by Zev Kam, tour guide, journalist, and frequent commentator on Kan Public Israel Radio, translated by Hillel Fendel.
A Light, Encouraging View From the Lebanese Front
In the summer of 2021, less than four years ago, the soldiers of Battalion
221 of the IDF's Carmeli Brigade were on reserves duty, with the routine
mission of holding a line on the Lebanese border. The troops were stationed at
the time on the western side of the border line – precisely as they are now,
during these five months since the ceasefire with Hizbullah/Lebanon. Aside from
the location, there is nothing else of the two periods and the two stints of
duty that are comparable.
Then, four years ago, what frustrated the soldiers no end, and what was
their lot throughout their tour of service, was the fact that they could see
Hizbullah terrorists just beyond the fence – and there was nothing they could
do. The terrorists would stand with cameras and photograph the soldiers' faces,
curse them, hold up middle fingers – and the soldiers' hands were tied; they
could not respond.
The terrorists even built structures right on the border, from which
they could peer directly into Israel – and our soldiers, again, were helpless.
It was some kind of "decree of destiny" imposed by an army and its
leaders that had simply become accustomed to having the enemy mock them, learn
their actions and schedules, and even erect a tent within Israeli territory
(!), full of weapons. And our soldiers were totally unable, by order, to do
anything.
This time, now, everything is different. Every battalion soldier on reserves
duty this time is experiencing something totally different – 180 degrees
different. Their two and a half months on the border are ending these very
days, and what they will tell you is that, first of all, there's no Hizbullah
on the border. Not even one terrorist. The troops patrol the border, and even
often enter Lebanese territory, and there's no trace of terrorists. The IDF is
systematically enforcing the ceasefire agreement, and does not allow a thing to
happen that violates it. In the world of psychology, they would say that this
is a "corrective experience," helping to heal and counteract the
effects of what happened back in past years – not only for the soldiers who
served there, but for the long-suffering residents of northern Israel.
It's not that the enemy or its weapons no longer exist. But they are
scared and they're hiding – far away from our border. Instead of mocking our
soldiers, they worry now only that they will be killed. And the numbers support
their fears: Ever since the ceasefire came into effect last November, the IDF
has killed 140 terrorists who were about to violate the truce, violently or
otherwise.
This is also not to say that Hizbullah is not trying to rebuild itself,
as close to Israel as possible. They can't build real buildings, so they bring
in mobile structures – caravans, or mobile homes without wheels, to try to
revive the former terrorist stronghold villages. But when they do so, an
Israeli drone promptly comes along and bombs it. In the town of A-Nakura, for
instance, there has been barely a week when the new caravans they brought in
were not destroyed. And the story was the same elsewhere as well, until finally,
Hizbullah stopped bringing in caravans.
One of the more memorable aspects of the warfare with Hizbullah is the
story of the "nature reserves." They're not quite reserves, but they
have enough shrubbery and overgrowth that the terrorists used to be able to
take cover there and even fire at the IDF forces. One day, at the beginning of
the current war, some Israeli reservists actually built a Roman-style catapult
and fired over some fire-torches to burn large swathes of the greenery. Of
late, the IDF has continued to deal successfully with this problem, clearing
very large areas in Lebanon, particularly in the areas within hundreds of
meters from the Israeli border, to prevent the enemy from coming near us under
the cover of green.
But of course nature continues to run its course, and the growth does
what it knows how to do best: it grows. The forces tried spraying various
growth-retardant chemicals, but these too were insufficient. So the soldiers of
Battalion 221 became gardeners: They set out for Lebanon to trim or cut down
trees, cut off branches, and basically clear entire areas practically by hand.
They marched through the wadis of southern Lebanon, equipped with
state-of-the-art gardening tools – thus proving that it is actually not true
that the grass is always greener on the other side…
And here's another thing that is worthwhile to know: In all the Lebanese
terrorist-stronghold villages along Israel's borders that the IDF destroyed in
last year's war, not one of them has begun to be rebuilt. Not one. They are
simply not settled; desolate. Here and there people are seen coming to collect
some of their belongings or metals for one purpose or another – but no one
lives there.
In Israel, on the other hand, the residents of almost every single
northern village have returned home.
No one is saying that everything is hunky-dory or that there's nothing
to fear. In the town of Shlomi, for instance – a beautiful Israeli village in
the northwestern Galilee, population 8,000 – they built a new school about two
years ago. But then the war broke out, the town came under Hizbullah fire, and
people left. Now that they have returned, the question was raised: "What
do we do with the new school? After all, it's even closer to the border than
the old school was!" Some parents, and teachers, were quite jittery at the
prospect of holding classes there.
The security officer of Shlomi quickly called the commander of Battalion
221, Brig.-Gen. Binyamin Tropper, and asked him to explain the situation to the
concerned residents. Tropper came, explained to them how the situation had been
reversed, told them how many soldiers are holding the area, and provided encouraging
details regarding the new circumstances.
Almost everyone was reassured – except for one teacher, who asked,
"Why is the soccer field in town still not lit up? And the same for the
streetlights in that neighborhood. Doesn't that mean that we're still afraid
that Hizbullah will fire rockets at us?"
The mayor, who was also present, was puzzled, and asked that the matter
be checked. Within minutes, it turned out that no one had turned off the lights
at all. Rather, a Hizbullah rocket a while back had knocked out part of the
electricity in the neighborhood – and no one paid much attention to it - probably
because no one was living there for a while, having all been evacuated to
"southern" Israel. The matter was quickly resolved.
This story shows that there are still fears, and no one should make
light of them. But the new school in Shlomi is now open.
And for a final incident, this one a bit more amusing: Overlooking
Shlomi is an IDF outpost named Magen Yehuda (Shield of Judah), the largest of
five such points inside Lebanon. Though they are well-protected, they
are not only for the purposes of defense. Not a day goes by that the IDF does
not send forces relatively deep into Lebanese territory to search for weapons
and the like left behind by Hizbullah, and in general to safeguard the area.
Every move that the Lebanese Army, or the UN forces adjacent to the
border, wants to make must be closely coordinated with the IDF – and in fact
this is the case most of the time. On the other hand, the IDF doesn't
coordinate with anyone when it wants or needs to enter Lebanon. Whenever the
security needs of the residents of the north require it, even indirectly, the
troops enter Lebanon and do what has to be done. This led to an interesting
ping-pong exchange with the Lebanese Army recently.
What happened was that the IDF brass decided that the buffer zone around
Magen Yehuda needed to be expanded, so as to ensure that the terrorists do not
try to come close. And so, one night the Israeli troops went out with metal
posts, known as baznatim, and stuck them in the ground some distance
away from Magen Yehuda, in order to show the locals that there was a new
"border." The next morning, the Israeli cameras showed a lot of
confusion. The Lebanese locals seemed to not understand what had happened while
they were sleeping. Still, however, after a few days, they decided to show some
muscle, and went to remove the baznatim.
For the Israelis, this was not the end of the story, but rather only the
beginning. They sent another force in that very night to replace the baznatim.
But the Lebanese, too, didn't give up – and thus began a ritual of them
removing, and our side replacing.
Until finally one time, when the Lebanese soldiers came to uproot the baznatim,
they found themselves with hands full of oil and grease – which the Israelis
had spread over the posts before leaving them in the ground. This time the
cameras caught the Lebanese gesticulating in frustration at the tremendous mess
they had made of themselves, and at the prospect of the long showers they would
have to take – if there were any in their outposts.
Yet another time, when the Lebanese tried to uproot the metal posts, all
of a sudden, miraculously, light bombs exploded from within – totally harmless,
but frightening just the same. Their cries of shock could be heard all the way
to the new school in Shlomi - where the pupils are safely attending classes.