The Messiah must have come! Otherwise it’s hard to understand how a CNN report was praising the State of Israel! It called for a bit of a”chutzpa” to have them come to our military hospital but it was essential that the story be told. The result was a watershed of visits that brought the attention of the world to one of Israel’s great human rescue operations.
At the time, dozens of wounded Haitians were lying on cots, moaning and groaning, seeking relief to their wounds. Two huge hangar tents, in the secured UN compound, serve as a hospital. A small medical staff was trying in vain to attend to those needy people. At the far corner, I saw resting on a tripod, a motionless TV camera. At its foot a good looking woman was dozing, trying to get some rest, ignoring the heat among the squadron of flies and the random cries.
Minutes earlier, I had entered the compound accompanied by the Chief Surgeon of Israel’s Home Front Command, LG Dr. Ariel. Our mission was to identify the “hard cases”, those who needed a skillful hand if they were to survive. In the early construction phase, it was already clear to us that ours was going to be the best hospital in Haiti and, dare say I after two years of my tenor, the best of the entire island. Ariel detailed to the medical staff the capabilities of our hospital and its equipment. He stressed that we practice an open door policy. We will receive anyone, but it will be more effective to send us the more complicated injured people. The Director of the clinic, a fragile and sensitive woman named Jane, eyed us with cynicism or despair and added, "Yes, we heard the same from many who already were here and went without showing their faces again, leaving their promises un-kept.” Hours later she will make history by stating on television, "The Israelis are the only ones who promised and came, back to honor their words".
Ariel checked the patients and was pointing to the severe cases that had to be treated without delay. I went to the sleeping reporter lady and gently woke her up. “Which network are you from”, I asked, startling her for a moment. “CNN”, she answered in Hebrew. “Are you Elizabeth, by chance,” I added. “Yes, I am”, she replied. I was informed earlier that her crew must be somewhere in Haiti and wondered about the coincidence factor. I urged her to visit our hospital that was a short drive away. “You may find it a worthy report”, I said. I'm sorry”, she replied, “I cannot leave the secured compound.” “Nonsense”, I said, “I'm ready to escort you in my car, by our security personnel and will guaranty your safety.” She consulted with her team, got permission from Atlanta HQ and we were on our way. The rest, as they say, is history. The world became aware of Israel’s fast and efficient response. If you missed it, look it up CNN or on You-Tube.
I recall this story, by the way, cruising at an altitude of ten thousand feet. From above, everything looks pretty; pastoral and calm with no hint of the tragedy that has taken place beneath us. The monotony hum of the twin turbo engines like a stubborn mantra, catapults me to the memories and the events of the first days. In few minutes the plane will start to descend into the wounded capital Port Au Prince, to scenery of destruction, people who merit admiration in their capacity to survive. I am going back in order to continue our mission of help by adding another layer of assistance to the one we started with the establishment of the military hospital.
Only sixty-five hours past from the earthquake until the Israeli hospital opened its doors and the first of the wounded was saved. Since then over one thousand five hundred people were treated, with three hundred and twenty operations, including the most complicated ones. Sixteen women gave birth to seventeen new infants. Some were born prematurely or in Cesarean procedure. All took place on a soccer field inside a military tent. This certainly qualifies as a Gold Medal, in the first undeclared “Olympic Games” of providing humanitarian aid.
How was it possible, I was asked, that you managed to arrive from a distance of 15-20 hours flight and be operational before bigger and closer players. I could not hide my pride and said, "We hold short meetings and we do not waste time on unnecessary bureaucracy.”
If you did not see an El Al Boeing 777 landing at the end of the world, our Israeli soldiers marching in perfect order on the tarmac, and if you did not see an El Al cargo Boeing 747-200 landing four hours later and unloading tons of equipment and medicine, on a run way that never met a jumbo jet, and if you did not see how ten hours later we treated the first patient, you could not understand the sense of pride and excitement and the material of which myth, or in this case, a fairy tale, is born.
Incidentally, we Israelis have a unique national sport. No matter where we are in the world, we must know someone or know someone who knows someone, or someone who knows someone who knows someone of our acquaintances. I never understood why it's so important for us. This is a phenomenon not seen in other “tribes” around the globe and it deserves to be researched one day. I mention this because here at the end of the world, on this beaten part of the planet called Haiti, the door of the plane is slowly opened and I am being greeted by the captain Zeev Ben-Dor and Dr. Elhanan Bar-On, the head of the “Schneider” Orthopedic Children’s Hospital, both classmates of my air force piloting course, whom I have not seen since the last century. I can declare proudly that each one of us, in his own career has reached quite far, as far as Haiti.
My thoughts wandered back to that moment at the airport. To my first meeting with those I.D.F. soldiers, at that time they were anonymous, but not for long. I failed to hide my excitement and a small tear rolled down my cheek. All that night we heard the pounding hammers. The forklifts were loading and unloading mountains of equipment shaping it into the “Field Hospital”. At some point fatigue took over me and I collapsed on the grass of the soccer field, but not before a Captain ranked nurse inserted a long needle into my arm with some kind of vaccine, just to be on the safe side, she argued. Those who were not engaged in the construction also fell asleep for several hours knowing that tomorrow had in store a lot of hard work.
Like everybody else, I presented myself in the morning roll call. We raised the flag and immediately immersed ourselves in the tasks ahead of us. The hospital began to absorb the new occupants and in no time was swarming with people. The rumor about the hospital spread rapidly and ambulances were buzzing in and out. Only later as the dust sunk we were able to see the statistics of the lives we saved. I visited other surrounding hospitals. Most hospitals in the capital had collapsed and ceased to function. As for the others, paucity of language prevents me from describing the squalor and misery of these facilities. One of them was spread on a sidewalk at the industrial area of the free zone. People who needed medical treatment lay on the ground waiting in vain to be treated. The doctors were helpless. Thousands gathered outside blocking the entrance gate. Some of them only came to seek food and water.
We made an exchange agreement with some of the local Centers. The seriously injured would be placed at post op’ so that we could double our capacity. People who needed rest and recuperation would be treated by the lesser equipped centers. Our S.A.R. (Search and Rescue) teams rushed every day for new destinations with admirable devotion. At intervals I was privileged to acquaint myself with each one of these magnificent men, reservists, who along with draftees, left their homes, their families and their businesses in order to volunteer and give from themselves to far away people in need, people who sometimes confused Haiti with Tahiti, Israel at its best.
At the edge of the hospital, we settled into a routine in a small encampment, which could in other days, be described as pastoral. Volunteers from civil society join the military camp. The set, a medical commando that scanned the newly mushrooming refugee camps in search of injured people who could not get to a hospital. Others adopted orphanages and distributed tents and food. We ate military rations. My Haitian driver, Jimmy, complained to me after two weeks that he is fed with our food, longing for the good old Haitian rice and beans and prefers it on the legendary meatloaf, the one some of us still remember from 1948.
After over 1,500 patients, 320 surgeries, 17 infants and two weeks of sleepless nights, we saw a change in that the nature of our visiting patients. Instead of earthquake victims we received traditional patients and we were transforming slowly into a Haitian branch of medical clinic. We stopped being unique, in part because the big slow, but rich players started to be seen on site. It was time to retire, at our best.
The army left, leaving me behind. For them the operation was over, for me, it just began. But all of who took part in this operation will forever cherish the memory of love, dedication and the genuine desire to help others in a far away land, thousands of miles from Jerusalem.
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