After Israel Part Four: Shlomit
On feeling very foreign and also very much a part of Am Yisrael
Our first work detail in Israel was in the small, religious agricultural community of Shlomit. The village is a mile from Egypt, four miles from Gaza, and when we were there the residents were only beginning to trickle back to their homes. Our job was to prepare the small garden plots in front of the houses for planting; during the months the residents had been gone, the irrigation had been shut off and the desert had reclaimed them.
Here, we were told that if we heard sirens, our best bet was to lie face down on the ground with our hands over our heads. Unlike in Sderot, we wouldn’t have fifteen seconds to find shelter; we would have about five, and although the houses are all essentially bomb shelters, in many of them there was nobody home to let us in. This is a community made up mostly of young families, and everywhere we saw children’s outdoor toys. There was a playground and a splash park (which one of the other groups on this volunteer trip worked to get ready for the children’s return). It’s hard to imagine sending your children out to play with the constant threat of rocket fire, but these families do.
What I’m saying is that it’s a myth that the Israelis live safely while the Palestinians live in constant peril.
On our way to Shlomit, we were stopped by the IDF for several minutes, and eventually a member of the community had to come lead us to the village by another route. There was an aid convoy, destined for Gaza, coming along the road we had been meant to take and they were worried we might be protestors who would attempt to stop it.
All of this was very disconcerting; I, maybe like you, had an idea of Israel that had been almost exclusively formed from the media and photographs of other people’s trips there: photographs of Tel Aviv, the Dead Sea, Jerusalem’s holiest sites, that sort of thing. Israel as bustling metropolis; Israel as resort vacation; Israel as an archeological wonder; Israel as both ancient and futuristic; Israel as safe, prosperous, and joyful. And parts of Israel are those things, but others are not. I—again, maybe like you—also had an image of Jewish Israelis as largely Ashkenazi Jews who made Aliyah for religious or political reasons. In fact, Israeli Jews are mostly people who came as refugees; mostly people who aren’t white; mostly people who have no claim to citizenship in any other country.
The young woman who welcomed us to Shlomit was a religious, Mizrahi Jew. As a married woman, she covered her hair with a mitpachat, and she was proud of being pregnant with another Jewish child rather than anxious about raising kids in a dangerous place. And, I’ll be honest, it was all very foreign to me. For the first few minutes we were there, my primary thought was “I don’t belong here.”
Then, as I was working on the garden plot outside a particular house, a young woman in a beautiful silk dress and an elaborate head covering came out to offer me coffee and thank me for being there. Not for the work, which it was apparent to all of us the members of the community could have done themselves better and in less time. In fact, I think what we mostly accomplished was making holes in the irrigation hoses, which became obvious once they were turned on. Rather, she was thanking me our presence and what it signaled about our commitment to them as members of Am Yisrael. She was saying, though not in so many words, that not only did I belong, but that I had an obligation to her—to all Jews—to be there. And in that moment, I think, I finally became a real member of Am Yisrael, in all its diverse wonder, its complex muddle, its difficult roads and narrow bridges.
I didn’t accept her offer of coffee, because I was afraid it would be a bother and because, in that moment, I still thought what we were meant to do was clean up these little garden plots. Now I wish I had, because I realize that what we were meant to do was to thank and honor the brave people who endure this danger so that we can have self-determination in our historical homeland, and accepting her hospitality would have a greater good than putting holes in her irrigation hose.
Shabbat shalom, friends.
I am glad that you went, now that you are home safely. The media is so slanted; I hope your words shine light on the truth of the attacks on Israel. Thank you for that.
Sarah, Your words speak volumes about the intensity of the danger of living in Israel close to Gaza and the raw dedication of the Israelis living and loving.
Shabbat Shalom, Marthas