It was one of fifty Zoom interviews.
A half-hour slot. A couple on the screen. She sat slightly angled away, her expression tense. He stared downward, rubbing his hand. There was a silence before the words came—and when they did, they landed like bricks.

They looked like they had already tried everything. Therapists. Conversations. Time. This wasn’t their first step—but it felt like their last hope.

He had served over 500 days in the reserves—combat, not logistics. His wife had given birth while he was away. Her parents had been living in their home for months after being evacuated during the war. His brother—his best friend—had been critically injured in another combat unit and was in a coma for six months. And still, he kept fighting.

Then he said something I won’t forget:

“I found myself in the hardest place of my life. I was raised with strong Jewish values—to be present for my wife, my children, my family. But I was in the field, ignoring their cries while staying loyal to my unit and my country. It was a complete contradiction of everything I believe. I feel like I failed them.”

This wasn’t an isolated story.

In nearly every one of the 50 interviews we conducted over the past month, I’ve heard echoes of this same heartbreak. Soldiers from Duvdevan—some of the most elite and committed fighters in Israel—returning home to relationships that feel fragile, distant, and in quiet crisis.

Then came his partner’s voice.

“He comes home completely disconnected. He needs a break. I need a break. But I feel guilty even asking. We’ve lost the ability to talk. We’re just surviving.”

Since........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)