In article <1483500342@igc.apc.org>, Center for Policy Research <cpr@igc.apc.org> writes: > > From: Center for Policy Research <cpr> > Subject: From Israeli press. Madness. > > /* Written  4:34 pm  Apr 16, 1993 by cpr@igc.apc.org in igc:mideast.forum */ > /* ---------- "From Israeli press. Madness." ---------- */ > FROM THE ISRAELI PRESS. > > Paper: Zman Tel Aviv (Tel Aviv's time). Friday local Tel Aviv's > paper, affiliated with Maariv. > > Date: 19 February 1993 > > Journalist: Guy Ehrlich > > Subject: Interview with soldiers who served in the Duvdevan > (Cherry) units, which disguise themselves as Arabs and operate > within the occupied territories. > > Excerpts from the article: > > "A lot has been written about the units who disguise themselves as > Arabs, things good and bad, some of the falsehoods. But the most > important problem of those units has been hardly dealt with. It is > that everyone who serves in the Cherry, after a time goes in one > way or another insane".   Gee, I'd better tell this to the Mental Health Branch of the Israeli Army Medical Corps ! Where would we be without  you, Davidson ?      > > A man who said this, who will here be called Danny (his full name > is known to the editors) served in the Cherry. After his discharge > from the army he works as delivery boy. His pal, who will here be > called Dudu was also serving in the Cherry, and is now about to > depart for a round-the-world tour. They both look no different > from average Israeli youngsters freshly discharged from conscript > service. But in their souls, one can notice something completely > different....It was not easy for them to come out with disclosures > about what happened to them. And they think that to most of their > fellows from the Cherry it woundn't be easy either. Yet after they > began to talk, it was nearly impossible to make them stop talking. > The following article will contain all the horror stories > recounted with an appalling openness. > > (...) A short time ago I was in command of a veteran team, in > which some of the fellows applied for release from the Cherry. We > called such soldiers H.I. 'Hit by the Intifada'. Under my command > was a soldier who talked to himself non-stop, which is a common > phenomenon in the Cherry. I sent him to a psychiatrist. But why I > should talk about others when I myself feel quite insane ? On > Fridays, when I come home, my parents know I cannot be talked to > until I go to the beach, surf a little, calm down and return. The > keys of my father's car must be ready for in advance, so that I > can go there. I they dare talk to me before, or whenever I don't > want them to talk to me, I just grab a chair and smash it > instantly. I know it is my nerve:  Smashing chairs all the time > and then running away from home, to the car and to the beach. Only > there I become normal.(...) > > (...) Another friday I was eating a lunch prepared by my mother. > It was an omelette of sorts. She took the risk of sitting next to > me and talking to me. I then told my mother about an event which > was still fresh in my mind. I told her how I shot an Arab, and how > exactly his wound looked like when I went to inspect it. She began > to laugh hysterically. I wanted her to cry, and she dared laugh > straight in my face instead ! So I told her how my pal had made a > mincemeat of the two Arabs who were preparing the Molotov > cocktails. He shot them down, hitting them beautifully, exactly as > they deserved. One bullet had set a Molotov cocktail on fire, with > the effect that the Arab was burning all over, just beautifully. I > was delighted to see it.  My pal fired three bullets, two at the > Arab with the Molotov cocktail, and the third at his chum. It hit > him straight in his ass. We both felt that we'd pulled off > something. > > Next I told my mother how another pal of mine split open the guts > in the belly of another Arab and how all of us ran toward that > spot to take a look. I reached the spot first. And then that Arab, > blood gushing forth from his body, spits at me. I yelled: 'Shut > up' and he dared talk back to me in Hebrew! So I just laughed > straight in his face. I am usually laughing when I stare at > something convulsing right before my eyes. Then I told him: 'All > right, wait a moment'. I left him in order to take a look at > another wounded Arab. I asked a soldier if that Arab could be > saved, if the bleeding from his artery could be stopped with the > help of a stone of something else like that. I keep telling all > this to my mother, with details, and she keeps laughing straight > into my face. This infuriated me. I got very angry, because I felt > I was becoming mad. So I stopped eating, seized the plate with he > omelette and some trimmings still on, and at once threw it over > her head. Only then she stopped laughing. At first she didn't know > what to say. > > (...) But I must tell you of a still other madness which falls > upon us frequently. I went with a friend to practice shooting on a > field. A gull appeared right in the middle of the field. My friend > shot it at once. Then we noticed four deer standing high up on the   Sigh.  Four (4) deer in Tel Aviv ?? Well, this is probably as accurate as the rest of this fantasy.      > hill above us. My friend at once aimed at one of them and shot it. > We enjoyed the sight of it falling down the rock. We shot down two > deer more and went to take a look. When we climbed the rocks we > saw a young deer, badly wounded by our bullet, but still trying to > such some milk from its already dead mother. We carefully > inspected two paths, covered by blood and chunks of torn flesh of > the two deer we had hit. We were just delighted by that sight. We > had hit'em so good ! Then we decided to kill the young deer too, > so as spare it further suffering. I approached, took out my > revolver and shot him in the head several times from a very short > distance. When you shoot straight at the head you actually see the > bullets sinking in.  But my fifth bullet made its brains fall > outside onto the ground, with the effect of splattering lots of > blood straight on us. This made us feel cured of the spurt of our > madness. Standing there soaked with blood, we felt we were like > beasts of prey. We couldn't explain what had happened to us. We > were almost in tears while walking down from that hill, and we > felt the whole day very badly. > > (...) We always go back to places we carried out assignments in. > This is why we can see them. When you see a guy you disabled, may > be for the rest of his life, you feel you got power. You feel > Godlike of sorts." > > (...) Both Danny and Dudu contemplate at least at this moment > studying the acting. Dudu is not willing to work in any > security-linked occupation. Danny feels the exact opposite. 'Why > shouldn't I take advantage of the skills I have mastered so well ? > Why shouldn't I earn $3.000 for each chopped head I would deliver > while being a mercenary in South Africa ? This kind of job suits > me perfectly. I have no human emotions any more. If I get a > reasonable salary I will have no problem to board a plane to > Bosnia in order to fight there." > > Transl. by Israel Shahak. >  Yisrael Shahak the crackpot chemist ?  Figures.  I often see him in the Rechavia (Jerusalem) post office. A really sad figure. Actually, I  feel sorry for him. He was in a concentration camp during the Holocaust  and it must have affected him deeply.