My kids went back to sleep in their own beds. The sirens are less frequent, and we haven’t had a nighttime one in a while. It took time to convince the little ones—they felt safe in that tiny room with the thick cement walls and heavy metal door. They could let their guard down and fall asleep without worrying about a missile plummeting towards our cozy neighborhood.
It also helped that the younger ones have school again, after six weeks without; two for the High Holidays, four for war. Even if it’s only a half day, they have the normalcy of waking up in the morning, putting on their uniform, and heading to school to see their friends. The soldiers at the school gates reassure them, and they run around and play with friends. Maybe they even learn some too, each kid at their own pace.
The morning quiet—I don’t know if I’ve ever appreciated it so much before. My preteen sits on the couch to join her class via zoom. She enjoys the quiet too, while her siblings are in school. Her school building didn’t pass the security standards, so the classes are held in a different building with limited space, each grade attends in person once a week.
She loves school, and wishes she could go more, but she doesn’t complain. I wish she did. Instead she holds it all in and her hair falls out. It’s the call for help, the stress alarm where she won’t pull one. My preschooler too—a month ago they both had thick luscious hair, and now it’s all thinned out. I try to talk it out with them, we do lots of fun things, they seem happy most of the time, but war is a heavy thing for children to carry. So yesterday I bought b-complex vitamins and shampoo to supplement for now.
My boys are different. My third grader had the same dream every night for weeks; that terrorists were chasing him, and then he turned around and shot them all dead, and he survived. He says the first few times the dream was scary, but now he knows he can beat the terrorists, so he doesn’t care anymore.
He and my first grader both have a lot of questions. They want to understand all the armies involved, and where they’re stationed. Hamas, Islamic Jihad, Hezbollah, Houthis, the Ayatollahs… all of it. Which weapons do they each have, and what defense system can take them down? Why did the IDF go to the beach in Gaza and why don’t they flood the tunnels with water? Is it because the kidnapped kids are in there? Can they swim? Do they have food?
They don’t complain, my kids. They think their life is normal, actually, they think they have it good. They know kids from Ofakim who lost family, and from Sderot who watched the gunfire from their bedroom window. Several of their friends’ fathers have been called to reserve duty and haven’t been home in over a month.
Last week we visited our new friends in Eilat, the Kleins, who do incredible work co-directing Chabad of the Red Sea city.
There are around 15,000 displaced families from the Gaza envelope and far north towns who have been living in Eilat hotels since October 7th. Living in a hotel sounds fun when you think of a week-long vacation. But not when you realize that these are entire families crammed into small hotel rooms after fleeing a real life nightmare with no time to pack anything, let alone toys for the kids.
They’re not eating fancy hotel food either. It’s more similar to airplane meals, or at best, school cafeteria stuff that comes in packaged meal trays. If they don’t like it, there’s not much choice, because they don’t have their own kitchen, and there’s only so much takeout a family can afford.
The simplest things like laundry become a big deal. Hotels aren’t designed to do laundry for a maximum occupancy of long term residents. In one hotel, there were three washing machines for 250 families. Parents just wanted to put their kids in clean clothes, but it was impossible. The Kleins facilitated a donation of several more washing machines, something seemingly so simple, which made a huge difference.
The kids haven’t been in school this whole time either. It’s been five weeks of running up and down hotel hallways while driving the adults mad. Some of the older kids have a few hours of daily school in the afternoon, and the Ministry of Education set up a few activity booths for the younger kids, but it’s not nearly enough. They can’t return to their homes yet, or how life used to be, but they need some form of normalcy, some care for their basic needs, and some kind of daily schedule.
On our visit last Friday, we joined Chanie Klein at one of the larger hotels where she hosted a pre-Shabbat party for the kids and their parents. A talented young musician played guitar and sang some classic Shabbat songs with the audience, and then all the kids gathered around to make their own challah. The joy on those little faces melted my heart. They got to make their own challah! They touched dough and made a home baked treat of their own for the first time since October 7th.
The parents too. They were so eager to help their kids make the challah, and so grateful to have something productive to do with their kids. It was a heartwarming punch to the gut.
After the hotel, my girls and I joined Chanie and her daughters at an army base, where some female soldiers had asked to do hafrashat challah—a special Mitzvah that brings a powerful moment for prayer.
When we arrived, a young soldier at the gate greeted us very emotionally. She wouldn’t be able to join, because she was on duty. But her close friend had just been killed yesterday, could we say a prayer for him? Our youth, the kids ages 18-24 have gotten the worst of this war. They should be in school learning and enjoying their best years, but instead they’re mourning the murder of their friends. All the soldiers around the table had lost at least one friend in either the music festival on October 7th, or at war since then. At least one.
A few days ago a soldier called the Kleins and asked for a pair of tefillin—a request they receive hundreds of. But this one was different. This soldier watched as eleven friends from his unit were killed inside an armored personnel carrier. He was one of two survivors, and now he simply wanted a pair of tefillin to pray with. The unshakable faith and love that our soldiers have for God is chilling.
The Kleins have been busy. They’re organizing daily programs for the displaced kids at the hotels, support for the parents, and visiting army bases to bring encouragement to our soldiers.
Today I spoke to Chanie after an air-raid siren was triggered in Eilat, while she was visiting one of the hotels full of people with PTSD from the October 7th massacre. The third siren in Eilat so far. She said it was chaos, people ran inside and she watched as several adults and children melted into complete panic attacks.
Here in Be’er Sheva we’re learning to live and pull through day to day, fully aware that we’re blessed that we get to be in our own homes. We help where we can, feeding soldiers, bringing them mezuzahs, helmets, or gear they ask for—sponsored by our incredible extended Jewish family and friends worldwide. We admire their bravery and determination for their people.
And we look at the photos of our beautiful soldiers who gave their last breaths so that we can live. We look through their soft eyes to see a heart that never wanted to fight, and a powerful flame of faith in the God who sent them to do it.
We mourn them, and then we stand up and live for them. In faith.
How to support the efforts for the displaced families in Eilat.
©2023 B. Efune