have never allowed Chaim to be alone, who come every year to say Kaddish and to share memories.
We learned about them, too. By the time Chaim made aliyah and joined the army, he was three years older than most of them, who had enlisted right out of high school. To these young Israelis of the early 1970s, Chaim was a man of the world. He was from New York! He had studied at university. He became the go-to guy for advice on life’s dilemmas.
Commander Eitan and his buddies had another goal for the afternoon: continuity of the Golani legacy. At every azkara, conscript soldiers from the same unit serve as honor guards. This year, four Golani soldiers stood with us — a short break from their training to become recon fighters. A tough path to choose. They look so young and shy. Eitan caught them off guard.
“Tell us your name and where you’re from,” he addressed the soldier closest to him.
They had been assigned to this azkara, to come and stand at attention at the grave of a fallen soldier from half a century ago. They didn’t expect to be the center of attention.
“Have you reached that ‘I can’t go on point’?” Eitan asks them.
He waits for a response. I’m sure these soldiers, who will protect us with their lives, now wish they had a foxhole to jump into. No one ever engages them at these memorials more than to thank them for being there and to wish them well. Their rigorous training hadn’t prepared them for this encounter!
Eitan persists, encouraging them to respond. Encouraging them to break through those moments when they think they can’t continue. “We’re always there for you,” he said. “We have WhatsApp groups. You can always reach us.”
I know he means it. These old soldiers don’t fade away — they mentor, they remember, they lift up. They infuse the young with strength of body and character. And in doing so, they keep themselves going, too.
Galia Miller Sprung moved to Israel from Southern California in 1970 to become a pioneer farmer and today she is a writer and editor.
