The warriors, my brothers-in-arms, were huddled in the main bunker when we arrived. Upon arrival, brief hugs, and then a brief command. No one sleeps. A few brief exchanges. The constant bombardment of the Syrian artillery and the deafening roar of aircraft above dispelled any idea of sleep, command or not. Bread sandwiches were still available: a slice, another, and bread in the middle, soon to become emergency ration biscuit crackers. The huge cauldron of coffee was available to everyone there. A ladle and plastic cups, orange plastic. Denoting kosher for use with meat dishes. We kept kosher, even though there was no longer any meat. Even though I was vegetarian, and had many meat loving friends, who loved me for the meat that they were able, deftly without disturbing the rice, to lift off my plate.

Outside the just below shoulder height trenches allowed access to heavy machine gun posts. We rotated from post to post, every two hours, to keep awake and to keep alert.

The next day another command. Sleep for two hours. Trench and heavy machine gun posts and radio duty for four hours, taken in turns with everyone there.

Someone had come up the road during heavy Syrian artillery bombardment. Two men, heavy black coats, black hats, white shirts, fringes sticking out from under the shirt and the vest and the jacket. Sidelocks beneath the black hats.

They came bearing gifts. Etrog and........

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