The Devil is a very well known figure, whether we believe in him or not. I don’t think any person, no matter how atheistic, would have a problem imagining what the Satan looks and acts like.
Evil is about the blotting out of good. Witnessing evil acts changes us forever. It robs us of our hope and optimism.
I thought about those who work at the morgues today, and those whose job it was to pick up the dead bodies in the South. Chessed shel Emet, it is called, for it is giving in the true sense of the word. The dead cannot thank you. They just bear witness to the atrocities. These people are going to have a hard time going back to the real world, after having dwelled in the Valley of Death. One Zaka man, already collapsed and had be hospitalized. The sulphurous fumes of evil permeated and choked those who seek goodness.
And so to my point. The world points at the ‘atrocities in Gaza’ and accuses us of genocide. We know that this is merely a ploy to deflect the truth. No Israeli soldier wanted this war. Many of our soldiers were backpacking in India when they got their ‘Tzav 8’ to come home. Our army is one of defense.
Half of Gaza is children. This is true. But I ask one thing. These murderous terrorists were once children too. At what point did they lose their childhood? At what point did they become so tainted by hate that they could behead babies and proudly show off to their parents about killing 10 jews?
Did it start in kindergarten with the so called children’s programs that literally programmed them to hate the Zionist Pigs? Did it start in elementary, when they paraded with their suicide belts to their proud mothers? Or maybe in junior high, when their school play was an enactment of something similar to what happened three weeks ago?
We are not just talking about brainwashing here. We are talking about a person who believes their very life and existence is in order to kill Jews. That dying to this aim is the best thing they can do. That one lives in order to die and one dies in order to murder as many Jews as possible. Even the Nazis valued their own lives. Even animals value their own lives. If life itself isn’t sacred- then these people inhabit the very depths of hell itself.
I mourn death and loss because I treasure life. I thank God for each day I live and breathe. I never wished anyone dead. I can’t even get my head around someone whose very existence is about death.
But the deaths of so many in such horrific ways was a cause for celebration in the streets of Gaza. The men, women and children, who now huddle in the rubble of what was once their homes exist in order to die. They educate their children in this way. They voted for Hamas in an overwhelming majority, knowing full well that top of Hamas’ agenda was to wipe out the Jews from the face of the earth.
I will repeat. I do not wish the death of anyone. In the Tanakh, Jews were commanded to never forget what Amalek did to the Jews and to destroy Amalek utterly, including babes in arms. The concept exists. No Jew knows who Amalek is today. But I think God has given us a very good hint.
This past August, in the other lifetime that I have vague memories of before the terror attack, I spent a week on a special project organized by a leftist peace organization. The main goal of the organization was to unite us, Jewish and Palestinian teachers from East Jerusalem and to have them put political differences aside in order to focus on things that unite us (such as; being women, teachers, mothers, a shared history of suffering and loss in Israel, among others) rather than the politics that tear us apart.
I came in with an open mind. I was excited, as I always am, about talking to people I don’t have day to day contact with, whose culture and outlook I’m curious about and with whom maybe bridges could be built.
We had a very intense 6 days together. The idea was for us to eat and sleep in the premises of a church seminary in East Jerusalem, but circumstances dictated that we met in the morning and parted in the evening, with the exception of Thursday night, when we slept over.
It was exhilarating and it was exhausting. The techniques we were taught by the course organizers and trainers allowed us to tell our stories and listen attentively, without judgement. For the first time, I think, I finally realized the incredible difficulties that Palestinian East Jerusalem residents have, from being stateless to witnessing daily destructions of homes, police and military brutality, and endless and humiliating checkpoints. I came to the painful conclusion that regardless of who was fault, internal and external violence, ineffective leadership and a bloody history, these East Jerusalem educators, who were bright, expressive and sensitive, had a tough lot, objectively speaking. We, the Israelis the protectors and governors of this land were found wanting.
And I hoped that, after our story exchange, they too saw what the State of Israel meant to us, the Jewish women, how we had suffered from terrorism and wars and how, albeit ‘privileged’, our lot could hardly be described as simple either.
There were moments when I was able to see beyond and swallow uncomfortable truths. It was hard and painful. But at the end, I felt that tentative friendships and alliances had been formed.
By the time school began in September, I’d already been in touch with one of my new ‘sisters’ in Beit Hanina, with a view of a joint educational activity between her students and mine. I had reached out to offer help with preparing her students for the matriculation exams, of which I had more experience than she. She was more than happy to accept. There were some rays of hope, back then.
Then it was October 7th . Throughout that awful day, between news updates and the shocking footage, as the horror was slowly starting to sink in, I thought of these Palestinian women. I was hoping they would reach out to me and ask me how I was. I wanted reassurance that they distanced themselves from these horrific abominations committed in the name of Islam. I wanted the evil to be labelled as it was and thoroughly condemned.
Instead there was a deafening and ear-splitting silence. The first to reach out on the whatsapp group was none other than myself. Two of the Arab women wrote back pithy responses that are barely worth repeating. I felt doubly betrayed.
Our well-meaning organizer wrote to us two days later, wanting to set up a zoom session for us to ‘express our feelings and debrief’. I responded that I was only interested in such a meeting if it was preceded by a unilateral condemnation of the horrific acts of terrorism. The organizer (who is Jewish, let it be said) didn’t respond to me. For a week. After that she tried to ‘reach out’ to me again, and attempted to feebly defend the Palestinian ladies by saying ‘they have nothing to do with Hamas and Gaza – they are removed from them.’ This was obviously laughable, given the sights of celebration in victory in their very neighborhood. I mean, how ‘removed’ could Hamas actually be?
In the meantime the whatsapp waves of this ‘wonderful group of brave teachers’ has been silent, except for a word or two of carefully and neutrally crafted ‘support and sympathy’ from one or two of the organizers.
It’s hard to describe my feelings. It’s as if you spent a huge amount of emotional energy on a new relationship, only to discover that your lover had been unfaithful from the start, and whose intentions had never been for any form of exclusivity whatsoever. It was as if the relationship that you invested in had was a laughable joke from the start (only you were unaware of this), and then, when you finally called your lover out, they shrugged and asked you ‘what did you expect’.
But I don’t like the lover analogy. We’re talking life and death here. We’re talking about rape, murder, torture and kidnapping in the name of Islam. We’re talking about animals that use pathetic justifications of ‘freeing the Palestinian people) for their schadenfreude.
And we are talking about 3 educated women, mothers, teachers. We are talking about women who are supposedly devout and principled.
Well, my dear Palestinian ‘sisters’ – where are your principles when faced with the evil abominations of your people? Where is your moral compass? Are you so gutless and spineless that you refuse to even call out these disgusting acts? Are you so scared of the consequences from your family and community that you cannot even send us your thoughts and prayers? Tell us you are thinking of us? We have lost loved ones. We are shocked and grieving. We have sent our sons to a war we were forced into. Where is your concern? Moreover, where is your condemnation?
Believe it or not, we do think of you. We know that East Jerusalem right now is not a great place to be. We know you are scared of the future, of the army and police, of violence and insecurity.
But. But. There is evil in the world and it must be condemned. It is our moral obligation to condemn it. It is incumbent upon us as believers to say ‘Not my God’. For if we are quiet, then it is okay, it is acceptable. Then killing babies in their cribs is a justified expression of rage after seventy years of ‘apartheid and occupation.’
So, my dear Palestinian ‘sisters’. I wish you well. I wish that you see light in the darkness. I wish you will be able to distinguish lies from the truth.
But as for me, I must distance myself from anything which shrouds the essence of truth and good. I will not pussyfoot around evil in the name of ‘grievances and oppression’. I will call evil as it is. And if you will not do the same, then I no longer wish to share any space with you, physical, emotional, online or otherwise. My ‘sisters’, you will understand that this grave you have dug for yourselves is of your own doing and you have none other than yourselves to blame. For there is good in the world and there is evil. It’s as simple as that.
Being Israeli means so much to me. What I didn’t realize was that my connection to my people would mean that there are no layers to protect me from the true pain and suffering of my people. We have had the Holocaust, which destroyed so many members of my distant family. We have endured terror attacks, which have killed people I know and have filled me with fear. We have had rockets and missiles, which have caused destruction and chaos and sent us running to our sealed rooms. But this. This.
The memory of past ills pales in comparison. It’s as if our entire nation have entered a new bloody chapter of pain, mourning, betrayal and fear. This chapter is part two in the book of my life. As if part one my life in this country consisted of mainly happy moments, broken up by tears anger and frustration, to then be resumed again, when the temporary pain faded (though it was never forgotten).
When part two started, that Saturday morning of October 7th, Simchat Torah, I felt as if my life as it was had ended. All my priorities and irritations were scattered to the wind of הבל הבלים (‘all is vanity’) when I faced the reality of life and death and, moreover the survival of my tiny and beloved country.
There was nothing to prepare me for the utter horror of what had befallen us, endless funerals, news broadcasts that could drive a sane person mad, the non-stop stories, the desperate attempt to not become entirely preoccupied with the fate of those missing and abducted. And, of course, trying to come to terms the spewing of hate from all corners of the world.
In one day, entire families, communities, worlds upon worlds were completely destroyed in the cruelest and most sadistic of ways, while our enemies gloated, positively celebrated their barbaric acts, publicized them with pride and then continued to fire rockets and missiles over apartments, schools, farmers fields and beaches.
Within hours, our beloved sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, fathers and even grandfathers dropped everything and were summoned to war. Others simply showed up. We were shell-shocked. Words fell short of describing the gamet of emotions we felt. Basic human functions such as eating and sleeping became herculean feats. The mass trauma that was felt by every Jew in our country, nobody untouched, was something impossible to describe.
And I was the ‘fortunate one’, not the one burying loved ones, not the one sending family off to war. I was simply burying my own selfish dreams, hugging my loved ones tight and trying to switch my brain off when it all got too much.
‘How are you?’ my friends and family from around the world ask. ‘I’m like everyone else.’ is my response. I’m one of the weeping mourners of the national mass funeral of our beautiful innocents, I’m sitting on a low stool at the shiva of the heartbroken family of Israel. Tears are never far away, and it doesn’t take much to set them off. Just seeing a toddler on a swing in the park will do it.
And fear is never far away either. It’s waiting for you at 3am when you suddenly awaken from a dream of terrorists invading your home, or when your hear the wailing of sirens, or when your son or daughter hasn’t responded to your whatsapp message for a couple of hours, or when you hear a loud bang or a distant yell.
I’m desperately trying to protect myself from disturbing images, disturbing recordings or even disturbing stories but its almost impossible. My phone has become a brain polluter – I am happier when I don’t look at it at all. I listen to political commentaries in order to convince myself that perhaps I’m not going mad and perhaps there are those who see the truth. I want reassurance, but all I get is the gaping yawning question mark of what will become of my beloved country.
Our army is fine, strong and determined but the war will be long and bloody. It will be fought on the ground, on air and online. Our supporters are ready to jump into the arms of our enemies when it comes to ‘atrocities on both sides’. It is scary.
I attempt to fill myself with optimism. I know we are united. Our differences disappeared on that terrible day. Our enemies did not ask us if we were pro-reform or anti, or pro-peace or right wing, shomer shabbat or secular. They did not care whether we demonstrated for this or that. They didn’t even care whether we lived in the occupied territories or in Tel Aviv, whether we were Christian or Arab. They tortured, maimed, raped and killed everyone, babies and old age pensioners, young party goers or rabbis alike. And now we are all in the same boat. We are fighting for our right to exist as one nation on one land. And yes, the unity I am experiencing makes me feel optimistic.
We have been forced into action on every front. The outpouring of kindness is nothing short of miraculous. The injured in hospital had to turn away well-meaning visitors because they needed peace and quiet, the blood banks turned away eager donors and the soldiers begged us to stop sending them cakes and snacks.
Between fear and desperate sadness, I’m trying to get my head round this, all of this. After all, why me, why us? It’s a futile activity.
I know deep down that the only solution to my pool of despair is to sit in the house of God. As simple as that. The God of Israel is here, He is closer than ever and he wants his people close to Him. There are no leaders, there is no geo-political solution, there is no PR which will convince the world to stop believing the horrific lies of Hamas. When we are confronted with darkness, we must spread light. Our light comes from God. We know what is good and just. We know that God is one and we must be one. We know that being in God’s house means being without fear. We know that prayer will go much further than an instagram post.
I pray. I pray that our soldiers will be protected. That they will fight knowing that God is on their side. That the truth will come to light. That our enemies will be vanquished once and for all. I pray that hostages be freed, the mourners be comforted and I pray that God will not abandon me and, moreover that I will not abandon Him.
Tehillim (Psalms) – Chapter 3
A song of David, when he fled from Absalom his son.
insearchofdivinity 