I learned a few years ago that I have a myopic American view of the world. It wasn’t until I went to the hard places around the globe that I realized the complexity of a crisis, no matter what country it is in, is something my western brain cannot comprehend. How easy it is to find simple answers to the world’s problems when I am sitting comfortably in my secure home where electricity and water abound!

Yet, it was not so easy when I was face to face with refugees who walk miles for water each day and have seen the horrors of war up close. This revelation of my nearsighted viewpoint has caused me to pause when world events happen; to seek out people who understand, before I form my opinion. I have learned the majority of news sources in the US only feed my western worldview, and so I don’t pay much attention to them. I have tried to put down my arrogant opinions and quick judgements in order to listen to those who know much more than I do about a given situation.

I went to coffee with my friend Orly yesterday. Orly is from Israel. Her sisters, her dad, and one of her daughters live there. The first question asked of her since the attack is, “Is your family ok?” The short answer is yes, for now, they are safe. However, she explained that answer is too simplistic though she knows the intent of the askers is concern for she and her family. The longer answer is much more complex and her emotions are torn by the nature of the question. Does she give the short answer, or does she go into detail about why that is the wrong question to ask?

The population of Israel is around 9 million people whereas the population of the US is 331 million. Israel is smaller than the state of New Jersey. First of all, in a country that small, there is not really a “safe” place to go. The missiles can hit anywhere within the borders fairly easily because of the small area of the country. So, her family is ‘safe’, for now, but the sirens go off many times a day and they have to run to shelters. Her niece was out for a walk with her baby in a stroller when the sirens went off and she had to scramble to find cover. When a missile hit a building in her daughter’s neighborhood, she had to flee to be closer to a shelter. Orly’s dad is elderly and cannot move every time the sirens go off, so he just stays where he is. In the US, we build basements for tornados, or reinforce houses against the winds of a hurricane. In Israel, they build bomb shelters called ‘safe rooms’ in every house. That fact alone causes me to pause to realize how different my world is from theirs.

Another reason the question is hard to answer is that because the population of Israel is so small, everyone kind of knows everyone. Not directly of course, but the degrees of separation there are very small. So, while Orly’s immediate family is safe, there are many of her friends and extended family who are not. Some have been taken hostage. Some brutally murdered. She does not know if some of her friends are alive or dead. So, the pat answer we want, that her family is fine, isn’t so easy. Nothing is fine.  

The only thing I have to compare it to is 9/11. The trauma and tragedy were a total shock and surprise. Unthinkable. It captured my attention for weeks. I felt the hurt of it all, and I didn’t even know any of the people who were killed. Still, I felt it necessary to hear their stories. To bear witness. To acknowledge their existence and the pain of their families by watching. I do it each year, in order to remember those who died. Yet, I cannot fathom how much more painful it would be if I knew most of them. If I was connected personally to cousins and friends and children who were attacked individually. How is it possible to even talk about it without falling apart? The heartache is huge.

When I asked what I can do, Orly said to tell the stories; to get the word out; to acknowledge their existence and the tragedy of the lives cut short. So, I am going to share them here. She is translating from her communication with her sisters who are still in Israel. These are people she is connected to. Part of her “family” that is not safe.  And these are their stories.  

Nadav Bartel, Ofek Rabia, and Gal Danguri IV are three good friends. They grew up together in Beit Arya. Like all young people they love hanging out together. Childhood friends look for places to go to have fun. The Supernova Sukkot Music Festival seemed like a perfect place to celebrate the holidays. An international festival, with around 3,000 attendees, was reported to be a unifying event. The young men were excited to attend. Camping in the desert would give them a chance to spend time together.

After spending the night celebrating and dancing to the music, the unexpected happened Saturday morning. At 7:05 a.m. Didi, Nadav’s father, got the call all parents hope never to get. His son was in terrible danger with his friends. Didi had done what we all do, told his son that if he is ever in a situation where he is uncomfortable, in trouble, or in danger, to call and he would come. In the midst of this terror attack, Nadav did just that; he called his father for help. “They are shooting at us.” He sent his father their location near Kibbutz Mefalsim before the call dropped.

Didi found two brave friends, and Yvonne (Gal’s mother, who is also a medic), to go with him.  He did what any parent would do if their child was in danger, he kept his promise to come. He drove like a madman to get to his son…along dangerous roads and into the killing fields. When they arrived at the location Nadav had sent they found the bodies of all three boys. Shot to death and then burned. Hope turned to devastation, sorrow, and horror.

ZAKA (a volunteer Jewish organization whose Holy work it is to identify the dead and bring them to burial) was already on the scene to help recover hundreds of bodies left in the wake of the terror attack. A volunteer gave them bags so they could gather the bodies of their children. Once they had all three boys, they proceeded to the Assaf Harofeh Hospital and the Home Front Command for further identification and to put their sons on the list of the dead, stopping along the way to help the wounded in their path.

Now, we know that there were dozens of shooters at the music festival. They paraglided in from the air with bombs. The crowd dispersed in every direction. Those who ran to their cars were cut off from both directions by terrorists on foot. Others, who ran through the desert were hunted and gunned down before being dismembered or burned. Hundreds of the attendees, most under the age of 30, were butchered; 150 more were taken as hostages, whose status unknown at this time. The brutality was holocaust-like in its entirety. This was only one place where the attacks were taking place. It was a coordinated effort from the air, land, and sea.  

Didi has not spoken much of all that he witnessed along the roads. So great is his grief that he does not want to relive his last promise to his son. He brought him home for burial; his final act of love. The village is devastated by the death of these boys and the stories of many others who were also killed. No one should have to go through such horror.

So, when asked the question, “Is your family okay?” how is my friend supposed to answer? How would you answer if your world was coming apart?  

In addition to your prayers, for educational resources and ways to help go to:

 www.Bronfman.org

www.americaisraeldemocracy.org