| The Second Lebanon War - July 13th to August 14th 15 July We had no idea on Thursday morning that the barrage of Katyushas on nahariya was to be the beginning of a nightmare that would last for more than a month. Who would have known that the ambush, killing of eight Israeli soldiers, and the kidnapping of another two by the Hizballah would lead to a full scale war? I was scheduled to bring my granddaughter Rotem to Ben-Ami for the weekend. Disappointed that plans might have to be changed, and fearful that I would endanger her, I called my daughter and son-in-law who were on their way to Eilat. Yael, having grown up here in the Galilee on the border, never viewed a round of Katyusha rockets as anything that was worthy of getting worried about. She said she hadn’t left any food in the house, and that she was certain that everything would be OK, and that I should come get Rotem and bring her to Ben Ami for a weekend with Savta (grandmother) in the Galilee.. I took the train down to Tel Aviv, collected a happy and excited Rotem from her kindergarten, and began to make my way back to Nahariya by train. By then it was late afternoon, and the train stopped in Acco and would go no further - Katyushas were still falling in Nahariya. It was then that I realized that I might really be in trouble.. I waited in the parking lot next to the Acco train station together with other perplexed passengers, and - not wishing to move about Nahariya any more than necessary with my granddaughter under threat of more Katyushas - I took a taxi all the way home to Ben Ami. The worst moments of the war were those in which I had the responsibility of Rotem. How could I have known then what was going to happen? I continually asked myself that question again and again when I was fraught with feelings of guilt for having brought Rotem home with me. There was not yet any warning siren for the north - rockets simply started falling and you were caught wherever you were. More rockets began falling on Friday and Saturday air strikes into Lebanon had begun in what was then an effort to free the two hostages - , and it was obvious that this was no longer an isolated incident. What could I do but gently and quickly pull Rotem out of her wading pool on the patio and shield her in my arms on the floor of the hallway (I then thought this was the safest place in the house). I forced myself to stay calm in order not to frighten Rotem. Somehow I managed to do this, and Rotem simply asked “I want to see the noise outside.” Presumably she thought that the banging and crashing explosions outdoors were making something pretty - like fireworks on independence day! Sunday morning I called a taxi, hoping for no more rockets until we got out of the Nahariya area. Nasralla however, had other plans. As the taxi pulled up my luck ran out - another barrage began. Heart pounding, I sat in the taxi, and when we got to the stoplights at the entrance to Nahariya I was horrified to hear that Haifa had been hit as well - killing eight people in the railroad depot. Unable to go back home and afraid to go forward, knowing that there would be no more trains, I decided there was no choice but to make a run through Haifa and get Rotem safely home as fast as I could. In Haifa taxis and busses were careening through the streets, and people were jumping in and out in what looked like a movie running too fast. In downtown Haifa I jumped into a taxi for Tel Aviv, which immediately took off - and I mean took off! Ten minutes later we were south of Hof Ha Carmel - out of Katyusha range, and I called Yael and told her we were on our way. Rotem’s main concern at this time was why we didn’t take the train as I had promised. The taxi was silent as all the passengers listened to the news. Anyone talking on a mobile phone was asked to shut up. After finally getting Rotem home, showered, and into bed for her nap, I counted the hours until Yael and Ilan would be back. All I wanted was to get back home again. I was afraid to travel through Haifa during the day and elected to return home that night. All I could think about was that I had made a trip through the area of rocket fire with my granddaughter, and that I was glad it was over. I think we never realized the magnitude of that wrong decision made that weekend - but who would have known? 16 July Things are rough here, but I'm holding up OK! Ben Ami took a barrage of several rockets a couple of days ago - not nice. Lots of potholes and broken glass, but luckily nobody hurt. Believe me, I was in the security room then! No playing around! I am writing this is at my desk and the computer in the room I call the studio, which has reinforced walls but a large window, that has to be kept away from. But it's the safest room in the house because of the reinforced walls. The rest is just cinder blocks which would simply crumble if the house were hit. I attempted to head for the shelter to check it out a day or two after this started, to see if I could use it just to sleep. It's four houses away. I never made it there because Katyushas started falling again while I was on my way and I had to duck into my neighbors' house and wait it out. So much for the shelter. The security room will have to do. This whole war is WRONG - really wrong. Went up to my old kibbutz the other day where it's safer because it's so close to the border that everything flies overhead and lands down below (on Ben Amii). Had a bit of a breather and walked the dogs around outside all day. I plan to go to Tel Aviv to see my kids this weekend and have a bit of a break and then return home. Why are Lebanese who are going north to get away from our artillery fire called refugees, while Israelis who are leaving the north and going south to get away from the Katyushas "traveling south"? What's the difference? This is one of the subtleties of international journalism. Nahariya is pretty bombed out - lots of places that I know have been hit. I think, that for the civilian population of Israel this is the worst war we've ever had, definitely the worst one I've ever been in. NOW with two WOMEN in charge of diplomacy - maybe they'll knock some sense into everyone. I'm taking my bouzouki to Tel Aviv if I can get there and believe me Molly Bloom's pub session on Friday afternoon will never have had anything like it. I really need some music. July 22nd Shabbat Shalom! I was invited to sing for Kabbalat Shabbat last night at Nes Ammim, a nearby Dutch Christian village where my friend Jane is the general manager. Unfortunately I was detained by Sheikh Nasralla, and arrived a half hour late for dinner, but was received by enthusiastic applause by theresidents of Nes Ammim. Kabbalat Shabbat began in the dining room, and was interrupted by the sirens announcing still another rocket attack, and continued in the shelter. Dinner then continued with grilled fish and plenty of wine. July 25th My friend Barry from Adamit is the person who has really been pounding the keyboard throughout this war, but I'll let off some steam and pass some time today. I've been publishing my daily cartoon - that keeps my head working, but I'll write a joint letter - please forgive me - since I don't have time to write to everyone separately. I'm not going to write about politics or the war itself - enough news is available, and I'm too worn out with it all to write down my opinions. I'll just tell you a bit what life has been like here on Ben-Ami. But I first have to say that I can't believe the amount of support and caring that I have received from friends, and I won't forget it. People have called, emailed, "skyped", sent SMS messages to check on me after each attack, and it's been very, very helpful to me. These are rough times and it's nice to know that people care. No phone calls are bothersome at all. I have decided not to leave home, except for a short stint in Tel Aviv, mostly to see Yael and Itai, attend Rotem's birthday party in her kindergarten and to play music in the Irish pub. This is what we northerners are calling a trip to "recharge the batteries" - to go to Tel Aviv, where you don't even feel that there is a war going on, take a breather, and then come home again. I really don't want to leave home, and feel best here, even with all the shaky moments I've had here lately. I can't quite figure out yet what my attachment to Ben Ami is, aside from it simply being part of the Galilee and part of Israel. I don't think I will ever be attached to Ben Ami like I was attached to the kibbutz, but any thought of leaving for any length of time - even for three hours today - leaves me raving to get back home again. Saturday was the worst barrage yet. Rockets zoomed over the house - I heard their motors whirring and the breaking of concrete as they hit. Shouting over the racket in what I can only call desperation and anger over the phone to my friend Carol in Jerusalem, I asked: “Where is our air force? Why isn’t this working? Why are they still shooting at us?” A particularly close landing was punctuated with a four-letter oath by me. The next day, Sunday, Dan called me and suggested that I come up to the kibbutz for a day to be in what is evidently a "safer" place. I think he was genuinely frightened for my safety in Ben Ami, which was rapidly turning into a heavily targeted area due to its proximity to Nahariya and the government hospital. Adamit is so close to the border that it has not yet been hit, even in past years most Katyusha attacks flew over us. It was a strange day - visiting the kibbutz for me is always a bit surrealistic - but I walked about with my two dogs all over the kibbutz and into the new housing plots, where Dan showed me a couple of new houses being built and the plot where he and Esther are about to build theirs. It is a spectacular sight. I was glad to get the dogs out - they are lucky to get a quick walk in the avocado orchard close to the house early in the morning when things are still quiet. In the afternoon I don't dare take them out far on any of my typical walking routes through the fields - getting caught in a barrage away from the house is not fun at all. The dogs end up getting exercised by chasing pine cones tossed for them off the patio. This of course, is not conducive to ME getting exercise, and I miss my long walks and the pool in Nahariya, which, needless to say, is closed. After this war is over, it's going to be a major challenge to get back in shape again! We've had a rough time here, but there are still a core of people here, mostly members, who have not left, even some with children. People come and entertain us - the renowned David Broza was here at the beginning of the war, and a comic public singing duo came today. Ordinarily I would not like this type of entertainment, but now I went just to have a good time and support these people, who are really endangering themselves by coming up here. Driving around the roads is not safe, and they are taking a lot on themselves by making the effort to come and boost our morale, instead of just staying in Tel Aviv and putting on another paid show. Every artist who has come here during the war will be invited to give a show here again for pay after the war is over. They deserve it. Out of over 2000 rockets that have hit Israel since the beginning of this mess, 18 have fallen in Ben Ami - Almost 1 percent have fallen on this tiny moshav, probably because it is located so close to Nahariya and opposite the hospital. Fortunately no one has been hurt, and damage has been limited to several potholes in the roads in the residential area and some bent shutters and broken glass. The rest fell in our nearby fields and orchards. My acute hearing and 30 years living in the Galilee has me well trained to differentiate between outgoing artillery and incoming rockets, and hearing them whirring overhead or exploding has me running for the security room - dogs following close behind (you've got to give them credit)! Once I'm there, I feel secure enough, and have to start calming the dogs, who get pretty freaked out by the noise. Someone should invent ear plugs for the dogs of northern Israel. Today I went to the hospital across the road to help entertain the 200 or so children of hospital workers, who are cooped up in the large underground complex under Nahariya hospital. This complex has been written up on CNN - a complete underground network complete with hospital facilities. I sang international folk songs for them until my voice gave out after three hours of trying to sing over the racket. There are a lot of adults there, and for the first time I saw people really get freaked out during a rocket attack - and in a super-safe underground shelter to boot. They unfortunately did little to calm the children, who are having a rough time as it is. It was difficult there, but I'm glad I did it. If I do any more performing I would prefer to take my Irish show around to adults in the shelters, but I need someone to drive me around to do it. I still may investigate this. It would be better than sitting home all day. When the rockets are not falling, there is an intense silence here, comparable to what it sounds like on Yom Kippur, when there are no tractors, no traffic on the road, and no distant loudspeaker or whistle from the Nahariya train station, which I often hear from my house. But this silence is spooky and not peaceful. July 29th I am back home again after a very surrealistic weekend. Getting to Tel Aviv for a two-day break from the constant rocket fire here was like planning a major military operation, involving a rendezvous with Itai on Highway 6 which extends down the length of the country through the central area, and getting back up here again with Itai. I left with neighbors on Thursday after the shooting finally died down and Itai met me on the highway at night and took me into Tel Aviv. Tel Aviv is a different world. No one seems at all aware of the intensity of the situation in the north, and are going about their business as usual, with the TV broadcasting news from what for them is a world far away - the war could, for all practical purposes, be in Afghanistan. I felt I was in a sort of cultural shock - suddenly you can walk outside again, sit in a coffeehouse, and the traffic! - I would give anything to see the irritating traffic jam from the nearby Kabri junction past Ben Ami and the hospital to Nahariya that occurs each morning, not to mention Nahariya itself and the constant bottleneck down Shderot HaGeaton, our main street. Our lovely little seaside town is now a ghost town and the main streets are filled with craters, broken glass, burned-out buildings, and a small population who has not left and are living in the shelters. Tel Aviv goes about its business as usual. It was good to see my family, dance with my granddaughter Rotem at her 3rd birthday party in the kindergarten, have a cup of coffee on Dizengoff, and of course - play in the Irish session in Molly Bloom's Irish pub, but I began to realize that I was much more tense away from home than I was at home. Last night Hizballah hit “the fourth floor of a medical institution in Nahariya - obviously Nahariya hospital, and I immediately grabbed my cellular phone to see what had happened on Ben Ami, which is right across the road. We got hit again in that same barrage - about 150 meters from the house. All I could think of was getting back home again - I spent the entire weekend worrying about the trip back with Itai driving through the Galilee, and worrying about Itai getting home again safely. We set out Saturday and the trip was uneventful, but when we turned at the Kabri junction sure enough - two pillars of smoke were rising just east of the hospital - two more landings. Itai is now safely back in Tel Aviv and for the first time in 48 hours I feel calm again. I can't really answer people who infuriate me by incessantly asking me why I don't go down and stay in Tel Aviv until the war is over. We're not heroes and we're not crazy and we're certainly not looking for this. The only answer that finally became clear to me as I was walking down the street in Tel Aviv is that I am filled with rage that the Hizballah wants to disrupt my life, terrorize me, and drive me out of my home. So I can only think that it is because of this rage that I am back in my security room (with masking tape purchased in Tel Aviv now covering the offending window, thanks to my son, who is tall enough to reach the top) and I am - for better or for worse - dug in for the rest of the war. I'm not leaving again until this is over. Sunday, July 30th So we will need to put up with another two weeks or so of this war, which still has no name? Early morning wake-up call by Hizballah had the dogs and me up at 6:00. There is terrible news of over 50 civilians in Kana killed in one of our air strikes - supposedly they were in a three-storey building that was next to a place where there were numerous katyusha launchers. Rimona, my friend here on Ben Ami says that it goes according to the Hebrew proverb “If you lie down to sleep with dogs, you are liable to wake up with fleas.” I’d say in the case of the Hizballah that it is more like “If a dog takes over your bed, you’ll wake up with fleas.” Or worse. Living in the north lets you know what it feels like to be a rabbit. You have your ears pricked up constantly, listening for any noise that might announce danger, and are constantly prepared to bolt underground. Even when I was in Tel Aviv my oversensitivity to noises outside never shut down. I was constantly aware of doors slamming, sirens, and other noises that at home would have me jumping off my computer chair under the window and onto the floor in the far corner. The amount of solidarity that has been shown by people throughout the country is amazing. I was pretty angry with a parody show showing David Broza singing (horribly) in a shelter and the residents fleeing upstairs, preferring to deal with the falling rockets than with the music. David Broza is a brilliant singer and guitarist, and the musicians and entertainers who have come up to entertain us are really putting themselves in danger driving around the roads They are greeted with appreciation and gratitude. Monday morning, July 31st It appears that the terrible air strike on a three-storey building in Kfar Kana is going to be once again, a turning point in the war, as was the previous attack on the same village in 1996. For those of you reading this abroad, there is some speculation as to whether or not our bombing the building was the direct cause of its collapse, since the building evidently collapsed several hours after the raid. It would be nice to know that it these 60 dead children and civilians were not our fault, but we may never know. A 48-hour cease fire (applying to our air force) has been declared to allow these poor people in Lebanon to get out and move north and for the U.S. to bring in humanitarian aid. It is still not clear whether or not this cease-fire applies to the Hizballah as well as our air force. It has been quiet for the past 12 hours - I had the luxury of sleeping in my own bed and not in the security room - but we have not yet been given any instructions that we can go out, and the roads are still completely empty and silent. Nonetheless - I’m going for a short walk. From Patrick, July 30th Bracha First of all I'm glad you are OK - believe me - not only do I know what it is like to experience a 'firing close', but I've had experience of a direct hit too - also from a Katyusha. Yep, we used to get it from all sides when either side was pissed off ! I appreciate that the strain as the thing goes on is cumulative. So, keep the head down - keep emailing...keep cartooning...keep composing ! You might not be receptive to this - in comparison to what's happening on the other side..... well....let's just say bad does not come within a thousand miles of describing it. Wednesday, August 2nd What a rough day! Nahariya how has an alarm system which sets the sirens off every time something goes up in the air. Supposedly. Unfortunately this system gives a very short warning before stuff starts falling - probably because we are so close. By the end of Wednesday 220 rockets had fallen over the entire north - the worst day so far. I lost count after about 12 alerts here (my brain is barely capable of keeping track of any two-digit number). So much for “cessation of hostilities”. The sirens have been going off on the average of every ten or fifteen minutes for the past two hours. I’m trying to arrange a little corner on the floor where I can sit, but every time I start, the siren goes off again! Each time it goes off, another dozen rockets land. I’ve stopped counting long ago. Even my dogs seem to have finally become immune to the noise and no longer get totally freaked out. Somebody sent me the following: In a recent interview, General Norman Schwartzkopf was asked if he thought there was room for forgiveness toward Hizbollah The General said, "I believe that forgiving Hizbollah is God's function. The Israelis’ job is to arrange the meeting ." Ah, so this is it. We have to do all the dirty work of cleaning up Lebanon of the Hizballah, while the world sits back and comfortably watches, all the while keeping close tabs on our military tactics, measuring our restraint (or lack of it), and waiting for any mistakes to be made to jump and condemn us. This is the reason why the US has not demanded a cease- fire. This is also the reason why we have not demanded one yet. There’s no good way out of this. I spend late Wednesday night on an hour-long phone call with my friend Pat, with whom I can discuss the situation. We have a good argument, I listen to his opinion, and, of course, after the exchange of verbal artillery ends, we still remain friends. For reasons I won’t reiterate here, Pat has a unique viewpoint on Israel, Lebanon, and the Middle East. But I’d prefer to be discussing this in a pub in Newbridge, County Kildare, and not in my security room with rockets going off in the background. Maybe I’ll visit my travel agent when the war is over and arrange that. Thursday, August 3rd Most Commonly asked question: What can we do to help? - I’ll tell you. Call. Email. I could not get through this without the computer and the contact through the Internet. Writing, drawing cartoons, and constant correspondence with people, is what gives me a boost. Knowing that people are concerned and worried is difficult, but at the same time, contact with people is what keeps me going. The more rockets start flying, the more the phone starts ringing and the SMS messages and emails start coming in. I have heard from friends that I haven’t heard from in years - under better circumstances it would be great, but the support, encouragement, and care is heartwarming. Today a woman called me from one of the national charities for handicapped children asking for a donation. I apologized, saying that I had inadvertently left my credit card in a store at Lev HaMifratz near Haifa the first day of the war, and was now unable to retrieve it. I can’t find the card number anywhere (my lack of organization triumphs once again) and efforts of Hassan, the pleasant clerk at the Bank HaPoalim hotline for northerners to reach my branch and get the number were unsuccessful because we were being attacked and the bank was closed… It’s like the song we used to sing when I was a kid; “There’s a hole in the bucket, Maria” with one thing leading to another and another until you’re back at the beginning again, left with the same problem. I asked the woman to call me back for a donation after the war was over. In the middle of this phone conversation, the sirens went off. The telemarketing clerk (probably from some office in Herzliya in the center of the country, heard it over the phone and cried, “What, are you having an alert there?” When I told her yes, but to continue the conversation, she answered in horror, “Aren’t you afraid?” I think my threshold of fear has risen somewhat, but I certainly can’t say that I wasn’t frightened when one of those missiles went flying over the house, motors whirring, clearly visible out the window, and exploded 100 meters away, followed by several others that were responsible for slight changes of the topography in Ben Ami. Whoever says they are not frightened in such situations is either nuts or lying. A really bad attack started on Thursday afternoon after what had been a relatively quiet day. Suddenly all the sirens all over the Galilee started going off, and all hell broke loose - rockets falling all over - one sounded like it either fell in our avocado grove in back of the house, or across the road. (This was later verified as the rocket that landed in the fields in back of our house, recorded on my neighbor Zeev's video). All of us were calling each other to check to see if everyone was all right. In the evening Dan came to pick me up to take me to play a concert in the shelter in Adamit. As he rounded the Kabri junction the sirens went off again, and I heard explosions. Dan pulled into the yard and I ran out onto the patio to call him inside with only a towel wrapped around me! I was relieved that he arrived safely, though he did recommend that I wear something a bit more conservative for the performance… Playing my music, I would have completely forgotten about the war, had I not been in a shelter and had my performance not been accompanied by the loud booms of our artillery firing into Lebanon. Driving back home to Ben Ami down the winding Adamit road I looked down from the mountain at the view of the Galilee with the lights of all the settlements below. The night was perfectly silent, and a beautiful crescent-shaped moon hung in the sky. It was hard to believe we were at war. Friday Afternoon, August 4th It looks like we are heading for another 200+ rocket day. A dozen alarms (once again, I stopped counting) have gone off in the past two hours, and we just took a really bad barrage. Let me explain just what this means as far as moving about: The distance between my house and the neighbors on either side of me is about 20 meters in either direction. This means that if I am caught in the middle and the siren goes off, I have about two seconds to run 10 meters. I am not an Olympic runner, so - no go. Going anywhere this afternoon, with several alerts sounding every hour followed by loud explosions and shaking windows discourages me from making a neighborly call to bring over some fruit from the kibbutz which I was given last night. (This fruit was gathered by members, since it has not been picked and will fall off the trees). Fruit delivery will have to wait until sundown. Terrifying accounts of victims caught outside - and there were more today - make me feel that I just don’t want to take the risk of venturing out in the afternoon. This morning we received an announcement of an hour-and-a-half “window” for “refreshment and organization.” I sped to the grocery store on my bicycle to buy dog food - keeping to the side of the road where there is a cobblestone lined drainage ditch. I am calculating how long it would take me to stop the bike, jump off, and get in the ditch. Not a comfortable solution either. Would I call this a “last ditch” solution if caught outside? But in all seriousness, I am beginning to have my doubts. Each day sees terrible news of more of our soldiers killed, more victims of katyusha strikes, an endless parade of funerals. This campaign or incursion or military action war or whatever this nightmare is - which still has no name - why isn’t it working? If we supposedly have a 6-kilometer security zone, why does Hizballah still bombard us each afternoon? My friend Pat wrote me: “You might not be receptive to this - in comparison to what's happening on the other side.....well....let's just say bad does not come within a thousand miles of describing it.” I am receptive to it. And it’s no consolation. Saturday, August 5th Today three Arab women - a mother and two daughters from the village of Arab El Aramsha - our neighbors near Adamit - were killed by a direct hit on their house. It is becoming increasingly clear that Hizballah’s katyusha rocket attacks do not discriminate between Jews and Arabs. The first was a carpenter from Iblin who was killed in a barrage in Haifa, followed by people from Deir El Assad near Karmiel, Megrar, and Tarshiha. Unfortunately many of these victims were killed in their homes which - unlike a security room - are built of cinder blocks and have no protected space. This makes the situation even more tragic. We were given an all-clear about 9:15 in the evening. This is the golden opportunity for a walk with the dogs. I start around the block, and there are practically no cars on the road at all. The most predominant thing I notice is how empty the moshav is. Most of the residents of the new neighborhood - generally renters who have not lived in Ben Ami for a long time - have left, and the houses are dark and deserted. (One of these deserted houses took a hit last week). Only the houses where members live are lit up, and even many of those families - particularly those with small children - have left. I think about my normal life - an early morning trip to Nahariya for a swim, maybe a coffee, some errands, and home again to work. It seems like eons ago. July 13th - the day the first katyushas fell nearby - was more than three weeks ago. I long to see the annoying traffic jam from the hospital into Nahariya in the morning, the crowd of people standing on the steps of the bank at 8:29 waiting for it to open, the long line of people in the post office and the waiting customers in the hardware store that always seems to be packed. All of these seem very distant, and Nahariya is now a ghost town. Sunday, August 6th This has been the worst day yet. A terrible attack at Kfar Giladi in the morning, and another barrage of five rockets on Haifa in the evening. I think it is time to stop. It is becoming more and more obvious that we cannot solve this problem of the Hizballah sitting with their huge weapons cache on our northern border by use of military force. Even if they get pushed back to the Litani - and I don’t know how many lives on both sides that will cost - they will still be able to shoot at us. The old concepts of distance that it takes to keep an enemy from attacking just aren’t applicable any more. Star wars is now the thing. You can make war on a country thousands of miles away without even one soldier crossing the border. I find that I, like my dogs, am becoming more and more used to the noise and racket that goes on all afternoon. It takes a much closer landing to rattle me than at the beginning. This does not mean I’m not scared and it doesn’t mean that I have become careless. On the contrary - I am more afraid to venture out any distance once the “safe” part of the day is over. How long does it take to write up a cease-fire agreement? Is this procrastination due to the fact that military people here and the Americans are dragging this thing out just a bit longer, to ensure that the army penetrates as deep into Lebanon as possible? But as they advance further north they are passing by a lot of people running around with rocket launchers. Enough already. There has been too much loss of life on both sides of the border to warrant any more of this. Tel Aviv, 9 August How very absurd it is that one can get on a bus, and within less than two hours, move from a war zone being bombarded by rockets and rumbling with our own artillery day and night, to Tel Aviv where life continues as normal, with only an underlying current of concern, efforts to help northerners and soldiers, and what appears to me to be a vague sense of tension. It is hard for me to be in Tel Aviv. All the fear, tension, and rampant imagination that I don’t allow myself to feel at home comes out here. At home I feel safe, in control, I know what is going on. Here I am removed from it all. I fear I am losing my sense of humor. Talking to my friend Dan from Adamit on the phone, I realize that we northerners have developed our own special war culture and absurd way of life of mutual concern, quipped conversation, and even a type of black humor (“Want coffee at my house? Come on over just before the 4:00 barrage…” “The air conditioning in your car’s broken? No problem, you’ll have the windows open and hear the sirens more easily.” Got to wash the floor. If the house falls down, at least it will be clean..”) We joke about the rockets constantly. It’s our way of dispelling fear. This is not implying that people in the center of the country do not care. They do. But remembering the humor on the TV satire show “Eretz Nehederet “ that so infuriated me at the beginning of the war - a skit about a mobile phone company offering SMS messages to let you know where the latest barrage had hit - I realize now that northerners could write these things about themselves and get a good laugh, but watching other people who do not live here produce and write such things only makes us feel that they can laugh because they don’ t really know. Even my daughter Yael - who grew up on the border with occasional rocket attacks said, “I can’t even imagine what it must be like.” Today’s news showed stockpiles of rockets discovered by our soldiers when they captured a Hizballah position. I gasped when I saw the piles of hundreds of katyushas. We let the Hizballah build up this huge arsenal along our northern border for six years. They have about 10,000 short range rockets. We’ve received about 3,500 by now (on Tuesday the total number was 3333). I cannot believe that in this civilized world there is no other way to end this conflict than to simply shoot it out. But what the hell are we trying to do anyway? Disarm the Hizballah? By dragging this out so that they finish shooting off everything they have and the north of Israel and the south of Lebanon are turned into a desolate, smoking ruin, so physically, economically, and agriculturally and ecologically damaged that it will take years to repair? How many more civilians on both sides and how many more of our soldiers are going to have to die before this is over? This is what will make us capitulate and agree to a cease- fire even before this threat is removed. This country cannot tolerate loss of life. And the sad thing is that if we take steps to stop this conflict now, we will be faced with it again in the future as long as all those weapons are sitting up there within range of the Galilee. And the world will do nothing. I feel very grim, desperate and angry. We are - for all practical purposes, fighting Iran and Syria. That’s where all this weaponry comes from. It’s merely in the hands of other people - though I daresay there are probably more than a few Iranians up there who have gone to join the Hizballah. And the Americans are sitting back - critical if we overreact, happy that we are dealing with Iran and holding the fort in the Middle Ease against Moslem fundamentalism for them. What other country in the world would put up with 200 rockets fired on their civilian settlements on a daily basis? Let’s see what America or France would do if their border was attacked even once, and then talk about restraint. Friday, August 11th One crappy birthday I had this year. It’s postponed until after the war when I’m going to have one hell of a party. I want cake, candles, and presents, which I did not get. I spent my birthday running around Tel Aviv in the heat, getting a new credit card to replace the one I left in Haifa at the beginning of the war. Special quick service allowed me to pick up a new card in 2 hours. (northerners get anything they want in Tel Aviv!) Then back home through Haifa at night. The trains now run only as far as Hof HaCarmel in south Haifa. From there you have to go outside (something I would not dare do during the day) and stand in line to wait for the security check to go through the tunnel to the adjoining bus station, and from there take the shuttle to Lev HaMifratz, the north Haifa station. I have never been on such a bus ride. Busses are packed because everyone who wants to go north has to continue by bus in lieu of the train. The bus is like a rolling sardine can. The driver careens madly through Haifa, stopping only to pick up anyone stuck outside in the street waiting for a bus. I, stuck standing in the doorway, hang on for dear life, trying to talk on the phone and report to my anxious friend Dan where I am. The passengers are tense and silent, there is none of the usual chatter, shoving, Middle-Eastern racket that usually goes on. Everyone here wants to get where they are going - FAST. The bus pulls into Lev HaMifratz 40 minutes later and we Naharians make a dash for the bus to Nahariya, which immediately pulls out and goes speeding through the north Haifa suburbs, Acco, and finally stops in southern Nahariya where service ends - the rear command forbids the drive through town. I grab a taxi and go home. Dan calls from Adamit on Friday afternoon in a tense, excited voice: “Have you heard the news?” Is the pope Catholic? I listen to the news all day! “What news?” I ask stupidly. He reports that a katyusha has landed in the parking lot underneath the dining hall at Adamit, breaking the windows of the offices and totaling his son Gai’s old car which was parked in the lot. Thank goodness nobody was hurt because everyone was at home or in the shelters. Suddenly I am frantic with worry, and then realize the absurdity of it all. I am exactly in the same position as they are, probably worse. Hits in Ben Ami have come closer to my house than this one was to Dan’s. But it’s always worse to worry about someone else. That’s one way to collect insurance on an old car… Saturday, August 12th A cease-fire agreement! The process of moving such an agreement from the table of the United Nations Security Council to southern Lebanon and Northern Israel will probably be as slow and cumbersome as trying to get through the worst labyrinth of good old Israeli bureaucracy. I am afraid that there are thousands more rockets and missiles that are either going to be used now - with no cease fire - or kept in ready for when things start up again in the future after the cease - fire has been put into effect, an international “peace-keeping force” (that term still seems to me to be a paradox in itself) is instilled, overwhelmed, quits, and goes home with its tail between its legs just like the other ones have. Those rockets are not there to defend Lebanon. They are there to be used on us. The day is perfectly quiet as Tzahal moves north towards the Litani. At 3:00 the sirens go off again and I hear landings in the area. The uncertainty of what is going to happen is making everyone tense. I need a long walk. Maybe at about midnight… Sunday, August 13th The last day? No one seems to know what will happen tomorrow when the cease-fire agreement take effect. By 9:30 it was evident the Hizballah was in the process of disarming itself as fast as they could by firing one barrage after another. The pictures on my computer of the wreck of Dan’ s son’s car and the shattered glass and walls of the offices under the dining room at Atamit unsettled me. I no longer felt totally secure with my taped-up window here. The sirens began to sound constantly. I soon reached the conclusion that I was not going to get any work done and decided to make a run for the neighbors’ shelter for a couple hours of 100% security underground! I waited until the next barrage was finished, threw upon the front door, counted to three, and charged down the path calling the dogs after me through the gate and up to Danny and Naomi’s house. I reached the door of the shelter as the siren went off again. The two hours I spent in the shelter playing Taki (a great Israeli kids’ card game), watching cable TV, and solving a crossword puzzle, settled me down somewhat. I returned home two hours later, and was less rattled during the two hours of almost constant rocket fire that continued through the late afternoon. Jackie did not call me for another radio broadcast. I am glad she did not. I cannot read any anecdotes over the radio after the news has broadcast lists of the names of soldiers fallen in Lebanon. I eel depressed and tired and uncertain. It is now after 9:00 at night. Is this really the end? Will the sirens really not go off tomorrow? I am doubtful that the Galilee will be permanently safe at this point. I doubt that the Hizballah will be answerable to this cease fire, and as long as our soldiers are there they will continue to fight. And will every gang with a rocket launcher that the army has not found yet obey? Before I take a long walk around Ben Ami, I’ll need a lot more reassurance. Monday, August 14th I hope that this will be the last entry in this diary. Uncertainty of what the day would bring (and the cold, wet nose of Nuala, my smaller dog) had me up before 5:00 this morning. Apprehensive about the possibility that the rascals across the border would give us one last round before the ceasefire took affect at 8:00 made me decide to move to the security room and go back to sleep. The siren went off for what I hope will be the last time at 7:30, and I heard what I thought were a couple of distant landings. Glued to the TV and cup of coffee in hand, I watched at 8:00 approached and finally arrived. The entire morning has been utterly silent. It is an eerie, tense and uncertain calm. We are still cautioned to stay indoors, and a small skirmish this morning initiated by a member of the Hizballah firing on our troops reminds us of just how fragile this ceasefire agreement is. One rascal getting out of hand with a rocket launcher or a trigger - happy person on either side, and the whole thing will collapse. What are soldiers to do if they confront armed Hizballahj? Shoot? Ignore them? Shake hands? No one quite knows. I won’t even begin to speculate here about the near or far future. Perhaps this terrible month is nothing but another episode in the long saga of the Middle East and another stage in the rapidly polarizing conflict between the Western world and Moslem fundamentalism. At this point it is hard to say. Probably both. During the past month I have corresponded with friends, family, and people whom I have not seen for years and people whom I have never met before. All have been supportive, concerned, and helpful, and I want to thank you all for that. A friend of mine has called and told me that if things stay quiet she wants to come for the weekend. “I’ll take you wherever you want. Do whatever you want - shop, go to the beach, you name it.” I don’t know what to do first. Everything seems a luxury. But nothing will ever be quite the same for me again. On the spur of the moment I wrote my friend Jim, residing for the summer in Canada, that the more we have to deal with in life, the stronger we get. I hope this makes us all stronger, because living in this country, who knows what the future may bring. Bracha |
War Diary
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