There’s a heaviness to the air here on the Gaza border, a tension that settles like the fine layer of dust on everything we touch. It’s a place where calm can feel surreal, and the stillness often carries a hint of anticipation. Standing watch on Israel’s southern border, especially here near Gaza, is unlike anything I imagined before I put on this uniform. Each day here carries its own story, its own sense of urgency, and I carry each of those memories with me long after I leave the post.
The south has seen its share of conflict, and serving here brings an awareness that history is never far behind. I am stationed near Kibbutz Nahal Oz, an area known for its resilience despite being one of the closest Israeli communities to Gaza. You can see Gaza’s skyline from here, almost close enough to touch. Nahal Oz has been in the headlines too many times, with rockets falling on it since the early 2000s, turning life here into a cycle of alarm sirens, short bursts of intense calm, and moments when all you can do is brace yourself.
One of the starkest memories etched in my mind is Operation Protective Edge in 2014. Though I wasn’t yet in the army then, many of my fellow soldiers were, and their stories have left a deep mark on me. They describe it vividly—the 50-day operation, the unyielding rocket fire, and the days spent on edge, sometimes entering Gaza itself. Operation Protective Edge had a profound impact here, and even though that summer ended, the tension didn’t. Each flare-up brings us back to that place, and there are moments when history seems to repeat itself.
Each flare-up brings us back to that place, and there are moments when history seems to repeat itself.
Just recently, we faced renewed threats as rocket sirens blared over Sderot, Netiv HaAsara, and the surrounding communities. You think you’ve prepared yourself, and then, in the middle of an otherwise ordinary day, you hear the alarm—”Tzeva Adom,” the color red alert—and every nerve goes on high alert. You drop what you’re doing, whether you’re training, eating, or resting, and in seconds, you’re moving. Every person here knows the drill: get to shelter, protect yourself, and wait until the threat passes. The hardest part, though, is that sometimes it’s not just a drill.
There’s a certain rhythm to life on the Gaza border that you grow accustomed to, a pattern that mixes mundane tasks with constant vigilance. Patrols along the security fence are daily, but they’re never routine. There’s the lookout for tunnels, which are still an ongoing threat. You look for anything that seems out of place—a pile of dirt that wasn’t there yesterday, or any sign of movement on the other side of the fence. These patrols keep us grounded, keep us ready for the unexpected.
And yet, there are moments of humanity that emerge even here. I remember once, during a quieter stretch, when we saw children on the other side playing on the beach, just like any other kids. The irony hits hard—children laughing in the distance while we stand on guard, knowing that any minute things could change. It’s a reminder of the reality we live in and the lives on both sides that hang in the balance.
It’s strange, but life here has its own sense of normalcy, despite the tension. We share meals, train, laugh, and make memories with one another, knowing that this experience binds us in ways words can hardly capture. I’ve become close with people who, like me, grew up hearing about this region, its struggles, and its resilience. We carry with us the legacy of battles past—the constant rocket fire, Operation Cast Lead in 2008-2009, and the tragic loss of soldiers and civilians alike. Each name, each face, is remembered, and it fuels our resolve to protect the people of this land.
Serving here on the Gaza border, I’ve come to understand resilience in a way that no training could teach. It’s the resilience of the communities, the farmers who till the land even as they hear rockets overhead, the children who’ve learned to run to shelter without question, and the families who stay despite everything. Standing here, I’m reminded of why I chose to serve, why we all did—because this land, these people, and this life are worth defending.
The Gaza border isn’t just a line on a map; it’s a testament to the strength of those who live here and the soldiers who protect it. Every moment spent on this watch, every alarm and every quiet minute, reminds me of the honor it is to stand here, shoulder to shoulder with those who came before me and those who will follow. And until my time here ends, I will continue to serve, carrying with me the stories, the tension, and the pride of being part of Israel’s southern defense.
