People have asked me how it is living in Alon Shevut
at the current time. The answer, in short, is… it's complicated.
On the one hand, there is pain, tension, some fear
and much frustration.
Let's start with the pain. Last week, a beloved friend and community
member, Yaakov Don z"l, was murdered just outside the gates of our Yishuv. (In the same attack, 18 year old Ezra Schwartz z"l was killed.)
The entire community of Alon Shevut has been thrust into deep mourning. Yaakov was an
incredible dynamo of warmth and positive energy in the
community and a dear friend to many. (I have written more about him here.) Many of our children are friendly with his children, or were
inspired by his teaching and leadership in one of our local schools. Yaakov's terrible murder has brought the recent wave of terrorism home to us in a most immediate manner - into
our hearts and souls - emotionally, viscerally, as an ever-present consciousness.
Tension - as the roads and sidewalks are simply
unsafe. The violence, knife and car attacks started in Jerusalem some weeks ago,
but now, Gush Etzion Junction, not 3 minutes from my house, has the unsavory status
as the most dangerous spot in Israel, with over 10 attacks in the past month
and 4 people killed just this week. If
Alon Shevut wasn't "famous" before, for its hitchhiking station nearby
from which the "three boys" were abducted and murdered in the summer
of 2014; now - with almost daily attacks - we feel vulnerable, tense, even
fearful for our safety and that of our loved ones. After the 3 boys were
abducted last year, we instructed our children not to hitchhike, but now after
our friend Yaakov was murdered in a drive-by terrorist shooting, what shall we say
to our children and spouses? Not to drive to work? Not to cross the road?
And here comes some of the frustration, because
prior to this, Gush Etzion was perceived, by its residents and by others, as a
place of moderation and tolerance. Our local supermarket, Rami Levy, was a
paragon of Arab-Jewish coexistence with Arabs and Jews shopping side by side,
smiling at one another as we queued at the checkout, wishing each other a "Ramadan
Karim!" and a "Shanna Tova!" Business was expanding, and the
community was looking forward to the opening of a new shopping mall, for Arabs
and Jews alike, a further step to normalization in the district. Gush Etzion's key
rabbinic figures – Rabbis Amital, Lichtenstein and Riskin - were political
moderates; its highly-educated population represents a more tolerant and open model
than the classic "settler" stereotype. Gush Etzion was a pastoral,
rural area in which our kids would walk, guitar in hand to swim in the local
spring, as Jewish joggers and bikers would ride in-between Arab farmed
vineyards in their weekend exercise. Our boutique winery, bakeries, restaurants
and beauty spots had become increasingly attractive as tourist venues.
But now it feels as if this has all radically
changed. Now, Gush Etzion Junction looks like a fortified army camp with
security barriers and close-circuit cameras in every direction, a military
watchtower and over 20 infantry soldiers in full battle gear keeping us safe.
Soldiers at Gush Etzion Junction |
And we wonder - will it all return to normal after
this wave of violence, or is our neighbourhood forever changed?
But in contrast to all this, the events surrounding Yaakov Don's murder has exposed real dignity and
beauty, strength and determination, and yes – hope!
Mosaic in Yaakov's memory |
Let me share a little about what went on in Alon
Shevut this past week.
From the moment that we received the terrible news of Yaakov's murder, the entire community sprang into action in the most remarkable of ways. That weekend was supposed to be "Shabbat Irgun," an annual celebration of Bnei Akiva, the local youth movement. It is the crescendo of a month of frenzied youth activity, and that Thursday night had been earmarked as the annual "White-Night" as the kids would stay up through the night having fun and putting the finishing touches to their plays, presentations and the like.
At 6pm we heard the awful news, and celebration turned to mourning. At 8pm, the kids – over 300 of them from age 9 to 18 – gathered in the local youth center. The recited Psalms, they cried, they sang slow songs of yearning and sorrow, they divided into discussion groups to voice their fears and sadness. Parents guided some of the events behind the scenes, but in truth, the youth demonstrated such maturity, such greatness of spirit in absorbing the shock as they took comfort, in prayer, tears, and togetherness.
Some of the youth proceeded to the site of the murder, setting up a memorial stone and lighting candles. Some spent the night in a mosaic studio, making an incredible mosaic of a verse that encapsulates the sorrow over the death of Yaakov (Jacob) as well as their determination to continue: God will have compassion on Jacob; once again he will choose Israel and will settle them in their own land. (Isaiah 14:1).
From the moment that we received the terrible news of Yaakov's murder, the entire community sprang into action in the most remarkable of ways. That weekend was supposed to be "Shabbat Irgun," an annual celebration of Bnei Akiva, the local youth movement. It is the crescendo of a month of frenzied youth activity, and that Thursday night had been earmarked as the annual "White-Night" as the kids would stay up through the night having fun and putting the finishing touches to their plays, presentations and the like.
At 6pm we heard the awful news, and celebration turned to mourning. At 8pm, the kids – over 300 of them from age 9 to 18 – gathered in the local youth center. The recited Psalms, they cried, they sang slow songs of yearning and sorrow, they divided into discussion groups to voice their fears and sadness. Parents guided some of the events behind the scenes, but in truth, the youth demonstrated such maturity, such greatness of spirit in absorbing the shock as they took comfort, in prayer, tears, and togetherness.
Some of the youth proceeded to the site of the murder, setting up a memorial stone and lighting candles. Some spent the night in a mosaic studio, making an incredible mosaic of a verse that encapsulates the sorrow over the death of Yaakov (Jacob) as well as their determination to continue: God will have compassion on Jacob; once again he will choose Israel and will settle them in their own land. (Isaiah 14:1).
The circle of song |
After the songs, we proceeded to march to the Gush Etzion Junction with flags and song. What were we saying? I don't know! - That we are here, that this is our home, that we will overcome! We stood together, sang Hatikva, Ani Maamin and returned home as a community - united.
A new parochet for the Bnei Akiva snif, Inscribed in Yaakov's memory,,, a reference to Yaakov and Torah (and Shevet Morasha) "The Inheritance of the Community of Yaakov" |
The entire week of the shiva has seen the community rally around the Don family - the youth with their friends, the adults providing an endless supply of food, cleaning, and assistance of every kind . The house could barely contain the size of the minyanim, the endless flow of friends, neighbours, students, politicians who came to greet and console the family.
The violence has spurred neighbours and local people
into remarkable activity. One woman organized a rally of several hundred
mothers, demanding safety on our roads. On Thursday morning, as the Shiva came
to an end, in a gesture of commemoration and
defiance, "Derekh Avot" - the school in which Yaakov Don worked, held
their morning prayers at Gush Etzion Junction and then marched and danced the kilometer back to their school.
The security forces that have flowed into the area to
provide security and protection, have been met by droves of people in Efrat and
beyond, families who have barbecued for the troops, offered food, laundry and
showers. I encountered two soldiers yesterday in the evening cold. I offered to
buy them a coffee from the local café. They replied: "We've eaten far too
much today; people have been overwhelming in their generosity." The
kindness and strength of the wider Gush Etzion community has revealed beauty
and resilience, friendship, love and determination to continue.
And life continues... Alon Shevut celebrated two weddings this week as its children build their own homes! Next week, "Shabbat Ha-Irgun" will be celebrated in the Yishuv in the traditional manner.
And life continues... Alon Shevut celebrated two weddings this week as its children build their own homes! Next week, "Shabbat Ha-Irgun" will be celebrated in the Yishuv in the traditional manner.
I have yet to hear one person express a sentiment of
"Death to Arabs" or a call for revenge. I have heard words of
determination to continue, despite the violence, to develop our communities and
institutions so that Gush Etzion can continue to thrive. I have heard people
speak of the Jewish roots here in this region, with a Jewish presence that
extends to Temple times. I have heard people recall Gush Etzion of 1948, four
small settlements, that were overrun and destroyed by Jordanian troops on the eve of Israeli
independence, many of the residents massacred, and the years of yearning to return, eventually realized in the Jewish restoration of the region
following the Six Day War by a small, resolute group of idealistic pioneers. Today, Gush Etzion numbers
over 50,000 people living, working and studying here. Despite the violence, we have
the privilege to live in a beautiful region of our national homeland. Our educational institutions are among the finest in Israel. Our
children are proud of their home, despite the price it sometimes demands. We are truly blessed.
One year ago, a Palestinian killed a young woman,
Dalia Lemkus z"l, by ramming his car into a local bus stop. Our children
decided that the best response would be to create a human chain,
an act of hope
and defiance, to express that they embraced life; not death. Our enemies seek
to kill and we embrace life; they destroy and we build. We vow that our enemies
cannot deter us from building our special communities in this historic place.
This is the source of our hope.