Revisiting Israel’s devastated south, you want to cry while your soul wants to scream.
By Rolene Marks
To truly understand the magnitude of destruction, devastation and loss on 7/10, you must bear witness. Pictures and footage in the media do not do enough justice. I headed down south with my good friends, the Fisher family who have been collecting the generous donations that people are contributing to give to soldiers.
Nahal Oz Army Base
First stop was Nahal Oz army base, mere metres away from the Gaza border, to deliver loads of stuff that wonderful people have donated and organised by Maeghan Fisher, for the HUGELY appreciative soldiers. After a lesson in effective tank combat, we walked around looking at the massive destruction on the base caused by Hamas terrorists on 7/10. Buildings are pockmarked from bullets and grenades; evidence of looting and wholesale destruction is everywhere. The shattered glass, burnt palm trees and the smells tell the story about that darkest day in Israel’s history. Exactly 5 months before, Hamas murdered, raped, mutilated, kidnapped and burnt over 1200 during in their orgy of terror. As we walked around, a Jordanian aid plane airdropped aid into the Gaza strip. Aid is distributed daily by land, air and sea, despite what you may see in the media. I saw it with my own eyes.
In the cheder ochel (dining room) the coppery smell of blood is pervasive, even though it has painstakingly been removed. It is an assault on the senses.
The most devastating area is the command centre, where soldiers, including the female “Tatzpitaniot” were murdered, raped, burnt and abducted. The hairs on the back of my neck rose. It is a place where evil reigned supreme – and the evidence is everywhere.
I thought about Naama. And Noa. Shiri. Eden. Agam. Roni. All of them. I walked into what was the command room at Nahal Oz and I felt the presence of them saying:
“Tell our story, don’t let the world forget us“.
Their presence is everywhere – and so are the candles and flowers from heartbroken friends and family. It almost reminded me of the children’s memorial at Yad Vashem – Israel’s National Holocaust Memorial and Museum.
It is impossible not to cry. The soul wants to scream. It was here Hamas shot, raped and burnt our girls. Some were burnt to ash. It was from here the world watched as Naama was dragged, bleeding from her crotch to Gaza. She is still there. It is from here that Noa Marciano was taken hostage, her remains recovered by our soldiers. At least her parents had a body to bury, a place to go. Others were burnt to ash. To ash. It was here where Eden saved her fellow Skyriders – and paid with her life. She fought like a lioness. We will roar in her memory. And the smell. The room reeks of smoke and burnt plastic. Bullet holes are everywhere. My hackles were up. I thought of their last moments here. It was here I saw a female soldier, at this place of devastation, of holiness, tears streaming down her face. We looked at each other. We did not need to say words. We knew what each other felt. March is Women’s History Month. Please speak for Naama, Roni, Agam, Noa, Eden and all of our women. They no longer can. Bear witness and speak.
The Graveyard of Cars
The eye sees cars. The soul feels people. Families were in some of these cars. Young festivalgoers desperately fleeing were in some of these cars. Soldiers, police and rescue personnel who were racing to the scenes of slaughter were in these cars. You can see the level of carnage. Many cars burnt, every car pummeled by bullets, some, including an ambulance, hit by rocket-propelled grenades. Many have stickers indicating ZAKA cleared it of human remains but the truth is not every speck of DNA was cleared, and so this is holy ground. You see the white pickups mounted with machine guns and mangled motorbikes used by the terrorists, who indiscriminately fired on everyone. We know some of the individual stories of occupants. Some have car seats for babies or toddlers. Agony. Then you look inside. A hairbrush here. A toy there. A container. Personal objects. This place will eventually become a museum. People will learn about their owners. People will learn how on a sunny Saturday morning became the darkest day.
Nova Festival Memorial Site
They came to dance. They came to celebrate peace – and hopefully, those on the other side of the border would one day feel the same. They were full of life, a vibrant testimony to joy. The Nova memorial site has changed since I visited in January – but the ground still cries out with the blood of the many victims. The trees whisper. Remember what happened here and make sure the world does not forget. This is holy ground. Next to the memorial site, trees have been lovingly planted for each life taken. Trees are sacred in Israel and it is a fitting memorial. The reminders of beautiful lives brutally ended or taken hostage in Gaza are everywhere. The heart aches. The soul screams. It is impossible not to see the horrific, depraved carnage in your mind’s eye. Each memorial pole has become a shrine, a personal testament to each beautiful soul. We know many of the individual stories but each one is deeply personal.
There is a tent where a constant stream of prayers for the souls of the murdered and the freedom of the captives are intoned. Tiny miguniot (shelters) line the roads in the south. A stark reminder that rockets have pummeled this area for decades and that dark Saturday, hundreds ran for the shelters as rockets rained down and Hamas terrorists murdered innocents. I am always struck by how small they are. Big enough to take 10 people – not 20, 30, terrified individuals that could not be protected against the bullets and grenades. ZAKA stickers placed on the outside are a reminder that these shelters became places of death and devastation. Israelis in our sorrow are determined to honour our murdered. We will dance again. We will!
Shova Junction
Light in the darkness. In a place of sorrow, new life starts to grow. Red anemones dot the fields and areas. Citizens are starting to slowly return home and rebuild. While we are a country in deep trauma and pain and at war against a monstrous enemy, we focus on building. Perhaps that is the secret to our success. We are a stubborn people, hoping for peace, looking to the future. It is too soon and we are in too much pain to talk about peace solutions with our neighbours, but the stubborn hope is there, underneath the layers. You can only destroy darkness by shining light. We ended the day in the most hopeful of places. Shova Junction. On 7/10, emergency personnel and the IDF evacuated the wounded to the junction so that helicopters and ambulances could work safely, away from threats of terrorists with RPG’s. The residents of the Shova moshav, organised by the irrepressible Dror and his two brothers, started to bring food and coffee for exhausted first responders. The junction grew and grew and is now a place that is packed with food and everything our soldiers could possibly need, most of it donated by many generous people around the world just wanting an opportunity to say thank you to our warriors. None of them is photographed out of respect for their personal safety. Music plays, hugs and a hot meal and whatever they need is given to them. We owe each one a debt we can never repay but we can take care of them. Under the protective plastic that covers the tables, are letters to soldiers, lovingly written by children in South Africa that they can read. A group of 10 soldiers led by a religious man gathers for evening prayers. A soldier strums a guitar nearby. It is an oasis of joy and peace. I give Dror a hug. He calls me “Shova sister“. We embrace the amazing Racheli who is an embodiment of the spirit and resilience of the area. And hell yes, we can all agree FCK HMS!!! Am Yisrael Chai!
While the mission of Lay of the Land (LotL) is to provide a wide and diverse perspective of affairs in Israel, the Middle East and the Jewish world, the opinions, beliefs and viewpoints expressed by its various writers are not necessarily ones of the owners and management of LOTL but of the writers themselves. LotL endeavours to the best of its ability to credit the use of all known photographs to the photographer and/or owner of such photographs (0&EO).
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