by Bat-Chen Epstein Elias
They are always present in all the most volatile flashpoints, in the worst riots, risking their lives to arrest terrorists, but no one ever knows • The undercover fighters of the elite Yamas police unit are the very definition of unsung heroes.
Undercover fighters of the elite Yamas police unit
Photo credit: Ziv Koren  |
It is Monday afternoon. Superintendent Y. of the Yamas -- an undercover special operations Border Police unit -- and his team are standing outside the home of a terrorist in Jabel Mukaber in east Jerusalem. The terrorist, Mustafa Hatib, had just stabbed a border policeman that morning, and was immediately killed. The fighters under Y.'s command are in the neighborhood to conduct a clandestine search and provide backup for the Shin Bet security service agents who are interrogating the terrorist's family. The previous night they arrested Hamas activists in villages near Jerusalem. From there they went to the sites of terrorist attacks inside the city. Now they are here. A mourners' tent has been set up next to the terrorist's home, and it is teeming with visitors. The Yamas fighters are on their toes, prepared, never taking their eyes off the large crowd, always on the lookout for an eruption of violence. Such eruptions can happen in seconds.
Y., 39, is a tall, strong man with a pleasant expression. He is divorced, a father to two children aged 10 and 7 and lives in central Israel with his girlfriend. He has been serving in the Border Police for 20 years. He began in counterterrorism, was transferred to the southern Yamas unit, and now he commands the Jerusalem unit. He watches over Jerusalem, which he describes as having "infiltrated my soul," and protects the state, whose values run through every one of his veins.
He receives word that there has been another terrorist attack and he is called back to unit headquarters. They begin to move. On the way they are informed that the terrorist has been neutralized. They turn around and go back to Jabel Mukaber. Then, again, there is another stabbing attack in the center of the city. Again they are called in. En route they get word that again, the terrorist has been neutralized. Back to Jabel Mukaber. The terrorism routine.
They do part of their work undercover, disguised as locals. They wear faded jeans and simple T-shirts, and blend in with the stone-throwing, angry crowd. They watch their colleagues in uniform getting pelted with rocks and firebombs and then, in a matter of seconds, they pull out their guns and apprehend the ringleaders among the rioters and hand them over to the security forces. Then they put on black face masks, with holes only for their eyes, and disappear into the shadows.
The Palestinians desperately try to figure out who the undercover Israelis are among them. In the past, they urged Palestinians to tuck their shirts into their pants so that they could easily discern who was carrying a gun and distinguish any unfamiliar individuals. Y. recounts many incidents in which Palestinian rioters threw rocks and firebombs at other Palestinians, mistaking them for undercover Israelis.
"They are like my children"
The Jerusalem unit of the Yamas, considered an elite police unit, was established in 1995, joining the existing Gaza and Judea and Samaria units. The unit played an important role in preventing attacks during the Second Intifada, apprehending dozens of terrorist cells, often minutes before they perpetrated their attacks. The unit and its fighters have been awarded countless citations and decorations for their courageous, life saving missions.
Over the last two weeks, they have been working an average of 18 to 20 hours every day. They rest for only a few hours, if at all. They are right there, in the most volatile flashpoints, in the middle of the most violent riots, getting hit with firebombs, rocks, sometimes even being shot. Over the last few days, a photo purporting to reveal their faces has been circulating among Arab social media users.
Five of the team's fighters have been wounded over the last two weeks in various actions, most of them moderately. No one heard about it in the news. Some of them are still hospitalized.
"They are like my children," says Y. "It is my responsibility to bring them home safe at all costs."
It is not just his fighters that he fears for. "We feel every terrorist attack, every stabbing, in our bodies. We kick ourselves that we weren't there beforehand, to stop it. In times like these, it is an unending strain. You are willing to do anything to prevent it from happening. You are willing to not go home, not eat, not sleep, just so you can be there. Save another person. Another child. Another police officer."
The average age in Y.'s unit is 29. They are all alumni of elite IDF and Border Police units. They represent a wide cross section of Israeli society and come from every part of the country. Some of them operate in uniform, engaging in stakeouts and making arrests, while others go undercover in the Arab villages. Most of them are married.
Tz., 42, has overseen the unit for three years, after 17 years in the Yamam -- the Israel Police Counter Terror Unit. He repeats the verse, "For Zion's sake I will not hold my peace, and for Jerusalem's sake I will not rest," over and over again. For him, it is not a cliché.
He lives in the Sharon region with his wife and their five children. Two months ago, they had twins. "I believe that we have the kind of wives that put their all in for us," he smiles.
"Every military unit has weapons, but what we have is people, people, people. They sometimes go on missions for 24 consecutive hours. They don't see their homes -- they give their all," he says.
Three-quarters of the fighters are career Border Police officers, and a quarter are serving out their mandatory military service in the unit. "It forces the mandatory service officers to be excellent because they are working alongside career officers. As soon as they arrive they get all the experience of their commanders. This unit is like family."
Code names for every alleyway
In order to be accepted into the unit, applicants complete Border Police basic training, a commanders' course, a Yamas course and unit-specific training -- overall, a year-long process. The unit-specific training changes in accordance with the regional terrain and local population.
They cooperate closely with the Shin Bet and the IDF. "Most of the crime in Jerusalem comes from Judea and Samaria," says Tz. "We receive intelligence on a certain individual or a group of people, we gather information in the villages, and then we arrest them and bring them here to face justice."
They use codes to help them remember places -- every street, alleyway, intersection and home has a code name. The fighters learn the codes by heart and that way any one of them can know at any given time where the other fighters are located, communicate possible escape routes and disclose locations of targets.
"When something happens, I know how to handle it," says Tz. "That is one of our strengths. We know the local population, we know exactly where people live and who they are close with. We know where one clan's territory ends and another clan's territory begins. We know who is involved in criminal activity and who is involved in terrorist activity. We learn to know everything, just like the locals.
"If I am not in the field, I won't have time to react. So I am always in the field," he adds. "Sometimes you find yourself sitting in a stakeout for four or five hours, and then you have one second to realize that someone threw a firebomb and you jump on them and arrest them in the act. You actually grab them with your hands. We don't use guns unless there is absolutely no other way to complete the mission.
"The ability to apprehend a terrorist without even the neighbors hearing is a strategic advantage, because that way you don't drag any uninvolved individuals into it, and everyone can go on with their normal lives. You need to know how to infiltrate this delicate fabric and carry out arrests without causing too much damage to those who are not doing anything wrong, those who want to work, go to school, be normal citizens.
"Every time there is a terrorist attack in Jerusalem we make sure to immediately get to the terrorists' houses to make arrests," says Tz. "In recent days, no matter how much work we had, we made it to the houses. Even when we were pelted with explosives, rocks and firebombs, even when they tried to block our paths with trash receptacles and burning tires. The Arabs know that the moment someone carries out a terrorist attack, we will get them, and they prepare."
Tz. proudly lists the unit's achievements over the last year: More than 400 arrests of rioters, gun dealers, drug dealers and terrorists; they apprehended a terrorist cell that planned an attack in Jerusalem over the holidays; they arrested several cells in the villages surrounding Jerusalem that fired shots at Jewish neighborhoods and threw firebombs at security vehicles.
They were also present during the most recent military operations, Brother's Keeper and Protective Edge, arresting Hamas operatives in Judea and Samaria (Operation Brother's Keeper revolved around the kidnapping and subsequent murder of three Jewish teens by Hamas operatives in Judea and Samaria). Since the start of 2015 they arrested more than 300 wanted suspects, many of them in the most recent terrorist incidents.
They are not comfortable with the exposure on the pages of a newspaper. The unit maintains an utmost secrecy. They operate in the most sensitive areas, and the enemy is always listening. On the other hand, Tz. asserts, "it is important to me that my fighters know that the citizens of Israel appreciate them."
"This unit is one of fearless professionals," says Superintendent V., 36, a deputy commander who arrived at the Jerusalem unit eight months ago after many years in the Judea and Samaria unit. "I found a group of consummate professionals, a lot of humility and values, and lot of family. The people here are fueled by a sense of duty, no questions asked. Anywhere, any task, the unit is there. The people are happy to carry out any mission. What motivates them is their sense of duty."
The commander of the Jerusalem Border Police force, Brig. Gen. Yizhar Peled, calls the unit a "tiebreaker." When it comes to fighting terrorism, "these fighters are the salt of the earth, our best boys; they run around the alleyways of Jerusalem 24/7, and they know how to confront the most problematic issues this city suffers from, be it terrorism or criminal activity. They protect the state with their bodies, far from the public eye. They get no glory, they are very modest, very ambitious and very motivated. God bless the people that these are their sons."
Jeans and stubble are a disguise
They arrive to meet me at a secret base in Jerusalem dressed in casual civilian clothes, after long hours in the field. Some of them are unshaven, an important detail when blending in with the Arab villagers. Later, when they are called up again to deal with riots in one of the villages, they will change into their uniforms -- some of them will wear the green police uniforms and others will change into faded jeans, short-sleeved shirts and old sneakers, with small nuances depending on the village they are headed to.
"When I served in Nablus, the undercover officers were perceived by the locals as some kind of demons," says V. "Like they weren't physically there, but they were actually everywhere. When you are in the field, as a part of the landscape, you are in the best position to operate."
The tone of their voices is calm and confident. They obviously all speak fluent Arabic, and sometimes, the Arab accent creeps into their Hebrew speech when they aren't paying attention.
The word fear is not mentioned. "The only fear is to fail to complete the mission," says Y. "It makes you more ready, more alert, sharp and determined.
"There are events when you are not sure you will make it home safely, like when they throw explosives at you. The first one explodes not too far from you, the second one explodes not too far from you, and the third one lands between your legs and doesn't go off. As it is happening, you don't worry about it. You see it on your leg and go back to protecting your fighters. It is only later, when you're alone and you have some time to think, sometimes after several days have passed, in the shower for example, you start running back over what happened.
"One time cement blocks fell on T.'s head, but it didn't stop us from carrying out the mission. It doesn't matter what kind of threat we face, we will always complete the mission. "
Tz. says, "We all make mistakes. We are all human. But when you don't perform your best, the disappointment stays with you for a long time. The trick is to learn from the mistake so that you can do better next time."
T., 40, is married and has three daughters, aged 14, 11 and 4. He too, like many of his friends, lives in central Israel. He served as an undercover soldier in the now defunct Shimshon unit of the Southern Command. That is when he met his wife. "If I hadn't met her then, she would not still be with me today. She knew that this was my mission in life, and that this is my ideology, to do everything for the state."
T. is thin, unshaven. His dark eyes project a sharp, focused stare. In 1998 he was discharged from the military, tried to work in marketing, but didn't feel like it was his calling.
"After Operation Defensive Shield I understood that it simply wasn't working. In 2002 I enlisted in the Border Police and I've been here ever since, in Jerusalem. I come to work on Sunday, and I go home almost every day -- I almost go home on Sunday, I almost go home on Monday, I almost go home on Tuesday. ... But my wife knows that I stay at work because it is my calling."
Before every mission, T. always tells the guys, "'In the name of God we will succeed' and I truly believe it."
They don't always wear kaffiyehs. "This myth needs to be dispelled," says Tz. with a smile. "Kaffiyehs are rare in Arab villages. Every territory has its own rules, its own dress code, and we adapt ourselves. The neighbor living in the apartment above a terrorist can sleep easy all night, wake up in the morning and go to work, never knowing that an arrest took place one floor down. We are the shadows of every incident, and we come out into the light only when the incident itself is happening."
Called up after the fast
On Yom Kippur, the unit received notice of an arrest that was supposed to take place after the holiday. They were supposed to enter the outskirts of Sur Baher and grab four residents suspected of being involved in the rock-throwing murder of Alexander Levlovich on Rosh Hashanah.
After the Yom Kippur fast, Y.'s team arrived at the base. "You come after fasting, you call people up from their homes, but when you realize you are doing it to settle the score with terrorists who carried out a serious attack, you feel that sense of duty. You just want to get there as quickly as possible and arrest them, get that closure, especially for the victim's family.
"Because when a family experiences loss, they expect the security forces to get the culprits, and fast. As long as they know that those who hurt their loved ones are still out there, it hurts. And then you arrest them, and it is the best feeling."
In his last posting, in Judea and Samaria, V. went undercover for three months. "You go in and out, you develop relationships with some of the people, study the infrastructure, and you work alone. The protective envelope is not that close. You're alone in the field. But you know that there is always someone protecting you, so you can always count on that."
"When you're inside, and you're about to engage in an undercover mission, you are alone," adds Y.
T. says: "When you are inside you are very much alone. You know that there are people around you protecting you, because there is no chance that you would be left alone in any situation, but the feeling of loneliness certainly exists. You walk alone in that village, in the narrow alleyways, in a riled-up crowd of stone throwers and firebombers, and you know that you don't have a second to miss anything. You hone in on the ringleader, the one who incites and poses the biggest threat, and you are constantly prepared to make an arrest.
"Yeah, you are part of the landscape. You throw stones with them, act like them, until the second that you make the arrest. Your job ends the second the uniformed forces put their hands on the suspect. That second, you disappear. Until then, you are alone."
Because of the high level of secrecy, they have no one but each other to share their experiences with. Even when they talk to their wives, they don't go into any detail. That is why anyone outside the unit could never understand the solidarity among them.
"To my kids I just say that I'm a police officer," says T. "Only now my eldest, who is 14, is starting to ask more questions about what I do at work. She is gradually understanding more and asking more questions, but I can't always answer them."
Y.: "I don't even tell my mother exactly what I do. I don't want to expose myself to my family or to people who are close to me. It is the secrecy but I also don't want them to worry. So my friends from work are my second family. That way, if you are down, there is always someone to lift you up."
This tough group of men softens a little when they talk about their children. Their expressions change, the look in their eyes softens and they make jokes to help themselves cope. "When did these kids grow up?" they ask.
"When I have time to go home, it tears me up," Y. says lowering his gaze. "I am divorced, and I can only see my children on certain days of the week, and I don't always manage to get home on those days."
He shows me a text message he received. "My ex-wife sent me a message that my son has a class gathering this week, and unfortunately I know I won't be able to come. I know that children need attention because I am their father, after all, but I am not always able to give it.
"Sometimes you miss out on your children's most beautiful moments. School, parties, classes, you don't notice, you are somewhere else. You understand that you can't be there and you take it into account, but it still hurts."
T.: "Sometimes I get home in the middle of the night and the house is dark. I go peek at the children while they sleep and at my wife, and I go to sleep in the living room so that I don't wake them. And after a few hours I have to go back to work."
"When I get home, mostly on weekends, I give everything I have to my children," says V. He has three children -- a 4-year-old and 1-year-old twins. "If I have some time with my family, I will get up in the middle of the night, I will change diapers, I'll do whatever is necessary. They deserve that I do everything for them in the time that I am with them."
Y.: "You never manage to settle into a routine. Everything here is constant pressure and fast dynamics. Events that occur in seconds. I've had days when I didn't eat for an entire day because I didn't have time, or that I didn't sleep for two straight days, like last weekend, because we were on call all the time.
"You can't take some time for yourself, not even to pick up the phone and wish them a good Shabbat. Luckily they write me messages on Whatsapp sometimes."
Bat-Chen Epstein Elias
Source: http://www.israelhayom.com/site/newsletter_article.php?id=28951
Copyright - Original materials copyright (c) by the authors.
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