Issue 73: Facing My Inner Hulk

Since returning from 139 days of reserve duty in my tank, there are days when I feel like Bruce Banner.

No, I am not a physicist, nor am I particularly shy. What I mean is that on most days I am my normal self. Never too high and never too low.

There are other days, however, when I feel like the HULK and am consumed by a powerful energy. I want to smash.

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In order to make sense of what is triggering these emotions, I’ve tried retracing my steps back to when I first returned home from reserve duty.

At the time, I felt as if my body and my mind were on two separate channels. Physically I was a bit of a mess, worn down by long days and nights in condensed spaces. Months with limited mobility, crap food, and mediocre living conditions. I think I am giving the living conditions too much credit. They were pretty dreadful most of the time. But within a matter of days I was up on my feet, back at work, trying to restart my pre-October 7th routine. It felt like the correct thing to do. My wife and kids hadn’t stopped working or going to school. It was my turn to get with the program.

The thing is, even if my body was in the right place at the right time - dropping off kids, entering the office, picking up groceries, filling up gas - my mind was adrift in space, wandering aimlessly in the emptiest corners. I lost focus in meetings. Couldn’t write emails. Maintaining focus during conversations required superhuman strength. And with a news cycle constantly reminding me that the war was not over, that my unit could be called up imminently, I wondered sometimes aloud what was real: the home front or the front line.

It took about two months for this sensation to finally subside. For my mind and body to become one again, to be able to focus on tasks and feel present at all times. I remember telling a friend in mid-May that I felt like the fog had finally lifted.

I was wrong. The fog may have been lifted, but what replaced it may have been worse: frustration.

Sometimes the frustration is over little things. Misplaced keys. Forgetting items on a checklist or important Whatsapps. Sometimes the frustration is over interactions with people. Thoughtless drivers. People who don’t seem to care that we are at war. Sometimes the frustration is with family, who are my one and only rock and unfortunately aren’t physically and emotionally closest to me when that frustration boils over. Mostly though, the frustrations are over much bigger things. About the strategic failures of October 7th. That there are still 120 hostages in captivity. That there are still many people who believe there is a military solution to this conflict (spoiler: there isn’t). How we’ve normalized the war in a way that the majority sit in cafes, go to the gym, and worry about their careers, while a minority of hundreds of thousands of people are displaced (yes, I’m counting Israelis and Palestinians) and people are dying every day. That too many people share shallow social media narratives about the war that present Israelis as either devils or as saints - they are neither, they are just like you - and that many people share similarly shallow social media narratives about Palestinians. That too many people, from both sides of the political aisle and in multiple countries, are directly and indirectly profiting off of this war by spreading half-truths and creating clickbait. How no one would take care of my family if I died - nonetheless, my family’s safety is dependent on someone willing to put their life on the line. That, like all human beings, neither Israelis or Palestinians are naturally predetermined to behave a particular way, that they have agency and under certain conditions can change their opinions and worldview. That nobody has a plan. How every time I feel like I’ve turned a corner, something comes along and blindsides me, setting me back days or weeks.

During the war, a popular band called Hatikvah 6 produced a song entitled “Superheroes”. The song acts as reminder to the Israeli public how everyday people called up for reserve duty are being asked to perform heroic deeds. It’s a lovely idea, an anthem to the social bonds that unite Israelis in times of need. But superheroes - whether in comics or in real life - are human. The price of heroism is often carrying the emotional baggage of that experience for the rest of their lives. In one moment a Bruce Banner can become the HULK. That doesn’t mean that heroism shouldn’t be lauded; we need to understand the burden of heroism and commit to providing services for those who return home. To understand that heroes, just like the rest of us, need help.

When I have the time to sit and reflect on what is going on inside me, I reach the conclusion that my lack of agency is the primary source of my frustration. Ironically, I feel this lack of agency as a civilian. I didn’t feel that way when I was in reserve duty, even though by definition you have less agency when you are at the lowest rung of a large bureaucratic organization like the military and your range of motion is often confined to the four steel walls of your tank. Perhaps this is because the relative isolation from the world over such a long period of time narrows the set of external variables that can influence your state of mind. The world is moving at an unprecedented pace outside, yet because you know there is little you can do to influence these events you are more willing to ride with the current. I find this to be less of the case in civilian life, when the number of external variables are multiple and your desire to take control of your life is significantly higher.

I don’t know if everyone who has experienced war feels this way. I do have a strong sense that many people here, Israelis and Palestinians alike, can relate to my frustration. After nearly nine months of war, most have probably figured out a way of coping with this feeling, burying it deep inside in order to create structure and a sense of purpose in their daily lives. This is a natural human response to trauma. Still, I think others - including perhaps reservists like me who are still readjusting to civilian life or are more frequently shuttling between home and the field - are a bit slower in identifying the most effective mechanism to make sense of what has happened, what is continuing to take place, and a deeply uncertain future.

As I said at the beginning, I’m not a physicist. And I’m definitely not a psychologist. My professional understanding of how human beings assess and define agency is nonacademic. I believe that in order to exert my own agency I need to accept that I have agency (that I am not helpless), to identify ways I can use my agency to create change (planning), and then try to execute them. Like a New Year’s resolution during wartime. Jokes aside, the future of Israelis and Palestinians in this land is dependent on how we each, individually and collectively, accept our own agency and choose to execute that agency in the world around us. There is no more daunting and heroic task than this.

Thanks for taking the time to read. As always, I welcome your comments and questions.

Best,

Gabi