Adina Horwich

A long day in multiple ways

The car graveyard at Moshav Tekuma. The vehicles – recovered from along Highway 232 and the site of the Nova music festival – are being kept for at least a year, for investigators to scour them for further evidence. (photo by Adina Horwich)

At the beginning of April, I had a very long day, which is rare for me. I rose at 5:45 a.m. to visit the Gaza Envelope with 30 others. At 7:35, the bus left Jerusalem. Our guide boarded at Latrun. We proceeded toward the Re’im Junction, also known as Masmia, then headed south to Sderot.

At Sderot, we went to the site of the destroyed police station, where many police and staffers were killed on Oct. 7. The town is slowly returning to normal function, as many evacuees have returned and schools have reopened. A new police station has been built.

Despite being the closest community to Gaza, under nearly constant fire from Hamas for nearly 20 years, Sderot has become an attractive place for young families, joining the stalwart old-timers. I was there several times a dozen years ago, when my son was a student at Sapir College, and have always enjoyed spending time there. New neighbourhoods, including high rises, have sprung up.

From a lookout on the outskirts of the city, atop Kobi’s Hill, we could see the entire length of the Gaza Strip. The lookout was consecrated in memory of four soldiers who died in Operation Protective Edge in 2014. It was impressive, if that is the word, to see Gaza from so close. Mere kilometres.

We visited the up-and-coming city of Netivot, which is nearby. There, too, we saw much real estate, which has attracted a mostly, though not exclusively, religious sector, with Baba Sali’s gravesite and shrine a major calling card. He was a beloved rabbi and sage, particularly dear to Jews of Moroccan background. We went inside a well-tended sanctuary, to have a look and offer prayers. The place was hopping. As it was Monday, a Torah reading day, it was a suitable time to celebrate bar mitzvahs, and we caught a festive first haircutting of twin 3-year-old boys.

Afterwards, we headed to Moshav Tekuma. We did not expect to be allowed in, as there was heavy security and restricted access, but we were granted permission. Within the guarded gates, we saw what looked like a huge car junkyard – except that it is a graveyard. All the cars were recovered from along Highway 232 and the site of the Nova music festival at Re’im. They are being kept for at least a year, for investigators and forensic experts to scour them for further evidence. Many cars are smashed up, as if they had been in bad accidents, others are pockmarked, having been sprayed with bullets. Surrounding these is a huge pile of rusty scrap and charred rescue vehicles, as well as pickup trucks and motorcycles used by the terrorists to infiltrate the area.

photo - Memorial to those who were murdered at the Nova music festival by Hamas terrorists on Oct. 7. — Memorial to those who were murdered at the Nova music festival by Hamas terrorists on Oct. 7. *(photo by Adina Horwich)*

We drove further along the road, past Kibbutz Sa’ad and Alumim, along Route 232, and stopped just outside Kibbut Be’eri (the public is not allowed in). We looked inside one of the roadside shelters, next to a bus stop, which normally accommodates roughly eight people. On Oct. 7, some 40 people stuffed themselves inside. It was into such structures that many fled from the Re’im festival, seeking refuge, but the terrorists hurled grenades inside. At one migunit, Aner Shapira managed to throw the grenades back at the terrorists, though, in the end, he was killed, along with other young people. Inside are memorial candles, stickers with the pictures and names of victims, letters and comforting wishes are written on the walls.

photo - Site of the Nova music festival — Site of the Nova music festival. (photo by Adina Horwich)

We traveled some more, reaching the city of Ofakim. That is where a very brave woman, Rachel Edri, appeased the five terrorists who barged into her home by offering them refreshments, including her now-famous cookies. She and her husband, David, both in their 60s, were able to manage the terrorists, engaging them in conversation, plying them with more food and singing songs, over 19 hours. Whenever she could, Rachel would go to the bathroom and signal from the window to the police outside, who had surrounded the house, gauging attempts to enter. The Edris’s son is in the police force and was instrumental in finally seizing back their home. Unfortunately, during the siege, the house suffered great damage and is a total wreck; only a shell remains. And, sadly, David Edri passed away about a month ago. Rachel has gone to live with her sister-in-law.

As we were looking around, another hero appeared in the small parking lot opposite. Shuki Yosef lives across the street with his wife. He invited us to come into their building’s shelter, where he recounted how he and some of the neighbours hid for several hours, all the while hearing gunshots and shouting outside. He secured a metal bicycle frame to keep the shelter’s door closed, holding it with his own hands for hours. Later, after the ordeal had ended, he designed and fashioned a wooden plank to better fit the door hinges, in the event of future need.

The bravery of these residents is remarkable. It is worth noting that their homes are not the closest ones to the highway – which one might think would have been attacked first – but the houses and people who took the brunt of the terrorist attack are tucked well within the city. The sheer gall and number of terrorists that infiltrated, going from house to house on a murderous rampage in Sderot, in Ofakim, in the kibbutzim, on the roadsides, gunning down so many, are mind-boggling. These communities all lie within minutes of each other in a pretty small area.

It was an unusually hot day for April 1, over 30 degrees Celsius. And it was an intense excursion. Visiting made the reality a lot more tangible, but still impossible to fully comprehend. It was moving to witness and I learned much. We left the Otef (Envelope/Wrapping), as it is called, and I arrived home just before 7 p.m.

More than six months have passed since Oct. 7 and we remain in the thick of things. It is taxing and draining, even on those of us who, fortunately, are not too closely involved. Everyone is touched by the terror attacks and the war.

Adina Horwich was born in Israel to Canadian parents. In 1960, the family returned to Canada, first living in Halifax, then in a Montreal suburb. In 1975, at age 17, Horwich made aliyah, and has lived mostly in the Jerusalem area. She won a Rockower Award for journalistic excellence in covering Zionism, aliyah and Israel for her article “Immigration challenges” (jewishindependent.ca/immigration-challenges-2).

Rockower win leads to NOLA

Israeli artist Ya’acov Agam’s Holocaust memorial is located in Woldenberg Park. (photo by Adina Horwich)

On Friday, June 2, about 20 minutes before Shabbat candlelighting, I checked my email. I saw one from Cynthia Ramsay, editor of the Jewish Independent. We’ve been in touch for more than two years. The subject line read, “Congratulations, you are an AJPA Rockower Award Winner!”

It reminded me of the messages we all receive at one time or another, telling us we have won a million dollars, give or take. I opened it gingerly and my eyes widened in disbelief. “Adina, I have great news. You have won a Rockower award.” Several lines down, I read there is to be an American Jewish Press Association conference and awards banquet in July, in New Orleans. I immediately shot back, “Cynthia, are you serious?!” I decided right then, I am going to this. I am to be honoured for an article I submitted in March 2022, recounting my aliyah story – I live in Jerusalem – and paralleling it with that of an Israeli couple’s similar, and different, experiences with immigration to Vancouver.

The event was in four weeks’ time: July, high season, crowds, lines. I pushed past every sane reason not to go and spent the next two weeks organizing an itinerary. I registered for the banquet and reserved my room, throwing in a long weekend to Toronto before the conference to see my elderly parents and a few relatives.

As I lit Shabbat candles, I broke down in tears. Of elation and joy. It had been a long while since I cried. This meant so much to me. I was going on an ego trip! My very own!

After a 20-plus-hour ordeal getting to New Orleans from Toronto, I saw the light of day dawning on NOLA, as the city is affectionately called, combining the abbreviation for New Orleans with that of its home state, Louisiana. I was in my hotel room shortly after 9 a.m., then went downstairs to find the AJPA conference. I was warmly welcomed by Taylor and Jessica, head office personnel, who handed me a gift bag and offered me breakfast, for which I was very grateful.

I entered the assembly room and listened to a session in progress, then took a walk to get acquainted with my immediate surroundings. I later rested and prepared for the moment I’d come all this way for: the Rockower Awards Ceremony and Banquet Night. Around 5:30 p.m., I descended to the lobby, decked out in my finest, high heels and all (last time I wore those shoes was eight years ago, at my son’s wedding) and traipsed (hobbled) across the street to the Louisiana Pavilion of the National WWII Museum.

In the entrance hall, tables and chairs had been set up. Jazz musicians played a selection of local repertoire. Cocktails and hors d’oeuvres were plentiful. We were encouraged to have a look around the museum. Eventually, we took our places at the tables for dinner, during which, Alan Smason, AJPA president, read off the names of the winners. I could barely touch my food as I waited to hear my name. In the end he just said, “The Vancouver Jewish Independent” and Taylor came over to hand me my honourable mention certificate. I relaxed and finished dinner, the best part being the dessert: a thick slice of bread pudding, doused in a super-sweet, rum-flavoured glaze. The evening wound up with several participants heading to a bar somewhere, while others, including me, went up to Rosie’s on the Roof, right in our hotel. There, we chatted together with other journalists, from St. Louis, Dallas, Houston, Albuquerque and more.

photo - Docent Diane Cohen in front of the aron kodesh (left) of Touro Synagogue on St. Charles Avenue — Docent Diane Cohen in front of the aron kodesh (left) of Touro Synagogue on St. Charles Avenue. *(photo by Adina Horwich)*

The next day, I took the tram to a meeting I’d arranged with docent Diane Cohen, a lifelong New Orleanian, at the Touro Synagogue on St. Charles Avenue. Cohen and I sat in the front row of the sanctuary, elegant and in pristine condition, as was the entire building, which was built in 1908 – the congregation’s history goes back to 1828! She shared with me some of that history and the community’s origins and growth. Later, she showed me around the lobby, chapel and office. We had a good discussion and I felt so touched to have spent about two hours in this remarkable venue, which continues to thrive, housing an active, vibrant, welcoming community. (See tourosynagogue.com.)

photo - The aron kodesh of Touro Synagogue — The aron kodesh of Touro Synagogue. (photo by Adina Horwich)

From there, Cohen drove me to a Walgreens where I bought a bus pass. Then I bussed down Canal Street towards Bourbon. As it was midday, things were not quite hopping, but it was enough to give me an idea of the many shops, restaurants, tourist sights and traps. I could conjure up an image of what night life and Mardi Gras celebrations must be like.

The bus driver let me off, suggesting I head down to the Riverfront, where I could hop on the ferry that crosses to the other side of town. After walking about 10 minutes to the wharf, the heavens burst open with a huge shower of warm rain. I boarded the next ferry. The ride was all of five minutes, but it afforded me a skyline view of the city and, hey, I can say I sailed down the Mississippi River.

I stayed on for the return ride, then meandered along the Woldenberg Park boardwalk, happening upon a colourful panel structure created by Israeli artist Ya’acov Agam, who designed it as a Holocaust memorial, a gift to New Orleans. From any which way one views it, light glistens through the menorah and Star of David symbols, panels ever shining, even in rain, honouring the victims.

Further along, I was treated to the sight of a characteristic of the region, a paddlewheeler riverboat. Staying on course, I found my way to the French Quarter. Having lived my adolescence in Montreal, it was warming to see French street names and other remnants of the French period there. I saw a woman in a candy store washing Granny Smith apples, preparing them for dipping in a variety of sugary coatings, reminding me of the taffy apples of my childhood. The fleur-de-lis emblem was everywhere, including on the bathroom floor tiles at my hotel and the chairs in the lobby.

I returned to the St. Charles Avenue tram line, getting off a stop before my hotel to visit the Museum of the Southern Jewish Experience (msje.org). Well, what an experience, indeed. After showing my AJPA participant’s badge, Abbey allowed me in, and Jim showed me around the small but charming and interesting museum. Visitors see the historic beginnings of Jewish settlement in the Southern states, how communities formed, often with just a handful of individuals. Meetings and gatherings were held in homes, rented rooms, sometimes even at churches. Land for cemeteries was purchased. Hebrew schools instructed children. Sisterhoods held functions, raised money to support these efforts. From peddlers to grocers, small dry goods shops opened, which later flourished into department stores.

photo - Visitors to the Museum of the Southern Jewish Experience learn about the historic beginnings of Jewish settlement in the Southern states — Visitors to the Museum of the Southern Jewish Experience learn about the historic beginnings of Jewish settlement in the Southern states. *(photo by Adina Horwich)*

Jews were involved in cotton and other agricultural production. Trade ties were woven between the various populations, be they French, Spanish, British or Indigenous. The slow, but steady influx of Jews led to the formal establishment of synagogues and community facilities and institutions. Jewish presence figured prominently and was largely welcomed. Both Sephardi and Ashkenazi Jews gravitated to this region. Various levels of observance and traditions added to the fabric, and tension. It took time to determine a way to blend customs and decide how prayers would be led. Most congregations became affiliated with Reform Judaism – as many could not afford a full-time rabbi, either visiting clergy would come once every few weeks or lay members would lead services. Many a personal story is told. Families were close.

As I moved from room to room, I imagined the hardships, resourcefulness and sheer tenacity of these early pioneers, who had fled their native lands, to reach these shores or inland, remote, rural regions, to build new lives and opportunities. Today, there is so much going on in the South: a number of Jewish newspapers, initiatives, shared enterprises. Jews hold key roles and responsibilities in their cities. Community members are well-connected to one another, both in person and digitally, meeting individual needs, celebrating and sharing lifecycle events, holidays, prayers and cuisine. I was moved and impressed by the overall sense of purpose and furthering of a common goal: to maintain and strengthen Jewish identity. This goal has been unwavering over decades, through education and diverse joint programs and activities. Also, by fostering positive and supportive relations and cooperation with fellow residents of all backgrounds.

Towards the end of the exhibit, many well-known celebrities’ photos were displayed, all of whom hail from Southern Jewish communities. I was especially enchanted by the link to a directory where one can click on any given town or city where a community existed (or still does) and read about their specific story. I have completed Alabama’s list and hope to read through every single state. Check it out at isjl.org/encyclopedia-of-southern-jewish-communities.html.

Reluctantly, I left New Orleans. Upon returning home and unloading all the papers and paraphernalia I brought back with me, I unpacked from my carry-on several beaded necklaces that had been used as table centrepieces at the banquet. As the staff was cleaning up at the end of the evening, I asked if it would be all right to take a handful. Each colour represents a value or virtue: purple for justice, green for faith and gold for power. I could use a bit of all three!

Adina Horwich was born in Israel to Canadian parents. In 1960, the family returned to Canada, first living in Halifax, then in a Montreal suburb. In 1975, at age 17, Horwich made aliyah, and has lived mostly in the Jerusalem area. Her award-winning article can be read at jewishindependent.ca/immigration-challenges-2.

Immigration challenges

Adi Barokas and her husband Barak during their time in Vancouver. (photo from Adi Barokas)

I read a review in an Israeli newspaper of Adi Barokas’ Hebrew-language graphic novel, the title of which translates as The Journey to the Best Place on Earth (and Back). I also read a scathing review of that review on the JI website, written by Roni Rachmani, an Israeli who lives in Vancouver. Disturbed by several aspects of the criticism, I decided to look into the book – and its author and illustrator – myself.

When I made aliyah from Canada in 1975, I had many difficulties acclimatizing to Israel. In reading Adi’s book, it was as though she had written the book I’d always wanted to write about Israel. Her experiences in Canada, which took place three decades after mine in Israel, were decidedly similar.

Aliyah is often thought of as a lofty, spiritual ascent, but, in a practical sense, it is effectively like immigrating to any other country. In the euphoria and joy of making the huge leap, this can be overlooked.

Decades before the internet, cellphones, Skype and WhatsApp, I left my home and family, strongly motivated by Zionist ideals, conveyed to me by my parents’ Israel experience of the 1950s. I longed to live a fuller Jewish life and take part in the developing history of Am Yisrael. Wrapped in a fuzzy cloak of enthusiasm, naïve and wholly unfamiliar with Israeli society, things turned out to be very different than the utopian image I’d envisioned. However, nearly half a century later, I am still grateful to be here.

Adi and her husband Barak met in the mid-2000s. Shortly after they married, Barak was called up to serve in the Second Lebanon War. They wanted to live in a quiet, peaceful society where they could just pursue their lives and careers, so they headed to Vancouver, which is often billed as one of the best places in the world to live. Unfortunately, they met with many unexpected challenges, mostly related to cultural differences. They tried to feel like they belonged, but never overcame feeling like foreigners.

For me, the in-your-face abrasiveness for which Israelis are known was an enormous shock to my more reserved, polite system. In Vancouver, Adi found those Canadian-associated traits off-putting and two-faced.

Adi and Barak were seeking a breather, serenity and space from the intense pace of life in densely populated Israel. With excessively high expectations that everything would be just so, they came to Vancouver. But for them, too, the culture shock was huge. They were not accustomed to so many rigid rules and regulations.

Adi had never lived in such a diverse society and was excited to interact with people of many ethnicities from around the world. It took a long time to catch on to the nuances, the nonverbal cues, of how people in Vancouver socialize – what topics are off limits, for example. Coming from Israel, a very liberal place, where most people freely express their unsolicited opinions, this was challenging.

Adi and Barak found it odd that everything was so quiet and calm in Vancouver. They were used to a lively, noisy society where people mix in close proximity. In Vancouver, everywhere they went, voices were barely audible and, so, they gradually adjusted and lowered their own tone of voice, and limited their conversations to certain topics.

The couple were eager to socialize, especially with their fellow foreign colleagues, with whom they felt more affinity than with Canadians. They initiated get-togethers, extended invitations, but they found everything so formal and stilted and rarely reciprocated. The only safe subjects of conversation were about hockey or the weather, nothing the couple felt was deep or of substance. This hampered their forming close friendships. Their sense of strangeness, that they would never fit in, grew.

On the flipside, schooled in the notion of appropriate table talk in Canada, I would often feel embarrassed at subjects discussed so frankly in Israel. It felt like an infringement on private matters, mostly with regards to money and personal relationships.

In Israel, people stand far less on ceremony, tell others to drop by any time, and mean it. But, to me, these invitations seemed an empty manner of speech. In Hebrew, the word for “to drop by” (tikfetzi) and a less polite version of “buzz off” (tikfetzi li) are the same!

I was baffled when people would ask why I’d come to Israel. It’s obvious to anyone imbued with Zionist and Jewish values that aliyah is a natural step, that Israel is the place to build a future. But, instead of words of praise or encouragement, Israeli peers, if they showed any interest at all, found it amusing that anyone would leave what they assumed was the easy life, to come to what was a troubled society. There was certainly no welcome wagon, no grace period to acclimatize. There were few invitations for holidays or Shabbat. The workplace, where I was often the only non-Israeli, was an even rougher scene – I wasn’t aware of how critical having connections really is, of how offices and organizations operated.

image - The Journey to the Best Place on Earth (and Back) book cover — The Journey to the Best Place on Earth (and Back) was written and illustrated by Adi Barokas.

Across the ocean, Adi and Barak arrived with several science degrees under their belts, and had to swim the stormy seas of academic life in a B.C. university. There was some discrepancy between how they saw themselves – as conveying constructive criticism – and what some of their colleagues and acquaintances shared with them. This created awkward misunderstandings, a lack of candid communication and obstacles to their ability to settle in.

The couple had to wade through seemingly endless red tape through bureaucracy channels. They found it infuriating to jump hoops with indifferent, intransigent civil servants, who never saw them as individuals.

I can completely relate, as I have had to navigate mountains of paperwork, all in Hebrew, which, when I first arrived, was at an afternoon Hebrew school level. English was not widely spoken, and clerks lacked any service orientation – there was scarcely any eye contact. I miss even a perfunctory exchange of pleasantries, which, in Israel, is considered a waste of words. But Israel has come a long way and there is a marked improvement; as well, much can be done online. That’s not to say everyone is pleasant, but at least civil.

Barak and Adi became increasingly frustrated in Vancouver and it began to affect their mental and physical health. They became discouraged, falling into despondency, and their lives were out of their control. Under steadily increased pressure, their goals seemed to be slipping from their grasp, yet they were obligated to stick it out. They would have loved to have returned to Israel much sooner, but honoured their academic commitments, which were critical to enabling Barak to advance in his career in cancer research. Competition is fierce in academia but, eventually, Barak was offered a position at Ben-Gurion University, for which they are grateful.

Adi asked me why I stay in Israel. The answer is that, despite not knowing the ropes initially, having had to master Hebrew and the Middle Eastern mentality, the reasons for coming remain steadfast: unwavering belief in Zionist ideology and the privilege of fulfilling the mitzvah of settling in Eretz Yisrael. Still reserved and well-mannered at my core, I can and will tell someone off in Hebrew if they cut in front of me in line. And driving has forced me to become assertive.

Life in Israel has made me resilient, not automatically accepting of everything that’s dished out, and no longer complacent. My children and grandchildren have none of my social concerns and are rarely bothered by the things that irk me. They do recognize and understand that it hasn’t been a walk in the park for me. They greatly benefit from knowing English, which I spoke at home to my kids and which I also speak with my grandchildren.

Distance has impacted relationships with my relatives, who are all in Canada, and I miss them. But, in Canada, families commonly live far apart and visit only a few times a year. That’s just the norm and how I grew up, too. In Israel, we belong to a close-knit clan, with whom we celebrate holidays and other occasions; regularly helping one another is everything here.

Living in Vancouver, Adi was frustrated by the positive-thinking approach that was all the rage, but didn’t work for her. She needed to be able to share her concerns openly. She wanted practical advice, instead of being brushed off all the time, with people either trying to divert her attention or change the subject. At least the experience forced her to become more self-reliant.

Adi began to delve into other areas beyond academia, having been turned off the sciences for good. She tapped into her creative side, got her driver’s licence, went swimming, started writing. Both she and Barak took up yoga and meditation.

Adi sought therapy and finally found a therapist who was helpful, which contributed to Adi’s bouncing back from within. Time spent in nature, and developing her writing and artistic skills, offered solace.

It was during this process of self-discovery and self-care that the couple decided to start a family, and they had a son.

When an offer came for Barak to take up a post in Leicester, England, it meant once again picking up and leaving, and having to learn their way around a new place. But, it appealed to them, as Leicester was off the beaten track and the small city ambience appealed to them. As well, the move brought them closer to home. Instead of the 10-hour time difference, they were only two hours behind Israel time-wise and a five-hour flight away.

Outside Israel, Jews tend to belong to communities where they gather to share religious and cultural activities and strengthen their bond with Israel. For me, coming to Israel to live in a predominantly Jewish society was enlightening, yet it wasn’t easy to understand the many different customs. I enjoy the Jewish character and vibe of Israel in many facets of the public sphere. Life revolves largely around the Jewish calendar, especially the celebration of Shabbat and festivals. What binds us is our unique, incredible history and heritage.

Had I been better prepared, come with more defined goals, and more socialized in a Jewish environment, I might have fared better. Even when the going was rough, returning was never an option, however. I am living a meaningful life in Israel, where I have mostly resided in the Jerusalem area.

We have all witnessed Israel evolve into a modern, advanced country, making huge strides in every realm imaginable. On occasional visits to Canada, I enjoy the familiar scenery, the cold, the language and pleasantries, though a noticeably different mindset from the locals is apparent.

Immigration is a tremendous and profoundly complex undertaking. It entails much uncertainty and many twists and turns. No matter how much any immigrant plans, one never knows how things will unfold. It is an arduous process that demands full commitment with every fibre of one’s mind, body and soul. Fellow ex-pats can only offer so much support and help. The individual immigrating has to go through the process on their own terms.

Adi and Barak have since returned to Israel. Over a total of eight years away, they learned a great deal about themselves, individually and as a couple. Growing up in Israel, they naturally identified as Israelis, their Jewish identity cultural. While abroad, they realized that they were viewed by others not only as Israelis, but as Jewish, as a minority. This heightened their awareness, added a new dimension.

Time away has changed them, considerably, and they returned to a somewhat changed Israel. They have settled on a kibbutz 20 minutes from Be’er Sheva, where they and their now two children enjoy spectacular scenery in the Negev, a warm climate and a caring community. They have found their home right here, at home.

Israel during terror attacks

Between May 13 and May 21, Adina Horwich, who made aliyah from Montreal in 1975, kept a blog of what was happening recently in Israel during Operation Guardian of the Walls, or Shomer HaChomot. Below are excerpts from her blog, which can be read in its entirety, along with more recent entries about everyday life in Israel, at jewishpostandnews.ca.

May 13

I write from my humble apartment in Jerusalem’s East Talpiot (Armon Hanatziv) neighbourhood. We sure have had our share of troubles, some stabbings and terror attacks in recent years, which have resulted in a number of fatalities. Surrounding us are three not-exactly-friendly Arab villages: Jabel el Mukaber, Tzur Baher and Um Lissun. My place is a mere five minutes’ walk from them.

Late Monday afternoon, I heard a siren wailing. As that’s a regular occurrence around here, I didn’t pay it any mind. Police frequently patrol the area, so I wasn’t alarmed. After it persisted … I decided to sneak a quick peek at the TV. On the upper right corner of the screen, Home Front Command ran a list of cities, warning residents that they were at that very moment being fired upon. Jerusalem appeared.

My building, built in the ’70s, has no proper communal bomb shelter. From my experiences in 2014 with Tzuk Eitan (Operation Protective Edge), while my son was doing reserve duty in Gaza, I knew to calmly open my door and join other neighbours in the stairwell.

I spent the rest of the evening glued to the news of much of the rest of Israel being relentlessly bombarded, including Jaffa, where my daughter resides, and Acco (Acre), where my son-in-law works.

Next morning (Tuesday), I woke to more bad news of overnight shooting and the firing of hundreds of rockets, inflicting great panic, shock, fear, injuries, extensive emotional and material damage on hundreds of innocent civilians, old and young, Arabs and Jews alike.

This whole week I sit comfortably, in surreal, fantasyland silence, yet less than two hours away, my fellow Israelis are running in and out of bomb shelters. Some of the casualties didn’t make it in time, including a female elderly caregiver from India. The TV flashes, blares eyewitness accounts, some with bloodied bodies, of sleepless nights, ambulances unloading the injured, hospital staff describing the nature and seriousness of the victims’ conditions. Sombre announcements of victims’ names.

I want to hear and see everything. The endless analysis offered by a slew of commentators and reporters (including a married couple, parents of an infant), all of whom themselves are in the line of fire and haven’t slept in their own beds for days.

Minute-by-minute dramatic reports, progressively worse and horrific by the hour and day, are too much to process. Graphic images of the riots and vandalism that erupted in the so-called mixed cities, pogrom scenes of burned shuls and their desecrated contents, of the unraveling of the hard-won, good working relations (some even social) woven between the Arab and Jewish sectors are devastating. Invasive footage of shattered and scarred dwellings, peoples’ entire homes in disarray with their owners milling about, lost and disoriented.

The very least I can do is stay tuned and attuned to the plight of thousands around Israel, try to feel their fear, anxiety, pain. The rehabilitation they’ll need to undergo, the post-trauma symptoms that will surely ensue. The stamina and perseverance they’ll need to muster, to brace themselves for chasing the authorities to grant compensation, be it to assess their homes or to evaluate their mental or physical state…. It might take years to even have their claims heard, let alone see any money. Where will they live in the meantime, how do they replace their possessions, clothing, furniture, appliances? How will shopkeepers rebuild their businesses, earn their livings?

I hope they have strong support systems and get all the help they need. I wish them a hefty dose of resilience, of faith and confidence to overcome this tragedy.

May 16

In five hours, we’ll begin the Shavuot holiday…. Advance plans for a long weekend to join my daughter housesitting at a desirable Tel Aviv location were scrapped last Thursday. This daughter is scrounging around for a night or two’s lodging, making the rounds, as she can’t go back to the Jaffa apartment she moved into, just six weeks ago, just yet. I popped out to the local supermarket, in my car, now stripped bare of the Israeli flags that have adorned it since Holocaust Memorial Day…. I was advised to take them off, which I did, reluctantly.

On the car radio, I hear how residents of Ashkelon send their praise, cheer on, salute the Israeli Defence Forces and whoever else in the city is doing their utmost to protect them.

On TV, a reporter visits the maternity ward at Ashkelon’s Barzilai hospital, interviews a woman awaiting the birth of her baby. Will it be amidst rocket fire? The normally high level of anxiety at such a time, absolutely “skyrockets.”

Mass demonstrations against Israel are happening across the globe. Who are these people? Have they any intelligent, informed opinion about this crisis?…

May 20

Talk and more talk of a ceasefire. My foot, in a pig’s eye, fat chance!! So much for the 6 a.m. deadline. That’s been postponed until tomorrow, maybe…. Polls of Ashkelon, Ashdod, Sderot residents show that the majority want this to go on until it’s well and truly over…. Similar findings are reflected among the general Israeli public, who, for a change, have just finally begun to realize, once and for all, how it feels to be under siege, how people of the south have been feeling for 20 years.

The electric company’s workers decide not to enter Gaza to repair damaged or fallen electric lines until, unless the bodies of Shaul Oron and Hadar Goldin are returned….

Vital organs from the Jewish man killed in the Lod lynch are transplanted to four or five recipients; one’s an Arab. The Arab man who rescued a Jewish one being beaten by Arabs visits him in the hospital.

Families band together to cook. Armed with steaming, overflowing pots, they head out to makeshift bases to feed troops in the south. Singers, entertainers visit people huddled in bomb shelters. Morale is, as in hockey terms, “gathering speed.” Things are looking up, even as throughout the day rockets continue to pummel down [from every direction].

May 21

My sleep was disturbed by what sounded like gunfire, but was probably fireworks, set off by “celebrants” of the ceasefire they consider a victory…. How many rockets should be tolerated? It’s a given there will be more…. Hamas is not a sovereign nation, nor a nation at all, but a recognized terror organization that represents nothing and no one, but its own barbaric agenda. Yet, it has garnered so much support from “civilized,” “enlightened” countries, that shower Hamas with financial and moral resources. They’ve engaged us in this savage war on a civilian population for years. Nowhere else in the Western world would this ever be remotely tolerated….

Chazak v’amatz (Be strong and brave) Am Yisrael!