Life in the Missiles' Path

This article originally appeared in the Jewish News of Greater Phoenix (21 Nov 2012). If you prefer, you may read the original here.

(The article below is an example of how Sal Caputo makes me look good on paper, which is handy for my first ever publication with a news site.)

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I’ve lived in Be’er Sheva, Israel, since Aug. 27. The city is unique with its large mix of Mizrahi Jews, Arabs and Russian immigrants. After the school year began, there was a welcome addition of English-speaking college students to the mix. What’s most prominent to me about life in the “capital of the Negev Desert,” however, is our proximity to the Gaza border, which is about 40 kilometers/30 miles away.

I’m here with 26 other native English-speaking teachers in Israel, volunteering for 10 months in a program called Israel Teaching Fellows. We live together in an apartment complex, three participants to each apartment. My group teaches English to Israeli students in Be’er Sheva.

At the outset, we were warned that Gaza sometimes sends off rockets that come our way. We were introduced to concepts like mammad (bomb shelter), air raid siren and 60-second time limits. Because we are 40 kilometers from the border, we know we have 60 seconds to find shelter when the air raid sirens begin. We also know that we must wait in the shelter for 10 minutes once the siren has stopped.
In September, I learned for the first time what that new vocabulary was all about.

Jump forward about three months and you find a group of Americans (and a Canadian) well-versed in the art of taking cover at ungodly hours of the night. We know about listening for booms and hoping that, when we hear one, it is the Iron Dome engaging a missile instead of the impact of a missile on homes. We even know about daytime experience with dodging missiles.

It’s incredibly frustrating to receive urgent emails from the U.S. Embassy and Consulate General about the escalated situation three months after we’ve been dealing with the reality. Be’er Sheva wasn’t really even in the news until Hamas military chief Ahmed Jabari was assassinated. The lack of previous coverage made it feel like our problems weren’t worth the world’s time.

But since early September, Be’er Sheva had dealt with air raid sirens on at least five occasions before the assassination. One of those sirens went off, for the first time, during school hours. Schools generally close the day after a siren, though students are often nervous days later. We are fortunate, however, to have the aid of an Iron Dome battery in our city, as some nearby cities had theirs moved to other locations. We also have the benefit of living in a newer apartment building, which provides a mammad on each floor.

Since we are not actually at war with anyone, we never know when to expect an attack. Sleep is almost certainly affected, and most of us are jumpy at the slightest, unexpected noise. My biggest discomfort is being shuttered into the mammad, yet I deal with the claustrophobia because being afraid is better than getting blown up. Things have escalated enough that my program has evacuated us from Be’er Sheva to Netanya. And all the while the missiles followed us north. I feel I’ve abandoned my students in the south, and I worry about how frightened they must be on both sides of the fence.

We hope the evacuation will be temporary, but that depends on a cease-fire. The program won’t allow us within 40 kilometers of the Gaza border while things are so escalated. We’re actively looking for volunteer work in the meantime, and making educational YouTube videos for our students.

More than anything, I want peace: I want the children on both sides of the Gaza border to know a night’s rest without the fear of attacks. I want all families to be safe and whole in their own homes. And I want to get back to my students in the south. After all, they’re why I’m here and why I’m staying.

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Elisa Llewellyn is a resident of Phoenix. She holds a bachelor’s degree in English from Arizona State University.

Happy Birthday! I got you some missiles, hope that's ok...

My new year as 28 year-old adult started out with a bang. Literally. I was on the train to Tel-Aviv  when my madrich called (sounding a bit panicked) asking about where I was. It concerned me, since he knew about my trip but I knew something was really wrong when he sighed in relief when I said I was no longer in Be'er Sheva. Apparently, Hamas' military chief Ahmed Jabari was assassinated and Israel was expecting an escalation in missile attacks in retaliation. I was told to enjoy my trip and not worry too much about what was happening at home, but I needed to call ahead at the end of my trip to find out where I would be staying. [I should've realized at this point that if my Israeli madrich was considering the possibility of an evacuation, things were getting pretty bad.]

I tried not to worry overmuch when I met up with one of my Israeli friends and his girlfriend in Tel-Aviv to see a movie. Since Oren and I are both November babies, it was the perfect opportunity to hang out. And we did have a lot of fun eating "craps" and playing in the arcade. We ended up seeing Sky Fall, which did a good job keeping me distracted. I stayed the night in Tel-Aviv with an amazing family (aunt and uncle to my Bus Buddy Jess) who ended up taking me to the Carmel Shuk (shopping center) and even dropped me off at the bus station when it was time to start part two of my trip: the Mifgashim Shabbaton weekend in Beit Shean. It's a tough call, but that shuk was the highlight of my first solo trip to Tel-Aviv: I ended up buying a great purse, watch, and sunglasses for only 195₪!

When I got to Beit Shean, I got a call from my friends back home in Be'er Sheva; they were being evacuated as expected and I would likely meet up with them in Netanya at the conclusion of my trip. The mifgashim itself was fantastic. I met amazing people from around the world (including Israelis), ate fantastic food, made great friends, attended services at a Sephardic beit knesset and kicked my own butt on that bike ride. I was definitely feeling the ride days after the event, but it felt so great to challenge myself - and make good use of my hydration pack's helmet net!

I did end up meeting my friends in Netanya, only to realize I'd left my purse on the chartered bus from Beit Shean (classic Elisa behavior, unfortunately). Lucky for me, my friend Morgan rescued the purse. Because the evacuation happened after I'd already departed for my weekend, I only had about two days' worth of clothing, medicine, and contacts. Since I'd left my purse behind on the bus, I had no money to purchase replacements of anything for at least a day. I should've realized then what a sign all of it was, but it was just such a relief to see that my friends were safe and relatively happy.

To Be Continued ...

[But don't worry, things worked out in the end!]

יום כיפור בבאר שבע

In the States, Yom Kippur was one of my favorite of the High Holy Days. I'm sure that means I'm warped and a glutton for punishment, but it's absolutely true. I love the overall theme of cleansing and renewal inherent in the Day of Atonement. I also love the solidarity felt while fasting with your fellow congregants - and Jews around the world. Well, those who fast anyway.

In some ways, Yom Kippur didn't feel like as much of a big deal in Israel. Not that no one observed, but more because so many observed and it was just a matter of course. The country essentially shuts down - so much so, you could take a leisurely stroll along the empty highway if you so chose. The religious fast, wear white, and attend prayer services (called tfillah or תפילה) at their local beit knesset. Overall, however, there's just much less of a to-do in Israel about fasting and prayer than there is in the States. It's a strange paradox, but one I've also felt about Shabbat as well. It is, however, a much more somber event in prayer services. Also, it's possible that because I don't speak much Hebrew I missed out on much of the self-reflection I'm used to during this time of year.

My friends and I found a beit knesset in my neighborhood for worship. It was an Ashkenazic congregation, which means I was thankfully more familiar with the trope used. I was also more comfortable with their style of worship, or rather, interpretation of what "appropriate" dati worship should look like: there was still a mechitza separating the men from the women, yet the women prayed more audibly and were overall more actively involved in the prayers. The men still led, but I felt more at home praying and singing with more volume. Breaking the fast, however, is a very big deal - though food always is around here. I made my now popular stove-top macaroni and cheese recipe - I add garlic and Moroccan paprika to the dish, which basically makes the stuff like crack. I never have leftovers. And man, were we ever thankful to gorge on comfort food after a LONG day of fasting!

I felt very thankful to experience this Day of Atonement in Israel. I was doubly thankful for the ease of finding places of worship within easy walking distance from my apartment. Especially since focusing on prayer does a wonderful job of taking your mind off of hunger and thirst. The naps aren't so bad either. My hope is that next time, I'll be worshipping as part of a congregation here instead of as a visitor. I'd also like to actually understand what everyone's saying and see just how much self-reflection is focused on.