“The situation” (“Ha Matzav” in Hebrew): This is how Israelis refer to the whole terrible sequence of events that has unfolded since October 7th. The terrorist invasion, the bloody massacre of over 1200, the kidnappings, the thousands injured, the over 12,000 rockets raining on Israel— I could go on but I won’t. This is made all the worse by the subsequent outpouring of anti-semitism and overt support of Hamas (with all its barbaric actions) on the streets of much of the West. It took decades for Holocaust denial to creep into public discourse; it took but days for the events of October 7th to be rewritten, downplayed, justified, and outright falsified across social and mainstream media.
But the situation has also united the country in an overwhelming response across many sectors of society. On October 8th the army called up 250,000 reservists; over 300,000 showed up. The volunteer sector has stepped in to fill the vacuum left by a government totally unprepared for a disaster of this scale. https://www.timesofisrael.com/in-stunning-response-15000-volunteers-fill-leadership-vacuum-to-help-victims-of-hamas/ Hotels in the centre of the country have been filled with over 125,000 evacuees from the north and the south of the country. Volunteers are bringing in the harvest as best they can, packing medical supplies, cooking meals for soldiers and evacuees, tutoring, teaching and entertaining evacuee children. And so it goes. It is a very impressive society.
Because of the situation, it took Mike and I a lot longer to get back to Tel Aviv than we had planned. Our flights were cancelled and rescheduled several times and it became evident that Air Canada would not resume its Tel Aviv service any time soon. In the end we persuaded them to change our outbound flight to Athens, and from there we flew El Al into Ben Gurion. We made it back three weeks ago and were not entirely sure what to expect. The airport was a ghost town, its corridors lined with pictures of the hostages. Our luggage showed up in no time, and there was all of one taxi waiting at the stand, the driver grumpy and unobliging — if anything more so than usual. Arriving at our building, we were relieved that our apartment was in good shape, the grocery store next door was open, and from our balcony we could see the bright green parakeets were still flying — so far so good.
We got back just as the “pause” was about to go into effect, and with it, the agonizing daily drama over the partial hostage return — if and when, how many, who, and under what conditions. After two days glued to the television, I could not bear to watch it anymore in real time — I had to read about it the next day. The stories that are now emerging about what happened in captivity, especially to the children, are beyond harrowing. The “pause” ended when Hamas stopped handing over hostages, and resumed rocket fire. There were still 137 hostages in captivity at that time. Even though the agreement was to release all the women and children during the pause, in the end about 20 of them still remain, including a toddler and a 10 month old baby. (Nobody wants to think about what the young female captives have been going through, and many fear they won’t survive to tell of their ordeal. )
On the subject of rocket fire, there was a siren alert just as I was writing this, so we dropped everything and went to the safe room for the required 10 minutes. We are lucky that in our new place there is a safe room on each floor, with chairs set out so we can wait out the barrage. We just need to go across the hall within 90 seconds, which is the time between the siren and expected rocket impact. It is a small room, but with only 4 apartments per floor there is space enough. This a real luxury relative to our old apartment where the safe room was four and a half floors down. Getting down there in 90 seconds took no small effort (as we learned in the 2021 attacks), and the small basement room had to accommodate all the tenants, dogs included, from 16 apartments! (It got stuffy very quickly.) After a few nights with several rocket barrages and multiple trips up and down the stairs, we took to going halfway down and relying on the relative safety of the stairwell.
In general, the rockets are intercepted by the Iron Dome, so you hear the siren, and shortly after a series of booms overhead from the interceptions. There is always a real danger from falling shrapnel, and of course with a 90% success rate, some rockets do get through — as happened very close to Ben’s apartment early in the war. A small commercial building was demolished — luckily it was vacant.
As an aside, living with the threat of rocket fire brings with it a number of personal dilemmas that you might not think about. What if you are taking a shower? (Make it short and keep a robe handy.) What should you wear to bed? (Nothing skimpy and keep pants handy.) What if you are out walking? (Try and find a bomb shelter, and failing that, lie on the ground and cover your head.) What about on a bus, or in a car. (Get out fast. And then follow the instructions for walking).
Now that we are out and about, seeing our friends and neighbours, I find that here is a deep undercurrent of grief and anxiety in everyone I meet. This is a small country and everyone has a personal connection to someone who was kidnapped, murdered, injured or called up. This is not to say that they are mopey. Their natural resilience and warmth still bubble up, especially when greeting someone for the first time since the situation began. And it seems to me that the hugs are longer than before. But no one is really happy.
Despite the situation, there is an odd sense of normality that has returned to daily life, at least here in Tel Aviv. Stores are open as are most cafes and bars, though many with reduced stock and shorter hours. Public transit is fully operational including a new light rail service. (Note to Toronto; it was constructed in 8 years! ) All my regular classes/activities are back on, although during the first week we were back, the studios were still in a temporary location on the parking level of a nearby office building — a ready made bomb shelter, so to speak. We have now moved back to the community centre. And of course, the sidewalks are as hazardous as ever — thanks to the ever present motorized bikes and scooters that prefer dodging pedestrians on sidewalks to using bike lanes. Actually, now that I think of it, it is the pedestrians that do the dodging.
Reservists are obliged to keep their weapons with them at all times, even when on their days off, and even if not in uniform; so there are more very impressive guns in evidence than usual. This can be particularly striking when the reservists are young women dressed as they usually would going out to a bar, or as Mike noticed on the train when he sat next to a young soldier; kippah, tallis, backpack, M16. You get the idea.
Everywhere you go you are reminded of the hostages, of which over 130 are still in captivity. The central hub for this is “Hostage Square” which is actually the large plaza in front of the Tel Aviv Museum of Art. This is where the empty Shabbat table has been located right from the beginning, an initiative replicated in so many public spaces around the world. But that is not all that goes on there. A week ago Friday, I noticed (on one of my many Facebook groups) a call for volunteers with cars to go to undisclosed places, pick up an item at 1:00 and to return it at 3:00. It turns out they were collecting Torah scrolls from synagogues across the city: one for each hostage.
Other installations go up all the time as artists and community members seek a way to keep this issue front and centre. Hostage families are often on site during the week, and always on Saturday night when a regular march and demonstration take place in an effort to pressure the government and other world bodies into doing whatever it takes to bring their family members home. Their agony, now over two months into the situation, is unfathomable. I don’t know how they get up in the morning; I’d be curled up in a ball of worry and misery.
With all of this, many friends ask me why on earth we would choose to come back here. It’s a good question — which I will do my best to answer in the next post.
Signing off for now, from here in Tel Aviv.