Maayan Or Hoch ’19

Posted on September 6, 2024

“I look at universities around the world, and I see how close they are to me in many areas of thought, but then they shout ‘Free Palestine,’ and I feel like all of a sudden we’re on opposite sides.”

My name Maayan Or, Amitim 2019. I’m 22 years old, from Kibbutz Kabri in the north of Israel. I enjoy reading philosophy, playing music, and hiking. My dream is to travel to Mongolia and China. I began my military service two and a half years ago as a psychotechnical diagnostician, but I wanted to be a combat soldier, so I transferred to the Armored Corps. Last May, I was injured in combat in Gaza, and now I am in rehabilitation.

Tension and rehabilitation

I have a leg injury and I spend two or three days a week receiving treatments at Tel Hashomer Hospital. The daily struggles are primarily around rehabilitation — doing physical therapy exercises, working on lifting the injured leg, and avoiding exposure to the sun because of the burns I have on my hand and leg. It’s challenging in the Israeli summer.

Aside from that, there is the tension at home, up north. My kibbutz is not in the evacuated area, but it is very close to it. Everyone is on edge, and even the sound of a motorcycle passing by makes people turn their heads. On the other hand, even in the shadow of the threat and the tension about what will happen with the Iranians, people somehow continue with their lives. The tension feels almost absurd, because we’re all just waiting – waiting for something to happen or not happen. In the meantime, as a soldier who is no longer in the field, I am also worried about my platoon. I don’t follow the news on an hourly basis, but the fact that my friends are there is something that occupies my mind.

Gratitude

There are positive things to be thankful for, and I now have much more appreciation for things that could easily be taken for granted, like, for example, sleeping without shoes after months of combat. There is also something – one might say it’s a chilling thought – in knowing that I am living through the most significant period of my generation. I am very aware of the number of stories I am accumulating. There are very sad stories, but there are also funny ones. For example, when I was injured and in a wheelchair, a friend asked me what I wanted to do, and I casually said that I wanted to learn to play the kamancheh (it’s an incredible instrument from Azerbaijan, also played in Turkey—look up Mark Eliyahu). It’s not a popular or cheap instrument, but he simply started a crowdfunding campaign and raised the money. And now I have a kamancheh.

There are also moments of nachas (satisfaction, peace) during this time. I truly feel the strength of solidarity within Israeli society, on many levels. People are stepping up to help, sometimes in ways that are almost a bit excessive. For example, because I live far away, there is an organization that has arranged for me and a few other injured soldiers to have an apartment in Ramat Gan so we can easily get to our physiotherapy treatments at Tel Hashomer Hospital. And when the neighbors heard that we were injured soldiers, they started preparing food for us about three times a week. There are people who just want to give.

Life beyond politics

I feel that the reality I encounter daily is calmer than what is reflected through the media. That is, there is no doubt that the political situation in Israel is not good, but ultimately, I pick up Haredi hitchhikers near Tel Hashomer, have good relations with the Arab villagers near us in the north; and when I was injured and evacuated, I was treated by Arab nurses. I think something in the non-political, non-publicized space is much more cohesive. Maybe that cohesion has its limits, I don’t know. But my experience, looking around, is of a forward-looking perspective, an optimistic future for the State of Israel, beyond identity politics, and beyond a reality where everyone hates the leftists, the rightists, the ultra-orthodox, and the Arabs.

Questions of progressive identity

Being leftwing in a combat role is not simple. The friction with the civilian population – in Gaza or in the West Bank – is inevitable under these circumstances. I was definitely hesitant at first, but I think that in many situations, especially those involving civilians, I would rather have people like me out there than soldiers who use their power unprofessionally and with less self-control. Fortunately, the people I served with were principled and professional, but it still affected our conversations. I also felt that I took the situations to heart more than they did, as for some of them, it was simply another mission.

As someone who belongs to progressive circles, I now find myself preoccupied also with questions of identity and tension that I’m sure also exist in the U.S. – how close am I to liberal circles and what is the point of contention, and to what extent can I feel a sense of belonging to these circles when, in the end, I disagree with them on the question of Israel? It’s clear to me that I agree with liberal circles on issues like human rights, women’s rights, and minority rights. On the other hand, I look at universities around the world, and I see how close they are to me in many areas of thought, but then they shout ‘Free Palestine,’ and I feel like all of a sudden we’re on opposite sides. I don’t want to feel different from them on other issues, but when this question arises, sometimes the thought that goes through my mind is, ‘Wait, are they wrong about everything or am I wrong now, or… how can I live with this complexity?” It’s also a question of identity. I feel like I belong to both sides, and in the end, these values clash. So how can I live with both of them? These are the questions I’m asking, and they don’t have clear answers.

Where do we go from here?

I think about the fighting in Gaza and ask myself, what should we do? Where do we go from here and what is the goal now? It’s clear that returning the hostages is a goal, and finding Hamas is a goal. But ultimately, in terms of practical means, I wonder how they can be achieved. It’s actually now that I am no longer in the thick of the fighting, that these questions weigh more heavily on my mind. How much longer? How much further? And I don’t have an answer. Not one.

Healthier ways of coping

When I think about the ethos of the fighter and look at my generation, I believe we are much healthier mentally than previous generations. I see this both now, in rehabilitation, and when I was in combat. I see how many people feel comfortable sharing their difficulties. Even at a systemic level, I think there is a lot of awareness about mental health. For example, with fighters, there is a clear protocol for treating a soldier who’s gone into shock, while still in battle. We’re encouraged to see a mental health officer, to share what you’re experiencing, not just for those dealing with PTSD, just to unload. There’s something very interesting about this, because ultimately, the whole masculine military ethos – something about it is changing and becoming more inclusive. The fact that
people talk about their mental state openly, share their dreams and difficulties, I think it indicates something quite healthy. I see around me how sharing really eases people’s experience. Even in situations where you were under fire, but in the end, you share and cope and even laugh about it – that’s a healthy way of coping.

The loss of Uriya Goshen, and the power of optimism

One of my closest friends from Bronfman was killed in the war. Uriya Goshen. And without a doubt – even with all the fighting and despite how difficult things are on the battlefield, when you’re under fire – in the end, I think that loss and mourning are the hardest things I’ve had to face.

Uriya once told me, before the war, that he had lost a friend in a terrorist attack. I remember how he said that we must find joy and we must move on. Even during the war, when we would talk on the phone, he would share and tell me how hard things were, but also how we still needed to find joy. I learned from him the power of a smile and of optimism. And I think I want to adopt that.

As I am still in rehabilitation, I meet many injured people in various situations – soldiers, freed hostages, and survivors from the Nova music festival. People who fight every day to move their leg. I try very hard to instill optimism in them because I see people who are stuck in a kind of cycle where they can’t find joy, so they don’t go out and do things, and they don’t recover. In the end, that optimism is the strongest medicine. Also as a medical coping mechanism. When I was injured, I surprised the doctors with how quickly I got up from the wheelchair. I think that maintaining a relatively positive state of mind, even while I was in a wheelchair, is what helped me get out of it.

This is a time of a lot of anxiety and mourning in Israeli society. And it might sound like a banal insight, but I really believe that optimism and hope for better days are important and healthy. Going out for a coffee and planning a post-army trip, or thinking about university applications.

Being optimistic in difficult times is challenging. But we must find joy, and we must move on.