A war was not on my aliyah agenda. Just last week I was so grateful that most of the crazy bureaucratic runaround was over and I could enjoy being a citizen of this wonderful country and proceed without worrying how to accomplish the “to-do’s” of settling in without being proficient in Hebrew. I planned to enjoy life, continue to meet new people and just live. And then it was the holidays, Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah. I thought my biggest concern would be finding my way through the prayer book that now celebrated both these holidays in one day instead of the two I was used to. I thought my biggest emotional dissonance would be going immediately from Yizkor and the sadness of prayers for deceased loved ones to hakofot and the limitless joy of dancing and singing to celebrate having the Torah.
I was ready to leave for shul when I heard a loud boom and the building shook a bit. I wondered who was working and blasting during a holiday. And then I heard the siren! Missiles? Could it be? In our quiet community? But there had been no warning. I went to my mamad, my safe room, and closed the sealed door. I heard a few more booms. I waited the prescribed ten minutes from the last blast before leaving the safety of the mamad. All was quiet. I decided I would go to my shul. It was only two blocks away. Maybe people knew what was going on. But as soon as I touched my doorknob to leave, the siren sounded again, forcing me back into the mamad to listen to the many loud blasts of the Iron Dome eliminating the missiles aimed at us. After this scenario repeated itself several times, I decided to daven at home. In between sirens, my neighbor came by to see if I was alright, knowing that I was new to Israel. A few minutes later my daughter showed up. We decided to go to her house and maybe the men, returning from shul, might have some information. At least we would all be together.
We almost made it to her house before the siren went off again. We held hands as we quickened our pace, but for some reason we didn’t run into another building to the safety of another’s house. Israelis always leave their front door unlocked at such times so that anyone passing can seek the shelter of their mamad. Somehow, though scared, we didn’t feel panic or dread. There is an aura in this country that I cannot describe that gives one hope and faith.
As I write this, the fighting is in its fifth day. The people of this land have come together as if the dissent and tension of the past year never existed. We are one, united with one goal – to win this war and assist everyone through these trying times, no matter their political or religious observance.
As young family men left their holiday table saying goodbye to their wives and young children to join their platoons at the various bases, pictures of them began to flood the internet. Men from both sides of the political argument and religious persuasion embraced each other. Comrades again, resuming our holiday celebration, together, as they danced with the Torah. There they were, doing hakafot together, celebrating the holiday that was still ongoing, head covered or not. By the next morning, when people realized what had happened and began to understand the enormity of the acts perpetrated on Israel, the unity and loving-kindness towards each other truly began to flow. It amazed me and made me so proud to be a member of this tribe.
Schools closed, teens were offering to help anyone whose husband was off to war with babysitting, cooking or housekeeping. Young teen boys knocked on the door of anyone still having their sukkah up and offered to take it down for them. People opened their homes for the refugees from the horror in the South, taking in families, large families, for an unknown period of time. Psychologists offering assistance to anyone traumatized at no cost, with no time limit. One such doctor giving his phone number and telling parents to have their young children feel free to call him, day or night, if they weren’t coping. Donations of food, clothing, toothbrushes and even cigarettes were dropped off at designated centers, loaded on trucks by hundreds of volunteers and sent to the soldiers. Restaurants asked for local assistance as they cooked and sent thousands of meals to the front. The city and private citizens were offering to keep company with anyone alone, especially the elderly, so many people asking if anyone needs shopping or lifts to appointments, or groceries. Supermarkets, having lost workers to the war, have empty shelves. Teachers have contacted their students to help restock the shelves so no one will be without. A 70-plus-year-old woman came in to Romi Levi supermarket to wash the floors! A city mobilized, everyone wanting to help their neighbor and the stranger down the block. As I write this, my exercise group just texted, saying they will be dropping off a Shabbos package to help boost morale. Music with an upbeat message is being broadcast by trucks as they go around the city.
I went to two weddings last night. While in attendance at one, I Zoomed the other. Both had very few people. In one, the bride’s family could not get into the country and many who lived a bit away were afraid to travel. So, the neighborhood youth came to help celebrate and dance up a storm without end, making it a wonderful, joyous affair. The second wedding was of a young widow remarrying. I cried as I watched her two sons-in-law in uniform participate, knowing where they were going after the ceremony. “Who Is Like You Israel? Mi Kimocha Yisrael?”
As I watch the Western and European news, which at first was so supportive, I knew that it would be only a matter of time before the support for Israel started to be challenged. How could Israel cut off electricity, water, etc. to the poor population of Gaza? Interviews of mothers decrying this inhuman situation started to surface. This poor population of citizens who gave candy out each time they heard that more innocent civilians were killed. These mothers who supported the taking of toddlers from their hostage parents and instructed their own children to beat them and then photographed it proudly and celebrated with more sweets. And what of the bodies of the 40 Jewish babies, beheaded and burned, celebrated by the local civilian population; all photographed and displayed proudly for the world to see? No water, no light, is that what they call inhumane? Over 1,200 Israelis killed, mostly peaceful civilians, murdered in their homes and over 3,000 wounded, 150 people abducted, all celebrated by these… I don’t know what to call them. Animals are better.
So, I remain here, proud to be here in a country that celebrates life and runs to help their neighbor and the stranger in their midst, and I pray we have peace soon and that the world will come to recognize “Who Is Like You Israel? Mi Kimocha Yisrael?”
