Josh's War Journal (Day 16)

Sunday.

I head back into Tel Aviv. Back into the war zone. (See what Waze says about Ashkelon). Do I drive with the windows open so I can hear the sirens? But it is a hot day, so AC is good too... I remember back in 2006 when one of my colleagues at Melitz, who lives on Kibbutz Alumim near Gaza, would describe to me the trivial, yet not spoken about, matters of life, and death, in that region. How do you drive? Do you risk heat exposure, or risk not hearing the sirens? What about when it rains? How do you manage relieving yourself if you only have a 10-second window to reach the safe room? How can two people ever contemplate intimacy in that frame of mind? I recall one of his criticisms. The news would typically report: "A rocket fell. There were no injuries and no damage was done." Really??! Every rocket injures, and there is always damage. Who were we fooling? Our enemies? The world? Or merely ourselves...?

This morning our first stop is Tel Aviv University. The TAU Student Union has a history of being affiliated with the Israeli left and pro-Palestinian expression. Not today. Will they ever again? They use an auditorium to display the tragedy of October 7th. An auditorium with about 1,400 seats. Displayed on each seat - a picture of one of those murdered, killed, abducted, or missing.

A random woman walks in. She is stunned. She asks one of the organizers where the finances came from. She wants to donate to this cause. The student in charge says there is no need. The Student Union has a budget for this. Can you imagine? A student union that has a previously allocated budget for wartime initiatives.

In the semi-lit auditorium, the image is haunting. But physically being there evokes emotions of eeriness. Where 1,400 people should produce a cacophony, the silence is resounding. And on a global scale, where is the cacophony of outrage from the people of the world against Hamas. Their silence too, is resounding.

Leon gets fantastic images. Within an hour his image is displayed on the online edition of one of the largest American publications. Maybe through our efforts, a little bit of the world's silence will be broken.

Our next stop is Tel Aviv's Ichilov Hospital. We go to visit the underground hospital ward. The hospital built in underground garage for hundreds of cars 10 years ago. Already then they had inserted the infrastructure to turn it into a missle-protected wartime hospital. Here too, Leon gets to work capturing images that tell a story, with his standard sensitivity. He is the epitome of the phrase: "A picture is worth a thousand words." At the same time, he is ultrasensitive not to take pictures of patients' faces. Another insight from Leon: in Britain, to obtain permission for this would be a 6-month process. At least. And likely even then you would be denied. He is amazed at the fluidity, immediacy and ease, of the Israeli way.

In this Israeli hospital, I see all patients treated, and treated with dignity. Jews. Arabs. Christian Eritreans. Our third stop of the day: we cover yet another funeral. Three generations of one family. Murdered in Kibbutz Be'eri. A grandmother. Her 40-year-old son. And his 10-month-old baby daughter. Leon takes pictures for about an hour only to be told towards the end by one of the other photojournalists that the family asks for no press coverage. Leon's frustration is not directed at the fact that he just wasted an entire hour in the beating sun. The frustration is that the world will not know about this tragedy. We sit in the car racking our brains trying to come up with a new angle. Another story that needs to be told.

One image that the world needs to know. This funeral comes with instructions on what to do in the event of incoming rockets...

I believe that covering the ultra-Orthodox community might be an angle that has not yet been seen. Leon is ready to call it a day. I suggest that we make a minor detour through the ultra-Orthodox city of Bnei Brak. We might just come up with something. Leon is game. I pull over and ask one of the locals where I might find something related to the war effort. In a community that mostly does not use the internet nor WhatsApp groups, I know that information is spread just as fast by word of mouth. All it took is one stop and one question, and I am sent to an incredible refugee center.

The location is a three-story event hall. A flatbed truck is at the entrance where dozens of volunteers are rapidly unloading boxes. Donations of clothes, games and strollers from Haifa. The man in charge is a classic secular Israeli. He's on an adrenaline rush and excitedly tells me and Leon (in Hebrew) how there's "no more left and right. There's no more religious and secular. There are only Jews. There's only Israeli. I'm here to help these people. They are my brothers!"

I quickly find the man in charge. The Haredi are suspicious of outsiders (as both me and Leon are), but I quickly gain his confidence through body language, urgency of tone, a couple of Yiddishisms and of course, truth. This is a true refugee center. In the wedding hall, there are hundreds of people. Mothers. Fathers. Hundreds of kids. Infants in portable cribs. kids on scooters. Kids of all ages. At night they disperse to sleep in the locals' homes. All of these people are ultra-Orthodox families from the southern city of Netivot. It's now two weeks into the war. When they left their homes they quickly packed their bags. Many of these people don't have cars. How much can you carry on your back and onto a bus? During the day they hang out at this hall where people come to feed them. Entertain them. Provide for them.

There's a volunteer professional puppet show happening on the second floor. Leon lights up! He loves children. And he loves taking pictures of them. These are the images that he's looking for. It's the story that would never be told if not for him.

A mother approaches. Her 10-year-old son is a Down syndrome child. She asks on behalf of her son. Her son wants to know if Leon can take his picture. Leon is in heaven! He jumps at the opportunity. Hard to imagine. Other professionals would see this as a nuisance. And this Leon sees it as an opportunity!

The manager of the hall shows us on his phone an illustration of an 11-year-old child. It's an illustration of his home. One terrorist at the door. One at the window. One coming over the hills. The child's father tries to escape through the roof but a terrorist is there too. A rocket flies overhead. Is this what a Jewish child is supposed to feel anywhere in the world? Is this what a Jewish child living in the presumed safe haven of Israel ever supposed to imagine? (By the way, within 24 hours this image captured by Leon has gone viral! Here & here & here)

The loudspeaker says that now is the father-son learning program. Obviously, Leon doesn't understand what's being said and the manager has no idea this might be of interest. I think otherwise. I translate and Leon agrees. We go around the corner and join about 30 fathers and sons learning together. Children learn together. Talmud. Torah. Leon has never seen or experienced anything like this. The camera goes click click click. Now the world will know what Jews do in order to maintain a semblance of normalcy. These people study their most ancient and precious texts in peacetime. And no war, and no terrorist, will keep them from doing so either. Once again a hunch based on years of living, breathing, and experiencing my Israeli society, turns out to be one of the most exciting and important stops of our week. The planned items are crucial. But the unexpected provides a magnificence and poignancy.