My day in the South

I had been reticent to go down south to the sites of the October 7^th massacre.  Firstly, we live in Israel.  We are surrounded by reminders of the deadly day, the pain of the hostages and their families, the daily deaths of our soldiers, the hate that is directed at us.

We know people whose family members and close friends were killed and kidnapped.  We have close friends whose sons and daughters and their spouses have been called up for milluim (reserve duty) for months, some in Gaza, some in support roles.  The thought of the pain of seeing the sites of the actual massacre seemed over-the-top, unnecessary, just too much to take.

The second reason for my reticence was a feeling that perhaps going to see the killing and torture fields, the kibbutzim and moshavim, the Nova festival site, was an invasion of privacy, a desecration of holy sites.  I was afraid of feeling and looking like a gawker, like somebody who stares at a car pile-up.

I saw nothing wrong when others took a different view and chose different behavior.  Thousands of volunteers have poured into Israel to help during the difficult months since October 7^th.

They have selflessly given their time, their labor, their emotional support, and their money.  They have made a difference both materially and emotionally.  They and many others, visitors and Israelis alike, have made the trip to the south.

They have paid their respects, lent shoulders for those who needed them, and borne witness.  Many of those from abroad are going to go home and report to their families, friends, and communities on what happened there in a way only someone who has been there can.

We were prompted to finally go to the south to donate to and see the “Shuva Junction.”  Shuva is a moshav (cooperative community) a few kilometers east of the Gaza border. Immediately after October 7^th, three brothers set up a little coffee stand for soldiers going in and out of Gaza at the intersection that leads from the main road into Shuva.

The coffee stand grew into a way station where soldiers can take some R&R, eat, clean up a bit, and collect some snacks and other “extras” that the army does not provide.  https://www.jpost.com/israel-news/defense-news/article-769644

Israel’s largely incompetent and irresponsible civilian government, most of whose political leaders are focused on petty disputes, self-aggrandizement, and political survival, was basically paralyzed in the aftermath of October 7^th.  It has not gotten much, if any, better since then.

In contrast, Israel’s extraordinary ordinary citizens, its seemingly everyday people, have displayed unbelievable resourcefulness, resilience, and creativity.  They just stepped up.  The Shuva Junction is just one of a myriad of displays of the decency and selflessness of the Israeli people, in contrast to much of the political “leadership.”

We dropped off our box of supplies and goodies.  Volunteers were cooking and dishing out hefty plates of food for soldiers.  An older man was walking about constantly handing out cups and filling them with juice.

There were tables to eat at, couches to lounge on, guitars to play, water to wash up with, books to read, kipot (yarmulkes—head coverings), tallit (prayer shawls), and prayer books to pray with. And more.

We spoke with a young Austrian Christian woman who had flown to Israel to volunteer for 10 days.  We also spoke to a 35-ish tanned, dark, bald soldier with a heavy black beard.  Asked where he lived, the response caught us by surprise: Paris.

He had flown back home to Israel for milluim and had, with a few breaks, been on duty since.  He spoke six or seven languages.  Who knows who and what was left in Paris?

Here, he is in Unit 8200, one of the most elite intelligence units in the IDF.  His job: being a liaison between those collecting and analyzing information and those using it in the field.  Obviously a smart guy.

I was struck by the ages of the soldiers at the junction when we were there.  Most were in their 30’s and 40’s, even a few in their 50’s.  Reservists, not regular army personnel in their late teens/early 20’s.  Guys who have left families, kids, spouses, jobs—some for months on end—to defend our country.

Nothing but admiration and respect for them.  And it just reinforces the outrage that there are tens of thousands of Israelis who, due to the political leverage of the religious parties and a sense of entitlement that seemingly knows no bounds, do not share in the burden.

Adding further to the outrage: at this moment, the IDF is facing shortages of soldiers, the Knesset is extending the length of service obligations for both regular soldiers and reservists, and the current government is trying to advance legislation that would continue the exemption from service for the privileged “religious.”  “Outrageous” and “chutzpa” do not do it justice.

Still with a bit of hesitation, or perhaps more accurately, trepidation, we drove a couple of kilometers from the Shuva Junction to the “car cemetery,” not really knowing what to expect.

After October 7^th, burnt out cars, from which hostages were taken, in which innocent people were shot and tortured, as well as other cars abandoned and damaged in the slaughter, were taken to a vacant lot, some stacked up, others just spread out in a morbid junk yard.

The stacks and lines of burnt-out and wrecked cars are now a powerful, gut-wrenching memorial.  Care and respect have gone into telling a story—many stories—of the lives wrecked by the onslaught of October 7^th.

Volunteers—families of victims and others—have made this graveyard talk.  Bar codes open the doors to the lost lives, the families destroyed.  Israeli reverence, love, and ingenuity have turned tons of wrecked steel into a jarring and vivid memorial.

Finally, we drove a few more kilometers to the site of the Nova music festival massacre.  It is riveting.  It is personal.  It is torturous. It was fitting that it was hot, windy, and dusty.  It was physically uncomfortable, matching the mental and emotional state.

What makes this site so impactful is not the story of what happened or how it happened.  We already know that.  We know of the torture and the barbarity.  We know of the rape, the fire, the mutilation.  We know of the sheer glee of the murderers and torturers.  And we know of the hate and ignorance and immorality of their supporters.

What makes this site overwhelming, beyond its enormity, is the personal.  The families and friends of the victims have planted trees, posted pictures, and told stories.  They have made clear what was lost October 7^th:  Lives. Families. Children. Mothers. Fathers. Sisters. Brothers. Siblings.

This was not an event.  Not an incident.  Not part of a geopolitical dispute designed to be bantered about by distant talking heads around the world.  These were real lives. Taken for one reason: because they were Jews living as a free people in their nation.  To tell us that we cannot be here.  That we have no future here.

The sick, hateful people who perpetrated these horrendous crimes are in for a rude awakening.  We will be here.  We are depressed and discouraged.  We argue.  We sometimes doubt.  But we are going nowhere.  This is our home.

Like the brothers who created the Shuva Junction, and like all the “ordinary” people who did not hesitate to risk their lives and to give their time, and like the families and friends who have given life to the piles of mangled and burnt cars, and like the families and friends that have used the killing fields of Nova to bring their beloved to life, we will not be defeated.  We will plant, and we will grow. We will choose life.

Am Yisrael Chai.