He found it hard to adjust to home life again. Things got worse in the Middle East, and he felt a strange loyalty to the kibbutz.

While at home, he kept himself very much to himself and didn't have the motivation to look for work. He didn't want to be in England.

Keeping his promise, two and a half months later he was back on a plane, smoothly descending to place its wheels on one of the runways at Ben Gurion airport. He was glad to be back but there was still a two hour bus journey before he'd be back at the place he'd grown to love.
During the time he'd been away, people he'd known had all left apart from two or three and, surprisingly, new volunteers had arrived. There weren't many - 15 volunteers including himself.
Throughout the Gulf War there was a high degree of camaraderie amongst themselves. They were all going through the same thing. Missiles fell on the country and still he stayed, no running away this time. One of the worst moments for him, and no doubt many others, was the first Scud missile landing in Israel.

It was a hectic Friday morning, after the siren sounded. He even started writing a simple diary of events late the next day and opened with the day they received their gas masks.