Planting For Hope

Here in Israel, life hangs on a thread. Everything that is deemed normal or routine has come to a standstill. Each morning, feeling grateful after a night’s sleep in a bed and not in a bomb shelter, I awaken to a reality of unknown, untouchable fear. When I am asleep (unless I am woken up by fighter jets ripping right above my roof) I am blissfully unaware. Yet, as soon as I wake up and touch my feet to the floor, that existential dread returns.

Everyone person and living thing here is affected. There is brutality, death, mourning, and PTSD. I recently read that 27 percent of Israeli children are traumatized by these events. 

When the first siren went off here (which turned out to be a false alarm), my grandchildren were happily playing with toys in the bath tub. With only 30 seconds to spare, my daughters scooped them out and rushed them down to a safe space. To this day, every time my four-year-old grandson walks towards the bathroom, he asks to be picked up. And each time he sits in the tub, he talks about the siren and obsesses with death.

Planting coriander seeds

Life, however, must go on and we try to make a routine out of the unknown. Stores and malls are open yet understaffed as so many people have been drafted into the army. Schools have recently been opened. Universities, which were to open for the new school year right after Simchat Torah, are closed; most of the students and many professors have been drafted into the military.

As for toddlers, the ganim were closed as there was no way a teacher could get small children into a safe room in the designated time – often 30 seconds. As time went on, they came up with ways to do half days just so the toddlers could get out of the house, see friends and simply be kids. Now the ganim are back full time, except they must instruct the children about how and where to run to safety when the siren goes off. When my grandson last came over, his favorite topic was the ‘mamad,’ the safe room.

Seeking routine, we started up our weekly organic vegetable market in Tzfat. People are lured in by the sweet smell of basil, happy to see the freshly picked produce and share their personal war stories. 

Each Israeli feels the stress in their own way. My daughter’s husband has been drafted and she has been on her own with her two little boys for five weeks now. At first she could not got work as there was no school for the small children. Her husband, a physiotherapist, is in the army. His first task is serving the country while his regular job is empty; many hospitals operate on a skeletal staff. Across the spectrum, there are gaps in the system with no workers. Being in tourism, our own business has been shut down for well over a month.

The effects of war reach beyond artillery, wounded, and hospitals. They also touch the sky and the ground. It is now the peak season for the migration of birds. Some 500 million birds fly through Israel in the fall and spring, resting in the Hula Valley lake before continuing on. 

Right now, the cranes are flying over, arriving from Russia en route to Ethiopia.  The crane migration is a magnificent sight to behold and to hear. Traveling in family groups, many fly right over our house. We hear fluttering of great wings and the echoing honk, when they are above, buffeting on the wind. They fly over day and night – and so do the fighter jets. There is now a hotline set up to report these migrations in case there is interference with the jets.

As for the ground, this is also planting season for the winter crops. Some 80 percent of Israel’s vegetables are grown in farms outside of Gaza. Now it is too dangerous to tend to them and even if people were able to access the fields, there are no farm workers. Most young men have been drafted. 

There are pleas from farmers’ wives asking for help. These seedlings need water, planting, and care. If this is not attended to, food will have to be imported, farms will fail, and more people will go hungry.

I received a list from just one company asking for places to grow their seedlings and it is staggering; over 300,000 lettuce seedlings in various varieties, 230,000 cabbage, 24,000 zuchinni, and the list goes on. 

It feels like that COVID nightmare all over again. Limited school, no work, and fearful news everywhere - on the TV, radio, whats app, and on the street. Evil lurks outside in the form of a heinous enemy and not a virus. Instead of lining up for injections, people are filling in firearms applications, hoping bullets may offer protection if need be. 

It is ironic that in this part of the world, the average citizen is unable by law to protect himself, while his surrounding enemies, both inside and outside the borders, are flush with guns. 

Yet this is not about comparing the number of arms. It is about staying strong and rebuilding a connection to G-d and to others. It is about thinking positively and working on a vision for a better world of light, peace, and love. And yes, this is hard work, but the Israelis and many people around the world who understand this battle are offering their help and prayers. 

The morale here is high. Soldiers are determined to crush the terror infrastructure and the civilians are doing their best to support them. My husband has switched from buying soldiers equipment to making them barbecues. Farmers are flying in from abroad to help and some yeshiva students have switched their focus from Torah books to working the land. Everyone is united with iron strength.

A garden nursery here is selling packages of mixed wildflower seeds. It contains seven varieties of seeds, each one in memory of a settlement that was destroyed by Hamas. They are sending money from profits to help the survivors rebuild lives. 

As for me and my little farm in the north, I continue planting.  I will soon sow these special wildflower seeds all over my garden. Come spring, when these flowers poke up and unfurl their petals, I pray Israel will have returned to a time of security and peace. And when these colorful flowers bloom in gardens across the country, many will be remembering the many special lives that were lost.