Ilana's Story

My friend Ilana sent this out:

Dear Friends and Family,

This message is more than just a note to say that I’m okay and that nothing has happened in Jerusalem at all—in fact, the war feels almost as distant to me as it surely does to you. But last Friday, I had an opportunity to do my part and I want to share that experience with you here.

First, to my mom, take a deep breath. Nothing happened and I was not in danger. And before anyone thinks I had a near miss, it wasn’t that either.

My chance to do my part:

Last Friday, I had the opportunity to go to an army base near Gaza to deliver messages of encouragement from all around the world to Israeli soldiers. The messages were sent in a “Send a Soldier a Smile” campaign done by Honest Reporting and it was coordinated with a care package delivery from a business called Gili’s Goodies and we worked in cooperation with another Israeli organization called Im Tirtzu (“If you will it”).

Driving down toward and into the “danger zone” which is about 40 km (25miles) around the Gaza Strip, I sort of expected to see that traffic was light, areas deserted and an eerie silence—like in the movies. What I saw instead were green fields being irrigated, plenty of private cars on the roads and life going on more or less as usual. We even went through Sderot, which has been featured on the news and is the place where Joe the Plumber has just visited, which is 3.5 km (2.2 miles) from the Gaza Strip. I don’t want to minimize the danger of being under fire, though. While we were driving we heard on the radio that a Grad rocket hit Ashkelon. But to think that someone is irrigating his field, it just seems so hopeful, that this present difficulty will pass, after which we should plan for the future.

As we passed Sderot, we saw a single Apache helicopter, which on its own doesn’t really signify anything. But then I finally saw what I felt might be considered something not exactly safe. From the highway, I saw tall buildings in the distance and, well, they were smoking. These were not black, billowing clouds of smoke, they were more pollution gray, but it was pretty clear that it was not exhaust from a factory. This was Gaza. I saw with my own eyes, on the horizon, the puffs of smoke of Gaza. (Oded said that it was Khan Yunis.)

And we continued on our way further south to the base. The first group of soldiers we delivered messages and care packages to were a group of paratrooper reservists. These were men who had been called away from their families the week before to report for duty and they had been training all week. On that Friday, they had not yet been into Gaza. (But if you are following the news, you may have heard that that reserve troops were called into Gaza and some may have been in this group that I met.) They were in good spirits and happy to have visitors. When they were told that as of that morning 15,000 messages were received at Honest Reporting wishing them encouragement and support, they assumed that these messages were from all around Israel—which is, of course, expected. They were surprised and pleased to hear that these messages were from all around the world from places as far-flung as Peru, Finland and Australia. They were pretty surprised to see a girl from Yakima, Washington, too, but since I live in Jerusalem, it seemed to make more sense.

One of the soldiers in this group, Danny, is a photographer. I started to talk to him and in the course of the conversation I realized that the Jerusalem Post had done a profile on him a few years ago because he created a gallery in his home that was open to the public in an effort to revitalize the downtown Beersheva area. I was doubly excited to hear that because I had read the article and was very excited by it at the time and finally I could share that I had done the same thing in my living room, except my house wasn’t open to the public. And if THAT isn’t evidence that we live in a small country, then I don’t know what is.

Then we drove into the main base. Now to me this was not a big deal, but Oded told me that security-wise, driving into the base with a private car was the equivalent of entering The Holy of Holies. Luckily, our escort was a military supply truck and we had security clearance to get in. Still, they had to give us a little hassle. But we went in, only to be extra hassled a little further on, but finally let all the way to the military area where the second group was set up.

This group was a mobile medical unit (think M*A*S*H) and was also a reserve unit. Everyone here was a doctor, paramedic or medic and one soldier, Aharon, who seemed to think that I was a reporter, made sure to mention that the unit’s directive was to treat all injured people, Israelis and Palestinians. The most interesting part was that we met two reservists who volunteered to continue to do their reserve duty. In Israel, men generally only have to do reserve duty until the age of 40. First we met Effi (short for Ephraim, I guess). He spoke English like a native and I was shocked to find out that he and his parents were born in Israel, and, in fact, are from Jerusalem. He just turned 40 and volunteered to continue to serve in the unit. Next we met Yariv, who is a 56 year old doctor whose first war was the Yom Kippur War in 1973. And here he was with all these younger men continuing to serve. A cynic might say that these two have nothing to keep them at home and it’s more interesting to be in the army. But, I don’t think that is true in this case. The medical unit has very specialized training and has to function as a mobile hospital of some kind. These men are not easily replaced and each member of the team is dependant on other members of the team. Plus, there is the idealistic element of continuing to protect one’s country.

So for me, someone who has never and will never serve in the Israeli army, I’m just glad that I got a chance to bring these letters of encouragement and be a messenger of good will to tell our soldiers, who are isolated on this base in the middle of nowhere apart from their families, that we are standing with them. Especially that there are 15,000 (as of now it’s actually 21,000) other people around the world who are also supporting them.

When I went back to Jerusalem that night, I thought about the fact that people usually say that they are “going up” to Jerusalem, the same verb as to elevate oneself, physically, spiritually, emotionally. As I looked back to the south and west watching the sun go down, I worried about the soldiers suffering in the cold nights and I felt guilty that I was in a warm car on my way to my warm house to sleep in my warm bed at home. But I also knew that I had done what I was able to do. I cannot take their places, but I can thank them for protecting Israel and letting them know that I, personally and as a messenger for thousands of others, wish them well and hope for their safe return in the shortest amount of time possible. So on that Shabbat evening, I not only went up to Jerusalem, I was elevated a little bit too.

(Aharon and Yariv)
(Colonel Gruber thanking people for the good wishes)

All the best from Jerusalem,

Ilana