Resilience and healing on Israel’s Northern border: volunteer leads 20 therapists in support of soldiers
From the moment soldiers wake up, if they slept at all, their bodies remain in a constant state of readiness. Alertness becomes their new normal. The physical demands never relent. They spend long hours under strain, carrying heavy gear and staying vigilant, while the harsh conditions wear them down. Even the strongest can only endure so much.
- 3 weeks ago
August 28, 2024
Soldiers awaiting therapy treatments for physical and mental recovery in Israel. | Photo courtesy of Tasha Cohen 
JERUSALEM, Israel — For 20 years, I worked with children and in project management. A few years ago, I left both behind to learn carpentry and build houses while searching for my next steps. I never imagined I would find myself on Israel’s northern border, organizing over 20 physiotherapists to provide soldiers with breathwork, massage therapy, yoga, and physiotherapy.
On scene, soldiers with weapons in hand surround me, and the weight of the situation pressed down hard. The air carried the thick scent of earth and gunpowder. Each breath felt heavy, a constant reminder of the tension. This is the frontline—where the battle isn’t just with the enemy, but against the limits of the soldiers’ bodies and minds.
Read more stories from Israel at Orato World Media.
October 7 Hamas attack: “I threw myself into helping soldiers and civilians”
On October 7, 2023, I was supposed to be in southern Israel. Two days earlier, something in my heart told me not to go. I have no explanation. That morning, my dog woke me at 7:00 a.m. We went outside, and a neighbor asked, “Did you watch the news?” I replied, “I don’t watch the news. It’s not good for me.” My next thought echoed what most Israelis think: “More rockets.” Then she said, “Go get your phone.” I knew something was different.
I spent the entire day crying, calling my mom, and checking on friends. Suddenly, I felt desperate to reach my best friend and her little brother, who was stationed with the Golani Brigade at the southern border. We had not heard from them since 7:00 a.m. I contacted friends whose husbands I could drive to Nirim Kibbutz for reserve duty. Unmarried and without children, I felt this was my way to help.
On the morning of October 8, my friend’s husband called. “I’ve got to go,” he said. I jumped in the car and picked him up. Soon after, I learned my friend’s brother, the one I worried about, died in the Hamas attack. Thinking of this young man who felt like a little brother to me, overwhelming devastation sunk in as I drove toward the border.
With no time to mourn, I threw myself into helping soldiers and civilians. Every day, I drove equipment, transported soldiers, and brought them hot meals. After a week, I realized everyone’s focus remained on the south, where the attack happened. I saw an opportunity to be more useful in the north. Living in the lowest part of the region, I could make four or five trips a day.
Assisting soldiers at the border: sleep became a luxury as everyone operated on the bare minimum
I have spent over 10 months at the northern border, where sleep feels like a luxury. When I manage to sleep, distant explosions or sudden alerts on our phones constantly interrupt it. The soldiers’ muscles ache from lack of proper rest. They eat just enough food to sustain themselves, never to satisfy. Meals become rushed, often eaten on the go, with no time to enjoy them. Their bodies remain depleted, running on the bare minimum to keep moving.
From the moment soldiers wake up, if they slept at all, their bodies remain in a constant state of readiness. Alertness becomes their new normal. The physical demands never relent. They spend long hours under strain, carrying heavy gear and staying vigilant, while the harsh conditions wear them down. Even the strongest can only endure so much.
I see injuries on the soldiers every day—cuts, bruises, sprains—but field medics cannot do everything. Pain follows the soldiers constantly, even when they are not actively hurting. Exhaustion grinds them down, leaving them sore and worn out.
A couple of weeks in, one of the reservists told me, “I’m in pain. I’m in a lot of pain.” By that time, heavy attacks battered the North, and we found ourselves caught in the chaos of sirens and sheltering. It became clear, many soldiers just needed someone to talk to. At that point, no one knew exactly where these soldiers were or what was happening, and their families remained in the dark. Uncertainty weighed on everyone, leaving us on edge, trying to reassure one another while coping with our own fear.
Searching for practitioners to come to the North: “I gathered 15 to 20 more therapists to assist”
I spent hours talking with soldiers and quickly realized how urgently they needed more support. I heard massage therapists were helping soldiers in the south, so I contacted them, calling for assistance in the north as well. When I called, they dismissed the need, insisting the north required no help. I stood in disbelief. “Is it only because there’s no news coverage here,” I asked myself. I knew these soldiers needed help, but no one I contacted seemed willing to come.
Determined, I opened my laptop and recorded a video: “I’m looking for help—any practitioners willing to come with me to the north.” Soon, a chiropractor and two massage therapists responded, and we headed out. The four of us spent entire days treating 100 soldiers stationed there. Within a short time, I gathered 15 to 20 more therapists to assist. I taught them breathwork, massage therapy, yoga, and physiotherapy. It felt like magic—something unfamiliar yet incredibly rewarding.
At first, we navigated through trial and error, but I quickly saw the need to streamline our treatments. We shortened them to 20 minutes, which allowed us to reach more soldiers each day. Within a month, I felt overwhelmed. Since October 7, I sleep only a few hours each night.
One day, while driving on little sleep, I crashed into a van at high speed. The impact numbed my entire body. When I came to, I realized my car caught fire. Someone pulled me out by the arm, just as the flames reached the second door. Dazed, I turned back to find my phone, but the people who saved me urged me to move. The moment we stepped away; my car exploded, just like in a movie.
I’m here to save lives: we tested 77 military bases and provided over 6,300 treatments
Since a serious accident I endured at 20 years old, I battled back pain and endured multiple knee surgeries. For years, I fought through rehab for opioid addiction, relearning to walk in a grueling, drawn-out process. Standing on my own two feet again took forever. Until last year, I spent a third of every year confined to bed rest. After my recent accident, I braced for the worst, expecting to be bedridden once more. Miraculously, aside from a few bruises, I walked away without serious injuries. It hit me then; I’m here to save lives.
In the past few months, we tested 77 military bases and provided over 6,300 treatments. We offered everything from chiropractic care and physiotherapy to yoga, acupuncture, sound therapy, energy healing, frequency healing, and breathwork. Every bit of it has been voluntary. No one earns a penny. We do it to help soldiers struggling at the border. The impact proves massive.
The mental strain weighs heaviest on these soldiers. Their fears, doubts, and anxieties over what might happen to their families if they don’t survive heightens their stress. Even as they focus on the mission, those fears linger. I watched soldiers lose comrades and suppress their grief like nothing happened. Yet, that stress builds and eventually becomes PTSD.
Living in isolation presents another challenge. Despite being surrounded by fellow soldiers, the sense of loneliness on the border becomes overwhelming. Conversations remain brief and focused on the mission or next objective. Even when time allows for personal connections, the weight of these experiences often keeps the soldiers closed off. Each soldier shoulders their burdens and fears, usually finding it easier to carry them alone.
Resilience on the Northern border: offering healing and support to soldiers
Despite everything, they push forward. They manage the stress and strain, finding resilience in their routines. Alongside other volunteers, I offer treatments that make a real difference. The therapies help them relax, ease their trauma, and provide relief—even if it’s just enough to get through another day.
Over these past 10 months, I built a quiet camaraderie with the soldiers. They may not always speak openly about their fears or struggles, but we share an understanding. We all endure this together, and that shared experience forges a bond difficult to describe. The border feels like home now, and these soldiers became my family.
I witnessed moments words cannot fully capture, moments that will stay with me forever. At times, my team stands meters from the border, aware we could be shot at any time, yet we trust the soldiers to protect us. These experiences leave invisible scars, deeply felt, and the soldiers carry that burden every day.
At the northern border, we focus on helping duty soldiers before trauma takes root. This isn’t just about providing support now; it’s about preventing them from carrying the weight of PTSD long after the war ends. These soldiers endure constant pain, both physical and emotional. They struggle with separation from their families and face relentless attacks.
Over 3,000 soldiers suffered physical injuries, while more than 30,000 received mental health treatments. Our soldiers, especially the reservists, feel overwhelmed. We aim to help them now and ensure they survive this war, not just physically but mentally. Their future depends on the care they receive today.
