Israel Project Week 3: 04/06 - 04/13 (continued)

The Iranian attack last night was underwhelming at most. I stayed with my cousin Steve in Ra’anana last night, and we didn’t even hear any sirens. Even Jude, who is in Tel Aviv at the moment, says he didn’t hear any sirens. Last night must have been super embarrassing for Iran, because they launched hundreds of drones and ballistic missiles at Israel, and a joint coalition of American, British, French, Jordanian, Israeli, and Saudi forces intercepted 99% of them, resulting in only 3 hits in Israel, with only one small Bedouin child injured. If that was supposed to be the dreaded Iranian earthquake of an attack, it was pathetic. עם ישראל חי – The Nation of Israel Lives.

But it is important to me that I am in Israel in its times of trouble. I feel an overwhelming sense of pride to be a part of the resilient Nation of Israel. When my Grandfather was alive, he would always catch the first flight to Israel whenever it was under attack. He would stay in the bomb shelters with his brothers and sisters. This is a topic I plan to return to in a later blog post.

Now, back to talking about the week. On Tuesday, after we finished our work on the base, our Madrichot (group commanders) took us on a bus to see the site of the Nova Music Festival Massacre on October 7th. For those who somehow are unaware, on October 7th, 2023 at 06:29 local time, Hamas terrorists paraglided into the Nova Music Festival near Kibbutz Re’im, just 5km away from Gaza, and committed atrocities that supersede the word ‘atrocity’ itself, including the mass rape, slaughter, torture, and kidnapping of hundreds of innocent Israeli (and other national) partygoers. At the time of writing, 133 hostages taken from Nova and other areas pillaged by Hamas on October 7th are still captive to Hamas and Gazan civilians in Gaza. They have spent over 6 months there sitting in agony in dark tunnels as they are tortured, abused, beaten, and raped. We don’t know for sure how many are still alive, but those who are still alive are still living through Hell on Earth.

When I got off the bus, a pain that I cannot even begin to describe enveloped me. I recognized the landscapes that I saw on my phone when I woke up on that Black Saturday, and it was as if through the silence of the area, I could hear the echoes of the muffled anguished cries of the hostages. As I walked around, I could imagine the massacre happening right in front of me, like I could travel 6 months back in time and see it for myself as an invisible spectator. Then I would occasionally snap back to reality and think of all the calls in the West, especially by those who I once trusted and called my friends, for Israel to cease fire and forget about the hostages; if this were to happen, all hope would be lost for them, and their shattered souls would be condemned to hell for the rest of their lives. Yet, through all these emotions, I could not cry, no matter how much I wanted to.

But I felt that same sense of hope I felt when I landed in Israel a few weeks ago, and when I attended the rally in DC in November for Israel along with hundreds of thousands of other people. I watched as fractured nations united in the face of tragedy to stand stronger than ever.

The rest of the week was about the same as described in my previous post. In some good news, at the base I befriended a stray black cat named חתול (Khatul – literally just means cat). Every time I went to the dining hall, he would be waiting outside, meowing at me for attention. Picture attached below.