This exhibit is a glimpse beyond the big words, words like curfew, honor in war, commands, policies, "low level confrontation".
Behind these big words is a small soldier, an 18, 19 or 20 yr. old boy. And the soldier doesn't really understand what the policy is, where in his M16 the honor is hidden and exactly what is "low level" here. These words lost their meaning on the first day he enforced a curfew. On the day he saw a terrorist suicide bomber blow up 20 meters from him. On the day he confronted Jews he is meant to be protecting and was cursed and beaten by them. On the day he arrived in Hebron.
After two days in Hebron I understood that in order to survive there I must lock up all that I am, all my values and ideologies, all my feelings and thoughts, in a little box. And shut up.
When I went home from Hebron I would take the preceding two weeks and lock them up inside. To my worried parents I would say that the situation is difficult but manageable. They embraced me and continued to worry and eagerly wait for the day I could get out of there.
So a high wall of silence grew between and around us. We were silent after guard duty, silent on our leaves at home. We were silent with our girlfriends, with our cronies, with our parents. I was silent as I watched myself slowly
turning into a dumb, cold robot. I was ashamed of the things I discovered about myself.
My father would drive me back to Jerusalem. From there I would continue in the armored bus. That's how it was. Alone. They would send me packages. They would call me every day. But through no fault of their own, they knew nothing of what their son was going through.
Last night I stood in the gallery just after we finished hanging the photographs and looked around me. I suddenly realized that at long last my mother would understand what the Casba in Hebron looked like. On this day, almost a whole year after my discharge from the army, my mother would finally see where her son spent almost a year. How very distant I was from home. My father would hear other good sons like me talk about the insanity they had encountered in Hebron. Everything would come out. That feeling made the whole mess of the past weeks worthwhile. All the pressures and trepidation. The feeling that this onerous silence has perhaps reached an end.
Look around you. Look for the discharged soldiers among you. See the feeling of relief on their faces. Because this ponderous burden that until this day we bore alone, now passes onto the shoulders of us all. The whole of Israeli society bears the responsibility. It was Israeli society that sent us to Hebron, and we went with unwavering conviction.
Tonight, thanks to all the people here, the time has come to talk about what we endured there and how we are now returning to you. Coming home.
