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”.