The Israel-Hamas War from October through December

Are you ready for a long post?

 

There's a war happening out there. Maybe this would be difficult to notice if we hadn't been living in Israel before October 7th. From our home in Jerusalem the signs are subtle. But we see them.  Evacuation flights for American citizens came and went in October. This was followed by an authorized (voluntary) departure for embassy personnel. We chose to stay. Danny’s office spent the first couple months hard at work helping to facilitate evacuations, while also providing support to visiting Congressional delegations, and constantly monitoring the security situation across the country. This included artillery fire coming from Syria, anti-tank artillery coming from the Lebanese border (Hezbollah), and rocket barrages that, as crazy as it seemed, were still actively and regularly coming from Gaza. Most of those were pointed at Ashkelon and Ashdod, but Tel Aviv and some smaller cities in between saw some destructive impacts. The Temple Mount (where the Dome of the Rock and Western Wall are located) was occasionally restricted, further stoking unrest in East Jerusalem and violence in the highly volatile West Bank where demonstrations included clashes with police that have since led to hundreds of Palestinian fatalities.

 

The Israeli people did what Israeli people do. They just forged on like there was nobody that could hold them down. Early on, when I was still nervous leaving my house, I marveled one day as I watched a Jewish mom march down the street pushing a stroller ahead of her, with her lovely, modest day-dress, her chin held high, and her four daughters skipping along behind her as if it was any other day in a normal world. I made a decision to try to channel that spirit of confidence and promise in the days to come, and I think I have for the most part have managed to do so. We were trying to live life with routine and normalcy, but felt stuck knowing that any minute, "normal" might be upended. We were trying to get back into the routines of school, but at the same time, I was packing evacuation bags in my mind. There were no soccer teams, or dance, or orchestra programs for us. I couldn't order things in the mail. I couldn't plan for vacations or holidays. So what did we have? The older kids and I were reading Thucydides’s account of the Peloponnesian War since we had just finished the Iliad. (Don't be jealous.) Noemie taught me how to crochet and I started making a temperature blanket with my new skill. Gigi started working on a family history scrapbook. Tovi helped me trap slugs at night. The slugs ruined my entire cucumber crop. (And by "crop," I mean the 10 baby cucumbers growing from a pot on our balcony. ) I posted on Facebook for the first month but as the war started to become stale, and the news media started to turn against Israel, I struggled to understand the best way to communicate on such an open platform, where observers might include friends or family with anti-Semitic prejudices, pacifist imperatives, or staunchly pro-Israel advocacy. What news did they follow? What did they believe was happening here? I was afraid something could be said to compromise Danny's work relationships. How would my impressions fall awkwardly, falsely, on misinformed ears? One example of this was when a hospital was hit in Gaza early one morning. We had irrefutable evidence that the "attack" came from within Gaza itself. But the optics looked suspicious and Hamas seized the opportunity to do as much PR damage as they could. Once their accusations were proved false, the news had already moved on to the next perceived outrage and the cast of Israel's reputation was set. What else could I say? I was pretty sure no one wanted to read about my radishes.

 

The frenetic, nervous energy of the first week and a half of war, with its rocket barrages and the constant rumble of jets and of other mysterious movements, had given way to an ominous quiet by the end of the month. We had been locked up in our house for two weeks without seeing other people. Schools were still closed, gatherings had restrictions, and half of the embassy families had fled. But fixing our eyes on the Lord, we tried to find “the sparkle” as one friend said. I heard a new worship song that brought life to my spirit. The fall weather had been glorious.  My kids acquired an articulate grasp of Middle Eastern history and international relations. In Gaza, Hamas was still determined to take out Ashkelon and to give Tel Aviv a hard time. But in Jerusalem, we went week after week without having to bunker. Praise God. We finally made it back to to the Russian deli (one of the limited number of places you can buy ham and bacon in Jerusalem) and the lady behind the counter, who would usually scowl at me, smiled. I guess after the weeks we’d had, we were grateful to be alive enough to share a friendly expression of that gratitude… even if I still couldn't speak Russian or Hebrew and she couldn't speak English or Spanish and would have to continue put up with my crazy sign language. I wondered what it must be like for the many Russian and Ukrainian refugees here to find themselves in a place of war yet again. In the north of the country, Israel was still dealing with Hezbollah (operating out of southern Lebanon) and occasional attacks from Syria. Over 40 northern border towns had been evacuated along the border. 

 

 

The propaganda and the information war was getting worse. When Israel's IDF spokesperson would make an assertion, Israel would provide photographic and video evidence, recorded conversations between Palestinian leadership, and forensic analysis. After all this, BBC still could not confirm who was at fault without their “own investigation.” But every death toll number that the Hamas-run Health Ministry reported was taken as fact, and every Palestinian first-person horror story was taken at face value... Worse, reports were often conflicting depending on bias. One news article said the Israeli strikes were "defensive," the next said they were "retaliatory." On one particular day there was a report that convoys were being delayed because Israeli airstrikes were falling “once an hour,” making the reconstruction of the border crossing impossible, according to a witness. Yet a report update just an hour or two later announced that ongoing efforts on the crossing were almost complete and that the crossing would be opening imminently. (It opened a day later.) And these conflicting stories from the same news agency! It was the battle of public opinion and the consequences were having effects around the world, as you probably saw for yourself. It is on this account that the French and American embassies were attacked in Lebanon. These are the stories that did, and continue, to create the characterizations of these nations- who are the villains? Who are the oppressors? And how will the world respond? 

 

 

Fixing our eyes on the Lord and his work, "the unseen," we turned our gaze outward to see where we could be a part of His work beyond us. Our family morning prayer times become increasingly full of prayers for our friends. The kids participated in a video montage where they sent a message of love and encouragement to their youth leaders who are at the barracks. We registered with our church to volunteer with kitchen help for refugees. We packed care packages for soldiers. I met with a director for a national program for orphans. Eventually Israel began to make its forays into Gaza on the ground. This was the moment everyone was waiting for on pins and needles, expecting sleeper cell uprisings and a multi-Arab-state response. But... the security situation held. Nothing changed. 

 

Slowly, the rumble of fighter jets ceased to be a sound of imminent danger and started to communicate that we were being protected. Though the continuous rocket bombardments continued to threaten Israeli property and lives, instead of being a source of fear, it served as a daily reminder to Israel that their mission was to "neutralize" these capabilities once and for all. Inside Gaza, things were looking very different. Hamas rocket launchers were (and many still are) housed in and among residential buildings. Palestinian civilians, living above ground, shielded the “web” of underground tunnels, hundreds of miles of them, that spanned the strip, with critical military infrastructure hidden below schools and hospitals such as Al Quds. Many of the shafts ran up into these civilian buildings where munition stock piles could be found under a child's bed or a military telecommunications center could be found inside a hospital's custodial closet. Israel called for the evacuation of Al Quds hospital, and of the residential areas where it was striking this infrastructure, but the Red Crescent (Red Cross counterpart) said it couldn't be done. In fact, each day the number of people reported to be seeking refuge there was increasing. By the thousands. I watched in disbelief as the people of Gaza, in spite of the warnings, gathered en masse in the places they were told to flee. Meanwhile, the northern part of the Strip was being systematically picked apart. Hamas soldiers blocked their own people from the escape corridors with machine guns, forcing many residents to stay. Hamas… the Hebrew word for violence. They would steal fuel from the UN and from relief shipments. They would disinter the municipal water-pipes to make casings for rockets. They would hide behind the coat tails of the Palestinian cause without any regard for the lives of the people living in Gaza. The workers at the UN knew it. Did they also know that their employees at the UN-run schools and hospitals were also holding the very Israeli hostages that were taken from the kibbutzim on October 7? What treachery was this?

 

The first week of November, we were going to make our first attempted trip back to the Old City to visit the Magnificat Music School at the Custodia Terrae Sanctae. I’d been trying to make it there for months. But on the morning of our planned adventure a police officer was stabbed in East Jerusalem, shots were fired, the offender killed, and police presence was increased in the area. Danny said, "Stay home." Then while Dominic and Noemie were in their Theory of Knowledge class at the highschool up the road, we all had to find shelter from a rocket barrage. It was their first day back in school. From our home bunker, we heard the Iron Dome interceptor rockets deploy- 6 interceptions. So no Magnificat. And for good measure, we cancelled Gigi’s appointment to get braces... for the third time. That same week in November, Noemie and Gigi and I were having a bake-a-thon for refugees from Sderot. On the day we had scheduled to make our second attempted trip to the Magnificat School, there was another stabbing near the Old City gates. This time Danny's message: "Be careful." And we went. The Old City was eerily quiet. It was our first time back since before everything started. Inside the city walls, most of the stores and restaurants were shuttered. The few that were open begged for business. "You're not shopping, you are supporting us!" begged one Arab merchant. We found the elusive Magnificat music school and I shook hands with a monk. 

 

 

The school usually has a waiting list before the commencement of fall classes but because of the war, many students had dropped out and there were some vacancies that we could fill. After a daunting audition, Dominic signed up for cello classes, Noemie for organ classes, Tovi for drums and marimba. Dominic's cello teacher was so inspiring to him that he went from a casual interest, to joining the Magnificat Orchestra. She corrected his technique (she could tell he had been taught cello by a violinist!) and taught him some tricks to improve his sound. He pushed himself to learn the music for the Christmas concert two weeks later. Noemie's organ teacher turned out to be the organist for the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, an Italian nun who thinks Noemie is hysterical. Tovi is still searching for his muse. But he will play those drums until he finds it. Gigi started violin classes, but she preferred to take her lessons from the violin player at our church- a brilliant highschool senior with a love for kids. It's a perfect match and I wouldn't change it, even for the illustrious Magnificat. 

 

During this time I had been praying fervently for the release of the Israeli hostages. Their faces and stories haunted me. November 24th marked the beginning of a ceasefire negotiated by Qatar between Hamas and Israel where one Israeli woman or child hostage would be released for every three Palestinian prisoners, 30 or so Israelis per day. During this time I was reading and praying over the news almost constantly. I even considered making a chart to track who had been released and who was left behind. I had certain faces in particular that I was rooting for. Some didn't make it. The ceasefire was extended for a couple days before Hamas decided to change the terms of the negotiations. When Israel refused, Gaza started shooting rockets again. Yet a week later Hamas accused Israel of breaking the ceasefire, and the BBC legitimized the claim. But we had seen the play-by-play! Was the global press gaslighting us? 

This is the reality at the biggest news brand in the world, with over 1 billion hits per day (pressgazette.com):

 

Hamas Spokesperson: This is the truth I want to convey.

BBC Report: According to Hamas, This is the truth they want to convey. No caveats, and while we're at it, here are some unrelated images to stir you to compassion.

 

vs. 

IDF Spokesperson: This is a truth I want to convey. Here is photo evidence, video evidence, and here, we will take you on a tour so you can see with your own eyes.

BBC Report: Israel says This truth. We have not been able to verify this.

(one example....https://www.bbc.com/news/av/world-middle-east-67754837)

A prejudiced press is dangerous. It validates the prejudices of its consumers and stokes antisemitism. Those who feel attacked become defensive even to the point of glossing over their own faults and ignoring their own wrongs. The ultra-nationalist Israeli settlers can get a free pass for their violent crimes against Arabs because the enemy of my enemy is never more my friend than when a kangaroo court of public opinion has lumped us both together. The Israeli armed forces can be less precise and discriminate in their decisions if they will be villainized regardless of their precautions. Psychological warfare has many facets and creates an arena for other globalist activists to join the fray, outside of the range of missiles and rockets.

 

Yet, in the midst of the war on all sides, we had a sweet time of fellowship at a Thanksgiving meal hosted by some American-born Israeli families at our messianic church community. Every family brought something to share plus a little extra to feed the Samaritan's Purse team that was passing through. There was even roasted turkey and sweet potato casserole! I made a savory butternut squash dish and two gluten-free apple pies-- one that was gobbled up at the fellowship (no pun intended), and the other saved just for Danny to have at home the next week. Everything was so good! We got to meet two new families which is good because up until now we only knew two others, and one of those has been missing lately because the young father is on the front lines in Gaza. That is how we spent November-- Dominic and Noemie were back to climbing the hill to school, all of us shuttling to and from the Old City several times a week for music classes, watching our Christmas orders trickle in through the diplomatic mail system that was now being routed through Jordan, and, myself, following the news compulsively. Dominic finished his first semester college dual enrolled class with a very hard-earned A in rhetoric. We put up a Christmas tree out of tradition but the tradition seemed rather empty and foolish in light of the simplicity of Bethlehem, 8 km down the road.

 

Over Hanukkah week Dominic and Noemie were able to go to Hanukkah camp. They had the week off of school, and our church hosted the Senior High youth group for four days-- a time of daily Bible study, worship, and an excess of four-square (boxball). In addition to going to an escape room and a virtual reality shooting game, they also spent a day working at a Christian moshav. Unlike a kibbutz collectivist agricultural settlement, a moshav is a farming community that shares resources but the farms are individually owned and consumption is household based. For several hours, the students applied themselves to clearing a hill of shrubs, vines, giant sheets of metal, planks of wood with nails sticking out of them, and plastic trash. There were several Russian teen girls from the moshav who Noemie enjoyed talking to in their language, and after their work, and a tour, the youths set off to play "shalosh smash," a game described as being akin to sudden-death volleyball. By the end of the day the kids were exhausted and filthier than they had ever been. Dominic noticed a strange tugging on the fabric of his sock inside his hiking boot as he was leaving and upon examination found that he had just narrowly escaped a nail piercing his foot through the bottom of his boot. The evening meals were home-cooked by church staff, and in the evenings, Noemie played piano accompaniment for their worship times. She was humbled to have had this unexpected opportunity. 

 

  

 

And then came Christmas, without its usual fanfare. There were no Christmas programs to rehearse for, no Christmas dresses to buy, no mall rushes, or obligatory gift exchanges or parties. Our undecorated church had its service as regularly scheduled on Shabbat, and we spent Christmas Eve Sunday and Christmas morning Monday in peace. As I would tell my mom, Christmas isn't a season here. It's just a day. A day that commemorates when God became a man. Done. I don't know that I ever realized how much I had gotten sucked into the commercialization and materialism of the holiday so that its identity was almost unrecognizable. Why do we do this to ourselves? Yes, my family opened presents, yes, we set the Noche Buena table with picturesque Scottish tartan tablecloth, and yes, we ate a Cuban pork roast. (which, by the way, was Danny's best ever!) We even built a Christmas-themed puzzle while watching the Plantation Baptist candlelight service online till 1 am. But the simplicity and quietness was so welcome.

 

 

 

It is now the end of December, Israeli flags still hang everywhere- they hang from residential balconies, grace billboards, and line streets and highways in places they had not been before. Posters bearing the faces of the 240 hostages can still be seen along Jaffa Street. You see young men and women, some in uniform, some not, bearing military rifles as they do their errands around town. One man in particular caught my eye as he tried to balance pushing a baby stroller with one hand while holding a cup of coffee in the other, an M4 carbine slung over his shoulder. The war goes on. Some news places say that the war is entrenching Palestinian attitudes against Israel and driving their youth into radicalized groups. Other news desks say that the Palestinians are starting to turn against Hamas, realizing that their poverty is a direct result of militant aggression that keeps Israel in arms, while the leadership retreats out of harm's way and leaves the civilian population exposed as if it were expendable defensive fortification material. The Lord knows. God knows the truth of every heart in Gaza and in Israel. May next year bring the redemption of many, many lives from both sides of the fence.