The 12 Day War from Inside Israel ( preliminary version)

 

The 12 Day War from Inside Israel- Rabbi Norbert Weinberg

[Note: This is a preliminary version. All photos, unless marked otherwise are proprietary to the author]

 

Israel this summer is  like a Mark Chagall painting, a modern Vitebsk,   when nothing is where it should be, up is down and down is up, and there are no proportions or perspective. The other analogies could be drawn from a tale by Kafka, again, a verbal description of a surrealistic world.

 

( Marc Chagall, I and the Village. This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published (or registered with the U.S. Copyright Office) before January 1, 1930  https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Marc_Chagall,_I_and_the_Village_(50394064557).jpg)

 

 

We have been here in Israel from the very first night of what is called the “12 Day War”. Getting here itself was  Kafkaesque,  because every flight that we scheduled had to be rescheduled over and over again, thanks to the Houthis landing a missile near Ben Gurion airport . To boot, our luggage was lost in Paris, and sent to Amsterdam instead of Tel Aviv.

 

Ofra and I had come to visit our family members and to check up on our grandson who is serving IDF(Israel Defense Forces) as a “Lone Soldier” ( the term for a non-native Israeli who has come to volunteer in the IDF) like many other young Jews who have come here to serve . I won’t belabor his function in the IDF but let us say that he has seen what young people should never have to see. These lone soldiers have been given endless support from volunteers who host Shabbat and Kiddush Lunch  and special activities;  our grandson was essentially adopted by a host family, who opened their home to him. Another Israeli family we met had made it their practice to host Israeli soldiers at their home for BBQ and  drop off fresh fruits as a treat to soldiers. Perhaps Israelis can't talk to each other , but they also  love to help each other.

We had planned to visit friends and travel around but spent the next 12 days mostly sitting on the balcony of our in-law's  apartment, 22 floors up, overlooking Jerusalem’s Old City, so serene and peaceful , while down below, we could see a few individuals, on the first days, strolling the streets.

(View of the Kotel, Dome of the Rock, and Mt. Olives from the balcony)

We even had a peek at a wedding taking place on the rooftop of the next building.

( Wedding next door)

 

At night, it was a different world. Courtesy of the Ayatollah regime, we woke up two or three times every night with alerts coming on our phones and then sirens, rushed to the Mamad (shelter) locked the secure door, and waited it out for a half hour till the all clear. This meant that for 12 days neither we nor anyone else in Israel could have an easy night's sleep.

(The one-and-one-half- minute-to-scramble warning on our phones)

Mostly, that's all that we could do, especially in the first few days.

As Israel’s Defense Forces undertook one of the most ambitious military gambits in history ( the  Mission Impossible producers  would never greenlight this venture), and  systematically took out the Iranian regime’s missile capability ( and political and military leadership to boot) we began to step out more and more gingerly on to Jaffa Street and Machane Yehudah market next door, all the while checking if we could find a shelter to run to nearby.

Gradually we could make our way further away without having to worry if there was a bomb shelter next door. The situation was relatively easier in Jerusalem. However, in much of Israel, the situation was truly frightening and tragic; buildings  collapsed and people were trapped inside,  28 were killed, over 3200 injured, 13, 000 displaced. The Weizman Institute of Science was damaged, and with it, years of life saving medical research, an entire hospital wing ruined, and even a historic mosque damaged. Iranian missiles landed on people of all faiths, whether civilian or military.

We began to venture out  to Machane Yehudah  as life came back gradually to normal, in a Chagallesque fashion. People were out buying produce once again, the market stalls were well stocked,  and like the famous “Fiddler on the Roof” (a Chagall figure long before the musical)  there was a “Guitarist in the Shuk” ( market), a Chasid  with a long beard and peyot strumming and singing  for us all.

( Guitarist in the Shuk)

(The market)

(spice shop)

 

The shuk was filled with such Chagallesque types as traditional Hasidim, hipster Chasidim ( ditto  with long peyot, curls,  and tzitziot,  but dressed in cool, hip clothes) ,  regular Israelis, if there is such a thing, a few tourists and quite a number of  foreign workers from all over the world.

Add to this world of upside-down, downside-up, all flights back were cancelled and we scrambled to sign on to emergency return flights with the US Consulate and El Al airlines. We  were put on a waiting list of 50,000 people, scheduled to leave on flights of 50 people per plane, a few per day. I calculated that it would take about 3 months to get us out at that pace. The other options were to board a cruise ship to Larnaca, and be stuck in Cyprus with tens of thousands of Israelis who were trying to get back in, or sneak out through Egypt or Jordan, not very savory options at this point. We held out till El Al resumed normal flights.

We woke up on day 12 to the news of B-2 bombers making short shrift of the Islamist Republic’s precious nuclear program ( Thank you, POTUS! Proud to be an American!). We understood very well that this was possible only because Israel had spent years of preparation, planting agents ala Mata Hari, prepositioning weapons inside Iran, and eliminating Iran’s top military and political echelons, as well as  air defense and offense capability . We realized now we had woken up to a completely changed Middle East; Hamas is at best, dogs hiding with tails between the legs,  Hezbollah is knee capped (“ Let Lebanon be Lebanon”), a new Syria makes overtures of peace to Israel, and  the Islamist Republic is exposed as the naked emperor. Again, as in a Chagall painting, Americans and Europeans were applauding the Palestinians and the Iranians, chanting Death to the IDF, and at the same time,  idealistic Europeans marched to liberate the poor Gazans,  arrive at the Egyptian border,  only to be beaten up by the Egyptian police and even civilians who did not want any help getting to Gaza!

[Note-my friends who are active in Iranian-Jewish affairs want us to be aware that our war is not with the Iranian peoples but with the Fascist Regime that kidnapped the revolution of 1979 and robbed the people of their essential freedoms.]

And on the 13^th Day--It  was is if nothing had happened. Traffic was back to frustrating as normal.

( Traffic jam, 2 ½ hours for a 1 hour trip, Jerusalem to Natanya)

Israelis started shopping like mad, to make up for two weeks of pent-up angst,as in Malcha Mall, Jerusalem.

( Typical shoppers in Malcha Mall)

In this supposedly “ apartheid” State, the customers, as well as the staff, are Arab, Jew, and a mixed gathering, all mingling freely. At the annual book fair in Jerusalem, the guards protecting us were Arabs.( How can one distinguish traditional Jewish and Muslim women?, The facial features are similar, and many Jews are as dark or darker, than their Arab counterparts, many of whom are actually fair-skinned. So, it comes down to hair covering. Both cover their hair; traditional Muslim women cover all the hair and the neck, but wear pants, whereas traditional Jewish women cover most of the hair, not the neck, and don’t wear pants.)

One very bright aspect of all of this is the kind of unity and closeness that Israelis have been feeling with each other even when they can't talk to each other.

The hostages are on everyone’s mind, and so are the fallen soldiers, so there is, everywhere, an in-your-face reminder of the heavy price paid to get them back and to eliminate any repeat of October 7.

( At the door to Gan Sippur Café in Jerusalem).

We went to the grave of our grand-nephew, Sgt Nadav Issachar  Farhi. He was a combat medic and was due to be released; he chose to stay on just a little longer, to help his unit, but was murdered in ambush in Gaza. His favorite motto was “Hakuna Matata”.

( Grave of Nadav Issachar Farhi, z”l))

He was one of the first casualties buried there. Since then, that plot has, sadly, filled up.

(Mt Herzl Cemetery)

 

One parting thought.

We know what the symbol is of Hamas--crossed swords.

 

 

(Cropped version . This file is made available under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Emblem_of_Hamas_Vector_Graphic.svg)

 

What image can we pick for ourselves- besides the Menorah, or the Star of David? Then, I came across this sticker, pasted on a car window,courtesy of the “Be in Simcha” Breslover Chasidim: A smiley face, with side curls, and a “Nachman” beanie, and the words  Ahavah Bekamut Gevohah, “Love, in huge amounts.”

 

(Image of Breslaver smiley face)

 Yes, Hamas and the like offer the sword, and we must return the sword if needed, but our goal is to reach this kind of “Love, in huge amounts” at the end of the day. Rebbe Nachman, who was the intellectual and spiritual predecessor of Kafka and Chagall, would have agreed.