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Dispatch from a Reservist in Gaza

(Times of Israel) Izzy Ezagui - A mortar took my arm in Gaza in 2008. I live in Los Angeles, but I've spent every vacation day accrued since 10/7 in Gaza. Or the tunnels under Lebanon. On my final mission this trip, we found a tunnel shaft in Gaza, and I was ordered to clear it. I threw a grenade. Pulled the pin with my teeth. The guys couldn't get enough of it. Like something out of a '90s action flick. It obviously means something to them that I fly in from so far away. That I show up, one arm short and still in the fight. They mean something to me, too. These men who risk everything. They leave behind spouses, infants, careers. Full lives. They don't complain. They don't make speeches. They just pack a bag and come. They talk about the strain at home. Kids who won't sleep while they're gone. Wives who cry in the kitchen but stay strong on the phone. They talk about October 7th. About the bodies. The friends they lost. The pieces they had to gather. How, sometimes, there weren't enough left to bring back. And what it takes to keep going after that. Out here, no one needs to pretend. It's the realest place I've ever been. For a few short weeks each year, in this place, with these men - it's the only time I feel whole. The writer, a decorated IDF squad commander, lost an arm in combat and continues to serve in a combat engineering reconnaissance reserve unit.
2025-07-29 00:00:00
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