Last year - 2023 - on the morning of October 7, Jews around the world celebrated the conclusion of the annual harvest festival called Sukkot. In 2023 it was a Saturday as well; the Sabbath. Sukkot celebrates as well the ancient Israelite Exodus from Egypt. If possible the festival is observed by building booths or tents (Sukkot) in which meals and prayers are offered. 

 

On that sacred morning last fall, when Jews were resting and observing the promises of harvest and homecoming, Israel was attacked. With a well coordinated land and air invasion Hamas terrorists struck from Gaza. The results were devastating. It resulted in the largest death toll of Jews since the holocaust. 

 

Six months later, in April, 2024 Sarah and I were able to travel to Israel as part of a solidarity tour. For a week we traversed the country and had informal interviews with Israelis both young and old. A collective trauma clings to the souls of the country. The day is now called ‘Black Shabbat’. 

 

On the final day our our tour we drove south to the boarder region of Gaza. It had been stabilized and we were able to drive unimpeded to the south. We were told by our main guide, Roni, that if sirens went off along the way we would exit the bus and seek the nearest safety. Fortunately, this was never the case. 

 

Outside of the city of Ashkelon our bus stopped to pick up a young Israeli by the name of Gefen. Gefen is 28 with thick black hair and a beard. His aquiline nose and piercing eyes presents the visage of a warrior. Instead, he spoke with a gentle voice as he began to share about his life since the 7th of October Massacre.

 

Our first stop was just opposite of the north-east tip of Gaza. Our group climbed off the bus and followed Gefen to a vantage point to overlook the city of Kahn Jounis  in Gaza. We were less than 2 miles away and could just make out the jagged remains of the city. Overheard was the whining buzz of drones. Behind us a lone tank rumbled by grinding up dust in its wake.

 

We returned to our bus and preceded further south along highway 3. Off to our left was the city of Sedrot, a favorite target of Hamas rockets. Fortunately the Iron Dome defense system had spared most of the inhabitants from damage. It high-rise apartments stood as prime targets for future raids. 

 

About ten miles further south we turned off the infamous Road 232. Our bus came to a stop as we awaited our kibbutz guide. We looked out the front windows and saw a woman pedaling a bicycle our way. As she got closer we could make out an older woman astride the bike. She got off and Gefen and she spoke together for a minute. It was Rachel our guide for our visit to her kibbutz; Kfar Azza. We were invited to get off and follow her to the entrance to the kibbutz. There we stood in a half circle and Gefen introduced her to the group. 

 

Rachel grew up in Kfar Azza and was 70. Her physique betrayed her age as she was fit, wore loose grayish hair, sunglasses and slacks. She explained she can no longer live in her home until the kibbutz is repaired, perhaps in two years time. 

 

Rachel explained she was the security point person for kibbutz. At 7:00am Saturday, October 7, the community alarm went off. She moved into her safe room and started making phone calls. No one answered when finally she got a text message from her sister. The kibbutz had been attacked by terrorists, the text said. Rachel then detailed for us how the morning unfolded. For the next 24 hours a pitched battle occurred between kibbutzniks, the eventual appearance of IDF soldiers and members of Hamas. Even days later, after all the residents had either been killed or evacuated, terrorists were found hiding in trash cans, ditches and thick bushes.

 

Rachel then walked us through the empty kibbutz. Each of the deserted homes were marked with spray paint. It noted the army unit that cleared the house of terrorists, and date. Some homes had multiple markings as Hamas agents would return throughout the chaotic three days.

 

The most sobering part of the kibbutz was the street of young people. A short avenue with about 15 small units on either side. This little community was where youth who had finished either high school or their mandatory military service would stay. Banners out front announced the victims names and their pictures. Behind them were either ransacked or collapsed homes. 

 

One of the homes belonged to a young woman whose parents had decided to make it into a shrine of sorts. Their daughter’s picture and name hung on a banner out front and Rachel told us that the parents wanted people to witness what her daughter experienced. We slowly entered the bullet ridden vestibule and stepped around the broken furniture within. The door to the safe room had been broken down and unspeakable signs of violence stood before us. 

 

Before leaving I noticed a memorial book for comments sitting on a counter. I wrote a short note expressing my deepest sympathy at their loss. In this tactile moment of pen on paper in this humble home I felt profoundly connected to the family. Finishing I stepped outside and broke down. 

 

The intimacy and domestic reality that we walked through was too much to hold in. The haunting absence of all the lives snuffed out was unbearable. I stood outside this young person’s home sobbing uncontrollably. Wracked with tears, Rachel walked up to me and asked, “May I give you a hug?” I fell into her arms and continued to cry with pangs of sorrow. After a few moments Rachel stepped back and said, “Thank you for coming.” Soon my dear Sarah appeared and continued to counsel my grief. 

 

The rest of the tour was a haze as I walked quietly among the ruins. Our group thanked Rachel for her guidance and wished her strength and patience as she and her beloved kibbutz began to rebuild their shattered lives. She thanked us for coming to witness the destruction of Hamas and asked for our prayers.

 

We returned to Road 232 and drove further south along the border of Gaza. This time we pulled off and entered the grounds of the annual autumn music festival. Every fall over 2,000 young Israelis gather to celebrate the festival of Sukkot by setting up tents among rows of Eucalyptus trees. It is a bucolic setting with an open space for dancing to the sounds of DJ’s play list later into the night.

 

Early on the morning of October 7th,  Hamas soldiers broke through the border and surrounded the festival and attacked while most of the campers were still asleep in their tents. Gefen explained that 364 youth were slain, just short of one for each day of the year. 40 more were taken as hostages and the rest fled for their lives. 

 

As we walked into the grounds of the music festival and through the trees we came to the open dance area. It now was studded with hundreds of wooden poles with the pictures and names of the victims attached. It was a somber setting. Young Israelis and soldiers walked among the memorials  whispering and taking a momentary cell phone photo of a lost friend or relative.  

 

As we boarded the bus our 3 Israeli guides were chatting at the entrance to the bus. They were all commiserating at the failure of the Israeli Military to intercept and prevent the attacks all along the 10 mile perimeter of Gaza. It was a bitter reality that their vaunted defense had let them down. 

 

Our final stop was an intersection on our way north. Behind a row of wire fences stood an automobile cemetery. We got off the bus and walked into the compound that was becoming a memorial. To our left was over a hundred burned out hulks stacked atop each other. Beyond these were thousands of cars riddled with bullet holes. These were the disturbing remnants of all the defenseless kibbutzniks and youth who fled along Road 232. Hamas was set up to ambush the road and poured bullets into the passengers sitting in the clogged traffic. 

 

Among those who came to visit the cemetery was a group of retired  Israelis, the ages of Sarah and me. They were with friends to finally venture south and see the carnage of the massacre. They were curious and grateful for our visit. They had grown up in America but had emigrated to Israel many years ago. They were grateful to live in this country but not sure about their neighbors. They were also skeptical about their current government and the way forward for the country. 

 

A war continues to be prosecuted in Gaza and the death toll from that conflict hangs heavy in air. It was hard for all of us to imagine living in a region whose leaders are at constant war, sometimes cold, sometimes hot. 

 

I thought back to an observation by one of our guides, Oni, had made earlier in the day. Oni is 68 and had fought in the 1973 Yom Kippur War. He was slender with short silver hair. He wore round glasses and an easy smile. We had finished our tour of the Kfar Azza kibbutz. He led me to an olive tree that stood by one of the graffitied homes. There on the its branches were young shoots budding forth small leaves. He said to me, “This is what Israel is like. We are resilient and will grow again.”

 

The trauma we witnessed in Israel these two weeks in April was palpable and hung in the air. All the people we talked with seemed to be juggling a dozen emotions in private. Hope mixed with fear. Sadness mixed with resolve. Faith combined with doubt. In the aftermath of the bloody Festival of Booths they are looking for shelter. One that for now is bulletproof.