Israel Day Two 2/6/24
Do I even need to say that it was an amazing, but brutally scheduled, trip to Israel? When I flopped in the hotel bed on the second night, desperate for the three hours of allotted sleep, writing a blog was the last thing on my mind. But I knew I would forget things and that when I returned, my lens would be different. So, in homage to my Reuters days, I took to carrying a small reporter’s notebook to jot down notes, which I finally transcribed. I’ve spent the past two weeks fundraising and following up with all the new people and organizations I met (Etia Dan at Menifa is a marvel) that for the sake of time, I’ve reverted to bullet points to capture each day. Here’s Day 2, slightly out of order. My meeting with refugees feels particularly prescient, as rockets rained down on their evacuated community just this morning.
I realized at breakfast that my fellow patrons in the hotel dining hall are refugees. If you weed out the handful of solidarity delegations like ours, easily spied by their English name tags, the rest were Israelis. Middle and lower income-class Israelis who don’t flit off to hotels mid-week, even during summer holiday, let alone in the middle of a school week. Families of four and five were sometimes crammed into a single hotel room. There simply is not enough space to offer children a separate, adjoining room. Most hotels to not even have space to offer services like daycare or conference rooms to use in lieu of classrooms. These kids just aren’t going to school. Most families have no ETA for departure, when they are expected to return home to life as normal, except the “new normal” does not necessarily include full-time or functioning schools, the return of full-time police or security, the reconstruction of damaged civil infrastructure or one's own personal property. It does, however, come with a guarantee that whatever stipend they have received from the government will decrease, right when they are supposed to rebuild their lives. How Israel is managing to fund anything, for anyone, at this point, is a bit of a mystery. There are 100’s of thousands - not 10’s of thousands, but 100’s of thousands - of families from the North and South that are displaced due to rockets, in addition to the families made refugees directly by October 7th. No one is talking about the former and they are starting to feel despondent. Dozens of rockets are raining down on Israel daily and as I’ve continually said, it’s only a matter of time before the IDF is forced to push north. Despite the fact that Hezbollah has completely violated 2006 UN Resolution 1701, which required disarmament and an 18 mile border buffer, the world will surely castigate Israel for defending its citizens. I have anxiety even writing about entering the north. Gaza was an amuse- bouche, not even an appetizer, compared to the Hezbollah training and stockpile.
His presence already felt like a coup, but we learned that our guide, Asaf Solomon, was chosen by the Israeli government to accompany the Pope on his last visit. The guy is on top of his game, academic and soft-spoken. We also learned that he’d recently exited Gaza, after a long stint on an engineering team reserve. They were sent in to secure houses and infrastructure, sweeping for bombs and other booby traps, ensuring things were structurally sound for the Army and Zaka (volunteer first responders). They also were in charge of “preserving memories.” Whether alive or dead, memorabilia was collected from the houses before they were demolished or cordoned off: birth certificates, wedding albums, wall art, etc. He likened it to collecting and boxing on an archeological dig. Things were burnt, torn, had bullet holes - it didn’t matter. They tried to respect the life that once existed within that house, so that they - or their loved ones - had family mementos to hang onto.
We visited Ofakim, to plant trees in a new park that was already underway as a major urban planning project to update and rebrand the city. The mayor and his powerhouse wife are forces to be reckoned with, pushing this lower-middle class city forward with plans for daycares, trade colleges, new roads and housing. The government money, though small so far, will be used to honor the victims in a way that moves the whole community forward; they don’t want Ofakim to become a mausoleum, as expressed by many of their Kibbutzim brethren recently. The terrorists that hit Ofakim targeted the older neighborhoods, where shelters were outside for the community. By code, all new houses must have an internal shelter. The terrorists knew the neighborhoods, the houses, and the families. Ofakim was betrayed from within, by workers they considered a part of their community. The streets are now filled with families sitting outside in plastic chairs below oversized murals of their deceased. The memorial tarps are fastened to gates with zip ties, and all have a blue background and uniform size, so the city must have sponsored them. People were so thankful that others had come to hear their stories and bear witness. “You’re mothers from Miami? You left your comfortable lives to come see this? You don’t need to bring us anything. It means so much that you came to listen.” How many tears can a woman cry in one day? I was wrung out and we hadn’t even had lunch.
We went to Nova, but I’m still not ready to talk about that. Hearing the accounts, seeing the make-shift grave markers, watching the families that lingered for picnic-like prayer groups, feeling the ground shake as a tunnel nearby was destroyed, hearing Rami Davidian personally and modestly recount how we saved over 700 people. Overwhelming. There were red poppies blooming all over the ground, like the promise of a beautiful Spring, but it only made me think of all the blood this ground had soaked up. There was no place to hide. Even in the midst of an early bloom, the bushes were threadbare and the trees slim and without foliage. I can’t believe anyone survived.
On the northern border of Gaza, we hosted a BBQ for the soldiers on an army base, many of whom had just returned, or were preparing to depart. Even at night, you could hear the shelling in the background. The returning troops told us that in addition to how eerily quiet it was upon their return, they had to readjust to the light. It was pitch black in Gaza come sundown and even the smallest lights, let alone a properly lit street or building, were jarring. The mood on base felt contained, not somber, but lightened during the meal. The food was excellent and plentiful; there was Karaoke and a lot of Mizrahi (Middle Eastern Jews) ballads, which necessitated singing as a crowd as we held onto each other. It didn’t feel like we were going through the motions. If anything, Israelis know how to seize the small moments in life and make the most of them. We handed out essentials, like temp controlled water bottles, rain ponchos and neck covers, since the weather had turned markedly colder that week. Not only does the desert always get cold at night, but don’t forget that there are actual seasons in the Middle East - and this winter has been filled with snow and rain. Miserable.
We heard from Rabbi Doron Perez; a prolific public writer and public speaker, who has found himself in the unenviable position of using these skills to plead the case for his kidnapped son, Daniel Perez. It was a brutally personal account of raising a difficult son, intelligent and headstrong; and the pride of witnessing him become an accomplished young man. Rabbi Perez had many revelations:
Most hostage families don’t use the word “trauma” - it would force them to face the magnitude of what’s happened, and that puts their sanity at risk. This reckoning has been punted. He also suggested the dramaticism of the word “trauma” refocused attention on them, not the hostages, who were dealing with the real trauma.
Two clear schools of thought have formed between hostage families: (1) make any deal to get them home now before they die in captivity versus (2) do not make any deal that would harm more Israelis citizens or our country for the sake of one person. The more observant seemed to skew towards the latter, but I can’t say that I found any real pattern. Certainly, one cannot judge a family for taking either side.
Soldier hostages, mostly male, are treated especially badly because of their IDF status. Though service is mandatory in Israel, there is a concern that their particular loss is viewed “as the price of doing war” even if they were captured during a peace-time insurrection; that other hostages are given priority over soldiers.
“It is possible to hold incredibly contradictory emotions within the same heart.” I hadn’t even had a cup of coffee that morning when Rabbi Doron delivered that powerhouse statement. To experience joy and suffering in the same moment is possible. Rabbi Perez recently experienced this at the wedding of one son. There was joy for the new marriage of one son, and pain for the other son not with them under the Chuppah.
Iran, and its proxies Hamas and Hezbollah, are now learning their mistake about Israel society. He likened it to an intricate cobweb that appears misleadingly delicate - it is in fact a web of incredible strength. That’s the Jewish community: when we set aside our infighting to weave together the disparate cords of society, our solidarity and strength are unstoppable.
Please, may we not have to test this strength in the North. I realized something after these four days were over and I spent the next four days in meetings and visiting family: Israel had scrambled navigational tools. How do you even drive anymore without an app running in the background? Google Maps? Doesn’t work in Israel anyway. Waze, an Israeli company? Nope. If you need directions, call someone. Roll down your car window and ask for advice. Revert to the 1990’s and consult a map. You’re no longer getting directions online, navigation that could fall into the wrong hands.
Am Yisrael Chai
Kelly