Someone told me before I left that there are two Israels now—one that existed before October 7th and one after. I came on this mission with nine rabbis, Sarah Diamond, the Manager of Synagogue Initiatives and the Executive Director of Federation GMW, Dov Ben-Shimon, to learn what the “after” was.
I came ready to listen, witness and stand in solidarity with my Israeli family.
Our flight from Newark was full but not with tourists. Not one in sight. There were many hasidic families either flying to visit family or to return home. There were yeshiva students resuming their studies after a delay. There was a woman who had planned to come here for a visit before October 7th and decided she would keep her plans despite the war, now she too was heading home. Retired, she said she planned to find volunteer opportunities to help with the war effort. The mood on the plane was subdued and somber. The pilot even made a personal announcement stating that he was, “dedicated to taking us home safely and sweetly.” After a long, sleepless night and the worst airline food I have ever tasted, dawn broke as we drew near to the Israeli coast.
With the sliver of light from the new day I wondered, what would await us when we landed? What changes would we see in a nation that had just undergone the most horrific slaughter of Jews since the Holocaust? Would we be a help or a burden? How would our visit be perceived and accepted? I had more questions than answers. This was a trip into a once familiar but now unknown land at a moment of deep mourning.
Differences immediately revealed themselves. If you’ve ever flown into Ben Gurion you know there is an exciting moment when the beach comes into view and the towers of Tel Aviv glimmer. You pass right over the city on your way to the airport. This time there was no city, there were no lights. All flight plans now come in through the north between Netanya and Haifa and then fly directly south from there. Tel Aviv is considered too close to Gaza for comfort.
As is customary on El Al, there was applause when we landed and then the usual balagan of deplaning but it still seemed more subdued and restrained. Taxiing up to the gate, another change. There were no other planes at Ben Gurion except El Al and Arkia (the domestic airline). No Delta. No United. No British Air. They’ve all stopped landing. El Al is now their one critical lifeline to the world.
After exiting the jetway we saw signs pointing us to the nearest bomb shelter. What had been a faraway war on cable news was now very real.
After flying through passport control with a wonderful fixer to help us, we came through the vast ticketing hall. Usually this is an absolute sea of humanity at all hours and a completely insane scene. You can wait two hours in this queue. But this morning, empty. Not a soul coming or going. It wasn’t just the early hour. Tourism, a five billion dollar driver of the Israeli economy, had simply disappeared overnight. The shockwaves to the economy will be significant.
After a much needed and delicious Aroma cappuccino, we waited for two more rabbis, Matt Gewirtz and Dan Cohen, to rendezvous with us. They had arrived the day before with donations. The bus then headed for Mitzpe Ramon to meet with survivors of Kibbutz Erez, now housed at a youth hostel. As we left the airport, our fabulous coordinator, Keren, gave us a security briefing. We had two armed guards with us at all times, one on the bus and one following in a car. We also got instructions on what to do if there was a “Tzevah Adom” (Red Alert) while on the highway. If we could pull over, get out of the bus and crouch down on the roadway covering your head. If not, duck down under the level of the windows. You have about a minute to do this, 45 seconds as we went farther south. A war that a few hours ago was only on my phone was now visceral.
I love looking out at the moving Israeli landscape. I never get tired of it. First we were in a more urban, industrial area, traveling down through the Hod HaSharon, the Plain of Sharon. Soon, we moved into hills of desert scrub with Bedouin shanties on them. Lastly, we entered the Negev. Sandy and rocky hills came into view as the bus followed a twisting and turning route ever further south and closer to Gaza. On the way we had the chance to catch a glimpse of the Iron Dome that covers that area of the country. Impossibly tall, with a top shining and beaming in the sun, it reminded me of a lighthouse. It was on guard. Without it functioning properly, many of the 9,000 rockets fired by Hamas would have killed thousands. But its very success, according to some, led to the security failures which led to October 7th. Israel became both too complacent and too tech reliant. Our first visit would be with people who were not complacent. Thanks to a series of miracles, and some luck, they were able to survive October 7 with only a few losses. The wounds were fresh, the battle had begun, and we were ready to bear witness to the story of Kibbutz Erez.
