The Tishrei holidays of 2023 ended with our worst nightmare, and life will never be the same. On October 5, my husband, our four kids, and I, along with four families – friends for 18 years – headed to the Ramat Hagolan for a holiday weekend getaway. The place was peaceful; we had a fantastic time in the cozy wooden cabins, hiking through the beautiful green scenery, and enjoying each other's company. Friday brought a thrilling rafting adventure on the Jordan River, with the kids splashing water at us like little pirates. On Saturday morning, as we were gearing up to pack and return home, we got the dreadful news: "Israel is at war." Soon, we realized it wasn't just another round of missiles. We hastily packed and embarked on a 2.5-hour drive. Just like that, we were thrown from a tranquil vacation to a life in war.
On the way home, we drove as fast as we could (the only time I was fine with my husband exceeding the speed limit). Our fear wasn't just from missiles but from the possibility of terrorists infiltrating our homes. Our sense of personal safety suddenly felt so fragile.
Our group of five families included our eldest sons, three of whom are combat soldiers. Their parents dropped them off at their base straight from Ramat Hagolan, as is. Two in the navy, one in Givati. The Givati soldier, fresh from the holiday weekend, went on to clear Gaza periphery settlements from Hamas terrorists. He hasn't returned home since October 7 and is currently fighting in Gaza. His parents haven't slept well for the past 69 days. We pray for his safe return.
Back home, we were glued to the TV, like everyone else. Formal media didn't mention the horrors. Gradually, more and more pieces of the horrors unfolded, mostly on social media. How can humans be so cruel? We, like everyone else, were in shock. Sadness and fear started filling our days. Looking at the magnets on our fridge with photos from our Jordan River rafting, it feels like it happened ages ago. I wonder when we'll be this happy again. I look at the beaming faces, knowing we'll never be the same.
For the first 1-2 weeks, we were paralyzed. Volunteering and donating to soldiers and to those who lost their homes were all we could do. Our days were filled with heartbreaking stories of survivors, kidnapped families, and those who were murdered. Slowly, we learned more about the horrors of the cruel massacre by Hamas.
In a small country like Israel, everyone knows someone affected by the war – hurt, survived, kidnapped, killed, or fighting in Gaza. Liora's niece hid in a reinforced shelter for 12 hours with 30 other soldiers at the Gaza Division army base, surviving only by great luck. My neighbor's two sons were at the Nova party. They called their father when the attack started, who helped them navigate side roads to avoid the terror attack on the main road, surviving the blast. Back home, they started receiving mental treatments. One joined reserve duty on the northern border as a combat soldier, continuing treatments every time he returns home for a break. They both say it'll take them a long time to recover.
Social events stopped; anyone who can work at home, leaves the house only if necessary. It's like the Coronavirus time but sadder and scarier. When we meet, asking the most standard question, "How are you doing?" ,no one can answer “I’m okay”. Because we're not okay. One day, we will be, but not now.
Our life changed forever. Nothing's the same. Personal safety became an illusion. Our future is uncertain – the state's future, our children's future. Is this a good place for our children to live their life? Is there a good place for that?
Two months into the war, we're still sad (I never knew I could feel so much sadness 💔), still shocked, very worried, trying slowly to maintain routines. Almost 130,000 citizens near the northern border and Gaza periphery left their homes, unsure when they'll return. Our small country became even smaller. In between borders, we try to continue with our lives, but sad news about soldiers getting killed and missile alarms remind us we can't go back to normal lives. Not yet.
🕎 Simchat Tora is long gone and Hanukkah arrived to remind us that miracles happen. The brave soldiers are the modern Maccabees, and the Hamas leaders are Antiochus. The miracle of the olive oil symbolizes the endurance and resilience of the Israeli people. Despite facing challenges, the spirit of unity, strength, and hope persists, much like the oil that lasted longer than expected.
So in the darkness, we see the light. 🌟 It's small and weak now, but it's glowing and growing. It's the unity of Israeli people helping each other out of love. Soldiers volunteer to fight in combat, protecting their loved country. The solidarity of Jewish people worldwide standing with Israel – this is our strength, this is our superpower.
Together we will win! 🇮🇱🇮🇱🇮🇱
בְּיַחַד נְנַצֵּחַ!
Thank you again for your support; 💕 it gives us strength and comfort. If you feel like sharing your experience or telling where you were when you heard about the war or any other thoughts you have, we'd love to hear.
I'll end this letter with words from Neria Jacob poet:
"I am broken,"
said the light,
and turned into a rainbow."🌈
אֲנִי נִשְׁבַּר
אָמַר הָאוֹר
וְהָפַךְ לַקֶּשֶׁת.🌈
(נריה יעקב)
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