The vertical coffin faces me as I walk into the underground bunker below. The dusty gravel, dry, stale air and cool interior mock the hot sun outside. I feel safely hidden. Old equipment lies around in disarray and disuse. Syria can be carefully watched from the perched, powerful binoculars in front. The border has been quiet for now.
One feels safely buried, like the coffin that greets me in front. Deep below the ground, this hidden bunker protects its soldiers. Yet, the coffin speaks of the thousands of Jewish Martyrs who remain behind: Silent. Deep. Hidden. Forever watchful.