דברים שרואים משם — לפני 41 שנה בדיוק

בין הספרים שהגיעו מבית הורי אשר בדרום אפריקה היה "יומן של חייל" שכתבה יעל דיין. הרמתי וקראתי את העמוד האחרון. אין מילים. 

"A Soldier's Diary" by Lt. Yael Dayan, 1967.

On June 18 some of us got orders to leave. Suddenly it was all over. Arik packed his small rucksack and folded his two blankets. My things were to travel north in the Lark, and Dov was talking to the airport control tower, checking on the time of departure. We said Shalom and, 'See you next week in town.' I had tears in my eyes and blamed it on the sandstorm. Arik, Dov and I boarded the small helicopter. Thirteen days ago at 8.15, Arik had said, 'Nua-Nua', and the Centurions had crossed the frontier towards the unknown. And now, thirteen days later, we were returning to all that was supposed to be familiar and homelike, feeling like strangers.

'Fly low to El Arish and follow the beach as low as you can,' Arik told the pilot. We sat and gazed down at the scenery through the open side of the helicopter. The road, Jebel Libni, El Arish, the palm-trees and the beach. The white sands of Rafah, the camps near Gaza, the feminine curve of the shore-line, the beauty of the untouched coast and dunes. Arik tried to shout above the helicopter's noise. He was gesturing with his hand, as if showing us the view, as if we had not noticed. He was trying to say something. On a piece of paper he wrote, 'All this is ours', and he smiled like a proud boy. When we crossed the now non-existent border the scenery changed. The land below us now was green and cultivated, the houses indicated modern living conditions, tractors and combines were ploughing and harvesting and girls in bikinis waved to us from the beaches.

Ashkelon, Ashdod, Jaffa and Tel-Aviv. For a brief moment I envied those girls. It must be wonderful for a soldier to meet his girl – wearing a dress, clean, a touch of perfume perhaps, hair nicely done, a handbag – it was all something to come back to. And there I was. Dirty and dusty, a silly plait uncombed for days, burnt, rough skin, heavy boots, red eyes. We landed and drove to Zahala in silence. We were all thinking of tomorrow morning? By coincidence Arik met his wife Lilly on the road. He joined her and we drove behind their car. She rested her head on his shoulder. He was home.

'All will be well,' Dov promised me. 'Home' now was something new, safer, larger, stronger and happier.