Path: cantaloupe.srv.cs.cmu.edu!crabapple.srv.cs.cmu.edu!fs7.ece.cmu.edu!europa.eng.gtefsd.com!gatech!howland.reston.ans.net!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!darwin.sura.net!sgiblab!sgigate!sgi!cdp!cpr
From: Center for Policy Research <cpr@igc.apc.org>
Newsgroups: talk.politics.mideast
Date: 16 Apr 93 16:49 PDT
Subject: From Israeli press. Madness.
Message-ID: <1483500342@igc.apc.org>
Sender: Notesfile to Usenet Gateway <notes@igc.apc.org>
Nf-ID: #N:cdp:1483500342:000:6673
Nf-From: cdp.UUCP!cpr    Apr 16 16:49:00 1993
Lines: 130


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".

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
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.

