Shattering Images

An email arrived last weekend from one of my dearest friends from Krakow. A close friend will be in Israel for the week, doing research at Yad Vashem. Would I be able to meet her? I took the train to Jerusalem. We met for coffee at the National Library cafeteria. What makes a young Polish woman choose to become a scholar of the Holocaust? Not Jewish, but her grandmother was a prisoner in a camp. We discussed the timing of her visit. She had postponed and then decided to make the trip.

The day before, she had been at the Ghetto Fighter’s House, a museum and archives north of Akko – in the range of Hezbollah attacks. “Weren’t you afraid?” I asked. She only realized the dangers from the surprise with which her visit there was received, and there were no incidents that day until after she left. “Sitting here in Jerusalem, a cafeteria filled with people socializing or engrossed in online encounters surrounding us, and outside life as usual, you wouldn’t know we were amidst a war,” I said. She gazed at me in disbelief. I returned a similar look, with perplexion.

I repeatedly say our lives go on as usual in central Israel, with our hearts a little more crushed, but the mechanics of a normal routine. She assured me you can tell we are at war: you go out the door and at every bus stop there are pictures of hostages, or young lives lost, at every bank, businesses and institutions you see an empty yellow chair – or a black chair with a yellow ribbon – and a picture of a hostage. Every other billboard bears the slogan, “Bring Them Home Now.” When she asked about the meaning of that statement, my cynicism surfaced explaining contexts and nuances. We are at war. I needed her to tell me.

Then I met two of my besties for lunch. Another story about a friend’s nephew, a traumatized soldier. Another story about a pre-school grandchild telling her grandmother that her aunt’s friend, Hersh, hostage in Gaza, “got lost and everybody is looking for him.” Another story of how one reacts to the most recent prime-time television account by a released hostage. Demonstration anecdotes. Helplessness, hopelessness. I love spending time with these two friends. I returned home. Depressed.

That evening, a video clip was released from October 7, showing Matan Zangauker, an Israeli hostage brought to Gaza. On a motorcycle, a terrorist seated in front of him and another behind him, the public cheered in the streets. His mother was interviewed repeatedly as she has been for months. October 7. Present. Today is October 7, 2023, on July 27, 2024 (as I write).

That same evening promos began for a documentary scheduled for a Thursday evening investigative journalism program. This week’s film based on documentation by journalist Ayelet Arnin, of blessed memory – one of 16 Israelis murdered on October 7 in a shelter from which another four people were taken hostage – Hirsh Polin Goldberg (an American-Israeli citizen) among them – and another seven survived. They fled from the Nova party to what has since been named, “the death shelter.” The late Ayelet filmed fear from her phone as terrorists approached and the army did not. Text messages from other phones provide more of the content in the promo complemented by remaining family members reacting to the footage. Note to self: Do NOT watch! Sleepless after the promos. Almost asleep, I was jolted awake telling myself not to be afraid reminding myself I am safe. I live in safe central Israel. Except when it’s not.

Five hostages’ bodies were returned to Israel by the IDF while Netanyahu was bound for Washington.

I took our almost 5^th grader granddaughter for a fun day starting with breakfast at a café that she made sure had iced coffee slush. Her drama summer camp ended earlier in the week. Knowing she had visited a major repertory theater for a day during the camp, I asked about it. The theater is adjacent to Hostages Square in Tel Aviv, where major demonstrations take place and artistic installations are placed. I asked if she had been there too. She told me about the model tunnel there. It’s scary. I know. I refrained from saying it’s scary to think about the hostages held in real tunnels. She knows.

Later, I told her about my Palestinian colleagues and about Gazans who would prefer to live in peace.  She has a solution. Israel can take all the good Gazans and get them to help us defeat Hamas. Once Hamas is gone, we can build a big building for all the good Gazans, so they won’t have to live in the desert sands. Then we can have peace. I told her that was a smart solution. I told her a little about the difficulties for good Gazans in condemning Hamas, comparing it to stories about her classmates reluctant to stand up for their convictions because of social pressures and fears of shaming. In the conversation, she told me Hamas kills babies, something, she said, Israel would never do. How I wish that were true. Perhaps the means are not as barbaric, but death is death, and killing is killing. I told her sometimes in war, Israel also does bad things. I did not have the heart to shatter her beliefs in our moral standards.

Will she have a solution for the attack from Hezbollah today? The Golan Heights. Majd al Shams. A Druze town. Nine casualties – youngsters playing soccer – as of latest report, Druze residents of Israel, entitled to citizenship, largely declined in consideration of implications for Syrian relatives. Syrian territory until the 1967 Six-Day War. Annexed by Israel. Go explain that to a child. More severe Israeli Air Force attacks on Lebanon tonight. Commentators unanimously certain of escalation, legitimized by this attack.  Will that war begin tonight?

Haim and I watched Netanyahu’s address to the US Congress. We wondered who had the cue sheets for when to start clapping. Later coverage revealed fillers for empty Democratic seats. Nevertheless, one of Bibi’s best-ever speeches, world league. But. Big but. I heard what he didn’t say. No reference to his responsibility for October 7. Nothing new. Appreciation for US aid, yes. Patronizingly demanding continued US aid upon demand. The Prime Minister of Israel, succumbing to demands from Ministers Ben-Gvir and Smotrich, disregards complexity in US decision-making. Kamala Harris, like me, is concerned about innocent lives lost in Gaza. That is not at odds with concern for the security of Israel. Netanyahu concluded his remarks to Congress declaring commitment to returning the hostages, just as he postponed the departure of the negotiating team from Jerusalem to Qatar.

Israeli gymnasts at the Olympics placed a yellow ribbon on their stage in one scene and concluded with, “Bring Them Home Now.” I saw it on Reels. The Friday evening news ended with a story about our Olympic swimmer – the first Arab representing Israel since 1976 and the third ever.  His mother is Russian Jewish, his father Muslim Arab. Israel.

We had just returned from Friday night dinner with the kids at the beach (something this swimmer who prefers pools avoided so far this summer). Tel Aviv. Beach. Israelis – Jews and Arabs. Foreign workers from India. A medley of languages: Russian, Hebrew, English, Arabic, and the waves from the sea returning us to shallow water. Planes overhead, receding into the distance. Our 2-1/2 year-old granddaughter points and says, “a small airplane.” It’s all about perspective.

Harriet Gimpel, July 27, 2024