Living through Israel's latest war
By Barbara Pollack
So, there I was, two masters degrees and more than 30 years of
teaching, and I was finally qualified to be….a grocery clerk.
I was working in the automated warehouse on an Israeli Navy
supply and transport base, using
the computer in Hebrew, when the first
Katyushas hit the north. After all these years of
bombardment, it still shocked us. But we were safe – we were
in Tirat
HaCarmel, a suburb of Haifa. Surely the
Katyushas didn’t have that kind of
range.
Fast
forward to Sunday, on the bus returning to Haifa from
Jerusalem.
Suddenly, cell phones start ringing all over the bus. Haifa
had been attacked! Train service was halted! Get your
tushy out of there
asap!
We were reassigned to Matzrap on
Tel Hashomer near Tel Aviv, the
medical supply base where I’d served 3 times before. But
everything was different now. The leisurely work pace had
quickened to a frenzy of round-the-clock
activity. Shifts of soldiers,
mostly those taking the course for medics, worked
12-hour-shifts alongside volunteers and civilian workers.
The volunteers, who usually got off work between 4 and 5 pm,
began checking in after supper to see if there was additional
work to be done, and there generally was. Sometimes it was an
hour’s worth, but often we worked past midnight. After all,
the work we were doing is holy work, saving lives. The sum
total of what was done in the warehouses was the medic’s field
kit as well as cartons of bandages and medicines destined for
the embattled areas of the country.
In Israel, there is no 6 degrees of separation. It’s one
degree at most. There is virtually no one left untouched by
this war. Remember the two soldiers who were kidnapped in
Lebanon, sparking this whole conflict? Well, our
madricha, the young soldier
attached to our volunteer group, is the cousin of one of
them. My cousins and friends all have sons and daughters who
are either in the army, or have been called up for reserve
duty. Golani and
Nachal in the north,
Givati in Gaza, medics,
intelligence officers, communications, air force, volunteering
even before being called up. I hold my breath every time the
casualty list is published. Remember the tank that took a
direct hit a couple of weeks ago, killing 12 soldiers? The
survivor, pulled from the burning tank, was from Kibbutz
Shluchot, where our son Yossi had
spent several months as a volunteer. And
the medic who saved him? Also from
Shluchot.
What I’m trying to do here is give you vignettes of life in
Israel right now and possibly move you to act, so please see
Israel through my eyes for a moment:
Israel is the only place I know where the traffic lights emit
a beep or click when green – a signal to blind citizens that
they may cross the street.
Israel, despite having no rain from April to October, is
covered with flowers and fruit in August.
Around the corner from my hotel in Tel Aviv I witnessed police
issuing a ticket for illegal parking – to a horse and cart
tethered to a lamp post!
On Friday afternoon, my mini-bus driver in Tel Aviv stopped in
the middle of the street, facing an oncoming minibus. The
drivers opened their windows, and exchanged a bunch of flowers
for money. All cab and bus drivers call their colleagues “achi”
– my brother, especially when they need to ask each other
directions!
On the first day of the attack on the north, a free concert
with some of Israel’s best talent, from
Shai Gabzo to
Momy Levy to
Rami Kleinstein went on as
scheduled – hundreds of young people from the area near Gaza,
who’d been living in terror from the
Kassam rockets regularly lobbed at their settlements,
had already been bussed in to Tel Aviv for the event. Between
each performer, we were reminded that it was being broadcast
as well to those in the shelters up north.
Israelis in the center and south have opened their homes to
families from the north. Hotels are giving discounted or free
stays to citizens from the embattled areas. Organizations
from Hadassah to Supersol are
sponsoring summer camp experiences to get the kids out of the
shelters. And a new, voluntary program has been established
to help provide economic aid to those who work in the tourist
industry – book a future vacation in the north and pay now.
And how can you help? First and foremost, do not
cancel your planned trip to Israel. Go south rather than
north, but do not give in to the fear the Arabs hope will send
Israel running like lemmings to the sea. Book your trip now
if you haven’t done so. Send your kids on Birthright and
other trips. Buy Israeli products. Volunteer! Whether it’s
on an army base like I did, a
hospital, Livnot – Israel’s
version of Habitat for Humanity – or some other program. Sar-El,
Sherut
L’Yisrael, known here as Volunteers for Israel, was
founded, after all, during the
first Lebanon War in 1982.
One of the projects we volunteers got involved with was Table
to Table, which in better times provides an outlet for helping
feed the needy, but now has also taken on feeding those in
Northern Israel and sending care packages to soldiers with
goodies to keep up their morale.
Ha’agudah
L’ma’an Hachayal, or
Friends of the IDF, also sees to their needs, both physical
and emotional, and came highly recommended by the commander of
my base in Haifa.
People have been asking me what life is like for Israelis
dealing with the situation. With your indulgence I’d like to
share an e-mail I received yesterday from my friend Chris
Thiessen, a former Sar-El volunteer from Canada who converted
to Judaism and made Aliya.
Then there was the week I was in Jerusalem for Shabbat, and
watched on the news about a captured potential suicide bomber
– at Gordon Beach, where my friends and I hang out most
weekends. Well, the next day the beach was as full as always,
but from then on whenever we saw helicopters overhead our
hearts skipped a beat.
This has been a somewhat disjointed
report on my recent experience. But when people ask,
“Aren’t you glad to be home and
safe?” I need to remind them a) that we aren’t necessarily
safe in the US – 9/11 and Seattle and the latest airline plot
from England - have proved that, and b) Israel, despite
where we are currently living, is home.
Ein li
eretz acheret – I have no
other land.
Barbara Pollak
July/August, 2006