Those of you who got on Arutz Sheva’s website right after Shabbos might have seen the headline that said, “Thousands in the south spend Shabbos in bomb shelters.” Unfortunately for our brethren in the south of Israel, Hamas decided not to honor a ceasefire that they had declared, and they fired over 50 rockets into Israel on Shabbos day alone. I had written recently of the guilt I used to feel when I would read of these attacks from my comfortable house in America, and how I feel privileged to be able to spend this year in Israel and share in the burden that our Israeli brethren shoulder each day.
Well, this past Shabbos we were 7 of those thousands.
We had plans to spend this past Shabbos at a family gathering in a yishuv called Yevul, less than 5 km from the borders of both Aza and Egypt. When the rocket attacks began anew, about three weeks ago, our cousins who live there reassured everyone that they don’t live in the area suffering from the rocket attacks, and in the year and a half that they have been living there, they only experienced a ‘tzeva adom’ (code red rocket alert) once.
But that was before Thursday, when Hamas fired a mortar at an Israeli schoolbus which injured the driver and critically injured one boy. The Israelis retaliated, and the situation escalated.
We arrived in Yevul a little nervous, but blissfully ignorant of the new threat. As our cousin showed us to our caravan he pointed out the bomb shelter across the road. “Don’t worry”, he said, “Rockets don’t fall in this area.” But shortly after Shabbos began our caravan was rocked by the sound – and concussion waves – of multiple explosions. In the distance I could hear a faint siren. Looking over to where our cousins were standing, around the shul and the chadar ochel, I wondered why nobody else seemed to take notice. I quickly left the caravan and headed over to the chadar ochel, ducking into the bomb shelter on the way for protection, although my excuse was that “I just wanted to see what it looked like inside.” When I reached the chadar ochel, I asked what the explosions were and why nobody was running for shelter, and someone explained to me that the explosions were from our army bombing tunnels in Aza.
However, the quiet that had previously been in that area was over now. During the course of Shabbos we experienced numerous ‘tzeva adom’ incidents. The first time I heard one I was in shul davening. Suddenly a loud siren interrupted the davening, and then the words, “Tzeva adom, tzeva adom!” From that moment, you have approximately 30 seconds to get to a bomb shelter. People went running out of shul and I followed. But instead of racing to the nearest shelter, I needed to find my kids, who wouldn’t know what to do on their own. Sure enough, my 8 and 4 year olds were playing by themselves around the corner of the building, looking bewildered and a little scared. I grabbed their hands and we raced to a nearby shelter. Before we reached it, though, we heard the sounds of explosions as the rockets slammed into the ground somewhere nearby, although not in our yishuv. Thirty seconds isn’t very much warning. We stood in the shelter, waiting to be sure it was safe to come out, and my daughter said she was scared. I lied and told her there was nothing to be scared about, and I said that it was important that we were there for Shabbos.
As Shabbos progressed we all got used to the ‘tzeva adom’ warnings. I wasn’t always with my kids when it happened, but I relaxed about it and relied on the knowledge that whatever adult was near them would usher them to safety. For their part, my kids got used to running to the bomb shelters on their own. My 17 and 14 year-olds were often together when it occurred, and took care of themselves. My 11 year-old was usually watching over the younger cousins, so she just followed the lead of their parents and ran to shelter with them. My 8 year-old was proud of herself that she wasn’t scared anymore and just ran to safety with whichever older cousin she was playing with. My 4 year-old decided that it was a fun game, and would randomly announce ‘Tzeva adom, tzeva adom!’ and run into a shelter whenever the mood came upon him.
It was definitely a growing experience for all of us. We learned what life is like for thousands of people who live in southern Israel, who have to run into bomb shelters multiple times each day. We were lucky that no rockets actually landed in Yevul; I can only imagine how much more traumatizing it is when rockets are crashing down around you. And the rockets keep reaching farther north and east each time, hitting Be’er Sheva, and Ashkelon, Ashdod, and even Yavne.
As Shabbos ebbed, I felt that a flame had been re-ignited inside me. We can’t let ourselves be scared away, because that is what the terrorists want. They want us gone – not just out of Yevul, or Sderot, but out of Israel completely. I’m so glad our family event wasn’t cancelled, and that 100 people were brought down to spend Shabbos in little Yevul, on the borders of Egypt and Aza. One hundred people to show the residents of southern Israel that we are with them in their plight. One hundred people strong, who said together Israel is ours; we are here, and we will not be scared away.
No comments:
Post a Comment