The knife’s edge
The past few days have been a whirlwind.
The West Bank, Gaza, Israelis, Palestinians, security checkpoints, barbed wire fences, the Western Wall, the Judean Desert, falafel, hummus, Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Jews, Muslims, Christians, machine guns. I’ve eaten lunch in a Bedouin tent, touched the cross on which Jesus was crucified, floated in the Dead Sea, experienced the Shabbat in Jerusalem and stood within 800 meters of the Gaza Strip.
I’ve barely had enough time to catch my breath and I wouldn’t have it any other way; we’ve seen more on this trip than most people see in a lifetime.
Yesterday, the whirlwind stopped.
Situated within a short jog of the Gaza Strip in southern Israel, Nahal Oz is a community that sees more rockets than birthdays. Looming barbed wire fences encircle the kibbutz (read: an agricultural communal settlement) while military personnel speed by in SUVs. Children play on swing sets and go to school within feet of several bomb shelters, which are painted with bright colors to try and lighten the eery atmosphere.
It’s a community on the edge of one of the most volatile war zones in the world. But for those that live there — it’s home.
Yael Raz-Lachyani was born and raised in Nahal Oz and said, despite the danger, that she never wants to move. Think about that for a second. This woman lives in constant fear of Hamas, the terrorist organization that controls the Gaza Strip. She has 2–5 seconds to react after a missile is launched at the kibbutz, if the warning system works. She sends her kids to school knowing that one day she’ll have to explain to them why she put their lives in danger. But none of that really bothered her. Sure, she admittedly has fears and understands the danger her family is in by living in the kibbutz, but there’s no other option. She can’t give up her home.
We’ve seen this again and again in Israel: families living in dangerous or politically contested areas with a seemingly total disregard for common sense. Whether it be near Gaza, in the West Bank, or even in the heart of Jerusalem—the tenacity of the Israeli people is unparalleled. They will stop at nothing to protect their homeland and try to maintain a sense of normalcy despite the constant threat of danger.
Yesterday, I felt that danger.
Right after we left Tel Aviv, an Arab Israeli opened fire on people sitting outside a pub near Dizengoff Square. He killed 2 and injured 7 with the assault rifle he took from his father, who worked in security. The event comes after months of regular attacks, including car rams and stabbings, by Palestinians against Israelis in the West Bank and elsewhere. But this was in Tel Aviv, what most Israelis consider a bubble. And not only in Tel Aviv, but in the city center — a place we visited the day before the attack. It could’ve been me. It could’ve been anyone.
I’d never felt more vulnerable than I did after hearing the news. But that’s the way Israelis live their lives every single day. The country is perched on a knife’s edge; everywhere we go, we’re reminded of the threat that the country faces from its enemies. Israeli Defense Force soldiers walk through the streets with machine guns, college students explain to us what it’s like to study in bomb shelters at school and a bodyguard escorts us to the Old City of Jerusalem. There is never a day when you don’t think about the possibility of being attacked.
To me, it’s insane to think that the Jewish People are willing to risk everything to live under threat on a strip of land in the Middle East. But it’s also admirable—they won’t let fear stop them from pursuing their vision. It’s a quality a lot of us could benefit from, one that I think I’ve come closer to during my time in Israel.
Below are the trip highlights from yesterday, as depicted in the fifth Snapchat story of my trip.
As for today, none of the 30+ snaps I posted from the Old City of Jerusalem saved, so I gave up on my story. Maybe it’s for the best; Jerusalem is a special city that you really can’t capture through pictures or videos. It’s melodramatic, but perhaps today wasn’t meant to be recorded—just experienced.
C’est la vie.