I reckon this is what they call ‘survivors guilt’.
Their names and faces are burned into my minds eye, as their pictures adorn a wall in my study.
Today, as I do semi regularly, I stand in front of each one and close my eyes, in remembrance and prayer.
There are so many going through such contemplation and remembrance today.
And asking this question to themselves….
‘Was I a good man/woman/person?’
How have I came through all those places and spaces relatively physically unscathed whilst so many died along the way?
Both in the field, and after, back stateside when the memories of trauma and inhumanity and their own youthful indiscretions that led them into a moment that they would take back if only they could.
That years later, they couldn’t live with for another day.
Though I was always unarmed, the decades of service as an aid worker had me serving side by side with military personal and Peacekeepers from many many countries.
When we had to serve a populace often behind enemy lines… a populace terrified and cowed and starving from the recent aftermaths of such violence.
Where famine and disease were mixed with acts of unregulated depravity… with complete impunity.
We often had to feign neutrality to talk our way past the checkpoints… the worst I ever got was in El Salvador when a member of a death squad named after ( I kid you not ) their benefactor Ronald Reagan didn’t like the cut of my jib and knocked out many of my teeth with his rifle butt.
Many got much much worse.
Many would have died for me, and one did so.
He was a better man than I.
Many joined because they felt a duty, many joined because it was a family tradition, many joined because of the belief that it would help them in their future… VA loans and the such.
Many believed that the government would be there for them with mental health counseling if and when they needed it.
Those that I knew the best and deepest were those who joined to help a given cause that they had nothing to do with, in heritage or religion or country.
Much is known about the Lincoln Battalion, that was formed by a group of volunteers from the U.S. who served in the Spanish Civil War to fight the Nationalist forces led by Franco and who were supported by the Nazis.
( I once met an elderly veteran of the LB who when I said Lincoln Brigade, he corrected me with, “That’s Battalion, son! Battalion!” )
Thousands came from dozens of countries, though they themselves were not of Spanish descent, to volunteer as soldiers, medical personnel, technicians and the like.
Of the 3000 +/- Americans who joined, 681 never returned.
In every conflict, on every continent, there are those ‘Internationals’ who feel the call.
They are not mercenaries, as the pay is nil.
They are those sisters and brothers who feel it to their core, and it can’t be shook.
They witnessed others suffering, and that was their call.
I last served in Kurdistan, in Rojava, a de facto autonomous region in northeastern Syria, with the YPG and YPJ, Kurds who fought and defeated ISIS, and then had to contend with Syria and Turkey. www.dailykos.com/...
From all over the globe, Internationals from 18 to 60+ joined, many of them women.
How I remember so many of them now.
It was only yesterday.
This last month, I have been in Israel.
Seeing many old friends who were also drawn.
Back here in the States now to spend precious time with family and deal with responsibilities until I return once again in a few weeks.
This time, indefinitely.
Found a house to be a home.
( I’ll go more in depth in the future. )
Would you be surprised that there are many arriving from all over the globe to serve in one capacity or another?
Many many are not Jewish.
Both Russians and Ukrainians have flown in, literally and tangibly, serving a common cause, side by side.
And are willing to serve, and possibly die, side by side.
Pretty remarkable, all things considering?
Nah, not really.
I’m not surprised in the least.
As I do every year on this day, I will be opening a top shelf bottle of wine.
This year, a Chateau Lafite Rothschild 2019.
And I will drink the bottle, in sober reflection and contemplation to those sisters and brothers I have had the good fortunate to serve with.
To those still living.
And to those who are no longer here to join me, or to receive my phone call.
Though through spirit, they will join me and will receive my call.
I will say their names, and to each, a reflection and a toast.
There’s so many at this point, that I just might have to open a second bottle.
Friends, I wish you were here to share this bottle with me.
Friends here in this, our community, I wish you too were here to share this bottle with me.
Whatever libation you choose, I join you in a toast.
‘You were the friends of my youth.
My comrades through thick and thin… and everything in-between.
I drink to your memories.
I loved you fellas.
One and all.
To love and friendship.’
In your memory.
.
Yes, Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I’ve belted you and flayed you,
By the livin’ Gawd that made you,
You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!