Days of Melancholy

These days, Jerusalem residents go about their business with a heavy heart. Strolling in a park to clear my head, I crossed paths with another resident doing the same. We chatted briefly.

“Hey. How are you doing?” I asked.

 

“Crap”, he answered. Otherwise, I’m fine.” 

I could relate, and I told him so. 

“Tomorrow I’ll go to work, sit at my desk doing paperwork, argue with my boss, and do everything else as usual. That won’t change. But in the meantime, I know that Israeli hostages are sitting traumatised in Gazan tunnels, and our boys are risking their lives fighting while I continue my mundane existence.” He was a sweet fellow, and I could only nod at his sentiments. “I pray that soon enough our boys can spend their time chasing girls (instead of terrorists) like they are meant to.”

 

It was a poignant thing for him to say, if not a little sexist. My mind was transported to a photo I saw last week of the military surveillance unit, comprised mainly of young women soldiers who monitor the electronic observation systems on the border. The image I saw was taken on October 7 by one of the women in a safe room at their base in Nachal Oz, on the Gaza border. Many of them, in pajamas, had been in bed and rushed to ‘safety’ when it was discovered that Hamas had breached the border. They contacted their families and sent photos, including the one I saw. Most are now dead. The Hamas intruders soon over-ran the base, murdered 16 of the girls, and took a few of them hostage. A dedicated Wikipedia entry in Hebrew contains relevant details.

 

https://he.wikipeia.org/wiki/%D7%A7%D7%A8%D7%91_%D7%9E%D7%95%D7%A6%D7%91_%D7%A0%D7%97%D7%9C_%D7%A2%D7%95%D7%96

 

Too often, the newsreader announces that: 

"Approval has been given to make public...”

Those listening feel a stab in their bellies. They all know what will follow: 

“...the death of...”. 

Another Israeli casualty from this crazy war, each one a tragedy. Just as bad, they never seem to announce the wounded, the hidden many of whom will live out their lives with at least a physical disability. 

 

Daily routine here is not what it was. Apart from going to work as usual, residents volunteer during their spare time in unexpected ways to help the war effort. I decided to record these activities, to help out with public relations.

 

Soldiers on the Fringe

Last Wednesday I visited a small tzitzit-making factory. Most of the volunteers had no experience making tzitzit, but instructors guided them. Destined for soldiers, the garments are made in olive green. People came and went throughout the day, for as long as they could and whenever they had time. Girls from a youth movement came as a group. Volunteers were religious, secular, and of all ages.

Donations for those Risking their Lives

Having been to a pop-up warehouse last month in Melbourne organising donations to Israel, I was curious to see one here. Located downtown, donations of military and personal equipment needed by soldiers are received and prepared here. The security guard, an Arab fellow, checked me before approving me for entry.

Items are checked, sorted, packed, and delivered to various military bases around the country. These include toiletries of all kinds, thermal clothing, knee pads, head flashlights, candies, grenade holders, and much more. Packages also include pamphlets describing to soldiers how to identify and deal with Acute Stress Disorder, and for commanders, tips for efficient use of human resources. 

For lone soldiers and those needing emotional support, other items are inserted, including gifts and personal notes.

The volunteers at the warehouse were of all ages and persuasions, including kids, Yeshiva students, and seminary girls. I found my visit quite moving. I intend to load some packages into my car and personally deliver packages to some bases next week and hopefully meet the soldiers themselves.

Sandwiches for Soldiers 

Everyday, volunteers show up at a Chabbad Centre to prepare thousands of sandwiches for soldiers. The story behind this enterprise is interesting in itself: it was set up in memory of a fallen soldier, Sergeant Liel Gidoni who, as a child, took sandwiches to school to feed other kids who had turned up without having eaten breakfast.

https://www.project10.org.il/en/home/

 

This is a tightly run ship, and the volunteers I met included locals, visitors, and tourists alike. 

Especially moving was a ceremony that took place after the morning’s activities had ended. Eight soldiers had been announced killed in operations in Gaza. The Centre’s staff posted photographs and details of the victims on one wall and prepared a memorial candle for each. The volunteers all stood in silence as a few words were said about the situation. Together, everyone recited psalms in memory of the fallen. Quietly, the volunteers placed their aprons in a box and these were folded away in preparation for the next day. Others took large paper bags and packed the sandwiches for delivery.

 

I left the Centre, my heart in my throat. A large Hannukia stood at the door, waiting to be lit that evening for the festival.

Apartheid - the Reality

I took the opportunity to visit a friend who is on an extended stay in hospital. The security guard at the entrance, as with the guard at the warehouse I had been to a couple of days earlier, was a Palestinian Arab citizen. It was Friday afternoon. The guard nodded at me as I entered and later, with a smile, wished me 'Shabbat Shalom' as I left the building. I thought of all the news reports and protests I had seen in Australia violently accusing Israel of being an apartheid state, performing ethnic cleansing and genocide against Palestinian Arabs. If only they could see the reality on the ground.  

Air Raid

In normal times, the onset of Shabbat in Jerusalem is usually marked by the sounding of an air raid siren. This is not the case, however, during times of hostilities. So when the siren sounded as I left my home to visit friends for Shabbat dinner, raced back home and joined my neighbours in our basement bomb shelter. 

One neighbour complained of the cold; she had rushed out of the house in short sleeves, not having thought to bring a sweater. Another resident wore a fluffy blue dressing gown. "It suits you," I said.

"These gowns can't be bought anymore, it's a relic" she responded with a smirk. 

Just then the shelter shook with two loud booms. It was too close for comfort.

"Not to worry," said one of the kids who sat on the side, staring at his phone. "That's just the Iron Dome system shooting down the missiles from Gaza."

A Powerful Reminder of Jewish History

On Saturday I walked with my cousins in the Jerusalem forest. A path led up to Yad Vashem, (the Holocaust Museum). Despite being outside of operating hours we wandered through the grounds, viewing the new but as-yet-unfinished Valley of Communities and returning via a cattle car that had transported Jews to the death camps. Everything we saw served as a stark reminder of the precarious nature of life as a Jew in the absence of a Jewish State.

 

A powerful reminder and incentive for why we do what we do.

 

 

A Sign of the Times

Everything I have referred to above - 

• the national melancholy, 
• the bravery of our soldiers,
• the solidarity shown by the whole nation in support, 
• the care for others manifested at both private and national levels, 
• the diversity and multiethnic nature of Israeli society, 
• the continuing attacks against Israeli civilians that disprove charges of paranoia and wholeheartedly justify Israel's forthright (and many would say late) steps to protect its citizens and prevent future aggression -

is so poignantly expressed by the ubiquitous yellow ribbons popping up all over the country, primarily displayed as reminders of the Israeli hostages still held in Gazan tunnels by Hamas.

• We love you
• We respect you.
• We pray for you.
• We are doing what we can to save you.
• And we will never forget our responsibility to you and to each other.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shabbat Anxiety

My first Shabbat dinner back in Jerusalem was an eye-opener.

My hosts were warm and friendly, singing songs of peace when I arrived. A gorgeous dog stood at the back of the living room, and I slowly approached to pat its head. The dog retreated rapidly.

“It’s a rescue dog”, explained my host.

“How long have you had it?”

“Since October 11.” My host saw my inquisitive expression. “It’s from the border town of Sderot. After the 7/10 massacre, when the town was evacuated, volunteers came and rounded up all the pets that had been left behind and were wandering the streets. Those that were identified were put into shelters or fostered out. Others, like this one, had ID chips but without any data. We adopted this one.”

 

The dog was wary of me, and I offered a treat to entice it over. I sat quietly on the floor holding out my hand, but it refused to come. Only after I placed the treat on the floor and moved away did the dog come to sniff it. It peered up at me with long sad eyes. Was that just my imagination?

 

The dog shied from everyone except one of my hosts’ daughters, with whom it cuddled. “I love him to bits," she exclaimed. "And he’s doing so well! You should've seen what he was like when we first got him. He’s doing much better now.”

I shudder to think.

 

Throughout the evening I watched the dog’s behaviour. It had clearly been traumatised. While we sat at dinner, the dog quietly went to its feeding bowl to eat a little before backwards while staring at the bowl. After a few minutes, it returned to the bowl and then repeated its steps backwards. What had this creature witnessed when Hamas perpetrated its bloody attack? My heart ached knowing it would never see its original owners again, but I was also thankful that it had come to this beautiful family.

 

We all stood together, arm in arm, singing songs of peace. It was very moving and one of the guests let out a quiet sob. Since returning to Israel, I have constantly contrasted the reality here with the vitriol I heard expressed abroad at anti-Israel rallies, on the national media, and by members of the Australian government.

 

During dinner, we were all asked to express gratitude for something that had occurred that week. Health, survival, and family were repeated themes. One of my host's sons is a reserve officer serving in Gaza and was on a few days' leave. Everyone looked at him with wet eyes. Even he spoke of a sense of mission, of gratitude for the support of his family, his troops, and of the goal of rescuing Israeli hostages. He shared that his unit had found a Hamas tunnel under a United Nations school in Gaza, and referred to having seen things he wished that he hadn’t. Nonetheless, he was resolved to do what was needed to bring security to our country.

 

When carrying the dirty dishes back to the kitchen, I asked him about his three earrings.

“Do you have to remove them when you are out in the field”? He laughed.

“That’s a good question I guess. I’m a reservist. We’ve all answered the call to service. Afterwards we will go back to our normal lives. If we had to take off our earrings or get crew cuts and the like, some might not make the effort to turn up.”

 

Everyone returned to the table for a hot drink. The reservist’s sister suddenly piped up.

“Did you hear that boom?”

The young woman was shaken. She had received a text from a close Arab friend living in a village nearby. Hamas apparently notifies Palestinians in Israel when they plan to send missiles so that they can come outside and watch with pride. This time, their missile hit the friend's village. The young man texted to say that the missile had blown out his windows and he was petrified. We all looked at each other, incredulous at how ludicrous everything was.

 

We tried holding small talk after that, but the evening ended in hushed tones, everyone sharing their emotions and anxieties.

 

People abroad are oblivious to the current reality of life in Israel. It is not portrayed in the international media.

 

That morning I had called friends whose son was to have been married a few weeks earlier, in November. “The wedding’s been postponed a few months,” said the groom’s father. “He’s been called up, together with our other sons.”

We spoke solemnly about the situation, commiserated together, and promised to be in touch.

 

It’s a similar story with most of my friends. And with my family too.

 

It is what it is. We do what we must. And we remain true to ourselves.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Invisibilty Cloak of Antisemitism

 

After listening to the news today, I just had to post this. I have added comments. 

Don’t look for any logic. 

 

RED CROSS

When accused of not pressuring Hamas for access to Israelis held hostage in Gaza (and of simply using its ambulances as an Uber service to transport hostages), a representative of the Red Cross on the BBC today had the audacity to blame their inaction on Israel. Why? Israel is conducting military operations in Gaza and it's a war zone. (hugh?)

 

UNITED NATIONS

• To ensure world peace and order, the United Nations should (in my opinion) be calling for an international coalition to eradicate the continuing aggression and torture by Hamas of the Palestinians and of Israeli civilians.
• Being a Hamas target, Israel has no choice but to do the job by itself.
• Instead of assisting Israel in its efforts (whether politically, militarily or organising proper protection and refuge for Gazan residents), the UN general secretary today sought to invoke s.99 of its charter, calling for members to bring about a ceasefire, effectively protecting Hamas and exacerbating the battles taking place. (hugh?)

https://abcnews.go.com/International/live-updates/israel-gaza-hamas/un-secretarygeneral-invokes-article-99-calls-for-humanitarian-ceasefire-105429688?id=105348620

UNIVERSITIES

• When questioned by the US Senate, the Chancellors of Ivy League Universities claimed that calls on campus for genocide against Jews do not constitute harassment. As they explained, the calls are only problematic if directed at specific individuals. (hugh?)
• Later apologies were poor smoke screens issued to cover the chancellors' *sses. It's worth watching the Senate discussion.
• Perhaps calls for the genocide of other minority groups (God forbid) might give them a sense of context. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7x026NuyIig

AUSTRALIA POST

• Australia Post has just announced that it will cease deliveries to and from Israel, purportedly for logistic reasons, due to the war. 
• No similar steps have been taken vis a vis Ukraine or any other war zone. (hugh?)
  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=75MB0tBIXu4 

TRAVEL ADVISORIES

The Israeli Foreign Ministry has issued a travel advisory against visiting Australia and other countries, due to anti-semitism. (Oh dear).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=55Br8cxE87I 

 

This post only refers to topsy-turvy news reports from the last 24 hours.

This Side of the Border

Over the last 2 months I have been flooded in Australia by media reports about life in Gaza, but much less about how Israelis are experiencing this conflict.

Last week I flew to Israel during a brief cessation in fighting, during which Israeli captives were exchanged for Palestinians.

 

(The all-important fine print is that Israeli innocent citizens kidnapped from their homes were exchanged for Palestinians convicted in courts for acts of terror. But let’s not squabble over the details. That would not be consistent with the reporting protocols of this conflict).

 

As I de-planed, I wondered how the country had changed since the war against Hamas had broken out.

The answer was immediate. Exiting the airplane sleeve, passengers were greeted by a large sign with an arrow pointing to the bomb shelter.

 

After passport control, we continued down a long corridor lined with hundreds of posters. Each one contained the profile of someone abducted from Israel by Hamas and held hostage in Gaza. Seeing the many posters, one after the other, was more emotional than I expected. I think most arriving passengers felt similarly.

 

The corridor led to the baggage collection hall, where tired passengers waited for their bags to appear on a carousel conveyor belt.

Beside the carousel were piles of unaccompanied suitcases, boxes, tote bags, and military kit bags. An Israeli woman sorted through about 50 suitcases of different designs and colours. 

“Donations?” I asked.

“Yes”, she answered. “I live in Queens and asked my friends there to donate items needed by Israel. And they did”, she said, looking around at all the bags. “A group of volunteers is on its way to the airport now to collect the luggage and transport it onwards. “Then I’m flying back home to Queens.”

Most of the suitcases looked new. “The bags don’t have names" she continued. "It’s such a pity. I have no use for the suitcases themselves, and once emptied I’d love to return them to their donors.”

 

“And that pile of bags over there?” I asked, pointing to another pile.

“Oh, they are donations from someone else.”

I thought of the volunteer efforts in Melbourne and the warehouse I had recently visited where items being donated to Israel are received, sorted, packed, decorated, and shipped. These are for soldiers, as well as for citizens evacuated from their homes and now living in hotels and tent cities. (see: http://alanmeerkin.blogspot.com/2023/11/a-feel-good-story-in-tough-times.html).

 

I collected my bags from the carousel and wheeled them out to the arrivals hall. Singing and dancing broke out behind me. I turned to see a small group dancing the hora around some new arrivals, all recorded by a professional videographer. I assumed they were immigrants with Nefesh B’Nefesh. Immigrants in war time - a heartwarming news story.

On the train home to Jerusalem, a woman across the aisle read psalms in hushed tones, counting each repetition with her fingers. 

Everyone is doing their bit to pray for the welfare of our soldiers and citizens and for peace. 

When I finally arrived home, I discovered an official sign that had been affixed on my street pointing to a public bomb shelter. 

I was flabbergasted. We all have shelters of one kind or another in our buildings and know where they are. New, officially printed signs, clearly non-resident passersby, show how serious the situation is.

The normally locked bomb shelter in my building had been cleared of clutter, and the door stood open for emergency access.

The streets of Jerusalem are ‘decorated’ with Israeli flags, as well as posters declaring ‘Together We Will Win’, 'Together We Will Overcome', and 'One Nation One Heart'.

Some signs are in Arabic. 

Seeing my photos of Arab Muslim cashiers and shoppers in a Jerusalem supermarket, alongside signs calling for Israeli success in the Gaza campaign, would surely be denounced by protestors abroad as fabricated propaganda. But unlike them, I report what I see. 

Walking down the street, I stop to chat with some friendly young Arab guys doing a workout on public exercise equipment. They live in Bet Safafa, a Jerusalem neighbourhood near me. 

So much for claims of 'genocide against the Palestinians'.

Even more ubiquitous in the streets are posters and signs calling for the return of Israeli hostages, many with photos of each and every person held captive, each person a source of pain for all residents. (Unlike Israelis, protestors abroad ignore the fact that Hamas also kidnapped Palestinian Israelis).  

 

 

Palestinian residents of Jerusalem and the West Bank - citizens, workers and others - go about their daily business like everyone else. They are part of the very fabric of Jerusalem. 

I thought of the cries of apartheid and genocide that have defined the pro-Palestine rallies that I saw up close in Melbourne (see http://alanmeerkin.blogspot.com/2023/11/palestine-rally-oct-29-2023-melbourne.html). 

The protestors’ ignorance of the reality in this region is not just ludicrous and frustrating - it’s plain stupid. They all hear cool slogans and repeat them with no understanding. If only they knew how boorish they sound. What are their motivations: Blind support for a perceived underdog? Anti-Jewish sentiment? Anti-establishment sentiment? Fear of being a herd of sheep that accepts right-wing agendas? Realization that the covid vaccine is dangerous and that the earth is a flat sphere hemmed by a wall of ice?

 

In Jerusalem, baby strollers are scattered here and there around the streets of the city. 

At first they appear abandoned. But coming closer, one sees the attached signs explaining that they represent babies and toddlers kidnapped and held hostage by Hamas.

Even after 30 years, it’s surreal when I encounter a young woman doing her shopping with a submachine gun slouched over her shoulder.

 

The streets are quieter than before I left a few months ago. Some stores are closed. Others - especially restaurants - have shorter hours. The frenetic buzz of Jerusalem has been replaced by a perfunctory melancholy. 

People smile less. The response to “How are you doing?” is now “Like everyone else”, or “אני בסדר החדש״ (I’m feeling the new norm).

 

Graffiti on a wall near my home clearly describes what we all feel:

“Oct 7. I have no day I have no night”.