From Dust to Sunshine: Uniting through shared struggles in Israel

In the aftermath of tragedy, where do we find the strength to heal and unite?

My visit to two Israeli Bedouin communities, reeling from loss and conflict, uncovered a surprising and inspiring narrative. Here, amidst the echoes of despair, I found a powerful testament to the enduring human spirit and the unexpected bonds that can arise from shared pain and understanding.

The Tragic Loss of Samar

Samar Fouad Talalka, who was taken hostage by Hamas terrorists on October 7 and was held captive for 70 days before he was mistakenly killed by IDF troops, was laid to rest in a cemetery outside his hometown of Hura in southern Israel.

Talalka was shot dead on Friday, December 15 along with two other hostages, Yotam Haim and Alon Lulu Shamriz, after they escaped from captivity and approached a group of Israeli soldiers, shirtless and waving a white flag.

Around 1,500 people attended his funeral.  His father, Lutfi al-Talalka, told the daily Haaretz that he blames both Israel and Hamas for the death of his son. Upon hearing this, I felt a compelling urge to show solidarity. It was a spontaneous decision, yet one deeply rooted in a desire to bridge divides and offer compassion to a family in mourning.

The indiscriminate violence of Hamas, targeting both Jews and Muslims alike, starkly illustrated their disregard for all Israeli citizens. This deep hatred is a bleak reminder of the complexities we face in our shared homeland.

A Tent of Grief and Reflection

I arrived at the ‘shiva tent’ at 7 p.m., greeted by a haunting stillness. Samar’s father, uncle, and two brothers were the sole mourners present. Accompanied by my long-time Bedouin friend and coexistence advocate, Hazem Abu Quedar, the atmosphere was intimate, yet the air was laden with unspoken sorrow. Samar’s father, a man now with one less child, encapsulated his grief in words that echoed the transient nature of life, reminiscent of the poignant lyrics of  “Dust in the Wind.” by the American rock band Kansas.

I close my eyes, only for a moment, and the moment’s gone, All my dreams, pass before my eyes, a curiosity.   (Now) don’t hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky. It slips away, and all your money won’t another minute buy.

Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind,                                                           Dust in the wind, everything is dust in the wind

The Harrowing Ordeal of Dr. Tarik

On November 8th, amid an empty local car park on the outskirts of Ashkelon transformed into United Hatzalah’s makeshift headquarters, I found myself in a melting pot of humanity. This gathering, just one month after the harrowing events of October 7th, was a stark reminder of our intertwined destinies in the Israeli tapestry. President Itzhak and Michal Herzog’s presence at the event paid homage to the unsung heroes of United Hatzalah. The crowd was a sample of the vibrant mosaic of their 6,000 volunteers: 60% religious Jews, 30% secular, and 10% comprising Muslims, Christians, and Druze. United Hatzalah’s ethos of inclusivity and swift response, evident in their impressive average response time of under three minutes, stood as a testament to the resilient spirit of a nation often under duress.

Heroic October 7 first responders from Ichud Hazahla with CEO Eli Beer, President Itzhak, and Michal Herzog, and the author. (Jordan Polevoy)

A Doctor’s Tale of Survival and Identity

In this backdrop of bravery and selflessness, I met Dr. Tarik Abu Arara, an Israeli Bedouin doctor whose story was a poignant reflection of that day’s chaos. On October 7, what began as a routine commute to Barzalai hospital, morphed into a living nightmare when his house was targeted by missiles.

In a dramatic turn of events, Dr. Tarik’s path intersected with that of a man injured in the street. While trying to assist, Tarik, in his United Hatzalah vest, approached three men disguised as Israeli soldiers, only to be shockingly shot in the chest and the leg. The shooters were Hamas terrorists, indiscriminately shooting at Israelis coming to assist the injured in the street. Lying wounded, Tarik’s thoughts turned to prayer, a plea for divine mercy to Allah in what he believed were his final moments.

A Journey from Victim to Symbol of Unity

However, the narrative took an unexpected turn. Once the terrorists realized Tarik’s Arab identity, they spared his life but coerced him into a harrowing role – a human shield. This surreal and terrifying experience, where he was forced to recite the Koran to prove his identity, was a stark reminder of the different layers of identity and conflict in our region.

The narrative of Tarik’s ordeal is not just about survival; it’s a testament to the indiscriminate nature of hatred and violence of Hamas. His rescue by IDF soldiers was more than a physical liberation; it symbolized the multifaceted and complex nature of Israeli society.

Weeks later, the solidarity in Tarik’s voice during a call to check on me epitomized the shared humanity that transcends our differences. My subsequent visit to his village, along with Bedouin friends Hazem and Hanan Abu Quedar, unraveled the intricate web of relationships that bind our lives. A quick game of Jewish/Bedouin geography revealed that I had actually taught Karate to Tarik’s nephew 10 years ago.

The Birth of a Little Ray of Sunshine

In Tarik’s home, as we sipped Bedouin coffee amidst the lively chatter of children, I witnessed a powerful symbol of hope – his newborn daughter, born just a week before the attack. Tarik shared the harrowing decisions he had to make that day, the lives irrevocably changed, and the profound impact on his own family.

Watching Tarik cradle his daughter, named Shemes, meaning Sunshine, a profound realization dawned upon me. This infant, embodying innocence and potential, represented not just a new chapter for one family but for the entire nation. Her existence was a counterpoint to the narratives of division and conflict, a symbol of the resilience and unity that define our society.

The author, Baby Shemes and her father Dr Tarik Abu Arara. (Photo: Jordan Polevoy)

Shemes’s presence was a subtle yet powerful emblem of hope in a landscape often marred by strife. In her, we see not just the promise of an individual life but the potential for a society that transcends past wounds and moves towards understanding and peace.

Her birth is a gentle yet compelling reminder of our collective responsibility to shape a world where future generations can thrive, free from the burdens of history. In her, we find the inspiration to heal the fractures of our past and build a future anchored in harmony and mutual respect.