On that day I was watching a baby at a hospital. His parents wanted to celebrate shabbat/holiday with their other children, and they needed someone to watch him while they were away. The baby has a very beautiful, but untypical name: Be'eri. It is an uncommon name.
Shabbat morning I woke up to the sound of a siren. The first thought was, oh, it is probably a mistake, some problem with the siren system. Then someone from an adjacent room shouted: It is an alarm siren (אזעקה עולה ויורדת)! We were all surprised. After saying my morning prayers, I took the baby to my lap and we sat together, as an unrelenting sequence of sirens sounded. I felt serene and peaceful. I was not afraid. And then we heard a big boom, and the glass windows shook. And then another big boom. It was strong and felt very close. Still, I told myself that Hashem is watching - if He wants me to be hurt, I will be. If He doesn't, I will be safe. I gave myself to Him and His will. I listened to the instructions of the hospital staff. Very ironically, most of them were Arab nurses. The male nurse in charge of my room told me that I can go into the safe room. I declined. He excused himself and went into the safe room himself. The next time a siren sounded, it was the same scenario - he came and said I should go to the safe room. But what about the baby, I asked (the baby was connected to a breathing machine and I couldn't take him with me). The nurse went away to consult the staff, then returned and said that they will bring all the patients into the safe room as well. So we all gathered in the crowded safe room, for hours and hours until the end of Shabbat.
Since I don't use my phone on Shabbat, I had no idea what was going on, but from what the nurse told me, I realized it was something different than usual. Still, I had no idea just how much so. Another nurse, a Jewish lady, was obviously heart broken. She said she didn't want to ruin my Shabbat, so she'll tell me when Shabbat was over. I had no idea what was going on. It was horrible beyond description. Unbelievable atrocities that no human being could ever accept.
Later, when I learned more of what had happened, I realized that one of the kibbutzim that was ruined was... Be'eri. An interesting coincidence. What was Hashem trying to tell me then? Just as the kibbutz by that name was being destroyed and its inhabitants, including its babies, were murdered, I was watching a baby by the same unusual, rare name, cradling him in my arms, in Jerusalem. I still wonder what the message was, if any.
Kfar Aza is another kibbutz that was ruined by the murderous Ishmaelites from Gaza. As a 9 year old child, I visited that kibbutz once. I remember it as a beautiful paradise, very green, blooming, sweet, warm place. That kibbutz remained in my memory as a charming, magical place. I always wanted to visit there again, this time as an adult, but haven't. And now it is destroyed.
It was so ironic to be surrounded by Arab nurses as that was unfolding, and a baby named Be'eri in my arms... The Arabs in the South were murdering babies in Kibbutz Be'eri, and the Arabs around me were taking care of little Be'eri. And I myself am a native of that part of Israel, in the south. The community where I grew up is a mere 14 km away from Gaza... and it still feels like home to me. I'm attracted to that part of Israel.
After Shabbat was over and the horror became known to me, I felt I wasn't ready to go out to the empty streets and experience the shock. So I stayed one more night at the hospital, with the baby, to his mother's relief. I left only Sunday early afternoon, when another volunteer came to replace me.
The streets were almost completely empty. The stores were closed. There were very few buses running. There was a mournful silence everywhere. The pain was immense. It felt as if Hashem was hiding His face from us and it was scary. I myself felt engulfed by Him, even on that Shabbat as the sirens were going off and the booms were sounding. This is why I felt no fear. But when I found out what happened, my heart was shuttered and my sense of reality changed. I felt like we were in danger of losing our country, G-d forbid.
I suddenly realized in a very visceral way how grateful I was for having this country, and for every day of quiet and safety that Hashem has given us. I was praying fervently that Hashem should redeem us and shine His light upon us once again. What triggered the attack was His fury, and I think many of us here in Israel agree as to why, as to what triggered his fury - a year of baseless hatred to Judaism, to Torah, to religious Jews of all kinds and types. But it made all of us realize in a very real way how every day we survive here, in this Arab region of the world (the Middle East), is a big miracle. I knew it before, of course, but this time I felt it in a very personal way.
The horror also reminded me of a nocturnal dream that I had had as a student in the dorms. I think I wrote about it here some time long ago. It was a dream I still remember very well. The Arabs living in Israel (not in Gaza) were attacking us from every corner, putting everything to ruins, and I was thinking to myself in alarm, as I was hiding behind a paper recycling bin (or was it a big trash bin?) "they are all over us" (הם עולים עלינו!). I still remember seeing someone around 30 or 40 meters in front of me shouting, running and throwing a block as I was hiding. I think I was one of the only survivors in that dream, which felt so real. I really pray it won't come to that. Israel is a dream country, a dream land, such a beautiful, special place. It would be a cruel tragedy if the forces of destruction will put it to ruins. I believe the kibbutzim in the south will be rebuilt and made even prettier than they were, if prettier is even possible. I think the original population will not want to live there. They suffered tragedy and they are not ideologically motivated enough (they are the kind of people who believe in giving away land for peace - the kind of people who were happy when the disengagement plan from Gaza was executed). I think that the people who will live there now will be national religious young families, who believe in our right to inherit this land. They are ideologically motivated.
I want to be engaged in my research, but listening to the radio or tv news on my computer takes up a lot of my time now. I feel a need to hear the stories, to watch the people who survived talking.
A friend from abroad sent me a gruesome video with graphic pictures from the massacre. This was what the title of the video link said. I didn't open it. I couldn't. Just the thought that such images are now all over the world and that people satiate their curiosity with them... It is disheartening.
I have a lot more to say, but maybe later.
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