I lost my faith in G*d on the streets of Baghdad.
It wasn’t one thing in particular. Instead, it was the sum of the six months I spent “training the Iraqi Police.” Perhaps it was the dead little girls strewn on the streets of Baghdad? Or perhaps it was the IEDs placed in people’s stomachs? Or maybe it was the carnage I saw every day in the form of car bombs, snipers, EFPs, etc.
Whatever it was, I came home, and I swore off G*d for decades. I couldn’t square my faith with what I saw. Now, I was never very pious or observant. I’m still not. Regardless, I found religion to be obnoxious. How could I listen to a Rabbi, Priest, or Chaplain talk to me about G*d’s love when I saw the utter depravity of man?
It took me years to find my way back to G*d. In 2012, after my fourth deployment, I went to Israel with my good buddy, Adam. We weren’t there for any religious awakening. Instead, we were two Jewish combat veterans who wanted to party. And, if you’re an American Jewish combat veteran, then Israel is the place to be. While we did our due diligence and visited the Wailing Wall, we were primarily interested in Tel Aviv’s nightlife.
While at the wall, I wrote a little prayer for victory in Afghanistan. I also prayed for my troops who were killed, especially Senior Airman Jonathan Yelner, a fellow Heeb who died in Kapisa. I didn’t feel like it did much good, to be honest. The war kept on going, and we kept on losing.
How could G*d do that?
In 2015, I returned after my fifth deployment. I took my Mom to the holy sites. We were both in mourning over the recent death of my father. It was a trip filled with grief. When I went to the wall, I wrote a little prayer for Pops and asked for victory again.
Again, the war continued.
But, in all fairness, I didn’t believe anymore. I had seen more of war in all of its cruelest forms—murder, rape, and torture. And, to be honest, I despised G*d for taking my friends and letting the Taliban and Al Qaeda continue their steady march to victory.
It wasn’t until Kabul fell in 2021 that I genuinely started praying again. This time, I didn’t ask for anything in particular. Instead, I just asked for strength to endure the unimaginable pain the fall of Afghanistan caused America’s combat veterans. I needed something to believe in since my country and its people had betrayed me by abandoning our Afghan allies to the very people who killed 3,000 Americans on 9/11.
Finally, I felt some relief. Those early morning prayers helped steady me. Whether it was the meditative power or the healing touch of G*d is beyond me. Whatever it was, it helped me fight the good fight, resulting in the relocation of 300+ Afghans.
So, yesterday, I returned to the wall. I wrote a prayer for my daughter. I wrote a prayer for my Afghan brothers and sisters trapped behind enemy lines. And I wrote a prayer for vengeance (sorry, gentiles, this ain’t the New Testament).
However, when I touched the wall and recited my prayers this time, I felt a jolt of energy throughout my body.
I felt loved.
And after 20 years of war, that, my friends, was enough for me. I don’t think those little prayers get answered by G*d. However, I do believe that if you come correct, it can give you a little relief from the world’s cruelty.
And that in and of itself is a victory, something I long craved but never felt after over four years on the battlefield.
The Weekly Wrap
My BFF,
, brought the heat with an excellent article about Afghan women.Yet there can be no confusion that as Afghan women continue to fight for their own survival, they remain forsaken by the international community. Disgracefully, Afghan women were recently prohibited from attending high-level meetings (the “Doha talks”) between Taliban and United Nations officials, offering further legitimacy to the demands of a known terrorist organization while signaling to Afghan women that they have no stake in their own futures. (Beth Bailey delves more into the exclusion of women from the Doha talks here.)
As a woman in America, there is nothing more maddening than a group of men meeting behind closed doors to make critical decisions about my welfare—and my stakes pale in comparison to those faced by our Afghan sisters. At this point, we are beyond complicit in the Taliban’s efforts to erase women from their national history, and so I’m compelled to ask: are we really better than the Taliban?
Lately, I’m not so sure.
My brother-in-arms, Jason McCroskey, had an excellent essay on the need for dark humor in war.
Once, we conducted an operation far from the forward operating base. A young Iraqi soldier brought in some giblets via a white Toyota truck (if you know why I point that out, you know). Our goodies were in the duffel bag in the back, like some jacked-up Santa Claus. He refused to reach in, just kept shaking his head. Well, I don't have gloves, and I've made it a point to resist reaching into a bag of unknowns. For better or worse, I relent, carefully put my hand in, pull the evidence back, and go for something far heavier in a plastic bag.
I pull the clear plastic bag out of the duffel, and inside, lo and behold, is a goddamn right foot, neatly severed above the ankle. It was all that was viable to bring back to us. The rest of the body didn't exactly exist anymore. Now, I can't speak for every country, but Iraq doesn't use what we might call quality plastic bags. So, as I take the clod kicker in my hand, the 3-day-old melted fat, blood, and what I assume used to be ice cube water all trickle out and down my hand and arm. The odor, needless to say, is potent. The consistency that now coats me can be likened to OH HELL NO. FML. FUBAR. SNAFU.
Helai Kurshid had another inspiring essay about her teaching journey.
The first time they came, they kicked my glass door and yelled at me; they all were making fun of us. One of them said, women studying? Go and wash your dishes. Then they all started laughing; I was trembling from fear, then they forced us to leave, then I came home hopeless, sad, and worried, but again, after one week, our course reopened, and I continued teaching. This event happened many times, but I couldn't stop myself.
I stay consistent for my country's women, and I will fight against this violence till the end!
We had great episodes of Shoulder to Shoulder, Stories From My Brothers, and GCV’s Fire for Effect. Do me a favor. Download one of them and give us a spin. It will help us out if you give us some good reviews.
As always, I had a smattering of Daily Rants about who to blame for Afghanistan, Jerusalem, and my last time in uniform.
Next week will likely be light on content as I finish my trip to Zion. But upon my triumphant return, we’ll start cranking it out again.
Moral Injury
My BFF
is busier than a one-legged man in ass kicking contest (that’s a Pop’s original). Not only is she a great writer, lawyer, and all-around badass, but she also teamed up with Give an Hour to create a free virtual support group for veterans and active duty service members dealing with Moral Injury.Here’s the link to the application.
We couldn’t offer this support without our paid subscribers, especially our founding members. Your support helps us support our warriors who are reeling from a lost war that our leaders refuse to acknowledge.
If you have the extra spare change, please think about supporting our mission.
Until Next Time.
"Now, I was never very pious or observant."
This explains WHY You swore Faith Off.
Not to say it doesn't happen to people who know a lot of The Bible. Just its more likely to those who don't.
"Finally, I felt some relief. Those early morning prayers helped steady me. Whether it was the meditative power or the healing touch of G*d is beyond me. Whatever it was, it helped me fight the good fight, resulting in the relocation of 300+ Afghans."
Ya know God ( Sorry I'm A Christian :-) ) does that kind of thing All The Time. God Likes it when We Pray. And I'm not talking something flowery, Just a Thank You, when some good happens.
It sounds as though you’ve found a bit of peace - as you know my constant prayer for you. And also for all suffering the wounds of war. The invisible ones hardest to see unless shared. Thanks for sharing. Hi to your mom.