Tuesday
Hamas terrorists publicize a video showing Maya Shem - one of the over 200 hostages. On a familial level - amazing she's alive. On a national level - psychological terrorism. On an international level - yet another war crime.
There's another conference in the museum tower. I head there and pick Leon up around noon. From there we decide to cover a funeral. Another one. (I get my information from a website that lists the funerals with search categories: date, name, cemetery. Who would ever think that we would need such a thing?!) The woman's name is Shiraz Tamam. She and her husband were at the nature party. If I understand correctly they survived the massacre, reached their car, and drove to the nearby kibbutz. They had no idea they were going from the frying pan into the fire. Her husband was buried a few days ago. Only now her body was identified. They're buried side by side. She leaves behind grieving parents, and eight and ten-year-old daughters. As the mayor spoke he used the phraseology that this woman was "killed." Shiraz's father broke down and shouted, screamed, roared: "She wasn't killed. She was brutally murdered in cold blood."
We go to a bakery to grab a bite. This time at a normal hour. (Yes. Apparently,
even mourners get hungry). Leon dutifully edits and uploads his photographs. He decides to call it a day. I show him a news item of Chaim Yavin who tattooed the date 7.10.2023 on his forearm reminiscent of Holocaust numbers. He is a long-time member of the region/ former head of the regional council /and a former member of Knesset.
What scares him most is the thought that this horrific day will be a passing memory.
And therefore he wanted to brand it as a daily reminder for himself, and for all to see.
It reminds me of this caricature I used to use in educational Shoah programs:
Leon thinks this would be a great angle. I do some research and manage to speak with Chaim's wife-widow. Unfortunately, she's giving the interview and has to hang up. Leon researches this phenomenon and right away you see many photographs of tattoos done around the world displaying the horrors of what is now becoming known as the Black Saturday.
I call various tattoo parlors in Tel Aviv. Leon wants to take a photograph of the human element while the tattoos are actually being done. I help make a couple of connections and the tattoo parlor owner promises to let Leon know when the next appointment is.
This gives me yet another idea of graffiti expressing the emotions, feelings and outrage. On the way back to the hotel I take him to the Florentine neighborhood. (Over the past 20 years this has become graffiti art central, and I've brought hundreds of people here on tour). We start walking around and we see very little at first. One road we avoid as it is partially blocked off. When you go fishing sometimes the hook comes back empty. But just as we approach the car I realize that the area that is somewhat blocked off by the municipality is the location where a rocket fell just two days ago. Three people were severely wounded. The devastation is all around. Standing on the sidewalk, you gaze into someone's bedroom, someone's privacy. And on the wall next to where the rocket fell a graffiti artist painted Savta Rochel (Grandma Rachel) in the pose of Rosie the Riveter.
Other very powerful although visually less impressive graffiti is also right there. For Leon's purposes and for the world's knowledge, thank God we had a good catch after all.
I try to get back in time for meeting with the police volunteers but I miss it by an hour. There's so much to do and so little time. Wednesday.
Today Leon is going down to Ashkelon. The idea is to join the MDA (Israeli ambulance service) teams. However, Joe Biden lands in the morning. As a result, there's a cessation in the long-range rocket fire. Nonetheless, I can't go with him as I'm still lacking in body armor. I join his colleague, Alexi.
Alexi seems like a really good guy. Part Australian/American/Israeli. He served in the IDF spokesperson's office as a photographer only a few years ago. Now he's back as an international journalist but covering the same angles. The army wanted to recruit him for the war effort. But he wisely refused. This is his dream come true. To fight in Israel's media war from a strategically superior position. As long as he is in uniform, the world will only see bias. But as an internationally acclaimed photographer for Getty Images, his hands are not tied.
Of course, playing Jewish geography... he used to work with my good friend and colleague, Doron (who is a major with the Israeli Army Spokesperson Office - and probably the best guy they have...)
We're supposed to meet at noon. But the president changes his plans. Due to the hospital event (the jihadists accidentally fired into their own hospital) the Arab leaders of Jordan and Egypt refuse to meet with him. So I end up picking him up at 3:00 p.m.
We head over to Hod HaSharon cemetery. Four members of one family - the Siton family. Grandparents Yitzchak and Pesya, Chana (Pesya's sister), and their adult, married son, Tal. Thousands of people line the streets with flags, accompanying the mourners and the victims on their way to the cemetery. Thousands of people show up and park their cars in the fields until there is no more room. Now people must park a couple of miles away to be shuttled in. My "Press" vehicle gets us through until even we can go no further.
One of the older family members eulogizes that her parents fled Nazi Germany in 1939. She herself was born in a DP camp. And here it is. 2023. "Murder. Holocaust. Holocaust. Holocaust."
Tal's daughter eulogizes her dad. I can't see, but I can hear. She must be about 13 years old. She pleads for fairness... all she wants is 5 more seconds with her dad...
The nausea returns. The chest constricts and the tears flow. I head back to the car before the funeral is over. How much more can I take?
The funeral over, Alexi meets me back at the van with another photojournalist from a leading British publication. As we are getting in the van, sirens wail. Hundreds of people returning from burying their friends run for cover. A woman cries hysterically. I remember what a survivor of dozens of rocket attacks told me: "The best defense is lying prone. No point in running for cover. Just lie flat. If the rocket hits your head, you're dead. But otherwise, you'll be fine." I do just that. The Iron Dome rocket knocks the killer projectile out of the sky. Alexi gets some good coverage, and I am covered in sand.
Better sandy than dead.
On the way home, I pick up Moriya (my daughter). She spent a couple of days with her future in-law's family. I am happy for her to have some distraction. I can't even imagine the stress of having your soon-to-be husband in a war.
If only I could take his place...
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