Days 5 to 7. Family ties and one very special reunion.

The Moshav

The last three days have been all about family. I spent the weekend (in Israel, ‘the weekend’ is Friday afternoon through to Saturday evening*) with cousins on an idyllic moshav (farming community) called Shadmot Devora about two hours northeast of Tel Aviv. The community was established in 1939 by immigrants from Germany, including my grandfather Eric and his two brothers Yechiel and Fritz. One branch of my family tree, the product of a Jewish family fleeing antisemitism in Germany crossing paths with a Jewish family fleeing antisemitism in Iran, still lives there today.?

The weekend was essentially a rolling buffet of delicious Middle Eastern cuisine (prepared by cousin YaYa, one of Tel Aviv’s best chefs), with short breaks for sleeping, lazing on the couch, backgammon and playing with my nieces and nephew.?

In an attempt to offset the one million calories I’d consumed, I got out for a run with ‘very fit cousin Yoni’ on Saturday morning. For an hour I filled my lungs with crisp, clean air and took in the spectacular scenery including vineyards, olive trees and the picturesque Mount Tabor in the distance. It wasn’t lost on me that my grandfather had walked these very same tracks some 80 years earlier.

Margalit

Sunday had been circled on my calendar for some time. It was the day I'd be visiting Margalit Moses, my father's first cousin, resident of kibbutz Nir Oz and returned hostage after 49 days in the tunnels of Gaza.?

My journey began at Tel Aviv train station a little after 8:30am. Being a Sunday (the equivalent of our Monday) it was busy, especially with soldiers returning to their bases after weekends spent at home with family. As I sat on the cold bench waiting for my train, eating a lukewarm cheese boureka, I looked up at the hundreds of babies in army and airforce uniforms all around me.?

It took every ounce of strength I had not to burst into tears. How can people think we want to live like this? To think that we enjoy sending our children, barely out of high school, into war? But unfortunately, this has always been our lot. As long as there have been Jews, there have been antisemites who have sought to destroy us. I’ve never felt more like a link in a 3,000 year chain than I did sitting on that bench.?

I managed to pull myself together and hop the train for a one hour journey south to Kiryat Gat. Other than meeting my great uncle Chanan (Margalit’s brother) at the train station at 9:45 I had no idea what the plan for the day was.?

In my mind, Maraglit was more like a 2D persona than a real person I shared DNA with. Sure, I’d met her when I was about 10 and my parents would go and visit her when they were in Israel, but since October 7, she was mainly a face I’d seen a million times on Israeli TV segments and in news articles online.

She was a poster I’d plastered all over Melbourne and held for a photograph that accompanied an article about her in The Australian. She was an icon of the depravity of Hamas. A grandmother in her 70’s thrown onto a golf cart, ferried to Gaza and held underground for weeks on end. I had no idea what state she would be in or how she was readjusting to ‘real life’.

So you can imagine my surprise when she stepped out of the front seat of Chanan’s car and gave me the warmest, most heartfelt embrace I’ve ever experienced. I couldn’t believe that I was actually standing there, holding her and she was free.

Nir Oz

It turns out that the plan for the day involved a trip down to Kibbutz Nir Oz, the place where Margalit had lived since 1965 and the site of one of the worst hit communities on October 7. It was the fourth time she’d been back there in the month or so since her release, and the plan was to collect some bits and pieces from her ‘real home’ to bring back to her ‘temporary home’ in Kiryat Gat.?

We pulled up to the kibbutz gate and were immediately met by armed guards, as is now standard. Despite Margalit’s face being plastered all over the country for months, she was still required to produce ID before we were let through. I guess that 111 days later, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Before October 7, Kibbutz Nir Oz was home to around 400 residents as well as numerous international workers including 13 Thais. It had a thriving silicon plant and was highly regarded for its agricultural crops including cannabis, potatoes, carrots, pomegranates, avocados, radishes and peanuts. People here lived simply with many multigenerational families calling the kibbutz home. Despite frequent rocket fire from Gaza (just 1800 meters away), there was a general feeling of safety, especially with Iron Dome’s track record of keeping residents safe.

Post October 7, it’s a very different place. As we drove through, the carnage was evident immediately. Of the kibbutz’s 400 residents, a full one quarter of them (100) were murdered or taken hostage on October 7. Eleven of the 13 Thai workers were killed. 28 residents are still being held in Gaza as well as the bodies of nine people who were killed on site and then carried back across the border.?

Six houses were left untouched. The rest are somewhere between ransacked and completely obliterated. The communal dining hall and many other common areas are riddled with bullets and charred black from fire and explosions.

Around 80% of the kibbutz needs to be rebuilt at an estimated cost of 800 million shekels (around $200m USD). As a reminder, there are 21 other kibbutzim in a similar state.

We pulled up to Margalit’s house (ransacked but not destroyed) where we were met by her nephew Yiftach who offered to take me around in his golf cart. Yiftach, now in his mid 50’s, has spent most of his life on and around the kibbutz, farming, driving trucks, working in the factory and taking care of whatever needed to be done.

Since October 7, he’s assumed the unofficial role of caretaker, helping to keep things in order including who gets through the front gate. He keeps the lawns mowed and the weeds pulled, knowing that many of the residents are desperate to get back to their beloved kibbutz.

I hop on board along with Chanan, and Yiftach begins to tell me about what transpired after more than 250 Hamas terrorists (plus up to 150 Gazan residents including women and children, many with weapons) stormed the kibbutz a little before 7am on that fateful day.??

They came on motorbikes, in cars, on tuk tuks and even a large scale truck with a crane on the back. With the Israeli army nowhere to be seen, the terrorists had free reign until 230 in the afternoon. In this time, they travelled back and forth across the border many times, massacring residents, taking hostages, blowing up homes and setting fire to buildings as they went. They stole every tractor on the kibbutz as well as much of the farming equipment.?

We drove from one house to the next. Each had a story and Yiftach knew them all.?

I saw family homes that were completely decimated, charred black from fires that had been lit with the families still inside.?

I saw a house where a bomb had been thrown in and detonated. The force was so powerful it literally blew the roof off and separated the room from the rest of the building. The inhabitants never had a chance.

I saw a house so badly burnt that it took forensic and archaeological experts six weeks to be able to confirm that the residents who lived there had been killed in the blaze, based on DNA they were able to scrape together from dust and burnt remains.??

I saw bullet holes along doorways and windows.

I saw bomb shelter doors blown to smithereens.

I saw homes where women in their 70s had been dragged out of windows and thrown onto golf carts to be taken back to Gaza.

I saw glass windows in safe rooms that had burnt so hot they melted.

I saw lists of entire families that had been murdered on the same day.

I saw the kibbutz mail room where letterboxes were marked with different colored labels to denote the status of the resident; black for kidnapped, blue for released, red for murdered. The amount of red was just harrowing.

Nir Oz hasn’t attracted the visitation that some of the other kibbutzim have since October 7, so there was nothing ‘set up’ for visitors. Instead, I just followed Yiftach from one horror scene to the next, stepping over children's pyjamas, toys and games as I went.

Like seeing Margalit in the flesh, this is the place where so many stories I'd heard about had actually played out on the day.?

I saw the home of the Bibas brothers, aged four and one, still held in Gaza.?

I saw the home of Noya Dan, the 12 year old autistic Harry Potter fan, killed at the border by her captives for slowing them down.?

I saw the home where a grandmother was murdered, dragged into her living room, set on fire and live streamed to her own Facebook feed.

All of these gut wrenching stories I’d heard about had happened in this gorgeous little village a little over 100 days ago. It was so depraved, so disturbing that my brain seemed convinced that I was simply walking through a movie set.?

Half way through the tour, I found myself marvelling at what a ‘man’s man’ Yiftach was. His hands were thick and calloused. He’s served through multiple wars. He’s the only person I’ve ever met who wears Carhartt clothing as it was intended to be worn. He carried a leatherman. He could drive a truck with a double trailer and has forgotten more than I’ll ever know about farming.?

As our trip around the kibbutz came to a close, I took a moment to ask him how Margalit was doing. He said she seemed to be doing well, but that they were keeping a close eye on her and that truth be told, they all had their moments. I saw his eyes start to well up as he explained how sometimes, he just felt the feelings come over him. How they started in the pit of his stomach, rushed up past his heart and lungs, and forced their way out through his eyes. Here was a man who could crush me in a heartbeat, who at the same time was completely in touch with his feelings and thought nothing of sharing them with someone he’d met 90 minutes prior.

With the tour complete and the car loaded up with homewares and nick-nacks, we made our way back to Margalit’s ‘temporary house’ where a crew from the Israeli government was setting up cameras for an interview about her experience. On the way back I asked her how she felt about the recording. She said she didn’t mind at all, which I took as an opportunity to ask her a couple of questions of my own.

Yes, she was in the underground tunnels.

No, she had no idea she was being released until moments before she was.?

She decided that the best way to spend her time was to keep as busy as she could, looking after the other women she was held with and conversing with the guards in Arabic about who needed medical care, blankets and food.

She’s thankful to be out but still deeply concerned about the status of so many friends and family, including her ex-husband Gadi who’s still being held.

A chance encounter

After more hugs and kisses, Chanan and I left Margalit to make our way back to the train station. On the way, we decided to stop by his place so I could briefly meet his wife Edna, as well as his daughter Efrat.

What started as a polite conversation about how Efrat had recently wrapped up the diplomatic work she’d spent years doing in Japan and made her way back to Israel, quickly became a deeply emotional exchange about how much Israel loved and needed the Jewish diaspora, and how much the Jewish diaspora loved and needed Israel. We held each other and cried. Such is the mood in Israel right now. Everyone has a stiff upper lip, but is only moments away from breakdown.

The last time we faced these levels of antisemitism was in Europe in the 1930s. There was no Israel for Jews to run to and no IDF to fight back. The result was six million people slaughtered for the crime of being born Jewish. There are still less Jews in the world today than there were before World War Two.

Since returning to Israel, Efrat has dedicated herself entirely to advocating for the families of hostages. She’s channelling decades of diplomacy and political know how to ensure that the voices of the families of the hostages are represented in the high stakes negotiations taking place for their release.

Reflections

The time with family, and this trip as a whole has turned me inside out. In one short week, with the exception of daily calls to my wife and kids back home, I’ve all but forgotten what my life in Melbourne is like. I've seen horrors that even visits to concentration camps hadn’t prepared me for. I’ve seen pain that knows no end. And I’ve seen heroics, kindness and unity that I never knew existed.

In the same way October 7 ignited a wave of global antisemitism that had been bubbling along below the surface, so too did it spark a pride and a unity far stronger than any of us could have ever anticipated.

Am Yisrael Chai ????

* A small part of me does wonder how much of Israel’s incredible economic success is due to having 20% more work days than any other developed country...