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n Israel, every day is still Oct. 7.
It has been that way for me, too.
That is why I had to go to Israel.
Every morning, and countless
times each day, I check the news
from Israel. It is not enough, but
in some ways, too much. So much
tragedy. So much suffering. So many
unknowns.
On top of that, I find myself
disgusted by the lies and extremism
of those condemning Israel,
frustrated by the media that doesn’t
challenge them, and with the lack
of action to set the record straight.
Though following every political
twist and turn, I felt far away. I
wanted to be there for my Israeli
family and friends, and for the
country and people. It might seem
counterintuitive, but, for me, being
in Israel during a war would be less
stressful than being here.
So, on March 12, coincidentally
the 52nd anniversary of my bar mitzvah, I
went to Israel for a two-week visit. I went to
see, support and learn. I lived in Israel for
two years and have been there nearly two
dozen times. I’ve been there during war
before, but this time was unlike any other.
Two experiences stand out, and I can
relate both to Rod Serling’s often-disturbing
’60s sci-fi classic, The Twilight Zone.
My first full day in Israel, I found myself
in downtown Kfar Saba, about 20 minutes
north of Tel Aviv. Wandering the main
shopping area, it appeared normal, but it
didn’t feel normal. People were more curt
than usual. No smiles and little eye contact.
Stores were open on Weizman Street, the
city’s main drag, but there weren’t many
shoppers or others on the street. Signs with
pictures of the hostages taken by Hamas
and calls for their release were everywhere,
as were signs promising (hoping?) that with
unity there would be victory. A woman at
an art gallery suggested I move to Israel
quickly, as antisemitism was on the march
all over the world.
It reminded me of the Twilight Zone
episode where everything seems normal
- until you realize it isn’t. That there is
something going on that you can feel but
not see.
Days later, I was on the Gaza border in
Kibbutz Nir Oz, and things again were
surreal. On Oct. 7, one-fourth of the 400
kibbutz members were either murdered
or taken to Gaza as hostages. The kibbutz
was not open, but we were able to visit
because my friend had relatives there,
including one who was murdered and
one who was taken hostage (she was
released during the ceasefire). We walked
among the destroyed and burnt homes
of the kibbutz. Personal items, furniture
and children’s toys were strewn across
the ground. Posters of those murdered
or abducted were on many of the houses.
There were piles of stones and sand that
had been sifted by ZAKA units in their
search for human remains to bury.
Unlike Kfar Saba, it was abundantly
clear that things here were not normal.
But still, the scent of flowers and plants,
birds chirping, and a gentle wind made it
appear pleasant and welcoming. It was still
a beautiful and lush setting, but something
was missing: There was nobody there. It
was as if everyone was somewhere else
on the kibbutz and would be coming out
momentarily. But they weren’t.
Rony, my friend’s cousin who lived on
Nir Oz, has been cleaning up the kibbutz
almost every day for four months. When I
asked him why he was there every day, he
said, “My heart is closed. I work because it
helps. I work because I don’t understand.
”
ABOVE: This calendar sold at Hostage
Square creatively shows how every day is
overshadowed by Oct. 7.
RIGHT: This artwork by Yael Yeffet
displayed at Hostage Square expresses
how the author and Israelis he spoke with
often feel when asked how they are doing.