Of Ceasefires and Cinnamon

When I last wrote, so long ago, I felt that the world had veered in a new direction and that reality, as I knew it, would never return. We endured a horrendous war in Israel this summer, dubbed Operation Protective Edge.  Some 4,382 rockets were shot into civilian areas and we suffered the tragic death of some 70 brave, young soldiers. Two soldiers died from their wounds just last week.

Some seventy percent of Israel’s population was within rocket range, including the most populated cities. Living in Ra’anana for nine years, we used our bomb shelters for the first time this summer. We understood that we had ninety seconds (a luxury for many who have 30 seconds or less) to run for shelter.

We soon became accustomed to the screeching siren, the initial panic of where to run for shelter, the fear as we huddled inside a stairwell or shelter, counting in our heads until a ‘boom’ thundered above. And then we serenely walked off to finish our errands or we returned to bed, often calling our children to make sure they were fine.

We became accustomed to this?

At first, I was floored by the bravery of Israelis who pulled their cars to the side of the road, cupped their hands over their heads, then complacently drove off to work. Or the children, who calmly knew where to run and stay and wait before returning to their games. This was their summer holiday, supposedly time to relax and play with friends and swim at the beach.

Not.

And then we flew to Canada. As the rockets continued to fly into Israel, despite one broken ceasefire after another, the average Canadian seemed to be a little tired of Israel’s mess. Canadians were intent on embracing the few days of summer they are granted each year, and many flocked to cottages on sparkling lakes for some summer fun.

We did the great Canadian thing and drove up to Muskoka where we watched loons bob atop soft rippling water, and heard the whir of ski boats pulling laughing children on water skis. The sun set crimson and it rose again to the smell of pines. There were no ‘booms,’ no sirens. No agony.  No crying. Polite Canadians tipped their baseball caps and wished us ‘Good morning.’ They spoke of the weather and fishing and the summer barbecue.

I, who still listened for a boom and imagined I heard one, was gripped by my Red Alert phone app that rang day and night, screaming of rockets falling in Ashkelon, Ashdod, Eshkol and Nitzan. Israel was being bombarded despite a ceasefire and Lake Muskoka simply grinned back at me with a yawn. A woman in a kayak paddled by and gently lifted her oar in a greeting.

I had crossed into another reality. I soon adjusted and Israel started to feel so, so far away – even though I had left two children behind who are soldiers in the IDF.

Just before Labour Day, when Canadian kids were getting ready for ‘back to school,’ the newscaster announced a new school safety campaign run by the police. I, who knew the schools in Israel did not want to start on time because of the ‘matzav,’ (situation) wondered what the dangers were? Perhaps the police were nervous about unsafe pedestrian crossings? Or just maybe kids did not signal properly on their bicycles.

Meanwhile, back home, the school principals were complaining that the school year could not start because many schools did not have adequate space in their bomb shelters. And many schools did not even have bomb shelters at all. I remember my daughter coming home from school a few years ago and telling me of a mock emergency. The kids heard a siren and were directed into the playground where they curled up on the pavement with their hands over their heads. Outdoors. Completely exposed.

Two worlds in one small brain.

It is hard to contain two worlds in one small brain. And it is challenging to accept that rockets should be the acceptable norm here. Israelis may be laissez faire about this, but no human being should have to live like this.

The school year started on time and kids flocked back to the classrooms. Rosh Hashana is now coming. Trying to get back to a peaceful reality, I looked up some recipes and earnestly started to think about apples and honey and sweetness for the new year. But I felt unsteady, like a kid who just learned how to ride a bike. Could I trust this calm? As I was chopping my apples yesterday, the read alert rang loudly on my phone. My pulse raced and I ran to see. Could it be true? Rockets in Ashkelon and another ceasefire broken.

Did the world hear about this? Was it on the BBC or CBC? Who cares that this ceasefire has been breached?  Who has heard that children and frail grandmothers and panicked parents are running to shelters to save their lives at this moment?

No one. We are alone in this insanity. And yes, I now know, as I sprinkle cinnamon on apples, that reality will never be the same. We must just relish small moments of beauty. We must be good and treat people well. We must think positively and speak well of others.

Although we may not have peace outside,  we should strive for inner peace. The sirens may rage, but inside, we must be calm and strong.

I wish everyone a Shana Tova, a year of positive thoughts, of strength and understanding.

Nurturing Nature

Beach near Rosh HaNikra

Life in Israel seems to be back to routine, whatever that means around here. 

My son’s best friends are safely back from Gaza for now. The parents of his friend Gedaliah held a beautiful Kiddush after shul a week ago to celebrate their oldest son’s safe return. With so many young Ra’anana boys serving in Gaza, our community has been anxious and proud, with many parents filling their time aiding the soldiers and citizens of the south in various projects.

When Gedaliah’s father stood up to toast his son, he recognized that many people were suffering from post traumatic stress disorder and aptly renamed it parent-traumatic-stress-disorder. Many moms standing in the room were new olim and had never experienced such fear before; some did not sleep for three weeks and could not be separated from their phones or the news for a second.

The proud dad raised his glass and explained that in life, most sons look up to their fathers with respect. In the case of this American dad who never served in the army and his redhead combat soldier son, the roles were now reversed. There was not a dry eye in the room as we watched this father and son embrace.

During this last war, I was so overwhelmed with sadness and my own touch of stress disorder, I sometimes felt too despondent to write.  In search of happy, quiet  times, one war-torn afternoon we drove to the beach in Nahariya.

Children played in the surf, leaping across the sparking waves with yelps of joy. Fishermen cast their lines in the late afternoon shimmer and families fanned their barbecues. Most of these joyful, fun-loving, relaxed people were Arab Israelis. Watching them, I had a hopeful flash of how life here should be. And is. Israelis jogged and strolled and surfed beside their Arab neighbours and everyone simply enjoyed this precious moment of beauty.

As the sun dipped, a crowd gathered around a box in a fenced-in area. We walked over and saw the box was filled with newly hatched turtles. A woman from the National Parks crouched over a hole and gently dug down, pulling out tiny turtles. 

Someone then made a path to the sea and the crowd parted in two as the miniature turtles hurtled toward the crashing waves. We were witnessing one of nature’s  miracles.

The important path that was dug for them becomes part of their turtle GPS as one day, these same turtles will return to this exact spot to lay their own eggs.

Yet because of the polluted Mediterranean and man’s domination of the beach, this is one of the world’s most endangered species. After 150 million years of survival, sea turtles now need assistance to survive.

Over 2,000 sea turtles nested here less than 100 years ago. It has been estimated that there are now less than 200 loggerheads and only 10 green female turtles in Israel.

Yes, Israel cares. It has set up the Israeli Sea Turtle Rescue Center just north of Netanya and carefully monitors the nesting patterns along the shore. The Knesset has passed a law prohibiting building within 100 meters of the coastline.

Injured turtle? Call *6911.

To prevent extinction, Israel National Nature and Parks Authority watches the coastline, gathers the eggs and places them in a safe hatchery area. Over the last twenty years, they have released 50,000 turtles to the sea where just one in 100 lives to a reproductive age. (There is even an emergency number to call if you see a wounded turtle.)

And we there to see this magical moment. I held my breath as these tiny newborn beings plunged into a dark, deep sea where they were tossed and churned. Everyone in the crowd applauded, amazed at these tiny turtles’ determination.

From the tiniest sea turtle to the bravest soldier, Israel nurtures all and embraces life. 

A Haunted Dream

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It is Day 22 of the war here. I feel sluggish, anxious, unfocussed. It is as if a powerful earthquake shifted the plates below my feet. I feel its tremors below and do not know what the future will bring.

This ‘earthquake’ has shaken both Israel and the world to its foundations, unleashing evil and darkness. Hatred and lies are spewing as never before. Shaken, I feel as if our cherished concepts of kindness and light, and of goodness and love have been trumped.

This feeling reminds me of The Lord of the Rings, when darkness unleashes a power causing "a time of peril unseen, of fear without form, an uneasy vigil; or a haunted dream, leading through despair to the shadow of Death."

A haunted dream come true, this is our reality in Israel’s south. Here, terrorists dig tunnels and emerge from holes in cover of darkness falsely disguised in IDF uniforms with guns and masks and death on their minds. They come to wreak terror upon families huddled in beds and children fast asleep in their cribs.  

A peril unseen, rockets are shot high into the skies, aiming for civilian populations. The rockets soar and the sirens wail as we sleep, drive, or work, sending us running, filling us with panic and fear.

Darkness unleashes a power in Israel and also across the world:

In Miami, Hamas thugs aggressively demonstrate on downtown streets screaming ““Khaybar, Khaybar, ya yahud, jaish Muhammad sa yaoud.” (The threat of Muhammad’s to exterminate all Jews.)

In Paris, mobs shout, scream, beat, plunder and smash.

In The Hague, the Islamic State (formerly Isis) proudly wave black flags under the cry “Death to the Jews.”

In London, there is a warning that the “black flag of jihad” will fly over Downing Street.

In the media worldwide, journalists write lies, weave fabrications and uphold terror.

In world politics, democratic leaders and ‘peace’ organizations condemn a country for defending itself and pity those bent on destruction and death.

It seems as if the world has shifted to a place of darkness and lies and all seems upside down. I dream of those quiet days in the ‘Shire’ and wish we could return. But I feel as if something huge has shifted the precarious balance we once enjoyed--and I do not know how we can get back home to a life of surety, security, love and comfort.

As J.R.R. Tolkien wrote in The Hobbit:

The bells were ringing in the dale
And men looked up with faces pale;
Then dragon's ire more fierce than fire
Laid low their towers and houses frail

We will not allow this dragon to make our faces pale and hope to vanquish this evil darkness. But for those who do not live here in Israel, please be aware that this shift has unleashed fumes of ire that have been simmering undercover for some time. And they are gathering force worldwide. 

I always like to see the positive side and do not want to sound like a doomsday sayer, but Israel is like a canary in a coal mine. And it is dark down here.

Are you feeling the earthquake’s aftershock?

A Nation Weeps

Soldiers bearing Oded's casket in Nir Etzion's military cemetery.

When a soldier dies, the entire country mourns.

On Monday night at 11 pm, lone soldier Sgt. Sean Carmeli was buried in Haifa’s military cemetery. Some 20,000 people flocked from all parts of Israel, standing united in the dark night to mourn a solider from Texas they did not know.  A posting on the Lone Soldier’s Facebook page reads that they came to  “strengthen, unite and define what it means to be a Jew today.”

Sean was among the 13 Golani fighters killed by an anti-tank missile.

On Tuesday, six other young men were laid to rest. From north to south, military cemeteries filled with mourners. Ashkelon, a city that is being bombarded by rockets shot from Gaza, is now a place where gatherings of over 300 people are forbidden. Despite the danger, some 6,000 people came to say goodbye to the French lone soldier Jordan Bensemhoum.

On Tuesday, we attended the funeral of Sergeant 1^st Class Oded ben Sira from the Nahal Brigade. It was in Nir Etzion, a tranquil religious moshav nestled in the Carmel Mountains. 

We had never met Oded, yet felt we had to pay our last respects. We were not the only ones with this desire. As we drove along coastal highway 2, traffic came to a stop as cars from north and south turned onto the road up that winds up to Nir Etzion. Police were there to direct traffic, diverting cars into an empty field. Busses awaited, ready to shuttle crowds to the moshav.  The army knows all too well how to prepare for a soldier’s funeral.

We gathered in a circle outside the moshav’s synagogue. It was a hushed crowd, save for claps on the back as weeping soldiers embraced each other. Many of the soldiers had just left the war zone of Gaza to come here and would soon be returning to the field. The Ben Sira family huddled around their mother who was sitting on a chair. Pale, Oded’s mother stared blankly ahead.

The crowd parted to allow a military jeep through. Six soldiers sat in the back, accompanying a simple casket. It was draped in a Magen David flag and covered in wreaths. The truck stopped. Silence. We heard the casket being lowered and then a piercing shriek. It was a cry of anguish, pain, sorrow and hurt that would never be healed. The cry of a mother. Oded’s mother.

Oded’s uncle spoke about his nephew, a gentle soul who never really suited the army and who simply loved to play guitar on the beach. As he stepped down, he said, “G-d gives. And G-d takes.” Oded’s father stood up and bravely said mourners’ kaddish for his son, trembling as he recited the words that every parent dreads.

We were then directed to waiting busses that took us to the military cemetery for the burial. As I saw the sparkling sea ahead, I thought of Oded and although I never met him, I imagined him driving this same road, guitar propped in the seat beside him, visions of song and surf in his innocent, young mind. Never again.

As we stood under the late afternoon sun around the graveside, we heard one heart-wrenching speech after another.  Shoulders shook with grief and tears flowed freely down faces of the young and also the strong. It is hard enough for adults to bear this grief, but outrageously unfair that young people should feel such anguish when life is supposed to be at its beginning.

His brother spoke, explaining that Oded had already finished his three years of army service. He had just spent quality time with his family as he excitedly planned his future. And when Operation Protective Edge began, he did not have to fight. But felt obligated and he volunteered. Sobbing, his brother said he was grateful they had this time together.

A best friend cried each word of his speech and a sister-in-law spoke in lieu of a broken-hearted brother who could not talk.  They all described a sweet, gentle soul.

The army then asked Oded mehilla, forgiveness for any wrongdoing, and requested that those with wreaths step forward. Young friends came forward to lay flowers on the casket, a last gift for their dear friend. Soldiers stood at attention, fired a salute for this brave fallen soldier and we all left, not knowing how we could continue our regular trivial lives carrying such grief.

Yet Naftali Bennett’s inspiring words from this funeral give us hope to carry on. Here is a translation of his speech.

Anyone who thinks we will give up, should open a Bible, read the Covenant G-d made with Abraham pledging to give him this land, and should look at the faces of our soldiers, at their steadfast spirit.

The enemy hasn’t a chance in this battle against the Eternal People of Israel.The liturgical poet Rabbi Judah ben Shmuel Ibm Abbas, says with regard to the binding of Isaac 'the eyes weep bitterly but the heart is glad' and that is how we feel today as well. At this moment, our eyes weep bitter tears, so many tears. How much sadness accompanies your leaving us. But with all that, our inner hearts are glad. They are glad because we know and understand what Oded's grandfather, a Holocaust survivor, would have said to us all at this time.

My brothers and sisters, in just one day during the Holocaust of our people, more Jews were murdered than in all of Israel's wars put together. And Oded fell as a Jewish soldier protecting his people in the Land of Israel.

Against a cowardly enemy whose commanders hide behind women and children, flee to hiding places under hospitals and schools, deciding that their people can die, you, Oded, decided to volunteer to be on the front line. Against an enemy that glorifies death, you fought so that we will be able to live our lives here. Against an enemy that has no roots, you deepened our roots here, and even when a branch is plucked, no one can uproot the tree it is on.  No one. We were here before the Hamas terrorists and we will be here long after they are gone.

You entered Gaza as a regular soldier and you left a reservist. You entered Gaza as a soldier who had been drafted, but you left as a volunteer. You entered Gaza alive, yet you left there alive in our hearts You went into Gaza to stop the deaths. And you left there willing us our lives. Oded, rest in peace, rest assured that we will complete the mission you began.

May we all keep these words in our hearts and remember our brave soldiers who have fallen to protect our land and the future of the Jewish people.

Miracles

Marriage proposal on the Gazan border.

Hamas has been firing rockets at the Israeli civilian population for eleven days now. Over 1,000 rockets have been launched into Israel to date. The sirens blare and people run for their lives. Sderot, Ashdod, Ashkelon, Be'er Sheva and many other communities in southern Israel are on constant alert with Red Alerts going off every few minutes.

Miraculously, there has been just one fatality and a few injuries. With over three million Israelis in range of Hamas rockets, this is nothing short of a miracle.  

Just yesterday, as Amir and I were on Ahuza doing errands, the Tzeva Adom blared. We did not know where the nearest safe room was so we tucked down a stairwell below street level. Looking around, we foolishly realized that the opening was southward-the exact direction of incoming rockets. But with 90 seconds to hide, there was no time to find another secure spot. A woman, who had been out jogging, joined us. And then an old man in his undershirt came down. A moment later, his elderly wife tried to make her way down the steps.

“Careful,” we all said. Most of the injuries from these rockets have been a result of elderly people falling as they run.

“Hamas timed it for the six o’clock news,” the woman in the work-out gear commented, glancing at her Garmin watch.

The siren stopped and an eerie silence followed. We nervously eyed each other and craned our necks upward to a soft blue sky. Then we heard it. Boom. Boom. Boom.  My heart raced. It was very close, somewhere up there right above us. After a few seconds, the old man in the white undershirt laughed and said, “Who wants to come to my house?” He left and we all followed, eyes to the sky. I saw nothing.

Within a few seconds, the pace on Ahuza Street picked up. Cars zoomed, trucks honked and women pushed their babies in strollers. Customers were already in line to pay at SuperPharm. Where were they just now, I wondered, imagining them strolling down the diaper aisle deciding between Pampers and Huggies as the siren blared outside.

I walked into the wine store and saw thousands of glass bottles crowding the shelves from floor to ceiling. A chill went down my spine. This would not be a good place to run for cover.

The owner of the wine store waxed eloquent. “Why are most Israelis not saying tehillim (psalms) after each rocket lands without harming anyone? This is the work of G-d. It is obvious.”

And true. The fact that we are able to calmly incorporate this into our daily routine is also a miracle. Where else in the world would people manage to live like this day in and out? 

Love conquers all, or so it was at the Gaza border a few days ago. A creative man from B'nai Brak decided to propose marriage right at the Gazan border. Excited soldiers cooperated with the idea and even helped him make a sign. He got down on his knees, and to the delight of all, she said "Yes!"

Some people are acutely aware of the daily miracles in this country. A friend of mine emailed me a miracle list she collected over the week:

Kibbutz Sufa - An IDF spokeperson reported that on Thursday at 4:30 am, thirteen terrorists emerged from a tunnel 250 meters inside Israel. They were crawling on the ground, headed to the sleeping inhabitants of Kibbutz Sufa when they were spotted by the army.

Ashdod - A rocket fell in a gas station that held 35, 000 liters of gasoline. No explosion.

Gaza - Israel has been supplying Gazans with water and electricity for years. As Israel has a heart and would not cut off the supply even though Hamas does not pay its bills, Gaza’s own rocket hit an Israeli power station, plunging some 70,000 houses into darkness from damage by their own rocket.

Be'er Sheva - Kids were playing in a football court , and a rocket fell right there right after they left. Not far from there, another rocket fell by a gas balloon and it didn't explode.

Eshkol - A rocket fell in a kitchen right before the family went in.  Nothing happened. 

Negev - Young girls went outside and a rocket fell in their room right after they left.

Near Jerusalem - A rocket fell on a balcony of a family and did not explode.

Holon - A rocket "missed" a child by a split second.

Nes Tziona - A rocket fell on a highway full of cars. No one was hurt.

More then 1,000 rockets have been launched at us in the last 11 days. The Iron Dome (Kipat Barzel) shot down 150 of them. The rest (around 850 rockets) miraculously did not hurt us.

I told a friend of mine about our encounter with the Tzeva Adom and he shared another recent miracle. 

A packed bus left Tsfat for Jerusalem last motzei Shabbat. As the bus passed an Arab village, it was stoned. Windows shattered and a Molotov cocktail landed right beside a baby. There was a thud but no explosion. The driver sped off to safety and when all was safe, he stopped the bus. The Chasidim jumped off and formed a circle, dancing and singing to Hashem for delivering a miracle.

When times get rough, true kindness is revealed. A young couple was supposed to get married in Sderot on Wednesday night. Due to the situation, the wedding was cancelled. When the rabbi of a local Hesder yeshiva heard the news, he made it happen. Much to the couple’s surprise and joy, the wedding took  place in the yeshiva’s bomb shelter. You can see the video in this article.

Said one guest, “This shows the great power of the Jewish people – while outside everything is gloomy and dark – we continue on and this is what builds the people and the land.”

We will continue to bring light to the world. My son is at sleepover camp in Israel with a few hundred other Israelis. Are they going to be denied a fun summer? Have a peek at this video that was made by the camp. I watched it and cried tears of happiness. 

Our children refuse to be brought down. They will sing, they will dance and they will be strong. They will love life to its fullest as they are the future of the Jewish people.

Rockets are still flying and now the IDF ground troops are in Gaza. We are filled with trepidation. My son’s best friends are in there right now; cute, sometimes goofy boys who played board games at our house on Shabbat and whipped about on scooters and joked and played basketball. They are now fighting to secure our future so we can continue to live meaningful lives in this most remarkable, miraculous land.  

Let’s not get used to the miracles or take them for granted. And let’s pray that our boys come home safely so we can live in peace.