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Fortune favors the bold? not for IDF reservists.
There are two types of people who won’t finish their academic degree.
There are those who won’t finish because they’ve completed their mission in this world. They won’t finish anything else either. The truth is, there’s no need to pity them. They won’t feel anything anymore, and it’s not such a tragedy that they won’t finish their degree—after all, there’s no use for it after death. The real pain belongs to us, those left behind with memories, forced to grapple with the loss and the void left in our hearts.
And then there are those who won’t finish their degree because of military reserves. Young people, full of motivation, eager to conquer the world after their meaningful military service, find themselves called up for reserve duty. No matter how hard they try to balance their uniforms and their classes, the army demands more than they can handle. The choice between civilian obligations and reserve duties is nearly impossible—a “Sophie’s Choice” of sorts. But not really, because you can’t let down the people in the field.
These are individuals who didn’t choose a military career, but reality forced them into a situation where their civilian path had to wait until they completed yet another operational campaign. These reserve soldiers didn’t choose the army out of love for uniforms or the system but from a profound sense of commitment. It’s part of their identity, their connection to the land and society. Their studies, work, family, hobbies, physical and mental health—all have to be put on hold.
When someone in civilian life asks a reservist, “So, what’s new?” the answer is almost always empty: “Not much.” But the truth is, a lot happened. Every day in the field is filled with intense experiences. Every mission, every moment of tension or shared laughter, is part of the distinct reality of reserve duty—a reality not easily explained or shared.
It’s hard to explain the guilt of being in the army because you’re not helping at home, and the guilt at home because you’re not in the army. It’s hard to describe the admiration for the people next to you—those who think differently from you politically but are willing to take a bullet for you. The young officer forced to do the work of three because there aren’t enough people, the fifty-something guy who refuses to stop running around, and the young battalion commander who went straight to a battalion commander’s course after a previous operation because he felt a responsibility to protect the soldiers in his battalion. Will anyone help them finish their degree? The Answer is no.
I paid a relatively low price for this war. I lost money, my Ph.D., which was supposed to be completed in 2024, was postponed—hopefully to the end of 2025—and my physical condition deteriorated. I lost friends, some in battles very close to me. Our wedding took place on the fourth day of the war, at a charity hall with almost no guests, instead of the grand event we had planned. The next day, I returned to the army, leaving my wife alone. The hardest part was when I told her—a new immigrant from America with no family in Israel—that I had to go for another round in Gaza. She asked me, “So who will take me to the hospital when I go into labor?”
I have friends who paid much higher prices. Some with their lives, some with their bodies, some lost most of their possessions, and all paid a heavy mental toll.
Many reservists don’t know if or when they will finish their degree. They won’t manage to complete the semester, even if they get extensions for assignments and a thousand free photocopies. It’s too late for tutoring sessions. And after everyone is sent home, they’ll need to catch up not just on last semester’s work. They’ll need to make up for the time that stopped when they put on their uniforms. While others move on with life, they’re still trying to scrub the dirt from their hands and nails.
The truth is, we can’t help everyone. But maybe we can remind those who weren’t there that we have these bold, brave, dedicated individuals who just want to return to life and try to finish their degree.
Attorney Ran Bar-Yoshafat, Officer in the 551st Brigade.
Originally published in Hebrew for Israel Hayom.