I grew up just after the Second World War.  At that time, soldiers were coming back from overseas battles with little to say.  Later, in my own military career, I saw things in Viet Nam that I have never discussed.  Perhaps with fellow warriors, but otherwise no.  As time moved on, I came to know Germans who, only after many years of confidences, began to open up to what they had experienced as children during their war.  All together, I have learned that such reticence is a typical reaction of people whose lives were shaken to their cores.

Today, we talk about PTSD.  During WW I, it was called shell shock; the next wars called it battle fatigue.  It’s all the same stuff.  The human psyche simply shuts down until the torment is either released or just buried.  “Seemingly buried” perhaps might be a better word for it.  Many times lives continue as though nothing had happened.  Astonishingly, most of the time, this apparent calm is all that is seen, even by the person dealing with it.  But, it’s always there.  It’s always working on the soul in some fashion or another.  It’s always slipping out into the open leaving small clues of its existence.  We see it in irritability, suspicion, homelessness, violent nightmares, alcoholism, whatever.  It’s there.

Readers of my book, Old Ghosts, and now, my new book,  Days of Atonement,  can see this theme of spiritual torment being replayed.  In both cases, these characters found relief only by being forced to talk with friends and lovers who demanded these demons be exorcised.  In both cases, Joe Brown and Lech Karnski were career soldiers who survived many battles while seeing friends and enemies die.  Life was sweet, but Death was so sudden.  There was so little time to say good-bye.  But, they carried on stocially until they could go no further.  They had to talk, and then they had to act.  Joe became a PTSD counselor, and Lech became a rabbi.  Only then could they go continue their lives with a sense of positive purpose.

Of course, war is dramatic.  It’s the stuff of legend.  But, torment can come in many ways.  Hurricane Katrina destroyed homes and lives.  The Ebola outbreak in Africa tore children, fathers and mothers from each other.  A person suddenly paralyzed never to walk again.  These are all sudden and tormenting occasions for bitterness, despair, and bewilderment. The results can be as deadly as if they were suffered in the midst of battle for indeed that is what these occasions are: a battle for life.

Perhaps all of these stories, mine and those of unknown others, are testaments to the strength of the human spirit. Ghosts haunt people for years as they carry on with their daily lives.  But, perhaps a greater testament is how these souls are finally able to address their fears and then rise to a higher plane of spiritual existence.  Such were the cases of Joe and Lech.  Such has been the case of every veteran who served in combat.  Such has been the case of anyone who has suffered an earth shattering disaster.  These millions of people…going on, carrying on, caring for others, and giving to those in need even as their own souls cry out for relief.  If my stories have any relevance, it is in homage to all of these people who are quiet heroes doing simple deeds of good to their fellows.

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.