A Day at the Front

I remember reading during the Iran - Iraq war about parking lots at the front line. Combatants would drive to war just as you and I might drive to work. That mental image has never left me.  I mention it now because today, I drove down to the war.

My services were engaged to interpret for a foreign journalist visiting Sederot, the front-line city in Israel about 4 miles from Gaza. The Hamas government elected by the friendly residents of Gaza, which calls for Israel's destruction, has been indiscriminately shooting missiles into Sederot over the last eight years. Why eight years? Well, eight years ago, after being blamed that its presence was inhibiting Palestinian national development, Israel evacuated Jewish towns and withdrew all its forces from the area. In return, missiles have been fired over the border at Israeli cities. Despite trying every other avenue, and left with no choice, Israel finally entered Gaza to put a stop to the missiles terrorising its citizens. My companion and I went down to speak with those citizens.

It was a beautiful sunny day in southern Israel and a lovely 90 minute drive from Jerusalem.  I kept the car radio on in case of a missile alert. Contrary to expectations, my companion was not fully at ease being in a missile firing range. We discussed what we might do if an alert was to sound.  "If we are in the open, we get out of the car and lie down, covering our ears" I explained, reading a sheet with instructions from the Home Front Command.  I guess Hamas thought we needed a practice run: "Red Alert in Sederot and Ashkelon" blurted the announcer's voice on the radio. I looked up at my companion who did not understand Hebrew.  "Now!"  I said firmly.  We stopped the car in the service lane and dived into a ditch beside the road. After five minutes we heard nothing, and feeling a bit silly, we got up and resumed our journey.

The day proceeded quietly.  Well, not quite.  Our first appointment was with a member of a private group of Sederot residents who have, over the past year, established a telephone dialogue with some of their neighbors over the border in Gaza. We asked if she knew the names of the people they have been talking to. "No, they only give codenames. Apparently they are fearful of being discovered by the Hamas regime". For me, nothing could demonstrate more clearly the world of difference between Israeli freedom and democracy and the terror imposed by Hamas on its own people.

As we sat in the otherwise peaceful garden, artillery shells sounded in the background.  Our hostess froze at each noise, the intense fear of a possible incoming missile clearly showing on her face.  She explained that two years ago a missile had destroyed the house next door. A friendly dog came over lay down beside me, nudging my hand with its nose.  "That's not my dog – it's a neighbor's.  Most of the residents in the street have left town.  The few of us remaining are taking care of all the pets in the street". Abandoned pets - it's a phenomenon that does not automatically come to mind when we think of Israeli refugees seeking safe haven to escape missiles.

After the meeting we proceeded to a small shopping centre.  Three television crews had their equipment set up, interviewing people and waiting for some action.  They seemed like a permanent fixture in town. A hairdresser stood at his door having a smoke.  He was happy to chat.  

"How close has a missile ever come to you?" we asked.  He smiled pleasantly and pointed to a hole five meters from where we stood.  I studied the hole for a minute.  Very close. 

"That was three years ago" he explained, "but the school behind you was blown up last year". I looked around at the scarred school roof not far away.

My only previous experience with missiles was the 1991 Gulf War.  Missiles from Iraq travelled 1000 km to get here, during which time air raid sirens gave us a few minutes warning.  Since that time, sirens have put the fear of God into me.  Not now. No time for fear. You see, to my surprise, there was no noisy air raid siren, at least nothing that I could hear.  Locals who are well attuned to the missile warning system, get a full 15 seconds warning before impact.  "Red alert" somebody near us said softly for our benefit and we all rushed to the back of the hairdressing salon.  Some sat on the ground and covered their ears.  Some stood against the wall with shampoo in their hair.  Everyone's faces displayed a private fear.  Boom!.  We walked back out into the sun.  

A guy called Yossi came over to contribute his two cents worth.  "My wife was in the shower last year when a missile hit.  She now has 72 shrapnel marks on her body.  It's terrible.  I will tell you when this war will be over.  And without any bullets being fired.  When the people of Gaza who voted for Hamas at the last elections overthrow their leadership.  That's what needs to happen".  His comments made sense.  "Otherwise, it's up to our army to stop the missiles.  We are not a bunch of ballerinas.  We are a well-trained army, the best in Europe".  His flow was cut off.  "Red alert" someone said again, and we rushed back into the Salon.

Half the city's residents have left, seeking refuge elsewhere.  The hairdresser only stays open three hours a day.  Since before the war started 10 days ago, remaining residents have not left their homes or the safety of their reinforced room.  Everyone with whom we spoke expressed the same opinion: the current war will end with a ceasefire, and then there will be quiet.  But only for a year or two.

It had been an interesting morning but we really needed a lunch break.  A short distance away was a pleasant restaurant with wide glass windows and a view of the surrounding areas.  We were the only patrons and a pretty young woman took our order.  The food arrived and looked delicious.  My companion and I smiled at each other as we picked up our cutlery.  "Red alert" said a kitchen hand and we dropped our silverware before following the staff to the back of the kitchen. Still I heard no alarm.  Funny that.  Surveying the kitchen ceiling I saw an air event through which I could see a patch of sky.  It certainly didn't look like a reinforced roof to me.  The kitchen hand sat on the floor and covered his years.  An older Russian woman held on to the waitress's arm.  Her face registered anxiety and despair.  I was incredulous at how uniformly everyone we saw today was cowering when there was a red alert. Everyone looked like they had been beaten into submission. Moments later, I learned why.

The sudden blast was beyond anything I had expected.  I believe I went into momentary shock as my body got knocked from the vibration.  I heard things fall and thought the roof was going to collapse.  The young waitress suddenly howled behind me, tears streaming down her face.  "I can't take it!  I can't take it!".  Everyone else ran out to investigate where the missile had landed, leaving my companion and me with the girl cowering in the corner. I just wanted to throw my arms around her, to tell her it would all be okay.  My companion had the same instinct and rubbed her arm, not quite sure what to do.  Outside in the street, people were running to the bus stop 200 meters away.  We followed.  Police and a fire truck had already arrived, surrounded by numerous journalists and onlookers.  Two minivan taxis were parked by the bus stop, their windows blown across the road.  The drivers had apparently heard the red alert and sped along to the concrete, missile protected bus stop. All the passengers made it to safety.  

"Are you hurt?"  I asked an elderly fellow. 

"No, thank God.  We was just waiting for a bus and when we heard the alert we went inside the bus shelter.  We are okay".

Members of a community support group called "One Heart", carrying a giant Israeli flag, formed a circle around the impact site and began dancing to show defiance at the constant barrage. It was quite moving.

My companion and I returned to the restaurant to finish - well, to start - our meal.  The owner opened the restaurant door to usher us back in.  

"Hey, take a look at this" he said, pointing to the window by our table.  A star shaped crack marked where shrapnel from the missile had hit.  "That wasn't there 10 minutes ago.  Neither was this" he added, leading us to a hole in the metal door beside the kitchen.  The damage had been done by nails and bolts packed into the explosive warhead of the missile. Despite my appetite being dampened by the event, I resumed eating the excellent meal that had been served.  My companion had more trouble and barely touched her food.  The pretty waitress brought our bill.  We asked her about her hysterical reaction to the red alert.  "It's always the same.  Two years ago a missile landed beside my car.  I was inside with a companion.  Her arm was injured while I suffered trauma.  I have been having therapy ever since but it doesn't help.  It's always the same, this recurring fear.  Every day."

An elderly man entered the restaurant and slowly walked past us, wishing us a bon apetit. "Lady luck is kind" he said.  "Thirty minutes ago I was going to wait at that stop for a bus but decided to linger over my coffee.  We all have angels protecting us" he said smiling, before slowly moving on. In the street, government appraisers,  now permanently stationed in Sederot, strolled along with a video-camera to document missile damage qualifying for repair under the hostilities compensation scheme.

Permanent city-wide alert system. Bus stops reinforced against missiles instead of rain. Permanent damage inspectors. Traumatized people whose nerves are on edge after eight years of running every day from missiles, are afraid of the sky. The sky that, for me, symbolizes freedom. What choice does Israel have except to do anything it can to stop the missiles? 

My companion and I were happy to leave. Thankfully, the car was still intact. We switched on the radio and made our way to the exit of town, stopping only at an intersection with a red light. Boom!. No alert had been announced on the radio, it must have been Israeli artillery. Boom! The radio announcer woke up. "We now cross live to Sederot to report on two missiles that have just fallen there".

Definitely time to leave. Unlike others, that's a choice I have.