Josh's War Journal (Days 9-10)

Sunday

Leon is interested in an angle about civilians who are arming themselves and training as a result of their concern in protecting themselves. I decide to take him to Caliber 3 and use my connections there. As opposed to a random indoor range, the best combat instructors in the country are at Caliber 3, and in addition, I hope we will also see elite IDF units and civilian emergency first responder teams as well.

We drive through torrential rain on our way out of Tel Aviv, but with good fortune, it is clear skies in Gush Etzion.

I have lived with guns since I was drafted in 1991. I own a handgun for protection. Legally, I own it for my personal protection. I know that this legality is a ruse. If any terror is directed against me, I will likely not be able to deflect it. However, most terror attacks are stopped not by the authorities, but rather by armed civilians, like myself. I carry a gun not for my protection, but for the protection of everybody else!

Oddly enough, I actually hate guns. The majority of people misunderstand guns. If asked about the purpose of guns, most reply they are for defense, protection and deterrence. In reality, these are all byproducts, but not the purpose of guns. Guns are made to do one thing only: to shorten the lifespan of another human being.

Nonetheless, for years I have been taking tourists to this shooting range and combat training facility. Not because it is fun to shoot and to feel like Rambo for two hours. But rather because this a training facility with a mission. Through their training, my tourists learn about how and why Israeli security is different, must be different, than any other security force in the world.

Caliber 3 was founded and is run by Colonel Sharon Gat. His brother-in-law, IDF officer Hagai, was killed in action in Gaza. That same officer stood with other IDF personnel in Auschwitz and swore: "Never again."

At the end of every tourist training seminar, they pay homage to Hagai, his message, his legacy.

It is good to see Yael Gat (sister of Hagai/ PR chief of Caliber 3, and wife of Colonel Sharon) and her mom (who loved my book). I've never seen the CEO, Itzik, in uniform. Eitan is here. Eitan is the type of guy of whom we say, "Thank God he is on our side!". He is an international champion of mixed martial arts and a mountain of a man with a huge heart (who I have not seen since before Corona, and it seems to me that he hasn’t slept in days).

I was hoping Sharon would give us permission to photograph the IDF units, but this couldn’t happen. If only I had IDF spokesperson clearance.

But Leon does get permission to take photos for over an hour of a civilian training session. Even if the pictures don't get the nuances of Israel's needs, Leon does. And I'm sure this will also influence future photoshoots as well.

I suggest to Leon that we go to cover a shiva (mourner's) house. He is new to the concept of sitting shiva. Just a few minutes away from Caliber 3, my childhood friend Yami and his wife Naomi, are sitting shiva in their Efrat home, over their son Roey, who was killed Saturday morning defending his army base and his country.

I figure that from my perspective it is a win-win. This way I get to pay a personal Shiva call which is incredibly important for me. And I think to myself that it could also be very meaningful to my friends to have their personal story gain sympathy and knowledge throughout the world.

I am surprised that there are only about 15 people sitting around the living room. Then I remember that having too many people together may be a security risk in case of rockets...

Yami is surrounded by friends and neighbors. The kids must be in their bedrooms with their own friends. As soon as I enter I go over and give him a tearful hug and kiss. There's something about meeting a childhood friend that allows you to do and say things that you wouldn't with friends acquired later in life. The interim years seem to drop out of sight. And suddenly you are a 50-year-old man together with your 17-year-old friends.

His wife Naomi is cool and collected. She likes the idea of the photojournalist coming in. I invite Leon in and explain to him how it works. This is something he has never seen before. I make up in my mind that I will not assist Leon once in the house. His modus operandi is to be a fly on the wall. I can help him by totally ignoring him. When we are done I tell him that I wasn't even aware of his presence. He is filled with gratitude for my comment. That's the highest compliment someone can pay him! He is so full of human dignity and understanding and compassion. It is the exact opposite of what I anticipated a seasoned journalist would be. Especially someone who has covered conflicts in Libya and Ukraine.

He is constantly mindful that he is a stranger taking pictures of people on what is possibly the very worst day of their life.

On our way out I bump in to my best childhood friend, Tzvika. Seeing him here under these circumstances is overwhelming. The chest constricts, the tears run, but the smiles are still huge. He is here to visit Yami, along with a Chinese colleague (as only Tzvika, ever the connector of random people, could think of) and Tzvika's cousin, Yishai (who helped me tremendously in my stint of voice dubbing for the Auschwitz in 360 VR - "Triumph of the Spirit"... but that's a story for another day).

From there we go to check out if the Yeshiva High School, Neve Shmuel, is housing refugees from the south. I tell Leon to sit down and grab a bite to eat while I go scout it out. Akiva is now a ninth grader at the school and his older twin brothers are graduates. I'm amused (and concerned) that the code to unlock the gate has never been changed in the past 13 years. There are only two families staying here right now. Not much to photograph. But I utilize the opportunity to get some of Akiva's clothing as we are not sure when school may be resuming.

From here we decide to cover an unusual format of a funeral. One of the fallen IDF soldiers is from Modiin. There are too many people to have at the cemetery. It is too dangerous with rockets falling. So a new format of funeral procession spontaneously occurs across the country. As the family travels the route from their home to the cemetery thousands of people line the streets on either side holding Israeli flags and paying their last respects. It is an incredible spectacle to see and a privilege to be a part of it. Leon has never seen this either. This is what the world also needs to see. Our pain. And our pride.

I check the schedule for yet another funeral. This one is in Yehud. A Peruvian Oleh. An ENT doctor who was murdered in Kibbutz Be'eri. He is survived by his wife and two kids.

We drive back to Tel Aviv and discuss the day. Leon is overwhelmed. Usually, he does one or two shoots/sites a day. Today we covered four. He is very thankful and expresses thanks. I think that he realizes the difference of having a regular taxi driver and having someone like me: a person who's been around the block a few times, who has lots of connections and is driven more by a sense of mission than personal financial gain.

Monday.

Leon decides he wants to cover a funeral down in Ashdod. Just as we're pulling into the city he learns that his colleague is already covering it. We pull over to the side to consider our next moves. I call Tony H. who is in Ashkelon. (Tony is a long-time friend, neighbor, and fellow volunteer bike-police guy. Recently he moved to Ashkelon for a nice quiet view of the sea. So much for quiet. Tony is also working this week as a "fixer" for a Belgian TV crew). As we're discussing different options with him he says: "Sorry. need to go." Rockets overhead. We can see them flying overhead even though we are not in the danger zone. This is my first real-life visual of the war.

The next item is a 3:00 funeral in Bet Shemesh. Here's where my role really comes into play. I have very little doubt that if a standard-issue taxi driver or pro-Palestinian driver were taking Leon around he would have suggested going back to Tel Aviv. Why not wait four hours in the hotel lobby? I quickly think how to maximize the day. I call Yaeli K. I know that she knows the city and she knows what goes on. She is cool and collected and very much in the know. Through her good intel, we connect with Liron. She and her father run a weekend hostel. Today it is filled with refugees from the south. We obtain their permission to photograph the challenges these people are facing. Nearby soup kitchens that typically would be feeding needy people are now feeding refugees.

We see one room after the other. Each room was built for two or three people. A couple and a child. These rooms now, without exaggeration, have anywhere between 6 and 12 people. In each room. In one room is a divorced woman with 10 children. Another houses a couple with their six children, all under the age of 10. In another a couple and their eight children. These are people from Netivot. All of them come from the ultra-orthodox society. Low income. Low academic background. Families with enough challenges on their plates in the regular day-to-day.

Leon spends a good amount of time taking pictures of the young children being entertained by local volunteers.

From there we go to one of the community centers. It has been turned into a distribution center. Donations come in with games, hygienic products, basic food supplies, clothes and shoes. The items are sorted. People come in day and night with backpacks and bags. They take whatever they need and no questions are asked. I speak with the deputy mayor (Moshe Sheetrit) who's standing next to his brother. The brother is a reservist who came home from the southern front for a few hours.

The woman sorting the clothes is from the Beta Israel (Jewish community of Ethiopia). I am quite familiar with their history, trials, and tribal dignity. In Ethiopia, they faced persecution because they were Jews. Once a year, on the Sigd holiday, they would climb to the highest mountain and gaze into the distance. "One day," they would pray, "...one day we will be in Jerusalem..." Thousands risked their lives as they fled in the early 1980s. Thousands lost their lives in the deserts of Africa. It is here, in their original homeland that they are meant to be free. The Arabs and their global supporters tell us, including this community, to get out of Palestine. I wonder if the African-American community would stand up for these dark-skinned Jews...?

A woman walks by and I recognize her. It is Rina Berglass-Hollander. She goes into the meeting where all of the managers of the city discuss their plans. I follow her inside and say hi. I'm surprised to learn that she too is one of the deputy mayors. Once again, the great Jewish network proves its value. She tells me about a project where kids are tying tzitzit for soldiers to wear on the front line. Leon is keen to see this as well. We go now to our third stop in Bet Shemesh.

We meet a young 10-year-old boy by the name of Daniel. He is cool, calm, and clearly the man in charge! He explains exactly what's going on. We witness him coach other kids as they come in. He does it in a manner that any instructor could learn from. He is clear, concise, and full of positive reinforcement. Leon gets some good photographs. In the car, he once again compares his work in Ukraine to what he is covering here. In Ukraine, kids are recruited to sew military vests for their soldiers. Here the kids are using their skills to create life-saving vests of a different level, of a spiritual nature.

It's almost 3:00 and once again we realize that we have yet to get a bite to eat. Nonetheless, we rush over to the cemetery for the 3:00 funeral. The cemetery is empty. Apparently, it's at the city's other cemetery. We rush over there to realize that the intel was a false call. We are the only ones there. Already it's been quite a day. Leon makes an executive decision to head back to Tel Aviv. He plans on covering the 1:00 AM volunteers digging 20 fresh graves in the military cemetery of Mt. Herzl in Jerusalem.

On our way back to Tel Aviv there is a major barrage of rocket fire. The most intense yet of this war. The entire center of the country is targeted. We pulled to the side of the highway with everybody else and crouch down in the rain-drenched ditch. Always the professional, Leon takes out his cameras and gets some good photographs of what it is to be a society cowering in fear and yet fearless at the same time.

This is my second rocket barrage of the day. But this time I can actually witness the iron dome rockets exiting their batteries and screeching through the sky.

It was raining pretty hard. But due to some fluke or perhaps providence, for the few minutes we were out of the car it was only a drizzle. As soon as we got back in the van it started pouring again. And I ask myself: when will Israelis stop calling rocket fire a drizzle... Can you imagine? A country that has just come to accept "light to moderate" shelling?

I get home this evening feeling very accomplished in what I call my "civilian reserve duty." I'm finding it very effective. I have a very good sense that if I were not with Leon he would be achieving "X" amount as a product. But under my supervision, he is accomplishing four times that amount. Just yesterday Leon told me in his own words that he is used to covering at most two sites over the course of the day and he was astonished to look back and recognize how much territory and how many different stories and angles we had achieved in a brief amount of time.

Leon himself is an incredible person. He is a professional. And he does work in journalism. And nonetheless, in spite of covering major conflicts in Libya, Ukraine, and other places as well, he is incredibly sensitive. As a professional, he talks about the good fortune of being able to cover this tragedy, that tragedy. And every single time he prefaces and ends with dignity and humanity acknowledging that he is personally witnessing what is most likely the most challenging difficult and painful day in another person's life.

I come back home with the understanding that I have a late-night meeting with the newly forming emergency response team of the city. I too am signed up for this initiative. But the meeting is postponed as there is another emergency event and the main organizers have to postpone it at the last minute.

As I head to bed, I reflect on Yami's son, Roey. We saw his picture just yesterday. Huge smile that could light up an entire building, in full army gear and the "thumbs up" sign. I had asked Yami about the circumstances of the picture. Yami smiles and tells me this was after he had marched 45 KM as a sergeant with his recruits. On top of it all, he had somehow fallen into a reservoir and had marched the last 11 KM soaking wet. But he was so proud of his unit, of his guys... That smile was so huge that its rays were still illuminating my thoughts...