War and destruction brings pain.  It obviously hurts the invaded.  But equally, it hurts the invader as he or she destroys the lives of others.  My new novel, Days of Atonement, follows this theme.  Lech Karnski, a young Jewish boy was a gifted flutest who wanted nothing more than to follow his father into the Warsaw Symphony Orchestra and bring beauty to audiences.  But, then, World War II broke out, and instead of playing music, he found himself living in the city’s sewers waging war against German invaders.  As he killed soldiers, he himself became more like an animal focused on surviving.  Pity, concerns of right and wrong, conscience were all emotions he could not afford to carry as he went on to survive the horrors of Auschwitz.  They were simply excess baggage. Ultimately, starved and wounded, survival took him to Israel where he continued his work of leading his soldiers into battle.  Here, he was both defender and attacker.  And as he did so, his callused life of survival led to ever more desperate acts of violence.  Once, seeing an Arab soldier stand up to surrender, Lech simply shot him while thinking, It’s easier this way.  

Without going into further details, Lech survives wars and many battles until one day, he sees Arab boys staring at him with utter hatred.  This brings him up short.  Is this how I looked at German soldiers when I was in Warsaw?  Am I to these boys as those soldiers were to me?  Are they a mirror of myself?  Will they, in turn, become me as they fight through battles? Am I now a German soldier?

Soldiers coming home from battle are battered and often broken in spirit.  They may seem tough on the outside, but inside are raging memories that will be carried for life.  But, as hidden as they are from sight, they still come out.  Some erupt through drink, others lead to homelessness, and still others are buried into walls of stoic silence until suicide intervenes.  Or, like Lech, they are simply submerged in battle under layers of even more horrors.  The modern term for this is PTSD, but it’s still pain, excruciating pain, that simply never goes away.

A few veterans successfully confront this pain and deal with it.  The vast majority of them do so only with outside help.  It’s almost impossible to do so alone.  But, they do, however paradoxically, the hardest part for each of them is to admit they are suffering.  Soldiers don’t cry.  They’re supposed to suck it up.  And they do, until the burden becomes too much to bear.  At that point, they are reduced to tears and agony of terrible depths.  At that point, they ask for help, and with luck, it’s available.  With luck, someone comes who has known defeat and suffering and who can offer solace with a compass direction out.

As they travel through this thicket of confusion, their pain does not go away.  The memories cannot be erased.  But, life’s resiliency assumes command and gives direction.  Forgiveness of self and atonement to others proceeds.  This is not easy, but it can be done.  Watch a veteran as he or she progresses along this tortuous path.  They won’t say anything, and they don’t want to be asked.  Their pain is too private.  It can only be shared with another veteran who was in that same Hell.  But, they do come back to a sense of true redemption and self.  Such is the joy of living.