The Foundation for Jewish Camp organized an educational trip for camp directors to Israel to learn firsthand the stories and impact of October 7. Simon was selected to attend and ended up extending his trip to maximize his opportunity to learn and provide support.
Please see the pictures and blog below for his story of this meaningful journey:
Please see the pictures and blog below for his story of this meaningful journey:
PART 1: Days 1-5
Day 1 – I landed late in the afternoon on Wednesday Feb. 14th. The first thing I noticed was that Ben Gurion has modernized. Every time in the past that I landed in Israel, I was able to give the ground a big kiss. Sadly, the plane pulled up to a gate, with the typical tunnel straight into the airport. I guess it was only a matter of time. I kissed my Waze App on my phone and thanked Israel for the invention. I had to adapt too. I arrived in Jerusalem just in time for dinner, but not before lots and lots of observations along the way. First of all, everything seemed unusually normal. I hardly saw a soldier between the airport and Jerusalem. No sirens. No explosions. No fear or panic. Lots of cappuccinos and lots of honking. Like I said, normal. I spoke to everyone I could. I struck up conversations with everyone I came across. I spoke with the customs agent; I spoke with random Israelis at the baggage check, a mom and little daughter at the vending machine, two cops by the door, a loitering taxi driver, and more. Their messages to me shared a common theme. They had cried oceans of tears since October 7th and yet ‘it’s ok’ and they must move forward positively and live with optimism. The Israeli culture is a lesson in resilience at a level that will always be foreign to most of us. There was reason for optimism on day 1. I spoke to an Arab maintenance worker in my hotel. I asked him how the situation is for him. He said he is good. He is thankful that at least in Jerusalem ‘we are all friends…we can all be friends in Jerusalem’. That is a start and I’ll take it. I came here to learn, to listen, to reflect, and where possible to help and offer support. This conversation helped me more than anything else. It was great to start this trip with the thought that people still believe we can all be friends. Then I reflect further because that is what I do. I start to think if we are not friends elsewhere, if outside of Jerusalem we are enemies, we are doomed. Then I realize that’s not the case. Every peace that has ever been made, at any point in history, is between enemies. So, either way, friend or foe, there is hope. And then I ate shawarma from Moshiko on Ben Yehuda and went to bed happy.
My plan for this visit to Israel is different than any other trip of the past. My family in Israel is mourning. They are in a collective metaphorical shiva. It is my privilege and responsibility to show up. I am going to be intentional in everything I do and make sure to show-up. I will listen. I will support. I will not judge or criticize or challenge or confront. I will be present. I identified several areas where I decided the country could benefit from my little bit of support while I am here. The need to feed people properly, to rebuild, to support the chayalim (soldiers), to assist in the mental health and healing of the country…and more. So let the journey begin. Hineini.
Day 2 – Thursday February 15. I got up first thing in the morning and decided to take the hour-long walk to meet at my first volunteer location at 9:00 a.m. I was in observation mode again. I felt like I was walking in a slow motion or a ‘frozen’ scene in a movie where all of my senses are heightened and aware. So much was happening around me and so many of my senses were fully engaged. I could see more. I noticed details. I heard specific sounds through the general noise. What an incredible country. Two East Asian women sped past me riding electric scooters and having a whole conversation in Hebrew across the sidewalk; A black man was riding a motorized bicycle with his daughter strapped into a child seat behind him; I walked past a group of soldiers that looked like a 1990’s GAP commercial – beautiful faces of every color and tone that exists in the world. The diversity in this country is remarkable. As I walked down the sidewalk a 6- or 7-year-old little girl walking alone almost walked right into me while she was reading a book. Read that again…She was 6 or 7 AND walking alone – not an adult in sight. It reminded me of my childhood and seems so dramatically out of place for children today back home. But wait, there’s more. She wasn’t looking up because she was reading a book. No electronics in site. The girl was reading, by choice, and couldn’t wait even long enough to find a chair to sit and read. It was such a beautiful thing to see. I was acutely aware that I was choosing to walk behind bus stops instead of in front of them in case there was an attack at the stop. This snapped me out of my internal monologue and back to the reality that I was in a war zone. By choice.
I arrived at the wholesale food market in Givat Shaul Jerusalem. This place was incredibly crazy. It was like playing forklift frogger with your life, except there were no lanes and no movement was predictable. This meant a lot of fruit and vegetables rolled off the crates, and bins fell off and smashed, and the streets were riddled with food. It was our mission to rescue the food before it got squished by the next forklift, while not getting squished ourselves. There was also another nuance to this mission. As a wholesaler, they can’t sell ripened fruit or vegetables as they need some shelf life for the purchasing retailers. This meant a lot of food goes to the garbage – not because it is garbage but because it is not practical to sell in this setting. So, into the dumpsters we went. It was shocking to see how much food was being otherwise wasted. It was also shocking to learn about the extent of homelessness and families unable to feed themselves all across the country. While this became worse after October 7th, the need has been extensive for many, many years. New immigrants, most recently from Ukraine, also rely heavily on the food being rescued by the two organizations I volunteered with today – Jerusalem Food Rescue and Human Front. The bins of fruits and vegetables were awesome. Bananas, lemons, limes, onions, potatoes, eggplants, oranges, squash, celery, greens, and so much more filled two cars today. The food was then taken to a local school kitchen where it was washed, sorted, and prepped for cooking. It was used for soups, salads, and incredible vegan meals organized for distribution to those in need across the country. This was an eye-opening day for me. I will never take a fruit or vegetable for granted again.
Day 3 – Friday February 16
It was a very early morning today. I could not sleep being so excited for this volunteer opportunity beginning at 7:30 a.m. I was up and could not get back to sleep at 4:00 a.m. I would say 20% jetlag but the rest is just pure adrenaline. This one is personal for me. All people are like onions with many layers. As people come in and out of our lives, and experiences come and go, we share exposed layers of ourselves. As the years go by, the people we meet and experiences we have at later stages in our lives form new layers of our onion, but earlier layers are not exposed and often do not form part of the mutual or shared experiences in the present or going forward. Sometimes we meet old friends or revisit an experience and just for a moment we peel back layers to get back to that special place (we might even shed a tear at the expense of taking this metaphor too far). We call these things memories. I am going to peel back 1000 layers and expose a life-changing experience I had a lifetime ago. I was fortunate enough to have the chance to do a university exchange at Hebrew University in Jerusalem. I was doubly fortunate in that I had already received early acceptance to law school which I was able to defer for a year. So, my year could have lots of flexibility with firm plans in place for my return a year later. I was triple fortunate in that I managed to get exempt from the otherwise mandatory 6-week ulpan Hebrew language training seminar in Givat Ram. So, I went traveling to Turkey for a bit (but that is a whole separate blog series). When I got back, I was invited to attend an I.D.F. recruitment session for diaspora Jews. The program was fascinating and so progressive and ahead of its time. It was not a ‘gadna’ or an ‘army experience’, it was an IDF enlisted experimental compromise on its usual mandatory 3-year service. One year in the army as a ‘chayal boded’ (lone soldier) was being offered on special terms. The program was called ‘shomrei Israel’ (the guards of Israel). The design of the program was to build units each year of diaspora Jews who would be trained as weapons experts, train and gain extensive experience in the various weapons deployed so the unit could pick up any weapon and go. The vision was that if there was ever a situation that arose where there was a viable existential threat to the existence of the State of Israel, or Jewish way of life,a trained army of diaspora Jews could be called in as Tzahal reservists to do our part, with our very specific and limited training so the soldiers otherwise in position in these posts could be deployed to combat. [note: have we realized this existential threat?] Throughout the year we were deployed to all kinds of assignments. The best part was that if we were deployed, we replaced a soldier who was not expecting time off to go and visit their family. We were like a ‘go home for free’ card for chayalim (soldiers) when we arrived. Eventually, the word spread, and if we showed up, there were often tears from the soldiers as they knew they could pack a small bag and get hugs from Eema and Abba. Our basic training took place at a main recruitment base called Beit Guvrin. If we ever chat and you are interested, ask me about the training stories that are definitely interesting – key phrases to mention to me to peel back to this layer: ‘ken hamifaked’, ‘ba’ta le chofesh?’, and ‘help us find the terrorist’. Graduation was incredible with a beautiful ceremony and a major shift in our relationship with our commanders from feared, to revered, to now friends. We were issued advanced weapons licenses in Israel and authorized to be stationary armed guards at sites, events, facilities, villages, kibbutzim, and moshavim. We were chayalim in the I.D.F.
My first assignment after graduating was to be a perimeter guard for a small relatively new Moshav about 20 minutes away from the base, just southeast of Kiryat Gat, and just west of Hebron. On the other side of the West Bank Separation wall is a village called Beit Awwa. It was a long and scary first night, but a character builder, or perhaps more importantly a connection builder, that would mean a lot to me later in life, i.e. today.
My volunteer assignment today was to begin at 8:00 a.m. at Moshav Shekef. Moshav Shekef, the place where my first military assignment took place. This was an emotional experience for me. It felt like something that had been in the plan, whatever that is, for decades. Thirty years later, I was back in the same place. As a young, lone soldier on the outside protecting. Now as a father, husband, and middle (?) aged man on the inside, planting, which is once again protecting. I felt like both experiences were aligned in the way my small part was designed – to protect this beautiful and peaceful place to ensure its viability for the future. Today my weapon was squash, hundreds and hundreds of tiny seedlings of squash planted in rows and prepared for growth. In just 3 short weeks, our efforts will yield hundreds of ready-to-eat squash protecting the families that live here from hunger, protecting the economy and viability of the farm, and protecting our Jewish way of life. When the planting was done, we enjoyed some incredible fresh hummus. I chose the hummus sabich – which is outrageously delicious. It is hummus topped with sliced hard-boiled egg, chopped fried eggplant, chopped Israeli salad, parsley, amba (sort of a mango pickle condiment) and tahini sauce. YUM! I drove away feeling so satisfied, but not only from the Hummus Sabich. It was a true full-circle moment for me where I felt connected to this land and people at a deeper level than I have ever felt before. As I left the kibbutz and headed back in the direction of Beit Guvrin, it seemed like there was not a care in the world. But only for a few minutes. As I passed a roundabout, a border patrol jeep sped to center of the intersection and the guards jumped our guns drawn. I didn’t stick around to see what was going on. Only a minute later was another intersection and once again guards were present, guns drawn, with clear tension in the air. I kept going. I knew something wasn’t right, but it wasn’t until I got back to Jerusalem and watched the news that I connected the dots. There was a terrorist attack at a bus stop at Re’em Junction about 20 minutes away. As a consequence of October 7th, Israel immediately assumed that this could be a coordinated cross-border effort and lined the borders east and west to prevent additional terrorists from harming Israelis. The serenity was short-lived. Tomorrow is a new day.
Israel Day 4 – Saturday February 17
Shabbat in Jerusalem. What an incredible gift to be here. I was staying about a half hour walk from the Old City but decided to take the long way and meandered through various streets of Jerusalem weaving in and out soaking in my observations, lost in my thoughts once again. The diversity of the city struck me again. Cultural centers are everywhere. In the middle of a war (and a broader war against the Jewish people worldwide), I walk past The Jerusalem Museum of Tolerance. How is it that one of the most peaceful cultures, celebrators of tolerance, accepting of differences, progressive in its cultural views, a liberal democracy, is not tolerated by others worldwide? So many thoughts in my mind. The history, the stories, and the whispers through time are audible here. You can feel the power and presence of things we can’t understand in this city. It houses the craziest paradoxical realities. Massive LED signs, cutting-edge technology, modern shops, and the Golden Arches sit in the shadows of the walled city, the Tower of David, and a different set of golden arches like those at Jaffa gate. The beigele with Za’atar was waiting for me at the gate, but so was the iphone repair shop. I walked through the Armenian quarter. I only made it past one store before I got pulled into the next one to be sold on the deal of the century for sterling silver earrings. Only $600.00 (USD), and freshly ripped open from a plastic bag in a shoebox with 200 other pairs, which looked like toys in a chocolate egg. I still really wanted them. Instead, I gave him a donation and wished him well. As I made my way through the narrow stone corridors I smiled as I saw the Harary and Levy Learning Center. I don’t know if it is the same Harary family that has been so supportive of Camp Northland over the years, but it reminded me of the generosity and solidarity of our community in Toronto. Thank you Ronnen.
And then I arrived at the Kotel. The wall seemed to walk towards me as I got closer and closer. I have been here many times, but something was different this time. October 7th, 2023 is still the present, yet I knew at that moment that it would also shape history and find its place in the long timeline of dates we know all too well as modern Jewry. 1941-1945 The Holocaust and WWII. 1948 War of Independence.1967 Six Day War. 1972 Munich Olympics Massacre. 1973 Yom Kippur War. 1982 First Lebanon war. 1987 First Intifada…..and now 2023 The massacre, the murders, the hostages, the unimaginable has happened. Iron Swords. I pressed both hands against the wall. I leaned my forehead into the wall in front of me. I thought about the children, the hostages, the mothers, the fathers, the soldiers, my g-d the soldiers, just kids themselves. I thought about my three boys being army age. I thought of the pain this country is feeling, the mourning underneath the resilience. It didn’t take long for the Kotel to pour emotion all over me. I cried. In fact, I wept in a way I have not done in a long time. So much emotion was unleashed in these moments. The Kotel speaks to you, and you can speak to the Kotel. I prayed for peace, for strength for those suffering, for safety for our chayalim, for health, for my family and friends, for this country…and I cried some more. Somehow my hands and head on the kotel was a conduit to an emotional part of the October 7th experience in me that had yet to be tapped. I listened to the minyan praying to my left. I listened to the sound of a shi’ur (lesson) behind me where a class of 30 or so 5–6-year-olds were studying Torah and shouting key terms repeating after their Moreh (teacher). And I smiled. I picked up my shoulders and walked past the shiur. And when they said a blessing. I said Amen and smiled some more. The children are our future. For them we must carry on. We must fight if we have to for our survival, for our preservation, for our way of life. I left the old city with more clarity. I also got lost. For some reason this was the point where my phone GPS decided I was in Cairo, Egypt. The rest of my travel routes will be interesting to say the least. Anyways I had better go as it looks like I have an 8 hour drive bak to my hotel 15 blocks away.
p.s. It was also amazing to meet with Avishag today and catch up. She was part of our Beit Halochem staff with Kids of Courage back in 2016!
Day 5- Sunday February 18th
It was another early start to my day today as I left Jerusalem for the Ramat Gan Area, in particular to Kfar Maccabiah. Kfar Maccabiah is a place where elite athletes train for the Israeli version of the Olympics, where the world of international Jewish athletics is headquartered, where a museum of Jewish athletic history is housed, and where teen and aspiring athletes train year-round to be the best of the best. But that was before October 7th. That Kfar Maccabiah is gone. This place has been completely repurposed into a mental health and wellness retreat center, equipped with glamping, yoga, meditation, and healing rituals. Scores of elite army units come en masse after being released from heavy combat to begin the process of healing. Displaced people seeking impossible answers find their way here to learn to manage their feelings and try to move forward with positivity. Victims of terror take their first baby steps toward a new post-October 7th reality. I notice that half the gym is sectioned off to add more space for group indoor yoga. The office is a Pilates studio. The squash court is now a makeshift kitchen so everyone who comes can be fed by volunteers and not have to worry about anything that can be helped or controlled by others. Their beds are made, and towels are folded. This is where I came in. The yurts needed some attention as a new group of Duvdavan chayalim is scheduled to arrive soon. So, we enter each yurt and ensure that there are at least three beds cleanly made with fitted sheets and a warm fluffy duvet. Pillows are fluffed, with a fresh soft pillowcase. A towel is thoughtfully folded and placed at the foot of the bed. It is winter here, so we ensure a small heater is working and safely positioned. The area is cleaned, and some food is prepared in the squash court kitchen so the visitors will have all the essentials ready. I and the other volunteers paused from the day of organizing to eat as well. The discussion that ensues lasts a couple of hours as it slowly is revealed to me that the volunteers that I was fortunate to encounter today are Israelis seeking answers themselves. We talked about life, travel, choices, war, family, school, and everything else. It was a lifetime of discussion in the blink of an eye. There is so much uncertainty in this country. So many questions to be asked. Only later in my trip will I learn the true extent of the uncertainty, and just how deep the questions go. But that will be explored later. On this day, there was still much more to do.
I headed south towards Palmachim (Israel’s largest air force base). I was a little early for our authorized entry time, so I stopped for a delicious cheese toast with mushrooms – one of my favorite foods in Israel. I didn’t want to eat too much though as I would be barbequing later tonight for 200 Air Force soldiers on the base.
I met with my team of volunteers, and after a security check, we were ‘cleared for take-off. I was very fortunate to be offered a close-up and in-depth tour of the base. We went to see the drones (not what you think…instead imagine a small airplane that doesn’t need a pilot). We saw the military fighter helicopters, and even the operations, communication, and control center. The unit commander decided to give us a civilian-oriented military briefing. We watched footage from the October 7th attack from the lens of the one drone that was in the sky at the time of the attack. We watched the early moments before the country would be changed forever as the first tractors penetrated the border fence. We watched the confusion. We witnessed the sensitivity and humanity of the Israeli military as, to the detriment of their people and country, the values of the military would not be compromised, despite the horrific consequences. Strikes would not be initiated until the context could be understood. Clearance is needed from two arms of the military command. No firing on children. No firing on unconfirmed targets, etc. I watched as terrorists fired RPGs at Israel but were spared (at least initially) while they were shielded by the child they brought with them for this attack. I was starting to see and understand a level of complexity I did not consider beforehand. I know the consequence of not compromising values proved to have a hefty price. Yet, this is what separates us from the animals that attacked Israel. The Israeli army values human life, even at risk to its own people. It will not take a chance on breaching its responsibility to humanity. I was angry and proud at the same time. This diversity of emotions will only become more complex and confusing as the rest of my visit through Israel progresses.
After the tour, I met back up with the team on-site from Grilling for I.D.F. – and the dinner plans began. This team knows how to throw a pop-up bbq. They come with everything from the grills to the napkins to the meat to the freshly baked desserts to the salads, to the flame fanners, and everything else you could imagine. They forgot nothing. I was proud to stand behind a grill for 3 hours cooking up burgers and ‘entrecote’ (thin steak) for the benefit of these beautiful children. This was a key observation for me as I observed the soldiers. They are children tasked with pressure and expectations that no child should be faced with. Yet they rise up and accept the challenge with grace. I was quite emotional looking at them. They were away from their parents fighting a war they never wanted, making split-second life and death decisions, living with uncompromised values and integrity…and laughing and hugging and smiling and somehow enjoying life. They are inspiring young adults saving our Jewish way of life in combat battles daily. And I still saw a bunch of kids in front of me that I just wanted to hug and let them know that we love them. I said thank you to as many as I could, and I hope they felt the mental hug and heard the silent I love you between my words. Betayavon and stay safe, heroes. I saw some soldiers putting on tefillin off to the side and it called out to me. If I could say a prayer that could even possibly have a chance to help keep these kids from harm, I was in.
One observation I have to note was an amazing interaction between the children of some volunteers and the soldiers on the base. The Israeli army has both men and women fully enlisted and fully integrated. Women lead units. Women enter combat. Women lead throughout the IDF, and the air force is no exception. I looked at the little girls looking up to the female officers and I saw the seeds of inspiration and leadership being planted in the souls of these children. I know I witnessed a moment that will play out someday in the future with future female leadership for our country and our people. This is a great source of pride for me and should be for all of us.
My plan for this visit to Israel is different than any other trip of the past. My family in Israel is mourning. They are in a collective metaphorical shiva. It is my privilege and responsibility to show up. I am going to be intentional in everything I do and make sure to show-up. I will listen. I will support. I will not judge or criticize or challenge or confront. I will be present. I identified several areas where I decided the country could benefit from my little bit of support while I am here. The need to feed people properly, to rebuild, to support the chayalim (soldiers), to assist in the mental health and healing of the country…and more. So let the journey begin. Hineini.
Day 2 – Thursday February 15. I got up first thing in the morning and decided to take the hour-long walk to meet at my first volunteer location at 9:00 a.m. I was in observation mode again. I felt like I was walking in a slow motion or a ‘frozen’ scene in a movie where all of my senses are heightened and aware. So much was happening around me and so many of my senses were fully engaged. I could see more. I noticed details. I heard specific sounds through the general noise. What an incredible country. Two East Asian women sped past me riding electric scooters and having a whole conversation in Hebrew across the sidewalk; A black man was riding a motorized bicycle with his daughter strapped into a child seat behind him; I walked past a group of soldiers that looked like a 1990’s GAP commercial – beautiful faces of every color and tone that exists in the world. The diversity in this country is remarkable. As I walked down the sidewalk a 6- or 7-year-old little girl walking alone almost walked right into me while she was reading a book. Read that again…She was 6 or 7 AND walking alone – not an adult in sight. It reminded me of my childhood and seems so dramatically out of place for children today back home. But wait, there’s more. She wasn’t looking up because she was reading a book. No electronics in site. The girl was reading, by choice, and couldn’t wait even long enough to find a chair to sit and read. It was such a beautiful thing to see. I was acutely aware that I was choosing to walk behind bus stops instead of in front of them in case there was an attack at the stop. This snapped me out of my internal monologue and back to the reality that I was in a war zone. By choice.
I arrived at the wholesale food market in Givat Shaul Jerusalem. This place was incredibly crazy. It was like playing forklift frogger with your life, except there were no lanes and no movement was predictable. This meant a lot of fruit and vegetables rolled off the crates, and bins fell off and smashed, and the streets were riddled with food. It was our mission to rescue the food before it got squished by the next forklift, while not getting squished ourselves. There was also another nuance to this mission. As a wholesaler, they can’t sell ripened fruit or vegetables as they need some shelf life for the purchasing retailers. This meant a lot of food goes to the garbage – not because it is garbage but because it is not practical to sell in this setting. So, into the dumpsters we went. It was shocking to see how much food was being otherwise wasted. It was also shocking to learn about the extent of homelessness and families unable to feed themselves all across the country. While this became worse after October 7th, the need has been extensive for many, many years. New immigrants, most recently from Ukraine, also rely heavily on the food being rescued by the two organizations I volunteered with today – Jerusalem Food Rescue and Human Front. The bins of fruits and vegetables were awesome. Bananas, lemons, limes, onions, potatoes, eggplants, oranges, squash, celery, greens, and so much more filled two cars today. The food was then taken to a local school kitchen where it was washed, sorted, and prepped for cooking. It was used for soups, salads, and incredible vegan meals organized for distribution to those in need across the country. This was an eye-opening day for me. I will never take a fruit or vegetable for granted again.
Day 3 – Friday February 16
It was a very early morning today. I could not sleep being so excited for this volunteer opportunity beginning at 7:30 a.m. I was up and could not get back to sleep at 4:00 a.m. I would say 20% jetlag but the rest is just pure adrenaline. This one is personal for me. All people are like onions with many layers. As people come in and out of our lives, and experiences come and go, we share exposed layers of ourselves. As the years go by, the people we meet and experiences we have at later stages in our lives form new layers of our onion, but earlier layers are not exposed and often do not form part of the mutual or shared experiences in the present or going forward. Sometimes we meet old friends or revisit an experience and just for a moment we peel back layers to get back to that special place (we might even shed a tear at the expense of taking this metaphor too far). We call these things memories. I am going to peel back 1000 layers and expose a life-changing experience I had a lifetime ago. I was fortunate enough to have the chance to do a university exchange at Hebrew University in Jerusalem. I was doubly fortunate in that I had already received early acceptance to law school which I was able to defer for a year. So, my year could have lots of flexibility with firm plans in place for my return a year later. I was triple fortunate in that I managed to get exempt from the otherwise mandatory 6-week ulpan Hebrew language training seminar in Givat Ram. So, I went traveling to Turkey for a bit (but that is a whole separate blog series). When I got back, I was invited to attend an I.D.F. recruitment session for diaspora Jews. The program was fascinating and so progressive and ahead of its time. It was not a ‘gadna’ or an ‘army experience’, it was an IDF enlisted experimental compromise on its usual mandatory 3-year service. One year in the army as a ‘chayal boded’ (lone soldier) was being offered on special terms. The program was called ‘shomrei Israel’ (the guards of Israel). The design of the program was to build units each year of diaspora Jews who would be trained as weapons experts, train and gain extensive experience in the various weapons deployed so the unit could pick up any weapon and go. The vision was that if there was ever a situation that arose where there was a viable existential threat to the existence of the State of Israel, or Jewish way of life,a trained army of diaspora Jews could be called in as Tzahal reservists to do our part, with our very specific and limited training so the soldiers otherwise in position in these posts could be deployed to combat. [note: have we realized this existential threat?] Throughout the year we were deployed to all kinds of assignments. The best part was that if we were deployed, we replaced a soldier who was not expecting time off to go and visit their family. We were like a ‘go home for free’ card for chayalim (soldiers) when we arrived. Eventually, the word spread, and if we showed up, there were often tears from the soldiers as they knew they could pack a small bag and get hugs from Eema and Abba. Our basic training took place at a main recruitment base called Beit Guvrin. If we ever chat and you are interested, ask me about the training stories that are definitely interesting – key phrases to mention to me to peel back to this layer: ‘ken hamifaked’, ‘ba’ta le chofesh?’, and ‘help us find the terrorist’. Graduation was incredible with a beautiful ceremony and a major shift in our relationship with our commanders from feared, to revered, to now friends. We were issued advanced weapons licenses in Israel and authorized to be stationary armed guards at sites, events, facilities, villages, kibbutzim, and moshavim. We were chayalim in the I.D.F.
My first assignment after graduating was to be a perimeter guard for a small relatively new Moshav about 20 minutes away from the base, just southeast of Kiryat Gat, and just west of Hebron. On the other side of the West Bank Separation wall is a village called Beit Awwa. It was a long and scary first night, but a character builder, or perhaps more importantly a connection builder, that would mean a lot to me later in life, i.e. today.
My volunteer assignment today was to begin at 8:00 a.m. at Moshav Shekef. Moshav Shekef, the place where my first military assignment took place. This was an emotional experience for me. It felt like something that had been in the plan, whatever that is, for decades. Thirty years later, I was back in the same place. As a young, lone soldier on the outside protecting. Now as a father, husband, and middle (?) aged man on the inside, planting, which is once again protecting. I felt like both experiences were aligned in the way my small part was designed – to protect this beautiful and peaceful place to ensure its viability for the future. Today my weapon was squash, hundreds and hundreds of tiny seedlings of squash planted in rows and prepared for growth. In just 3 short weeks, our efforts will yield hundreds of ready-to-eat squash protecting the families that live here from hunger, protecting the economy and viability of the farm, and protecting our Jewish way of life. When the planting was done, we enjoyed some incredible fresh hummus. I chose the hummus sabich – which is outrageously delicious. It is hummus topped with sliced hard-boiled egg, chopped fried eggplant, chopped Israeli salad, parsley, amba (sort of a mango pickle condiment) and tahini sauce. YUM! I drove away feeling so satisfied, but not only from the Hummus Sabich. It was a true full-circle moment for me where I felt connected to this land and people at a deeper level than I have ever felt before. As I left the kibbutz and headed back in the direction of Beit Guvrin, it seemed like there was not a care in the world. But only for a few minutes. As I passed a roundabout, a border patrol jeep sped to center of the intersection and the guards jumped our guns drawn. I didn’t stick around to see what was going on. Only a minute later was another intersection and once again guards were present, guns drawn, with clear tension in the air. I kept going. I knew something wasn’t right, but it wasn’t until I got back to Jerusalem and watched the news that I connected the dots. There was a terrorist attack at a bus stop at Re’em Junction about 20 minutes away. As a consequence of October 7th, Israel immediately assumed that this could be a coordinated cross-border effort and lined the borders east and west to prevent additional terrorists from harming Israelis. The serenity was short-lived. Tomorrow is a new day.
Israel Day 4 – Saturday February 17
Shabbat in Jerusalem. What an incredible gift to be here. I was staying about a half hour walk from the Old City but decided to take the long way and meandered through various streets of Jerusalem weaving in and out soaking in my observations, lost in my thoughts once again. The diversity of the city struck me again. Cultural centers are everywhere. In the middle of a war (and a broader war against the Jewish people worldwide), I walk past The Jerusalem Museum of Tolerance. How is it that one of the most peaceful cultures, celebrators of tolerance, accepting of differences, progressive in its cultural views, a liberal democracy, is not tolerated by others worldwide? So many thoughts in my mind. The history, the stories, and the whispers through time are audible here. You can feel the power and presence of things we can’t understand in this city. It houses the craziest paradoxical realities. Massive LED signs, cutting-edge technology, modern shops, and the Golden Arches sit in the shadows of the walled city, the Tower of David, and a different set of golden arches like those at Jaffa gate. The beigele with Za’atar was waiting for me at the gate, but so was the iphone repair shop. I walked through the Armenian quarter. I only made it past one store before I got pulled into the next one to be sold on the deal of the century for sterling silver earrings. Only $600.00 (USD), and freshly ripped open from a plastic bag in a shoebox with 200 other pairs, which looked like toys in a chocolate egg. I still really wanted them. Instead, I gave him a donation and wished him well. As I made my way through the narrow stone corridors I smiled as I saw the Harary and Levy Learning Center. I don’t know if it is the same Harary family that has been so supportive of Camp Northland over the years, but it reminded me of the generosity and solidarity of our community in Toronto. Thank you Ronnen.
And then I arrived at the Kotel. The wall seemed to walk towards me as I got closer and closer. I have been here many times, but something was different this time. October 7th, 2023 is still the present, yet I knew at that moment that it would also shape history and find its place in the long timeline of dates we know all too well as modern Jewry. 1941-1945 The Holocaust and WWII. 1948 War of Independence.1967 Six Day War. 1972 Munich Olympics Massacre. 1973 Yom Kippur War. 1982 First Lebanon war. 1987 First Intifada…..and now 2023 The massacre, the murders, the hostages, the unimaginable has happened. Iron Swords. I pressed both hands against the wall. I leaned my forehead into the wall in front of me. I thought about the children, the hostages, the mothers, the fathers, the soldiers, my g-d the soldiers, just kids themselves. I thought about my three boys being army age. I thought of the pain this country is feeling, the mourning underneath the resilience. It didn’t take long for the Kotel to pour emotion all over me. I cried. In fact, I wept in a way I have not done in a long time. So much emotion was unleashed in these moments. The Kotel speaks to you, and you can speak to the Kotel. I prayed for peace, for strength for those suffering, for safety for our chayalim, for health, for my family and friends, for this country…and I cried some more. Somehow my hands and head on the kotel was a conduit to an emotional part of the October 7th experience in me that had yet to be tapped. I listened to the minyan praying to my left. I listened to the sound of a shi’ur (lesson) behind me where a class of 30 or so 5–6-year-olds were studying Torah and shouting key terms repeating after their Moreh (teacher). And I smiled. I picked up my shoulders and walked past the shiur. And when they said a blessing. I said Amen and smiled some more. The children are our future. For them we must carry on. We must fight if we have to for our survival, for our preservation, for our way of life. I left the old city with more clarity. I also got lost. For some reason this was the point where my phone GPS decided I was in Cairo, Egypt. The rest of my travel routes will be interesting to say the least. Anyways I had better go as it looks like I have an 8 hour drive bak to my hotel 15 blocks away.
p.s. It was also amazing to meet with Avishag today and catch up. She was part of our Beit Halochem staff with Kids of Courage back in 2016!
Day 5- Sunday February 18th
It was another early start to my day today as I left Jerusalem for the Ramat Gan Area, in particular to Kfar Maccabiah. Kfar Maccabiah is a place where elite athletes train for the Israeli version of the Olympics, where the world of international Jewish athletics is headquartered, where a museum of Jewish athletic history is housed, and where teen and aspiring athletes train year-round to be the best of the best. But that was before October 7th. That Kfar Maccabiah is gone. This place has been completely repurposed into a mental health and wellness retreat center, equipped with glamping, yoga, meditation, and healing rituals. Scores of elite army units come en masse after being released from heavy combat to begin the process of healing. Displaced people seeking impossible answers find their way here to learn to manage their feelings and try to move forward with positivity. Victims of terror take their first baby steps toward a new post-October 7th reality. I notice that half the gym is sectioned off to add more space for group indoor yoga. The office is a Pilates studio. The squash court is now a makeshift kitchen so everyone who comes can be fed by volunteers and not have to worry about anything that can be helped or controlled by others. Their beds are made, and towels are folded. This is where I came in. The yurts needed some attention as a new group of Duvdavan chayalim is scheduled to arrive soon. So, we enter each yurt and ensure that there are at least three beds cleanly made with fitted sheets and a warm fluffy duvet. Pillows are fluffed, with a fresh soft pillowcase. A towel is thoughtfully folded and placed at the foot of the bed. It is winter here, so we ensure a small heater is working and safely positioned. The area is cleaned, and some food is prepared in the squash court kitchen so the visitors will have all the essentials ready. I and the other volunteers paused from the day of organizing to eat as well. The discussion that ensues lasts a couple of hours as it slowly is revealed to me that the volunteers that I was fortunate to encounter today are Israelis seeking answers themselves. We talked about life, travel, choices, war, family, school, and everything else. It was a lifetime of discussion in the blink of an eye. There is so much uncertainty in this country. So many questions to be asked. Only later in my trip will I learn the true extent of the uncertainty, and just how deep the questions go. But that will be explored later. On this day, there was still much more to do.
I headed south towards Palmachim (Israel’s largest air force base). I was a little early for our authorized entry time, so I stopped for a delicious cheese toast with mushrooms – one of my favorite foods in Israel. I didn’t want to eat too much though as I would be barbequing later tonight for 200 Air Force soldiers on the base.
I met with my team of volunteers, and after a security check, we were ‘cleared for take-off. I was very fortunate to be offered a close-up and in-depth tour of the base. We went to see the drones (not what you think…instead imagine a small airplane that doesn’t need a pilot). We saw the military fighter helicopters, and even the operations, communication, and control center. The unit commander decided to give us a civilian-oriented military briefing. We watched footage from the October 7th attack from the lens of the one drone that was in the sky at the time of the attack. We watched the early moments before the country would be changed forever as the first tractors penetrated the border fence. We watched the confusion. We witnessed the sensitivity and humanity of the Israeli military as, to the detriment of their people and country, the values of the military would not be compromised, despite the horrific consequences. Strikes would not be initiated until the context could be understood. Clearance is needed from two arms of the military command. No firing on children. No firing on unconfirmed targets, etc. I watched as terrorists fired RPGs at Israel but were spared (at least initially) while they were shielded by the child they brought with them for this attack. I was starting to see and understand a level of complexity I did not consider beforehand. I know the consequence of not compromising values proved to have a hefty price. Yet, this is what separates us from the animals that attacked Israel. The Israeli army values human life, even at risk to its own people. It will not take a chance on breaching its responsibility to humanity. I was angry and proud at the same time. This diversity of emotions will only become more complex and confusing as the rest of my visit through Israel progresses.
After the tour, I met back up with the team on-site from Grilling for I.D.F. – and the dinner plans began. This team knows how to throw a pop-up bbq. They come with everything from the grills to the napkins to the meat to the freshly baked desserts to the salads, to the flame fanners, and everything else you could imagine. They forgot nothing. I was proud to stand behind a grill for 3 hours cooking up burgers and ‘entrecote’ (thin steak) for the benefit of these beautiful children. This was a key observation for me as I observed the soldiers. They are children tasked with pressure and expectations that no child should be faced with. Yet they rise up and accept the challenge with grace. I was quite emotional looking at them. They were away from their parents fighting a war they never wanted, making split-second life and death decisions, living with uncompromised values and integrity…and laughing and hugging and smiling and somehow enjoying life. They are inspiring young adults saving our Jewish way of life in combat battles daily. And I still saw a bunch of kids in front of me that I just wanted to hug and let them know that we love them. I said thank you to as many as I could, and I hope they felt the mental hug and heard the silent I love you between my words. Betayavon and stay safe, heroes. I saw some soldiers putting on tefillin off to the side and it called out to me. If I could say a prayer that could even possibly have a chance to help keep these kids from harm, I was in.
One observation I have to note was an amazing interaction between the children of some volunteers and the soldiers on the base. The Israeli army has both men and women fully enlisted and fully integrated. Women lead units. Women enter combat. Women lead throughout the IDF, and the air force is no exception. I looked at the little girls looking up to the female officers and I saw the seeds of inspiration and leadership being planted in the souls of these children. I know I witnessed a moment that will play out someday in the future with future female leadership for our country and our people. This is a great source of pride for me and should be for all of us.
PART 2: Days 6-9
Day 6- Monday Feb 19th
It was time to break from my volunteer portion of the trip and transition into the educational portion of the trip with the Foundation for Jewish Camp team of Camp Directors from across North America. I arrived in Tel Aviv and walked towards the beach. I google mapped the place where I was expected to meet up with the camp professionals. It was shocking to see the map had more bomb shelters identified than streets. It hadn’t felt like I was in a war zone this week but every now and then there was a stark reminder. Seeing the bomb shelter prioritization on the map was a slap in the face. I need to remember where I am and not lose focus on why I am here. I am hungry to make meaningful connections to both the people and the places. As I walk along the beach I am reminded of other tragedies in Israel that deeply impacted me in the past. I walked past ‘Jerusalem Beach’ a stretch of Tel-Aviv’s hotel-lined oceanfront. I know this beach for only one reason. A friend of mine in my class at school in the early years, went to Israel in 1990 to volunteer on a kibbutz and explore the country. She went with some friends to this beach as we had all done, and hundreds did each day on this very beach. Unbeknownst to Marnie or any others, a Hamas operative planted a pipe bomb just hours earlier in the sand on the beach. While this 17-year-old fun-loving friend lay sun tanning with her friends, the bomb exploded beneath her. She died in the hospital several hours later. My heart hurt as I walked. As I walked past Jerusalem Beach, she was the only thing that mattered to me. We have not forgotten you, Marnie. We never will.
I also passed by Mike’s place, a bar on the beach. Although its location seems to have moved north about 50 meters, Mike’s place hurts my heart as well. On April 30, 2003, a Palestinian suicide bomber perpetrated an attack orchestrated by Hamas and Al Aqsa Martyrs Brigade. Three innocent civilians enjoying a drink on the patio were killed, and 50 others were wounded. This bar is now owned by a friend of mine and I decided to see if he was around. And he was. He dropped everything and gave me a huge hug. It felt like I was home. We had a Goldstar on the patio and laughed and reminisced. My friend returned to his meeting as I finished my drink with my thoughts. I thought about the terrifying scene I remember watching on the news so many years ago under the banner of this restaurant. It seems so real all of a sudden. The moment in history felt more current all of a sudden. I feel empowered to be sitting on the patio but all too in-tune with how real the threat to every civilian in this country has become once again. I look to the right and see graffiti that reads ‘fck Hms’. That makes sense. I don’t expect this graffiti will be cleaned anytime soon. On the other side of the street a sign reads “Hope will win”. Another says, “Together we will win”. My mindset is shifting from volunteering to the full realization that we are in a war zone impacting Israeli society at many geo-political, emotional, social, physical, and community levels. There is so much to still be understood. I met up with the team from the Foundation for Jewish Camps. We had a briefing on what to expect over the next few days and went to dinner together as our team was being formed. We will need each other to find strength over the next few days. We are about to witness things no human should ever have to see, let alone endure.
Day 7- Tuesday Feb. 20 – Kfar Aza (PART 1)
This is a day I have not been looking forward to at all. Yet, there is nowhere that I would rather be and nothing that I feel obligated to do more right now. Thankfully, I found a Milki to start my day – my favourite Israeli pudding treat since I was a kid. Somehow it felt like it was going to be alright, but it wasn’t.
We started our drive south approaching the northeast corner of the Gaza strip. Our first stop today will be Kfar Aza, a small peace-loving border kibbutz that in the weeks leading up to October 7, 2023, were spending much of their free time making kites and doing arts and crafts for their annual "kites of peace" festival, in a twisted irony scheduled for the evening of October 7th. Each year they paint symbols of peace, love and hope on kites, along with thousands of others who join from across Israel, and then fly the kites high in the sky so people living in the nearby towns of Gaza only 2 kilometers away can see the desire for peace, feel the love, and share the hope of peace together. Soon, these Israelies would be slaughtered. Soon babies and families would be burned alive. The sirens will sound, and mothers and daughters will be raped, sexually mutilated, beaten, tortured, and murdered. They were waking up to make kites of peace. They were attacked by blood thirsty animals flying in on kites of hatred and barbarism.
We stopped just outside Kfar Aza for some context and a geographical briefing. We are so fortunate to have a master educator and expert guide named Ariel. He explains the complex situation so delicately, so professionally. He warns us that we are in a war zone. He comforts us with a reminder that we are not in the active battle zone. And nonetheless, we immediately felt the war firsthand for the first time on this trip. BOOM! BOOM! The sounds of explosions were close. We are all given bulletproof vests to wear for now. Our guide reminded us that we just turned off road 232 into the entrance to the kibbutz. Road 232 where to the north and south Hamas terrorists blocked the roads, ambushed civilians, and murdered everyone in sight. This very road was the site of butchering and slaughtering hundreds of people, cars riddled with bullet holes, and people in roadside shelters blown into pieces by cowardly monsters disguised as men. The kibbutz is not open, and it will be a long time before the healing can begin and the thoughts of a return will enter the minds of those who lived in this oasis up to that fateful day. You can only enter the kibbutz with a member that has approved your entry. Alon took us in and through the murder grounds. It was beautiful. It has been cleaned and remains manicured to perfection. We walked east towards the gate where Hamas first penetrated into Israel. You can see the open field and the closest city in Gaza right in front of you. But then we turned to face the left, and my stomach went through my throat. The youth housing block was in front of me. Words cannot describe the scene. The houses are riddled with holes from explosions, burnt and charred where kids were burned alive. Bullet holes are everywhere. Shrapnel, explosions, total carnage. Most of it is taped off and you can still see a single shoe on the ground likely left behind as terrorists dragged kids out of their beds. You see a can of tuna on the ledge outside. You see a pack of cigarettes; I notice one in only Arabic packaging. I can’t help but imagine the terrorist standing in that exact spot. My brain wants to shut everything down, but I can’t stop imagining the scenes all around me. The terrified faces of the beautiful children haunt me immediately. Pictures of each and every one of them are staring at me identifying where each of them lived, who was killed, and who was taken hostage. Those were the possible outcomes for almost all of them.
Each house has multiple spray-painted markings outside. The legend is explained to us, and it makes me immediately nauseous. A red ‘target’ means a dead body was found inside. A certain sticker means that body parts were identified in pieces. A second date marks when all the pieces were gathered together for burial, I note that some of the dates are weeks apart. The legend is long, and I didn’t learn them all. I remember that one indicates that the explosive traps set and left behind to kill the responders have been cleared and the unit is now safe to gather the pieces of murdered kids. Approximately 600 Hamas terrorists entered this one kibbutz on October 7th. I can’t even imagine where they all fit.
The families cannot come to terms with letting people into their children’s houses of murder. I understand of course. One family wanted us to enter, and I understand that as well. I went into the house where a young couple lived together. Their names are Sivan Elkabets z’l and Naor Hasidim z’l. They were 23 years old. The house is riddled with bullets and shrapnel explosions. The marking for dead bodies inside is visible next to the door. Their parents want their story to be told. They posted a zoomed in version of the what’s app texts being frantically sent back and forth as they hide, terrified, hearing sirens, explosions, gunfire, and then Arabic shouts of Alu Akbar. They are in disbelief, shock, and scared. Very very scared. A text at 11:13 a.m. says they are safe in the safe room. It was not safe. The safe rooms are designed to protect from the air, but not from a person outside or entering. The battle on this kibbutz lasted for four days. The scene is gruesome and chilling. It is overwhelming. I am in disbelief as I realize the rows upon rows of housing exploded and burnt and attacked, were homes full of life and love. I stand between them catching my breath. Just then by chance, Shimon, father of the beautiful Sivan, arrived at his daughter’s destroyed house that I just exited. He came out to speak with us. I don’t know where he finds the strength to do so. He is composed but far from numb. The emotion is still incredibly raw. He kept himself together better than I did (or even as I am writing this today). I am a dad of kids around the same age. This is unimaginable to me. Amongst many messages he shared, there are two that stand out to me. One was that we must tell this story and share with the world what really happened. We are bearing witness, and it is our responsibility to let it be known that we have seen this with our two eyes, and heard the stories directly with our ears. That we walked the path with our own legs. The second powerful message was one of unity. He said it is time that the Jewish world and the world at large come together in unity. Shimon pointed out that the terrorists did not care if you were religious or secular, left or right wing, politically active or not, kosher or not, tall, or short, man or woman. He said “on October 7th we showed the world that we know how to die together. Now it is our collective responsibility to show the world how we can live together”.
For others, all political correctness was lost on October 7th. One woman who dedicated her life to peace, unity, and coexistence, simply said ‘f*ck them all. Get our kids the hell of Gaza, then f*ck them all”. I look at the home where Netta Epstein was murdered. I glance at the horrific burnt remains where Ofir Shoshani was burnt and brutally murdered. I notice a sign on the wall that says, ‘Cheers to good beer and good company’. These were just kids living life. I see the exploded remains of the house where Nitzan Libstein was brutally murdered. I look at the ground between the youth housing blocks and see broken car lights, and pieces of car. It is impossible to imagine what happened here. I don’t want to, but my mind tries to create the scene against my will. It is terrifying. I stand in front of the house where Ziv Berman was dragged away to become a hostage in Gaza. I see his face. I feel his heart. I share his tears. I see where Yuval Salomon was murdered. It doesn’t stop. I have to keep moving and enter the main area of the kibbutz housing. It is confusing. One house is blown apart, others burned, others seemingly untouched. I learned of the stories and battles that took place here. Israeli tanks had to blow up houses to force terrorists out. The groups of terrorists had different agendas. And they were followed by thieves running into Israel behind the cover of their terrorist army of animals, back to Gaza in the cars of Israelis just murdered, carrying televisions, and valuables back to their homes in Gaza. Some terrorists were murder squads, others rape and torture squads, others kidnap squads. This explains the different conditions of the homes. They were strategic and intentional in their barbarism. Between two blown-out homes, surrounded by sites of murder and torture grows a lemon tree. I see the exact location where the first terrorist that crossed in a motorized paraglider landed. He had a specific mission to murder the regional manager who lived on this kibbutz, Ofir. The terrorist knew exactly which house was Ofir’s. He went directly there and murdered him knowing this would disrupt the leadership and chain of command in a response. Others flew straight to the kibbutz armory. They knew exactly where it was, but also who would be coming there to arm themselves in response to the threat. They ambushed them and took out the kibbutz security response team in minutes. This kibbutz was betrayed by their Arab workers. Intelligence was shared. In retrospect, some people remember the Arab workers saying goodbye, or insisting on being paid before the weekend, etc. Trust no longer exists, and for good reason. Ori Epstein, who lost his son and mother on the same day said, “there’s a lot to live for and we must rebuild and carry on’. I will never complain about anything again.
Day 7 (afternoon) Nova Music festival (PART 2/3 today)
It didn't get any easier when we left Kfar Aza.
Darom Adom – the red south. An annual festival where Israelis and tourists alike flock to the south of Israel to see the blossoming of the Anemone flower in the northern Negev region of Israel. No-one will ever think of the flowers again when they think of the red south, covered in blood, sadness, loss, terror, and devastation on October 7th, 2023, and forever post October 7th.
The Supernova Dance festival was billed as 'a journey of unity and love'. It was affectionately locally called 'Supernova Sukkot' and it was a weekend long outdoor trance music festival that began on October 6th. It was produced by an organizer called Nova. The Nova participants were largely part of a movement of the Israel based Tribe of Nova. This group thrives on love and appreciation for nature, peace, joy, and music. The tribe will never be the same.
Before going to the festival site, we stopped to see the majestic bloom of the red flowers. The fields were covered in the small red flowers. They are part of a blooming cycle, pollination, blooming again, rejuvenation, etc. that helps to make this part of the country so magnificent. We saw food trucks and stations for fresh orange juice. I learned that these were all civilian initiatives where soldiers can eat or drink at no charge any time day or night. It turns out that these initiatives have taken root all over the country, but especially in the south at this time. We went on a nature hike to soak in the views. We walked along the winding paths being careful not to step on any flowers, albeit a difficult task given the density of the growth. We walked around, and up, around, and up again, until we arrived at a plateau and could see some people gathering and what looked like a rally site at first glance. Then as I got closer, I got metaphorically punched in the face again. I was standing on the site of the Nova Music Festival. It snuck up on me. In my head, it was the next stop by bus sometime in the future. I didn’t realize we were walking to the site. I wasn’t ready for this. I am not sure I ever would be, but the unexpected arrival and confusion helped me to process how confused and shocked I was feeling, and that seemed to comfort me in my emotions. This was a killing field, soaked in blood and tears. Thousands of fleeing, crying innocent children mowed down with AK47 gunfire indiscriminately; blown up while seeking shelter in safe rooms; exploded while hiding in dumpsters; shot while running away; burned in their cars. I can feel the panic. I can see the wide eyes of scared children and the tears and fear. I see the deep grooves in the now dried mud where cars tried to frantically escape once they realized what was happening, only to get stuck in traffic jams and systematically murdered and point-blank range. Not even those in the porta potties were spared. Nothing and no-one was sacred, except perhaps the farms where children hidunder cover of avocadoes for days before being rescued, hearing the shouts of Arabic all around them, feeling the breaths of the murderers starving for opportunities to kill, and thirsty for blood.
364 innocent people were murdered at this festival site where my feet walk in slow and careful steps, all too aware of the now sacred space I have entered. Within minutes huge explosions rattle the ground, and my body shakes. The explosion penetrates your being to the core. We are very close to the battle ground. The visit to the festival site started as a very personal experience. I walked alone reflecting on what happened here as did dozens of others around me. Then the sound of a violin playing Eli Eli (Oh Lord, my g-d) floated through the air. It drew me in, but I was not alone. As if on cue, everyone zombied their way towards the music that invited us in. A man played violin to the picture of a murdered teen. I don’t know his connection to her, but we were all connected to her, and to him, and to the music, in that moment. He moved from Eli Eli to Hatikvah. I think everyone in the festival site was standing together at this point. Our experience became a collective one. We were one. We took comfort from each other. The song felt like a prayer, the music like the start, just the start, of a seed towards a step forward. Then the violinist played Loo Yehi, (Let it Be) a song by Naomi Shemer. The last lines translate as follows – “And if suddenly from the darkness shines, over our heads, the light of a start, all that we ask for, let it be. Then grant serenity and grant strength also to all those we love. All that we ask for, let it be.” On this day, with me present in the moment, music came to a place where the music had stopped to allow a seed of healing to be planted.
In a literal sense, seeds of trees have been planted at this site, one for each innocent soul taken on that black shabbat. As the trees grow so will we, over time. Like the trees need sunlight and nourishment, so do we. If we stick together and nourish our community, our children will stand in the shade of these trees, protected by their massive branches, and our community will be strong again too. The growth happens one day at a time. There is no other path. The fields in Darom Adom will bloom with vibrant red flowers. It is up to us to decide what they will represent.
Day 7- The Salad Trail and Desert Stars (PART 3/3)
This is probably a good time to remind you that this is still day 1 of the organized trip with the Foundation for Jewish Camp program in Israel. This is part 3/3.
We head back on the bus after the surreal experience of standing in the terrifying aftermath of the Nova Music Festival grounds. BOOM! BOOM! Explosions continue towards the west. We continue on our journey south, and even more south. We only turn left when we can’t go south anymore at the checkpoint heading into the border crossing with Egypt (where much of the humanitarian aid has been passing through to make its way to Gaza). We are in the Habsor region of the northern Negev. This place is a metaphor for all of Israel. The host seems to speak every language. We are in a desert but as soon as you enter the grounds of this moshav (Talmei Yosef), you are in an oasis. Uri Alon greets us as we pass by his partner already cooking a giant pot on an open flame. Uri explains his history and dedication to the true Zionist dream, to turn a desert into a self-sustaining home. He has succeeded. The Salad Trail is not an accidental name. It turns out that Uri is not only a founder of this farm, but also now a renowned specialist in international agriculture (more on this later). Lunch is served. With the most loving hospitality, they scoop from a pot of deliciousness, known as Poyke, actually a South African delicacy. It was a stew cooked on an open flame, with sweet potatoes, chicken, assorted vegetables, and just an overall bowl of yummy. We enjoyed cake and coffee, and then the concept of the Salad Trail began to unfold in front of us.
This place in the middle of nowhere is using the most up to date agricultural technologies. This is the high-tech world of cherry tomatoes! And at the core of the most high-tech farm out there, still lies the bees needed for pollination. Uri proudly shows us his boxes of bees he buys from Amazon specifically to aid in strategic pollination. He has a sample where they are all “sleeping” to pass around. He calls the Queen Bee ‘Bee-yonce’. I have a feeling he has used these jokes before. We are in a cherry tomato greenhouse. It is not what you imagine. It is massive, filled with row upon row of clearly labeled different types of cherry tomatoes of every colour and size. After a brief explanation, Uri tells us to eat and try them all. We hesitate for a minute until we realize he is serious. And the eating begins. But then we pass to the next area of the farm filled with the most luscious strawberries you could imagine. Eat, Uri tells us. We all put one in our mouths half eaten for a picture. For a moment we forget where we came from just an hour earlier. We eat some more. The salad trail is exactly what it says. You walk, you learn, and by the end you have eaten a gigantic salad, albeit piece by piece. Peppers, cucumbers, Chinese oranges, strawberries, herbs of every kind, passion fruit, carrots and more.
The visit ends at a small studio gift shop. As amazing as this experience was already, it got even more interesting here. Uri explained that farms are not protected by the Iron Dome, rather only registered cities are offered this protection. As a reminder, they are basically bordering Gaza. As a consequence of these factors, there are countless katyuasha rockets landing in the fields that misfire to their intended city targets. Many others on trajectory to hit Israeli cities are shot down by the Iron Dome defense system, with Patriots and Tamir interceptor missiles over the years. So, while the fields bear fruits and vegetables, they are also filled with rockets, rocket debris, and interceptor wreckage. Israel is known for innovation, and this farm is clearly no stranger to innovation. So, they innovated again. All of the debris has been melted and reformed into beautiful inspirational jewellery in a program called ‘From Rockets to Roses’. They have made roses out of the actual rocket debris. They have also made Magen Davids, necklaces in the shape of Israel, Menorahs, and even a magnificent working harp. The most powerful metaphor for me was the Mezuzot made from the remains of exploded interceptor missiles that protected Israeli civilians. One of these will now be installed to protect the gates of our camp.
Just before we made our way back towards Tel Aviv for dinner, we stopped at the Museum of Bedouin Culture. It is important to hear perspectives that are different from the echo chambers that surround each of us in our lives. The lens of the Bedouin population on the war, the conflict historically and in the current context, and the general place of the Bedouin population in Israeli culture is important to understand. Hearing different points of view helps me to better crystalize my own understanding of the situation and both validate and challenge assumptions that I have made in the absence of this enriching context.
Dinner tonight was at Regina “Jewish Restaurant and Wine Bar”. This was a really cool setting. It is actually the site of the first railway station in the Middle East, built in 1892, with the route going between Jaffa and Jerusalem. It also houses one of the most delicious ‘Entrecote’ steaks you will find. Fun fact, the ‘McRib’ in Israel is known as the McEntrecote. Admittedly I tried it. Stick with Regina.
This was a very long day overall. We got back to the lobby after 9:00 p.m. It was filled with children from displaced families now in month 4 of living in the hotel. We watched as volunteer teens showed up in the lobby like camp counsellors from home and rallied the kids together to give the tired and devastated parents a short break. They told stories, played games, and laughed. It was heartwarming to see. The Camp Director in me needed to know more so when they were wrapping up, I called the counsellors over. They are incredible local youth just doing their part to help others. There is so much goodness happening here in the wake of the devastation. Comforted by the new connection we made with her counsellors, a nine-year-old girl from Sderot (Lynne) comes over to our group of three camping professionals (note: very old adult strangers) and asks if we will play cards with her. She teaches us how to play what seems like an Israeli version of “Spot it”. She is amazing at it, and I suck at it. But I was the winner here tonight being able to spend some time to support this little angel of positivity. I am going to make a point to be available to play cards tomorrow night too, if Lynne will let me join the game.
Day 8 - Wednesday Feb 21, 2024 - Day two with Foundation for Jewish Camp. (It is long but the stories must be shared)
I wake up to the sound of soccer in the hotel hallway. It makes me happy. These poor kids have lost their homes, lost their communities, lost their trust, and in many cases have also lost family members. The hallway is their yard. My door is a net. And I love it. The emergency exit is the laundry room. The rooftop the dryer. It is what it is. I leave my room and step over Lego, a trail of potato chips, and a pile of toy cars. I smile thinking about the kids' resourcefulness and resilience. As I head to the elevator, I notice the sign marking the bomb shelter for our floor. I remember that I have another hard day ahead of me. I grab a comforting breakfast. I lead with a Milki of course, my favorite Israeli treat, and then enjoy some cheeses, salads, olives, and shakshuka.
After breakfast, we gather as a group to meet Eli K., a 23-year-old survivor of the Nova Festival. His story is one of thousands. Each one is more terrifying than the next. He was hiding for 13 hours being hunted in a sick game of cat and mouse with blood-hungry killers equipped with AK-47s on the hunt. He was one of the lucky ones. His story is unimaginable. They realized there were gunshots and tried to gather his friends at the car. They started to drive away, and cars were ambushed, being shot at, and firebombed. The cars were gridlocked. There was no escape here. They ran, in all directions. He was split up with friends. He ended up in a small group with some trained elite former soldiers. They had survival skills, tactics, and strategy. They could hear Arabic shouts all around them for hours on end. They used their navigation and survival skills to stay one step ahead of the enemy often hiding for hours on end in fields, farms, under cover of Avocado growths and other strategies, close enough to hear the breaths and conversations of terrorists all around them. The story of survival is remarkable. I think of my own 21-year son. I am overwhelmed with emotion. I just want to hug this young man. As he tells his story, I see his ankles shaking. I notice how he plays with an ankle bracelet to try to soften his anxiety as he replays this nightmare in his head. Many of his friends were not as lucky, victims of this scene of mass murder. The story is far from finished. I am educated on the ongoing aftermath of the events of October 7th. There is a mental health crisis growing exponentially. Survivors of the massacre are riddled with guilt, depression, and anxiety. They are also back on duty as reservists. No time to decompress. After being released from the reserves, suicide amongst the survivors is becoming a noticeable and alarming trend. The army service was a welcome 3-month distraction, but now reality is setting in for thousands of victims who survived the onslaught on October 7th.
It seems that contributing to the army was important across the nation. On October 7th, the Israeli government called up 150,000 reservists. and 350,000 soldiers showed up. No-one cared about who was actually called to duty and who wasn’t. This was an attack on all of Israel, an attack on humanity. This was about good vs. evil and this population showed up. They parked their cars miles away from the base as the roads were overloaded with traffic. They walked in and said where do I go to help? This is Israel.
Our group got on a bus and headed to Shfayim – usually a vibrant and beautiful kibbutz. Today it is a home for the surviving victims of Kfar Aza. There is a dark cloud over the kibbutz. You can feel it here. The physical beauty of the place cannot disguise the pain that is in the eyes of so many people you look at as you walk around. The nursery staff take some kids past us on a walk. Once again, innovation at work – the cribs are like trailers. The kids can play, sleep, stand, interact, etc. without needing to pick them up. They are mobile and happy. Inside, we meet with Nomi, the holder of the title ‘Head of Culture’ at Kfar Aza. She doesn’t pull any punches. She reminds us that 19 hostages were taken from Kfar Aza, as of today 5 remain alive in captivity, starving, tortured, and tormented. Their names are Keith, Emily, Dorin, Gali, and Zivi. She wants to make sure we know their names. 600 terrorists stormed their peaceful, and peace activist, community. The kites for peace festival became a pool of blood-soaked one-sided hatred. Nomi says that all political correctness went out the door on October 7th. She says safe rooms are no longer safe. Israel was clearly not safe. The army failed to protect their families. They were left alone and betrayed by their government. They were betrayed by the Arab workers they trusted and brought into their homes as family. They were lied to by everyone for 23 years. She reminds us that in addition to the 5 kidnapped that remain alive from Kfar Aza, there are 134 in total, and we must remember them all and tell their stories to everyone back home. She is suffering. Everyone around her is suffering. It is too much for any human to process and manage. She explains that 1/3 of the adults are coping with pills, 1/3 with weed, and 1/3 with alcohol. That covers the entire pool of surviving adults.
The second survivor we meet, Elinor, talks about how they all had to rely on what’s app messages to get any information while the terrorists shot, bombed, and raped the children and youth. Her message board and chats were full of cries for help and attempts to help each other. But as the terrorists killed people they took their phones and used pins and 'asks for help' to hunt survivors and kill as many people as possible. The terrorists chopped off many people’s fingers to have fingerprint access to unlock their phones as they moved through the kibbutz. If someone sent a family member a ping of where they found safety, they became the next target and victim. One What’s App group she was using (typically to share used free stuff with others on the kibbutz) had 9,000 messages in the first few hours of the attack. She hid in her safe room with her family, which included a Belgian Shepperd dog named Loka, the same brilliant breed used by Israel’s elite Oketz k-9 unit. Terrorists were shooting all around them. Screams of Allu Akbar filled the air. Their roof was used as an observation point for Hamas due to its high ground location. The terrorists couldn’t get into the safe room because the doorknob had broken months before, and like any family, they didn’t get around to fixing it yet. It locked from the inside by accident, not something it was designed to do. Loka knew to be quiet. She knew there was nowhere to go to the washroom. She lay down and shut her body down, almost like a hibernation, to not draw attention or add to the chaos. Once in awhile she would raise a paw lovingly to let the family know she was ok. Even when it was all over, and IDF soldiers tried to rescue them they refused to leave the locked safe room. They were cross examining the soldiers to get proof they were not Hamas. Eventually, a decision had to be made. Loka seemed to suggest it was ok to go outside now. They trusted Loka and unlocked the door. They were rescued. Physically. She reminds us that on October 6th, she noticed several Arabs allowed to access the kibbutz were roaming in and around the medical center, others walking the grounds unattended. Everyone on the kibbutz was proud of this trust and the open, loving relationship they had built with their Arab workers from Gaza. It was exciting to be part of the hope and the trust. They turned out to be spies that were orienting Hamas to all of the important details to effectively attack the kibbutz and murder as many people as possible. You can hear the torment in her voice, feel the pain in her eyes. She is empty. Her belief system has been shattered. She has to rebuild on an uncertain foundation. And then there is the children…
After these tough conversations with two survivors of Kfar Aza, we head outside to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. We meet Tamar, an engaging and powerful 27-year-old force. She is a youth counsellor working with the children that survived from Kfar Aza. Her organization is called Basecamp. They are working hard to professionalize counselling for youth at risk, a field almost non-existent in Israel prior to October 7th. We are reminded that the history of Israel is now divided. There will always be a distinction between pre and post October 7th life in Israel. She was supposed to go to a Bruno Mars concert in Tel Aviv on October 7th. That world is so distant from the post October 7th era, the priorities have had a cataclysmic shift. Now she coaches and mentors youth. She points out how complicated it is just to be a teen, then you have to layer trauma, bereavement (both personal and national bereavement [unique to a country like Israel], as well as being displaced. This is a formula for youth at risk disaster, without heroes like Tamar stepping up. Heroes have emerged everywhere in Israel out of the rubble. It is true that beautiful things can grow out of devastation. Biological diversity is at its peak after trauma (like a forest fire). I have learned that it is the same with emotional diversity after trauma. Everyone is holding onto a lot of emotion all at once throughout this country. I am too.
We drive north towards the Haifa coast and drop in on Kfar Galim, home to Israel’s oldest overnight summer camp, Camp Kimama. Like all of Israel post October 7th, the staff and infrastructure have been completely repurposed. On this day 35 kids from Kibbutz Re’im are enjoying their day at camp. Kids from the affected kibbutzim and villages have been invited to short 5-day camps one after the other so the kids can enjoy a sense of normalcy and just have some fun. In fact, there is a rule at the camp that there is to be no talk or discussion of October 7th or terrorism or the war. It is for fun. It is an escape. They are divided on the beach between those in the water learning to surf, and other kicking a soccer ball around. Kids being kids, smiling, laughing, and playing. The staff tell us they are not a therapy camp, just a camp. We are not allowed to interact with the kids. They just need to be left alone to play, in-line with the overall messaging. We appreciate that and are grateful we had a chance to just see this perspective as well. We are welcomed to an early dinner before the groups arrive back to their cafeteria. We eat, we shmooze, we talk, reflect, enjoy our company, we clean-up. It reminded me a lot of camp.
When we got back to the hotel tonight, there was a party in the lobby. It turns out that the government gave the displaced families a choice. They could elect to return to many of their communities prior to the end of February or extend their displacement and related benefits until June. Some are ready to face the music and others are not. Noone is right and no one is wrong. This means that the communities will be divided once again. 80% of our hotel rooms are filled with displaced families from Sderot. As of tomorrow 30%, of them will be heading back home, beginning to process of digesting what happened to their homes and communities, and starting to rebuild. Others will remain in the hotel, needing more time to digest and let the complexities of this horror be further understood in their minds before they can take those next steps forward. I can’t help but notice the attitude of gratitude. They all participate together in the ‘going away’ party of sorts. A giant banner is hung in the lobby. It reads “Always remember, for a moment to stop, and be grateful for what you have. The community of Sderot thanks the Tal by the Beach Hotel for the hospitality and treating us like kings, thank you”. I think we can all learn a lot from the people of Israel. I certainly have. And then I played Spot It with Lynne, smiled once more, and then went to sleep.
Day 9 - Thursday February 22, 2024 Part 1 of 2
This is our final day of the organized educational mission of Camp professionals. We start with a walk to the beach where we circle up and collectively get ready to start a new day. It is suggested that people take off their shoes and feel the sand on their feet. Almost no-one does. That is ok. We discuss the concept of "Push, pull and hold". As educators we are always balancing these processes. We want to push people out of their comfort zones at times. We want to pull people into our goals, and missions at times. And at other times we need to hold, and let people establish their bearings. A brilliant and metaphorical summary of being an exceptional informal educator. Everyone’s choice was right. Maybe tomorrow others will take their shoes off. Maybe others will even step into the water tomorrow or the next day. We pulled them to the beach. We can hold for now. We can push more tomorrow. It is more than ok, in fact, it’s perfect. Sometimes, like eating cherry tomatoes fresh off the vine at the salad Trail, you are left wanting more. Tomorrow is a new day for new pushes on us and each other.
In the heart of Tel Aviv is the Kidnapped and Missing Families Forum, an epicenter of activity, advocacy, and organization for the directly affected families. Like everything else in Israel post October 7th, it is yet another example of the community coming together. This is the office building of a high-tech company, that just emptied and donated floors to support the efforts of these families. We meet with one of the organizers who explains all of the efforts being made through this centre. I get slightly distracted by the water bottle I am drinking. I notice that something that has annoyed me this entire trip was actually something brilliant that went completely over my head. This entire trip, every time I opened a water bottle, the lids were terrible, and difficult to remove. I had always torn the final part of the ring so I could remove the cap. With all the innovation in this country, could they not figure out how make a water bottle camp that actually comes off when you break the seal? The joke was on me. A perfect design. It fully opens to allow you to drink, but stays connected, hanging on by a thread, so you don’t lose or drop the lid and can easily reseal the bottle between hydrating. Brilliant. The intensity of this trip is impossible to sustain. I think my wondering mind is a coping mechanism. The faces of the kidnapped surround me like wallpaper in this small room, but it is different in this space. The Boardroom pictures are updated with a legend, including 'murdered', 'back home', 'still missing'. The eyes staring at me from each picture are haunting. We walk around the office spaces. We see the war rooms for diaspora volunteer support. I feel like I should be on the inside, and not on the outside looking in. I look out the window and see a giant sign blocks away on another building that reads ‘We won’t stop until they are all home’. There is a united population despite the chaos. Another sign nearby reads ‘Our wounds are centuries old but so are our resilience and strength’. This is most true here in the heart of Israel. From here we head to the Square for the Kidnapped a.k.a. Hostage Square. It is a nuanced distinction. Our guide explains that some people will only use the word kidnapped because the term hostage has a different connotation. A hostage is used for a short-term negotiating tactic, usually left unharmed, to help the terrorist achieve an underlying objective. These kids were kidnaped. They were tortured, abused, raped, left unmedicated, mistreated, starved, mentally abused, manipulated, misled, and jailed in an underground breathless hell. To many, these kids were kidnapped rather than taken hostage.
The square is covered in life-size displays of artistic expression. Symbols of hope alongside symbols of despair. Expressions of support, storytelling, and even experience, as you can walk through a reproduction of an underground Hamas tunnel, its liner filled with graffitied messages of love and despair from families and friends of those taken into the hell of today’s Gaza.
The empty chairs around the table are eerie. I will share more about this in Part 2…
Day 9 - Thursday February 22, 2024 Part 2 of 2
As promised, back to the haunting empty table at Hostage Square/ The Square for the Kidnapped…one setting for each missing person. This representation of the shabbat table is telling a very intentional story. Half of the table depicts where the hostages are now in the hell of Hamas controlled tunnels, while the other half is the space being held for them by their family, friends, and country. I would encourage every reader to leave a place setting at your table, to represent a space for the return of those kidnapped. As many of the art installations read, ‘we will always be waiting for you’, oh and FCK HMS.
Today was a working lunch. We went to a beautiful indoor/outdoor café. The meeting was with Mohammad Darawshe. I had the seat immediately beside our speaker and we had a chance to chat before the formal discussion began. It was my first meaningful extended discussion with an Arab Israeli on this trip. Another world view, another lens, another perspective. It was interesting to feel the power of dialogue and education. His message was simple. We will not agree on this history. We will not agree on the story to be told or the story that has been told. Yet, there are mutual interests to be identified and drive our initiatives going forward. Through efforts in achieving aligned goals, we can bring two world views together in a positive way. He also tells his story of October 7th to the group. It catches me off guard as it covers a perspective that I had not considered. His son was a paramedic working in Israel and in fact was working the Nova Music festival on October 7th. The ambulances came under attack by the terrorists. His son urged his Jewish Israeli team to run to safety. He explained that as an Arab, he is likely to be ok with the terrorists and will manage them if necessary. His Jewish/Israeli colleagues ran to safety and survived the attacks on October 7th. Mohammad’s son, however, was murdered in cold blood by the terrorists. They did not distinguish between Jewish Israelis or Arab Israelis. It turns out there are many similar stories of Arab Israeli heroism, and over 30 Israeli Arabs killed on that black Friday. The story is wider than any of our individual lenses. The complexities are unimaginable.
To help us further reflect on the complex and beautiful history of this country, we headed to Tel Aviv University, home of the Anu Museum of the Jewish People (the ‘us’ museum, formerly known as the Diaspora Museum). So, in the middle of a warzone, I am oddly enjoying the fascinating contributions of Jews to worldwide culture. The museum is designed like a reverse pyramid with the 3rd floor, where the experience begins, being huge and full of the Jewish world today, with floor two a little smaller, exploring the progression of the Jewish world historically, and the first floor, even smaller, explaining the biblical history of our people. So, I start finding myself staring in awe at the Punisher guitar just on the other side of a ¼ inch pane of glass signed “Rock On” by ‘Chaim’ in Hebrew, otherwise known as Gene Simmons from Kiss. [Admittedly, I am a huge fan] This was his bass guitar played in Kiss’s last concert in 2020. I see so many Jewish influences on cinema history and Hollywood blockbusters. I take my selfie with E.T. Only minutes later I am looking at an ancient Torah. The pages are opened to Deuteronomy, chapters 5-6. I went to Jewish Day School, I studied at Hebrew University in Jerusalem. Yet, today, for the first time I learned that opened to the same page, the ten commandments appear on the top right, while the verse Shema Israel appears on the bottom left. I was today years old when I learned that two of the most influential and impactful portions of the Torah lay side by side. This fascinated me as I was reminded that no matter how much I naively think I know, I know so little. I do know for sure that our powerful history and connection to this magnificent country of Israel is undeniable.
As we are leaving the museum, the final stop of our organized trip, a vertical roller door is in the half open position. The Anu museum’s October 7th exhibit is set to open tomorrow. The final touches on the exhibition are just being completed this afternoon. The existence of an exhibit makes it feel like a part of history, yet I just witnessed this in the present. I guess it is both, and in a weird way I am fortunate to have been given the chance to see this unique view of a paradigm shift moment in contemporary Israel, while at the same time being a part of history, visiting at a time when the memorials are still in temporary form around the country and more permanent reminders just about to be introduced into the world. This trip has left me with a responsibility to tell the stories I have heard, to share what my own eyes have seen and what my own ears have heard, and to share the paths and journey that I walked with my own legs. I do not take this responsibility lightly. Their stories will be told. Am Israel Chai.
My trip ended with a remarkable weekend in Tel Aviv...a summary will follow which will wrap up this Israel 2024 blog series. Stay tuned...
It was time to break from my volunteer portion of the trip and transition into the educational portion of the trip with the Foundation for Jewish Camp team of Camp Directors from across North America. I arrived in Tel Aviv and walked towards the beach. I google mapped the place where I was expected to meet up with the camp professionals. It was shocking to see the map had more bomb shelters identified than streets. It hadn’t felt like I was in a war zone this week but every now and then there was a stark reminder. Seeing the bomb shelter prioritization on the map was a slap in the face. I need to remember where I am and not lose focus on why I am here. I am hungry to make meaningful connections to both the people and the places. As I walk along the beach I am reminded of other tragedies in Israel that deeply impacted me in the past. I walked past ‘Jerusalem Beach’ a stretch of Tel-Aviv’s hotel-lined oceanfront. I know this beach for only one reason. A friend of mine in my class at school in the early years, went to Israel in 1990 to volunteer on a kibbutz and explore the country. She went with some friends to this beach as we had all done, and hundreds did each day on this very beach. Unbeknownst to Marnie or any others, a Hamas operative planted a pipe bomb just hours earlier in the sand on the beach. While this 17-year-old fun-loving friend lay sun tanning with her friends, the bomb exploded beneath her. She died in the hospital several hours later. My heart hurt as I walked. As I walked past Jerusalem Beach, she was the only thing that mattered to me. We have not forgotten you, Marnie. We never will.
I also passed by Mike’s place, a bar on the beach. Although its location seems to have moved north about 50 meters, Mike’s place hurts my heart as well. On April 30, 2003, a Palestinian suicide bomber perpetrated an attack orchestrated by Hamas and Al Aqsa Martyrs Brigade. Three innocent civilians enjoying a drink on the patio were killed, and 50 others were wounded. This bar is now owned by a friend of mine and I decided to see if he was around. And he was. He dropped everything and gave me a huge hug. It felt like I was home. We had a Goldstar on the patio and laughed and reminisced. My friend returned to his meeting as I finished my drink with my thoughts. I thought about the terrifying scene I remember watching on the news so many years ago under the banner of this restaurant. It seems so real all of a sudden. The moment in history felt more current all of a sudden. I feel empowered to be sitting on the patio but all too in-tune with how real the threat to every civilian in this country has become once again. I look to the right and see graffiti that reads ‘fck Hms’. That makes sense. I don’t expect this graffiti will be cleaned anytime soon. On the other side of the street a sign reads “Hope will win”. Another says, “Together we will win”. My mindset is shifting from volunteering to the full realization that we are in a war zone impacting Israeli society at many geo-political, emotional, social, physical, and community levels. There is so much to still be understood. I met up with the team from the Foundation for Jewish Camps. We had a briefing on what to expect over the next few days and went to dinner together as our team was being formed. We will need each other to find strength over the next few days. We are about to witness things no human should ever have to see, let alone endure.
Day 7- Tuesday Feb. 20 – Kfar Aza (PART 1)
This is a day I have not been looking forward to at all. Yet, there is nowhere that I would rather be and nothing that I feel obligated to do more right now. Thankfully, I found a Milki to start my day – my favourite Israeli pudding treat since I was a kid. Somehow it felt like it was going to be alright, but it wasn’t.
We started our drive south approaching the northeast corner of the Gaza strip. Our first stop today will be Kfar Aza, a small peace-loving border kibbutz that in the weeks leading up to October 7, 2023, were spending much of their free time making kites and doing arts and crafts for their annual "kites of peace" festival, in a twisted irony scheduled for the evening of October 7th. Each year they paint symbols of peace, love and hope on kites, along with thousands of others who join from across Israel, and then fly the kites high in the sky so people living in the nearby towns of Gaza only 2 kilometers away can see the desire for peace, feel the love, and share the hope of peace together. Soon, these Israelies would be slaughtered. Soon babies and families would be burned alive. The sirens will sound, and mothers and daughters will be raped, sexually mutilated, beaten, tortured, and murdered. They were waking up to make kites of peace. They were attacked by blood thirsty animals flying in on kites of hatred and barbarism.
We stopped just outside Kfar Aza for some context and a geographical briefing. We are so fortunate to have a master educator and expert guide named Ariel. He explains the complex situation so delicately, so professionally. He warns us that we are in a war zone. He comforts us with a reminder that we are not in the active battle zone. And nonetheless, we immediately felt the war firsthand for the first time on this trip. BOOM! BOOM! The sounds of explosions were close. We are all given bulletproof vests to wear for now. Our guide reminded us that we just turned off road 232 into the entrance to the kibbutz. Road 232 where to the north and south Hamas terrorists blocked the roads, ambushed civilians, and murdered everyone in sight. This very road was the site of butchering and slaughtering hundreds of people, cars riddled with bullet holes, and people in roadside shelters blown into pieces by cowardly monsters disguised as men. The kibbutz is not open, and it will be a long time before the healing can begin and the thoughts of a return will enter the minds of those who lived in this oasis up to that fateful day. You can only enter the kibbutz with a member that has approved your entry. Alon took us in and through the murder grounds. It was beautiful. It has been cleaned and remains manicured to perfection. We walked east towards the gate where Hamas first penetrated into Israel. You can see the open field and the closest city in Gaza right in front of you. But then we turned to face the left, and my stomach went through my throat. The youth housing block was in front of me. Words cannot describe the scene. The houses are riddled with holes from explosions, burnt and charred where kids were burned alive. Bullet holes are everywhere. Shrapnel, explosions, total carnage. Most of it is taped off and you can still see a single shoe on the ground likely left behind as terrorists dragged kids out of their beds. You see a can of tuna on the ledge outside. You see a pack of cigarettes; I notice one in only Arabic packaging. I can’t help but imagine the terrorist standing in that exact spot. My brain wants to shut everything down, but I can’t stop imagining the scenes all around me. The terrified faces of the beautiful children haunt me immediately. Pictures of each and every one of them are staring at me identifying where each of them lived, who was killed, and who was taken hostage. Those were the possible outcomes for almost all of them.
Each house has multiple spray-painted markings outside. The legend is explained to us, and it makes me immediately nauseous. A red ‘target’ means a dead body was found inside. A certain sticker means that body parts were identified in pieces. A second date marks when all the pieces were gathered together for burial, I note that some of the dates are weeks apart. The legend is long, and I didn’t learn them all. I remember that one indicates that the explosive traps set and left behind to kill the responders have been cleared and the unit is now safe to gather the pieces of murdered kids. Approximately 600 Hamas terrorists entered this one kibbutz on October 7th. I can’t even imagine where they all fit.
The families cannot come to terms with letting people into their children’s houses of murder. I understand of course. One family wanted us to enter, and I understand that as well. I went into the house where a young couple lived together. Their names are Sivan Elkabets z’l and Naor Hasidim z’l. They were 23 years old. The house is riddled with bullets and shrapnel explosions. The marking for dead bodies inside is visible next to the door. Their parents want their story to be told. They posted a zoomed in version of the what’s app texts being frantically sent back and forth as they hide, terrified, hearing sirens, explosions, gunfire, and then Arabic shouts of Alu Akbar. They are in disbelief, shock, and scared. Very very scared. A text at 11:13 a.m. says they are safe in the safe room. It was not safe. The safe rooms are designed to protect from the air, but not from a person outside or entering. The battle on this kibbutz lasted for four days. The scene is gruesome and chilling. It is overwhelming. I am in disbelief as I realize the rows upon rows of housing exploded and burnt and attacked, were homes full of life and love. I stand between them catching my breath. Just then by chance, Shimon, father of the beautiful Sivan, arrived at his daughter’s destroyed house that I just exited. He came out to speak with us. I don’t know where he finds the strength to do so. He is composed but far from numb. The emotion is still incredibly raw. He kept himself together better than I did (or even as I am writing this today). I am a dad of kids around the same age. This is unimaginable to me. Amongst many messages he shared, there are two that stand out to me. One was that we must tell this story and share with the world what really happened. We are bearing witness, and it is our responsibility to let it be known that we have seen this with our two eyes, and heard the stories directly with our ears. That we walked the path with our own legs. The second powerful message was one of unity. He said it is time that the Jewish world and the world at large come together in unity. Shimon pointed out that the terrorists did not care if you were religious or secular, left or right wing, politically active or not, kosher or not, tall, or short, man or woman. He said “on October 7th we showed the world that we know how to die together. Now it is our collective responsibility to show the world how we can live together”.
For others, all political correctness was lost on October 7th. One woman who dedicated her life to peace, unity, and coexistence, simply said ‘f*ck them all. Get our kids the hell of Gaza, then f*ck them all”. I look at the home where Netta Epstein was murdered. I glance at the horrific burnt remains where Ofir Shoshani was burnt and brutally murdered. I notice a sign on the wall that says, ‘Cheers to good beer and good company’. These were just kids living life. I see the exploded remains of the house where Nitzan Libstein was brutally murdered. I look at the ground between the youth housing blocks and see broken car lights, and pieces of car. It is impossible to imagine what happened here. I don’t want to, but my mind tries to create the scene against my will. It is terrifying. I stand in front of the house where Ziv Berman was dragged away to become a hostage in Gaza. I see his face. I feel his heart. I share his tears. I see where Yuval Salomon was murdered. It doesn’t stop. I have to keep moving and enter the main area of the kibbutz housing. It is confusing. One house is blown apart, others burned, others seemingly untouched. I learned of the stories and battles that took place here. Israeli tanks had to blow up houses to force terrorists out. The groups of terrorists had different agendas. And they were followed by thieves running into Israel behind the cover of their terrorist army of animals, back to Gaza in the cars of Israelis just murdered, carrying televisions, and valuables back to their homes in Gaza. Some terrorists were murder squads, others rape and torture squads, others kidnap squads. This explains the different conditions of the homes. They were strategic and intentional in their barbarism. Between two blown-out homes, surrounded by sites of murder and torture grows a lemon tree. I see the exact location where the first terrorist that crossed in a motorized paraglider landed. He had a specific mission to murder the regional manager who lived on this kibbutz, Ofir. The terrorist knew exactly which house was Ofir’s. He went directly there and murdered him knowing this would disrupt the leadership and chain of command in a response. Others flew straight to the kibbutz armory. They knew exactly where it was, but also who would be coming there to arm themselves in response to the threat. They ambushed them and took out the kibbutz security response team in minutes. This kibbutz was betrayed by their Arab workers. Intelligence was shared. In retrospect, some people remember the Arab workers saying goodbye, or insisting on being paid before the weekend, etc. Trust no longer exists, and for good reason. Ori Epstein, who lost his son and mother on the same day said, “there’s a lot to live for and we must rebuild and carry on’. I will never complain about anything again.
Day 7 (afternoon) Nova Music festival (PART 2/3 today)
It didn't get any easier when we left Kfar Aza.
Darom Adom – the red south. An annual festival where Israelis and tourists alike flock to the south of Israel to see the blossoming of the Anemone flower in the northern Negev region of Israel. No-one will ever think of the flowers again when they think of the red south, covered in blood, sadness, loss, terror, and devastation on October 7th, 2023, and forever post October 7th.
The Supernova Dance festival was billed as 'a journey of unity and love'. It was affectionately locally called 'Supernova Sukkot' and it was a weekend long outdoor trance music festival that began on October 6th. It was produced by an organizer called Nova. The Nova participants were largely part of a movement of the Israel based Tribe of Nova. This group thrives on love and appreciation for nature, peace, joy, and music. The tribe will never be the same.
Before going to the festival site, we stopped to see the majestic bloom of the red flowers. The fields were covered in the small red flowers. They are part of a blooming cycle, pollination, blooming again, rejuvenation, etc. that helps to make this part of the country so magnificent. We saw food trucks and stations for fresh orange juice. I learned that these were all civilian initiatives where soldiers can eat or drink at no charge any time day or night. It turns out that these initiatives have taken root all over the country, but especially in the south at this time. We went on a nature hike to soak in the views. We walked along the winding paths being careful not to step on any flowers, albeit a difficult task given the density of the growth. We walked around, and up, around, and up again, until we arrived at a plateau and could see some people gathering and what looked like a rally site at first glance. Then as I got closer, I got metaphorically punched in the face again. I was standing on the site of the Nova Music Festival. It snuck up on me. In my head, it was the next stop by bus sometime in the future. I didn’t realize we were walking to the site. I wasn’t ready for this. I am not sure I ever would be, but the unexpected arrival and confusion helped me to process how confused and shocked I was feeling, and that seemed to comfort me in my emotions. This was a killing field, soaked in blood and tears. Thousands of fleeing, crying innocent children mowed down with AK47 gunfire indiscriminately; blown up while seeking shelter in safe rooms; exploded while hiding in dumpsters; shot while running away; burned in their cars. I can feel the panic. I can see the wide eyes of scared children and the tears and fear. I see the deep grooves in the now dried mud where cars tried to frantically escape once they realized what was happening, only to get stuck in traffic jams and systematically murdered and point-blank range. Not even those in the porta potties were spared. Nothing and no-one was sacred, except perhaps the farms where children hidunder cover of avocadoes for days before being rescued, hearing the shouts of Arabic all around them, feeling the breaths of the murderers starving for opportunities to kill, and thirsty for blood.
364 innocent people were murdered at this festival site where my feet walk in slow and careful steps, all too aware of the now sacred space I have entered. Within minutes huge explosions rattle the ground, and my body shakes. The explosion penetrates your being to the core. We are very close to the battle ground. The visit to the festival site started as a very personal experience. I walked alone reflecting on what happened here as did dozens of others around me. Then the sound of a violin playing Eli Eli (Oh Lord, my g-d) floated through the air. It drew me in, but I was not alone. As if on cue, everyone zombied their way towards the music that invited us in. A man played violin to the picture of a murdered teen. I don’t know his connection to her, but we were all connected to her, and to him, and to the music, in that moment. He moved from Eli Eli to Hatikvah. I think everyone in the festival site was standing together at this point. Our experience became a collective one. We were one. We took comfort from each other. The song felt like a prayer, the music like the start, just the start, of a seed towards a step forward. Then the violinist played Loo Yehi, (Let it Be) a song by Naomi Shemer. The last lines translate as follows – “And if suddenly from the darkness shines, over our heads, the light of a start, all that we ask for, let it be. Then grant serenity and grant strength also to all those we love. All that we ask for, let it be.” On this day, with me present in the moment, music came to a place where the music had stopped to allow a seed of healing to be planted.
In a literal sense, seeds of trees have been planted at this site, one for each innocent soul taken on that black shabbat. As the trees grow so will we, over time. Like the trees need sunlight and nourishment, so do we. If we stick together and nourish our community, our children will stand in the shade of these trees, protected by their massive branches, and our community will be strong again too. The growth happens one day at a time. There is no other path. The fields in Darom Adom will bloom with vibrant red flowers. It is up to us to decide what they will represent.
Day 7- The Salad Trail and Desert Stars (PART 3/3)
This is probably a good time to remind you that this is still day 1 of the organized trip with the Foundation for Jewish Camp program in Israel. This is part 3/3.
We head back on the bus after the surreal experience of standing in the terrifying aftermath of the Nova Music Festival grounds. BOOM! BOOM! Explosions continue towards the west. We continue on our journey south, and even more south. We only turn left when we can’t go south anymore at the checkpoint heading into the border crossing with Egypt (where much of the humanitarian aid has been passing through to make its way to Gaza). We are in the Habsor region of the northern Negev. This place is a metaphor for all of Israel. The host seems to speak every language. We are in a desert but as soon as you enter the grounds of this moshav (Talmei Yosef), you are in an oasis. Uri Alon greets us as we pass by his partner already cooking a giant pot on an open flame. Uri explains his history and dedication to the true Zionist dream, to turn a desert into a self-sustaining home. He has succeeded. The Salad Trail is not an accidental name. It turns out that Uri is not only a founder of this farm, but also now a renowned specialist in international agriculture (more on this later). Lunch is served. With the most loving hospitality, they scoop from a pot of deliciousness, known as Poyke, actually a South African delicacy. It was a stew cooked on an open flame, with sweet potatoes, chicken, assorted vegetables, and just an overall bowl of yummy. We enjoyed cake and coffee, and then the concept of the Salad Trail began to unfold in front of us.
This place in the middle of nowhere is using the most up to date agricultural technologies. This is the high-tech world of cherry tomatoes! And at the core of the most high-tech farm out there, still lies the bees needed for pollination. Uri proudly shows us his boxes of bees he buys from Amazon specifically to aid in strategic pollination. He has a sample where they are all “sleeping” to pass around. He calls the Queen Bee ‘Bee-yonce’. I have a feeling he has used these jokes before. We are in a cherry tomato greenhouse. It is not what you imagine. It is massive, filled with row upon row of clearly labeled different types of cherry tomatoes of every colour and size. After a brief explanation, Uri tells us to eat and try them all. We hesitate for a minute until we realize he is serious. And the eating begins. But then we pass to the next area of the farm filled with the most luscious strawberries you could imagine. Eat, Uri tells us. We all put one in our mouths half eaten for a picture. For a moment we forget where we came from just an hour earlier. We eat some more. The salad trail is exactly what it says. You walk, you learn, and by the end you have eaten a gigantic salad, albeit piece by piece. Peppers, cucumbers, Chinese oranges, strawberries, herbs of every kind, passion fruit, carrots and more.
The visit ends at a small studio gift shop. As amazing as this experience was already, it got even more interesting here. Uri explained that farms are not protected by the Iron Dome, rather only registered cities are offered this protection. As a reminder, they are basically bordering Gaza. As a consequence of these factors, there are countless katyuasha rockets landing in the fields that misfire to their intended city targets. Many others on trajectory to hit Israeli cities are shot down by the Iron Dome defense system, with Patriots and Tamir interceptor missiles over the years. So, while the fields bear fruits and vegetables, they are also filled with rockets, rocket debris, and interceptor wreckage. Israel is known for innovation, and this farm is clearly no stranger to innovation. So, they innovated again. All of the debris has been melted and reformed into beautiful inspirational jewellery in a program called ‘From Rockets to Roses’. They have made roses out of the actual rocket debris. They have also made Magen Davids, necklaces in the shape of Israel, Menorahs, and even a magnificent working harp. The most powerful metaphor for me was the Mezuzot made from the remains of exploded interceptor missiles that protected Israeli civilians. One of these will now be installed to protect the gates of our camp.
Just before we made our way back towards Tel Aviv for dinner, we stopped at the Museum of Bedouin Culture. It is important to hear perspectives that are different from the echo chambers that surround each of us in our lives. The lens of the Bedouin population on the war, the conflict historically and in the current context, and the general place of the Bedouin population in Israeli culture is important to understand. Hearing different points of view helps me to better crystalize my own understanding of the situation and both validate and challenge assumptions that I have made in the absence of this enriching context.
Dinner tonight was at Regina “Jewish Restaurant and Wine Bar”. This was a really cool setting. It is actually the site of the first railway station in the Middle East, built in 1892, with the route going between Jaffa and Jerusalem. It also houses one of the most delicious ‘Entrecote’ steaks you will find. Fun fact, the ‘McRib’ in Israel is known as the McEntrecote. Admittedly I tried it. Stick with Regina.
This was a very long day overall. We got back to the lobby after 9:00 p.m. It was filled with children from displaced families now in month 4 of living in the hotel. We watched as volunteer teens showed up in the lobby like camp counsellors from home and rallied the kids together to give the tired and devastated parents a short break. They told stories, played games, and laughed. It was heartwarming to see. The Camp Director in me needed to know more so when they were wrapping up, I called the counsellors over. They are incredible local youth just doing their part to help others. There is so much goodness happening here in the wake of the devastation. Comforted by the new connection we made with her counsellors, a nine-year-old girl from Sderot (Lynne) comes over to our group of three camping professionals (note: very old adult strangers) and asks if we will play cards with her. She teaches us how to play what seems like an Israeli version of “Spot it”. She is amazing at it, and I suck at it. But I was the winner here tonight being able to spend some time to support this little angel of positivity. I am going to make a point to be available to play cards tomorrow night too, if Lynne will let me join the game.
Day 8 - Wednesday Feb 21, 2024 - Day two with Foundation for Jewish Camp. (It is long but the stories must be shared)
I wake up to the sound of soccer in the hotel hallway. It makes me happy. These poor kids have lost their homes, lost their communities, lost their trust, and in many cases have also lost family members. The hallway is their yard. My door is a net. And I love it. The emergency exit is the laundry room. The rooftop the dryer. It is what it is. I leave my room and step over Lego, a trail of potato chips, and a pile of toy cars. I smile thinking about the kids' resourcefulness and resilience. As I head to the elevator, I notice the sign marking the bomb shelter for our floor. I remember that I have another hard day ahead of me. I grab a comforting breakfast. I lead with a Milki of course, my favorite Israeli treat, and then enjoy some cheeses, salads, olives, and shakshuka.
After breakfast, we gather as a group to meet Eli K., a 23-year-old survivor of the Nova Festival. His story is one of thousands. Each one is more terrifying than the next. He was hiding for 13 hours being hunted in a sick game of cat and mouse with blood-hungry killers equipped with AK-47s on the hunt. He was one of the lucky ones. His story is unimaginable. They realized there were gunshots and tried to gather his friends at the car. They started to drive away, and cars were ambushed, being shot at, and firebombed. The cars were gridlocked. There was no escape here. They ran, in all directions. He was split up with friends. He ended up in a small group with some trained elite former soldiers. They had survival skills, tactics, and strategy. They could hear Arabic shouts all around them for hours on end. They used their navigation and survival skills to stay one step ahead of the enemy often hiding for hours on end in fields, farms, under cover of Avocado growths and other strategies, close enough to hear the breaths and conversations of terrorists all around them. The story of survival is remarkable. I think of my own 21-year son. I am overwhelmed with emotion. I just want to hug this young man. As he tells his story, I see his ankles shaking. I notice how he plays with an ankle bracelet to try to soften his anxiety as he replays this nightmare in his head. Many of his friends were not as lucky, victims of this scene of mass murder. The story is far from finished. I am educated on the ongoing aftermath of the events of October 7th. There is a mental health crisis growing exponentially. Survivors of the massacre are riddled with guilt, depression, and anxiety. They are also back on duty as reservists. No time to decompress. After being released from the reserves, suicide amongst the survivors is becoming a noticeable and alarming trend. The army service was a welcome 3-month distraction, but now reality is setting in for thousands of victims who survived the onslaught on October 7th.
It seems that contributing to the army was important across the nation. On October 7th, the Israeli government called up 150,000 reservists. and 350,000 soldiers showed up. No-one cared about who was actually called to duty and who wasn’t. This was an attack on all of Israel, an attack on humanity. This was about good vs. evil and this population showed up. They parked their cars miles away from the base as the roads were overloaded with traffic. They walked in and said where do I go to help? This is Israel.
Our group got on a bus and headed to Shfayim – usually a vibrant and beautiful kibbutz. Today it is a home for the surviving victims of Kfar Aza. There is a dark cloud over the kibbutz. You can feel it here. The physical beauty of the place cannot disguise the pain that is in the eyes of so many people you look at as you walk around. The nursery staff take some kids past us on a walk. Once again, innovation at work – the cribs are like trailers. The kids can play, sleep, stand, interact, etc. without needing to pick them up. They are mobile and happy. Inside, we meet with Nomi, the holder of the title ‘Head of Culture’ at Kfar Aza. She doesn’t pull any punches. She reminds us that 19 hostages were taken from Kfar Aza, as of today 5 remain alive in captivity, starving, tortured, and tormented. Their names are Keith, Emily, Dorin, Gali, and Zivi. She wants to make sure we know their names. 600 terrorists stormed their peaceful, and peace activist, community. The kites for peace festival became a pool of blood-soaked one-sided hatred. Nomi says that all political correctness went out the door on October 7th. She says safe rooms are no longer safe. Israel was clearly not safe. The army failed to protect their families. They were left alone and betrayed by their government. They were betrayed by the Arab workers they trusted and brought into their homes as family. They were lied to by everyone for 23 years. She reminds us that in addition to the 5 kidnapped that remain alive from Kfar Aza, there are 134 in total, and we must remember them all and tell their stories to everyone back home. She is suffering. Everyone around her is suffering. It is too much for any human to process and manage. She explains that 1/3 of the adults are coping with pills, 1/3 with weed, and 1/3 with alcohol. That covers the entire pool of surviving adults.
The second survivor we meet, Elinor, talks about how they all had to rely on what’s app messages to get any information while the terrorists shot, bombed, and raped the children and youth. Her message board and chats were full of cries for help and attempts to help each other. But as the terrorists killed people they took their phones and used pins and 'asks for help' to hunt survivors and kill as many people as possible. The terrorists chopped off many people’s fingers to have fingerprint access to unlock their phones as they moved through the kibbutz. If someone sent a family member a ping of where they found safety, they became the next target and victim. One What’s App group she was using (typically to share used free stuff with others on the kibbutz) had 9,000 messages in the first few hours of the attack. She hid in her safe room with her family, which included a Belgian Shepperd dog named Loka, the same brilliant breed used by Israel’s elite Oketz k-9 unit. Terrorists were shooting all around them. Screams of Allu Akbar filled the air. Their roof was used as an observation point for Hamas due to its high ground location. The terrorists couldn’t get into the safe room because the doorknob had broken months before, and like any family, they didn’t get around to fixing it yet. It locked from the inside by accident, not something it was designed to do. Loka knew to be quiet. She knew there was nowhere to go to the washroom. She lay down and shut her body down, almost like a hibernation, to not draw attention or add to the chaos. Once in awhile she would raise a paw lovingly to let the family know she was ok. Even when it was all over, and IDF soldiers tried to rescue them they refused to leave the locked safe room. They were cross examining the soldiers to get proof they were not Hamas. Eventually, a decision had to be made. Loka seemed to suggest it was ok to go outside now. They trusted Loka and unlocked the door. They were rescued. Physically. She reminds us that on October 6th, she noticed several Arabs allowed to access the kibbutz were roaming in and around the medical center, others walking the grounds unattended. Everyone on the kibbutz was proud of this trust and the open, loving relationship they had built with their Arab workers from Gaza. It was exciting to be part of the hope and the trust. They turned out to be spies that were orienting Hamas to all of the important details to effectively attack the kibbutz and murder as many people as possible. You can hear the torment in her voice, feel the pain in her eyes. She is empty. Her belief system has been shattered. She has to rebuild on an uncertain foundation. And then there is the children…
After these tough conversations with two survivors of Kfar Aza, we head outside to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. We meet Tamar, an engaging and powerful 27-year-old force. She is a youth counsellor working with the children that survived from Kfar Aza. Her organization is called Basecamp. They are working hard to professionalize counselling for youth at risk, a field almost non-existent in Israel prior to October 7th. We are reminded that the history of Israel is now divided. There will always be a distinction between pre and post October 7th life in Israel. She was supposed to go to a Bruno Mars concert in Tel Aviv on October 7th. That world is so distant from the post October 7th era, the priorities have had a cataclysmic shift. Now she coaches and mentors youth. She points out how complicated it is just to be a teen, then you have to layer trauma, bereavement (both personal and national bereavement [unique to a country like Israel], as well as being displaced. This is a formula for youth at risk disaster, without heroes like Tamar stepping up. Heroes have emerged everywhere in Israel out of the rubble. It is true that beautiful things can grow out of devastation. Biological diversity is at its peak after trauma (like a forest fire). I have learned that it is the same with emotional diversity after trauma. Everyone is holding onto a lot of emotion all at once throughout this country. I am too.
We drive north towards the Haifa coast and drop in on Kfar Galim, home to Israel’s oldest overnight summer camp, Camp Kimama. Like all of Israel post October 7th, the staff and infrastructure have been completely repurposed. On this day 35 kids from Kibbutz Re’im are enjoying their day at camp. Kids from the affected kibbutzim and villages have been invited to short 5-day camps one after the other so the kids can enjoy a sense of normalcy and just have some fun. In fact, there is a rule at the camp that there is to be no talk or discussion of October 7th or terrorism or the war. It is for fun. It is an escape. They are divided on the beach between those in the water learning to surf, and other kicking a soccer ball around. Kids being kids, smiling, laughing, and playing. The staff tell us they are not a therapy camp, just a camp. We are not allowed to interact with the kids. They just need to be left alone to play, in-line with the overall messaging. We appreciate that and are grateful we had a chance to just see this perspective as well. We are welcomed to an early dinner before the groups arrive back to their cafeteria. We eat, we shmooze, we talk, reflect, enjoy our company, we clean-up. It reminded me a lot of camp.
When we got back to the hotel tonight, there was a party in the lobby. It turns out that the government gave the displaced families a choice. They could elect to return to many of their communities prior to the end of February or extend their displacement and related benefits until June. Some are ready to face the music and others are not. Noone is right and no one is wrong. This means that the communities will be divided once again. 80% of our hotel rooms are filled with displaced families from Sderot. As of tomorrow 30%, of them will be heading back home, beginning to process of digesting what happened to their homes and communities, and starting to rebuild. Others will remain in the hotel, needing more time to digest and let the complexities of this horror be further understood in their minds before they can take those next steps forward. I can’t help but notice the attitude of gratitude. They all participate together in the ‘going away’ party of sorts. A giant banner is hung in the lobby. It reads “Always remember, for a moment to stop, and be grateful for what you have. The community of Sderot thanks the Tal by the Beach Hotel for the hospitality and treating us like kings, thank you”. I think we can all learn a lot from the people of Israel. I certainly have. And then I played Spot It with Lynne, smiled once more, and then went to sleep.
Day 9 - Thursday February 22, 2024 Part 1 of 2
This is our final day of the organized educational mission of Camp professionals. We start with a walk to the beach where we circle up and collectively get ready to start a new day. It is suggested that people take off their shoes and feel the sand on their feet. Almost no-one does. That is ok. We discuss the concept of "Push, pull and hold". As educators we are always balancing these processes. We want to push people out of their comfort zones at times. We want to pull people into our goals, and missions at times. And at other times we need to hold, and let people establish their bearings. A brilliant and metaphorical summary of being an exceptional informal educator. Everyone’s choice was right. Maybe tomorrow others will take their shoes off. Maybe others will even step into the water tomorrow or the next day. We pulled them to the beach. We can hold for now. We can push more tomorrow. It is more than ok, in fact, it’s perfect. Sometimes, like eating cherry tomatoes fresh off the vine at the salad Trail, you are left wanting more. Tomorrow is a new day for new pushes on us and each other.
In the heart of Tel Aviv is the Kidnapped and Missing Families Forum, an epicenter of activity, advocacy, and organization for the directly affected families. Like everything else in Israel post October 7th, it is yet another example of the community coming together. This is the office building of a high-tech company, that just emptied and donated floors to support the efforts of these families. We meet with one of the organizers who explains all of the efforts being made through this centre. I get slightly distracted by the water bottle I am drinking. I notice that something that has annoyed me this entire trip was actually something brilliant that went completely over my head. This entire trip, every time I opened a water bottle, the lids were terrible, and difficult to remove. I had always torn the final part of the ring so I could remove the cap. With all the innovation in this country, could they not figure out how make a water bottle camp that actually comes off when you break the seal? The joke was on me. A perfect design. It fully opens to allow you to drink, but stays connected, hanging on by a thread, so you don’t lose or drop the lid and can easily reseal the bottle between hydrating. Brilliant. The intensity of this trip is impossible to sustain. I think my wondering mind is a coping mechanism. The faces of the kidnapped surround me like wallpaper in this small room, but it is different in this space. The Boardroom pictures are updated with a legend, including 'murdered', 'back home', 'still missing'. The eyes staring at me from each picture are haunting. We walk around the office spaces. We see the war rooms for diaspora volunteer support. I feel like I should be on the inside, and not on the outside looking in. I look out the window and see a giant sign blocks away on another building that reads ‘We won’t stop until they are all home’. There is a united population despite the chaos. Another sign nearby reads ‘Our wounds are centuries old but so are our resilience and strength’. This is most true here in the heart of Israel. From here we head to the Square for the Kidnapped a.k.a. Hostage Square. It is a nuanced distinction. Our guide explains that some people will only use the word kidnapped because the term hostage has a different connotation. A hostage is used for a short-term negotiating tactic, usually left unharmed, to help the terrorist achieve an underlying objective. These kids were kidnaped. They were tortured, abused, raped, left unmedicated, mistreated, starved, mentally abused, manipulated, misled, and jailed in an underground breathless hell. To many, these kids were kidnapped rather than taken hostage.
The square is covered in life-size displays of artistic expression. Symbols of hope alongside symbols of despair. Expressions of support, storytelling, and even experience, as you can walk through a reproduction of an underground Hamas tunnel, its liner filled with graffitied messages of love and despair from families and friends of those taken into the hell of today’s Gaza.
The empty chairs around the table are eerie. I will share more about this in Part 2…
Day 9 - Thursday February 22, 2024 Part 2 of 2
As promised, back to the haunting empty table at Hostage Square/ The Square for the Kidnapped…one setting for each missing person. This representation of the shabbat table is telling a very intentional story. Half of the table depicts where the hostages are now in the hell of Hamas controlled tunnels, while the other half is the space being held for them by their family, friends, and country. I would encourage every reader to leave a place setting at your table, to represent a space for the return of those kidnapped. As many of the art installations read, ‘we will always be waiting for you’, oh and FCK HMS.
Today was a working lunch. We went to a beautiful indoor/outdoor café. The meeting was with Mohammad Darawshe. I had the seat immediately beside our speaker and we had a chance to chat before the formal discussion began. It was my first meaningful extended discussion with an Arab Israeli on this trip. Another world view, another lens, another perspective. It was interesting to feel the power of dialogue and education. His message was simple. We will not agree on this history. We will not agree on the story to be told or the story that has been told. Yet, there are mutual interests to be identified and drive our initiatives going forward. Through efforts in achieving aligned goals, we can bring two world views together in a positive way. He also tells his story of October 7th to the group. It catches me off guard as it covers a perspective that I had not considered. His son was a paramedic working in Israel and in fact was working the Nova Music festival on October 7th. The ambulances came under attack by the terrorists. His son urged his Jewish Israeli team to run to safety. He explained that as an Arab, he is likely to be ok with the terrorists and will manage them if necessary. His Jewish/Israeli colleagues ran to safety and survived the attacks on October 7th. Mohammad’s son, however, was murdered in cold blood by the terrorists. They did not distinguish between Jewish Israelis or Arab Israelis. It turns out there are many similar stories of Arab Israeli heroism, and over 30 Israeli Arabs killed on that black Friday. The story is wider than any of our individual lenses. The complexities are unimaginable.
To help us further reflect on the complex and beautiful history of this country, we headed to Tel Aviv University, home of the Anu Museum of the Jewish People (the ‘us’ museum, formerly known as the Diaspora Museum). So, in the middle of a warzone, I am oddly enjoying the fascinating contributions of Jews to worldwide culture. The museum is designed like a reverse pyramid with the 3rd floor, where the experience begins, being huge and full of the Jewish world today, with floor two a little smaller, exploring the progression of the Jewish world historically, and the first floor, even smaller, explaining the biblical history of our people. So, I start finding myself staring in awe at the Punisher guitar just on the other side of a ¼ inch pane of glass signed “Rock On” by ‘Chaim’ in Hebrew, otherwise known as Gene Simmons from Kiss. [Admittedly, I am a huge fan] This was his bass guitar played in Kiss’s last concert in 2020. I see so many Jewish influences on cinema history and Hollywood blockbusters. I take my selfie with E.T. Only minutes later I am looking at an ancient Torah. The pages are opened to Deuteronomy, chapters 5-6. I went to Jewish Day School, I studied at Hebrew University in Jerusalem. Yet, today, for the first time I learned that opened to the same page, the ten commandments appear on the top right, while the verse Shema Israel appears on the bottom left. I was today years old when I learned that two of the most influential and impactful portions of the Torah lay side by side. This fascinated me as I was reminded that no matter how much I naively think I know, I know so little. I do know for sure that our powerful history and connection to this magnificent country of Israel is undeniable.
As we are leaving the museum, the final stop of our organized trip, a vertical roller door is in the half open position. The Anu museum’s October 7th exhibit is set to open tomorrow. The final touches on the exhibition are just being completed this afternoon. The existence of an exhibit makes it feel like a part of history, yet I just witnessed this in the present. I guess it is both, and in a weird way I am fortunate to have been given the chance to see this unique view of a paradigm shift moment in contemporary Israel, while at the same time being a part of history, visiting at a time when the memorials are still in temporary form around the country and more permanent reminders just about to be introduced into the world. This trip has left me with a responsibility to tell the stories I have heard, to share what my own eyes have seen and what my own ears have heard, and to share the paths and journey that I walked with my own legs. I do not take this responsibility lightly. Their stories will be told. Am Israel Chai.
My trip ended with a remarkable weekend in Tel Aviv...a summary will follow which will wrap up this Israel 2024 blog series. Stay tuned...
