The Wound That Speaks

The Wound That Speaks

I was nineteen when I shot a friend in my unit during a military operation. It was a tragic mistake, part of a traumatic chain of events I witnessed and took part in during my service in an elite Israeli combat unit. We saw things no one should see. And yet, like so many others, I was never asked how I felt, never offered the chance to process what had happened. There was no space for that. The system didn’t see trauma—it saw weakness. So I did …