Visit to the Otef, the Gaza Envelope

I went with an ESRA tour guided by Onnie with skill and sensitivity. I returned to Raanana devastated and enraged.

On October 7th, for one day, we became the Jews of the Shoah, without a country, without an army, without a government, without a functioning bureaucracy. On October 8th, we turned to each other, the citizens of Israel. With determination and love, we saved ourselves.

We are traveling towards Gaza. We have been turned away from two of the sites we were to visit: the army is on the move, given the current security situation. The south of Israel has become a giant memorial. Yellow flags flutter along the road. Pictures of the hostages remind drivers of what we must do next. We pass shelters located near bus stops, riddled with bullet holes. 

Route 232 cuts through agricultural fields and connects the kibbutzim of the Western Negev. The terrain around us is verdant, lush, with orange and lemon trees. Across the road we spot a protected area where bananas are growing. 77 years ago, the land was barren, arid, wasted, sand and stones with no water.

On October 6th, one of the religious kibbutzim had invited members of the nearby secular kibbutz to dance with the Torah on Simchat Torah. They all had a good time, then went home fairly early.

Nearby, around midnight, close to kibbutz Re'im, the Nova festival was under way, with hundreds of youngsters dancing the night away. At 6:30 am on October 7th, the red alert was heard and loudspeakers urged the crowd to leave now, now, now. People fled, hid in bushes, ran away. People in cars were soon trapped in a massive traffic jam. Surrounded by terrorists firing on all sides, on the hoods of cars to stall them, route 232 became a death trap, a killing road, the road renamed Death 232.

Today a giant memorial has been erected. The site is beautiful, pristine, organized. It is huge, a perfect place for celebration in joy and abandon. On each of the too many poles, a panel chronicles the brief lives of the people who were massacred. Giant red ceramic anemones grace the ground at the foot of each pole, with stones arrayed in a circle. Upon small shelves erected around the poles, objects are displayed: candles, small sculptures, musical instruments.

Astounding is the small numbers of shelters around the site, each holding 10 or 12 people, without doors, the sole refuge from missiles.

The crowd ambles around, quiet, reverent. Old people, young people, citizens, tourists and many, many soldiers with machine guns across their bodies. The Israeli army includes a strong educational component in the training of its soldiers. They are taken to various cultural sites around the country, sites they may be called upon to defend or to die for.

A young girl is sobbing across from one of the poles. She is alone. Feeling the inadequacy of words, I walk over and hug her until the sobs subside.

We regroup and are on our way to Moshav Shuva, an Israeli farm located 4 miles east of the Gaza border.

On October 8th, the army set up a field hospital at the junction of two busy roads. A member of the moshav decided it would be nice to offer the staff cookies and coffee. Soon he realized much more was required. Today, Kobi, Eliran and Dror Trabelsi serve up to 2,000 meals a day.

"Shuva Ahim" currently offers a wide range of amenities, including clothing, toiletries, food rations and drinks, all donated by the community and available around the clock, at no cost to all the soldiers that come by. The whole family cooks and serves, helped by the many volunteers who now come from all over the world.

In the Tekuma burnt car park, hundreds of cars, ambulances, mini-buses, bullet-ridden, burnt, crushed, had become death traps for their defenceless passengers. Terrorists on both sides of route 232 murdered and burnt at will. Before the car skeletons were heaped in an impossibly high and wide memorial, the remains of the bodies inside had to be retrieved for Jewish burial. Volunteers from Zaka, United Hatzlalah and newly recruited young rabbis from the army swept up the ashes, armed with tweezers and Q-tips.

In Sderot, in an open garden on the site of the long battle that destroyed the police station and killed many officers, the "Pillar of Eternity" monument dominates. Quotes adorn the pillars, revealing the hope and faith that have always guided the Jewish people.

Visiting the Gaza Envelope is an obligation for all Israelis. It is impossible to apprehend the enormity of the massacre from having watched television and read reports. The tragedy lingers in the very air. We must all come and bear witness, that we may inhabit our memories and transcend the differences that divide us. No matter our opinions, we all share the same fate. Jews are a fractious people. It is both a blessing and a weakness. However, survival, resilience and an unshakeable faith in life are in our DNA. The infamy, the face of evil of October 7th is forever engraved upon our souls. Yet the signs of our recovery are all around. The first step is to bear witness to these unspeakable events.