 MAY 14 • 2020 | 33

N

obody in Israel’
s Gaza 
Envelope communities 
can quite remember 
when the last escalation round 
with Hamas occurred. “Was it 
last August…? No, we’
ve had 
some rockets falling later than 
that. December? Yes. It was 
December,
” Adi Batan-Meiri 
recalls.
The 32-year-old has been liv-
ing near the Gaza border for over 
a decade, climbing all the way 
from a first-year student studying 
media at Sapir College in the 
Negev, to her current, sleep-
deprived role as the spokesper-
son of Sha’
ar HaNegev Regional 
Council.
“People think that because we 
are so-called ‘
used’
 to lockdowns, 
then we are somehow more 
immune to this new situation 
that was imposed on us with the 
coronavirus. This couldn’
t be fur-
ther from the truth,
” she says.

What has become clearer amid 
the global pandemic, she claims, 
is that people living in the Gaza 
Envelope communities have lost 
hope completely.
“Even before this outbreak 
— namely after March’
s elec-
tion — it was obvious that the 
government has accepted the 
absurd situation in Israel’
s South. 
That every few months we will 
suffer from rockets, accept it and 
move on,
” she says. “
And as if this 
wasn’
t bad enough, the corona 
came.
”

MENTALLY EXHAUSTED
With more than 15,000 con-
firmed COVID-19 cases and 
over 200 deaths in Israel as of 
April 30, Israelis living within 
Hamas’
 missile range are afraid 
the coronavirus will be the last 
straw that would break their oth-
erwise-ingrained sturdiness.
Yam Braude-Amitai and her 

husband have been living near 
the Gaza border their entire lives. 
Born in a kibbutz under constant 
security threat, Braude-Amitai 
never doubted wanting to build a 
home in the area. Until now.
“People keep asking why we 
just don’
t get up and leave. It’
s not 
that simple,
” she explains. 
After living and working in 
various countries around the 
world, changing location is no 
threat to the 33-year-old com-
munity relations manager. But it’
s 
not the move she’
s afraid of.
“
A stranger won’
t understand. 
Even if we leave, our parents are 
here, our friends are here. It’
s not 
like the concerns will magically 
vanish. Our entire lives are root-
ed in this place, and if it’
s not us 
who are under threat, then it’
s all 
of our loved ones,
” she explains.
The election results, howev-
er, which came weeks after the 
area was shelled with rockets yet 
again, sowed doubt in her mind. 
“We don’
t have to live here,
” she 
says. “It’
s an active choice, and 
one that I get more and more 
hesitant about with time.
”
Even before the coronavirus 
outbreak, the sense of communal 
strength was starting to crack. 
“People are just exhausted,
” 
Batan-Meiri shares. “We don’
t 
know what to tell our kids any-
more, which excuses to pull from 
the hat this time. Even we have 
our mental limits.
”

NO ALERTING SIRENS
Roughly 65,000 people live in 
the Gaza Envelope communities, 

according to the Israel Central 
Bureau of Statistics. But hun-
dreds of thousands more live 
within the missile range, includ-
ing more than 220,000 in the 
coastal city of Ashdod, and over 
145,000 in the city of Ashkelon, 
located merely 10 miles from the 
Gaza Strip border.
“You could almost say that the 
corona crisis has added insult to 
injury,
” says Sapir Fischer, who 
moved from Sderot to Ashkelon 
a few years ago. Not seeing many 
people on the street is one thing, 
she says, “but at least during 
escalation times we can still hang 
out with friends or visit our fam-
ilies.
”
Her 5-year-old daughter 
understands why she can’
t go 
outside to play. “She’
s used to it,
” 
Fischer says with a smile, “but 
now I also have to explain to her 
why we can’
t see grandma or go 
to kindergarten.
”
Batan-Meiri shares the same 
feelings. The coronavirus out-
break was able to catch even her 
off-guard. “Give me rockets over 
corona any day,
” she laughs. “
At 
least that’
s a crisis we’
ve learned 
how to masterfully manage.
”
While neither Fischer nor 
Batan-Meiri have plans to leave 
the area, Braude-Amitai is more 
hesitant. Today, with two small 
daughters, she’
s no longer certain 
of the life she chose for them and 
herself.
“We grew up on the notion 
that what we’
re doing is, in fact, 
the new Zionism,
” she says. “But 
when my partner tells me none 
of this is worth my fear, my anx-
iety, I don’
t know what to answer 
him. Could be that he’
s right?
“We’
ve built our home here; 
our daughters were born here,
” 
she adds, as a tear starts running 
down her cheek. “But if another 
siren goes off now, in the midst 
of all this, I don’
t know what I’
ll 
do. I love this area to death — 
but I wouldn’
t want this meta-
phor to become reality.
” 

Eretz

DANA REGEV

DANA REGEV

Dana Regev
Life in the
Gaza Envelope

Between rockets, elections and coronavirus, 
life on the Gaza border must go on.

DANA REGEV CONTRIBUTING WRITER

Adi Batan-Meiri

Yam Braude-Amitai, at home in Kibbutz Erez, with daughters Guy (5) and Yuval (3).

