I began my reserve duty as a Dabur (patrol boat) commander in the 914^th in Haifa port, unit. I was studying at the Technion and living in Haifa—everything fit perfectly. But as I was told, nature tends toward disorder. So, this “everything fit” didn’t sit well with a new base commander who remembered me from our shared service in Sharm. When he took office, he went through the list of reservists and instructed the personnel officer—also from Sharm in his past—to “move this reservist far away.” That’s how I was transferred to the 916^th in Ashdod port unit, and the laws of nature found their peace.

One time, as my reporting date approached, I called the flotilla commander to request a slight postponement because I had a bad cold and didn’t want to infect the crew. The flotilla commander (Atzmon), with a pleading voice, asked me to come anyway, since a Dabur that had been in the shipyard in Haifa needed to be returned to the Ashdod base. He added, “If you decide not to continue with your reserve duty? Then we’ll try to manage somehow.” A man after my own heart.

On the morning of the voyage, I showed up wearing a blue turtleneck under my shirt and over it, a blue combat jacket with a wool hat. With what little voice I had left, I asked the deputy commander if the vessel was ready to set sail. We did a quick walk through the ship, and I was convinced the deputy was doing a good job, and the crew was up to standard.

I went to the base commander to get the sailing orders, and we set off on a clear winter day.

A light breeze was blowing, and the sun sailed through a cloudless sky. The sea was like a mirror.

We did gun drills and combat readiness checks. The vessel was functioning beautifully. A pot of tea was brought up to the bridge to warm up the commander, and I decided to repay the crew with a pleasant coastal cruise.

Throughout the trip, I sat in the commander’s chair on the bridge, watching the scenery and the sea. We saw things up close that you don’t normally see on regular patrols. Near Tel Aviv, we spotted turtles in interesting “positions,” and the crew’s morale rose.

When we reached Ashdod, we tied the ship to the buoy and jetty as usual. As I soaked in the last moments of enjoyment, I realized I felt brand new—not sick, not congested. I was a healthy man.

I went up to the offices, the flotilla commander came over to greet me and asked how I was doing.

I said: “If I tell you I’m sick, I’d be lying. I’ll gladly keep sailing on this good sea.”