I didn’t sleep much on Saturday night because of an app on my phone that notifies me of any rocket “red alerts”. It started going crazy from 10.30pm: alert after alert, on and on for hours
Just two months ago my husband and I made aliyah. Since then our lives have been busy with unpacking, shopping, socialising and learning Hebrew — the many jobs that come with starting a new life.
I was lucky in that I had a job here already at Emunah, a social welfare charity with over 200 projects helping vulnerable children and families.
Last weekend brought home one aspect of life in Israel. While the south faced a barrage of 700 rockets, in the centre of Israel you wouldn’t know anything was going on.
Tel Aviv was as relaxed as ever, with the cafes buzzing and the streets packed. This is a country with a split personality.
As the rockets fell, sitting safely in our apartment in Netanya I wasn’t in danger myself — but then I saw that the red alerts were for Even Shmuel, where one of Emunah’s children’s homes is located.
I was thinking of the children and the effect that the rockets would have on their mental health: they already have huge difficulties in life to overcome.
I was concerned for the staff, many of whom left their own families to ensure Emuah’s children were supported while they spent the night in bomb shelters. The next day, when schools were all closed and rockets still fell, they needed to be kept calm and busy.
I was also thinking of my friends who have sons and daughters serving in the IDF: how do they sleep at night when Israel is already at war, or on the brink of war, depending on your point of view.
When you are under constant rocket attack, as is the case in the south, surely it is already war? Four Israelis were killed and many others injured.
More still will suffer from the long-term effects of PTSD which become apparent after the rockets stop.
At the Emunah Sarah Ronson Crisis Centre in Sderot our counsellors spent long hours talking to those who were traumatised by the relentless terror.
Children, even teenagers, are wetting the bed at night and clinging to their parents, afraid to be alone or to leave the safe room. Adults afraid to leave their children to go to work or to go to the shops. Normal life put on hold.
I spent all of Sunday with stories from Emunah’s frontline of services across the south, so I was immersed in the harrowing situation they were facing.
The head of a daycare centre in Ashkelon told how two rockets fell in her street and she was afraid to stay alone at home, and yet she was still there on Monday morning to welcome the children and parents.
“We don’t talk yet about the fear” she told me, “that will come later”.
And then we were in a ceasefire and an uneasy quiet. Back to “normal” — whatever that is.
All I really know is this crazy country is ours and the vulnerable people who need help across Israel can rely on Emunah.
Oh, and we love being here.
