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June 22, 2007
Growing despair in Kfar Aza
Kibbutz residents near Gaza contemplate abandoning ship.
RYAN NADEL
A two-year-old boy sits next to his father in London's Heathrow
Airport, waiting for a flight. The usual announcements continuously
echo through the waiting area, each one introduced with a distinctive
ring to get listeners' attention. Each time the announcements come
on, the little boy turns to his father and, with the innocence of
a child, asks, "Shouldn't we find a safe room?" The father
reassures his son that they are safe. "But Abba, the siren,"
the boy says again. "Don't worry, we are not at home, we are
safe," says the father. Home for this family is Kibbutz Kfar
Aza, located 10 kilometres south of the embattled Israeli town of
Sderot and only three kilometres from the Gaza border.
Amnon Kones tells this story as an example of the subtle yet significant
effects the continuous rocket attacks have had on Israeli towns
bordering the Gaza Strip.
Kones, now a resident of White Rock, lived on Kibbutz Kfar Aza from
the mid 1970s until 1993. Since leaving the kibbutz, Kones has visited
regularly. On his most recent trip this past April, the despair
and heartache of the residents compelled him to tell the story of
Kfar Aza.
Kones speaks of the kibbutz with both the sensitivity of a local
and the perspective of a visitor.
"I've never heard people so desperate," he said. "They
are trying to find any way to leave. This is from people who are
committed patriots to Israel, people who fought in every war. Now,
they don't see any hope – the only way out is escape."
Kfar Aza, founded in 1951, was originally home to immigrants from
Egypt and Tangier, but now has an eclectic mix of residents, with
more than 200 families.
"People gave up the luxuries of the big cities to move to the
kibbutz, to settle the border. These people are true pioneers. This
is true Zionism, and these were true Zionists," said Kones.
He was shocked by the disenchantment he felt when visiting the kibbutz.
"I lived there for 20 years and this is not the place I used
to live," he said. "These are not the people I used to
live with. This is a group of people who knew no fear and now they
are having a moral breakdown."
The rocket attacks, which Kones compared to rockets being fired
from Blaine, Wash., into White Rock, began in September of 2000.
They have increased in both effectiveness and regularity over the
years, with more than 1,000 rockets fired into Israel during 2006.
However, the most prominent damage from the home-made rockets is
not in the physical realm but in the psychological.
"Most of the rockets fly over the kibbutz toward Sderot, but
it's the psychological damage that is the most serious," said
Kones. "It's the massive everyday assault that causes the real
damage."
Boaz Ganor, the founder and director of the International Policy
Institute for Counter-Terrorism at the Interdisciplinary Centre
in Herzeliya, Israel, explained that the goal of terrorism is to
create an irrational fear in society. "It is a psychological
strategy," he said, "where the terrorists try to turn
rational fear into irrational fear and wear down the psychological
defences of a society."
Kones continued, "The situation is like a kid throwing a stone
at you everyday. It's not effective and the damage is minimal, but
it destroys morale and creates fear."
He draws on another metaphor to drive the point home. "It's
like the lottery: people continue to buy tickets even though only
one person wins. With the rockets, it's the same – except you
don't want to be the person who 'wins.' "
Currently, residents within range of the rockets receive a 20-second
warning of an incoming rocket strike. Such short notice makes it
difficult to get into a bomb shelter. The communities in the affected
areas have developed different strategies to protect themselves.
The most noticeable, and perhaps rudimentary, method of protection
employed at Kibbutz Kfar Aza is the construction of cement shields
surrounding the roof of the schoolhouses. "It's impossible
to get 20 five-year-olds into a bomb shelter with only 20 seconds
of warning. The most important thing to protect is the children,"
said Kones. The ominous cement structures are the only way the kibbutz
can protect the school.
Even in the face of constant harassment from the rockets, residents
of Kfar Aza continue with their daily lives.
"In order to survive, people develop short memories. If a rocket
hit two days ago, it's as if it happened two years ago. If it lands
two blocks away, it's as if it landed two cities away. The meaning
of time and distance change," said Kones.
The complexity of the issue, both militarily and politically, provides
little hope for residents of the Negev, the area so cherished by
David Ben-Gurion. Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Olmert recently conceded
in the Knesset that the Israel Defence Forces do not have an answer
to the Qassams. The citizens of Sderot face a constant bombardment
and, while some have left the small town for the quiet of Tel-Aviv
or the respite offered in the northern part of the country, many
are steadfast in their commitment to their home.
"There is a section of Israel that needs help. The one thing
we can do is offer these people a different perspective of what
life could be, a life without Qassams, a free, safe life,"
said Kones. Summer exchange programs for Israeli youngsters and
increased awareness of the situation is what Kones sees as the best
contribution of Diaspora Jewry.
Ira Kones, Amnon's son, also shared his observations from the family's
visit to the kibbutz. Ira Kones described the scene of what he later
learned was an average morning in the routine of kibbutz life. As
an unfamiliar sound broke the morning din of chirping birds, he
turned to his friend. "What was that?" he asked. "A
Qassam," his friend, Dror, replied. "What's a Qassam?"
asked Ira. "It's a bomb people in Gaza use," said Dror.
What was unfamiliar to Ira Kones is everyday for Dror. And, although
Qassams are not launched simply by the "people of Gaza,"
but rather by the terrorists of Gaza, it is something Dror and his
fellow kibbutzniks have become used to and a situation with which
they feel the political and social establishments have become uncomfortably
complacent.
Ryan Nadel is a Vancouver freelance writer and an editor
at NowPublic.com.
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