I was at a loss for words for several days. Friends from Britain and other places expressed concern and requested information and context. This was unusual for me, as my words typically come easily. However, after reading insightful articles from my wise Hebrew friends, the words finally came.
On Friday night, I was in Jerusalem staying in my niece Maya’s newly decorated bedroom across from my mother’s flat. I woke up to the sound of an alarm. Maya seemed unfazed but still led me to the “safe space” on the stairs. Our family, along with other neighbors in our eight-floor building, gathered there and waited for the sound signaling it was safe to return to the flat. This happened six more times throughout the morning.
My visiting aunt was quietly indicating that we should look after my mother, who lost her arm in a similar incident in 1967. However, my mom simply carried on with her daily tasks, like taking laundry out of the washing machine and hanging it on the roof.
Meanwhile, news started pouring in from the south. Unbelievable horrors were unfolding, with terrorists attacking kibbutzim and towns on the Gaza border. Families were taking refuge in safe rooms, but many were being killed. These were not just strangers, but people I knew and people related to friends. The stories were heart-wrenching, from hiding under capsized boats to listening over the phone as loved ones were murdered.
The scale of the catastrophe was beyond imagination. It was something we always knew could happen, given that 2 million people were living in what can only be described as the largest concentration camp on Earth. Bombing and killing thousands of them periodically was bound to result in a volcanic eruption of violence and brutality. But this was only half of the tragedy.
The other tragedy hit Israelis on a much deeper level – the failure of the state apparatus. People in the south were hiding, hoping and believing that help was on its way. They expected the army and police to come to their rescue within minutes. But no one came. They had to wait a whole day, calling newsrooms for help, and many did not survive. The army was nowhere to be found. While a few units were destroyed by Palestinian forces, most of the army was stationed in the West Bank, dealing with settler provocations.
The prime minister appeared on television promising vengeance and bloodshed but failed to mention any plans to save those being held captive. This exposed the colossal mismanagement of the country under his reckless government. Reserve soldiers complained about a lack of supplies, and civilians volunteered to provide food for the uprooted and abandoned. The government seemed more focused on creating a destructive image in Gaza rather than addressing the consequences of such massacres.
A cabinet minister even suggested being cruel and not prioritizing the captives’ safety. This mindset brings to mind the controversial “Hannibal directive” that compels Israeli army units to take extreme measures to rescue abducted soldiers. However, feeding the desire for revenge will not save Benjamin Netanyahu and his followers.
This day of reckoning, similar to the one in 1973, will be their downfall. The protests that have swept across Israel in recent months, now turning into a spirit of unity and volunteering, will turn against them. Whether this leads to a new understanding of the futility of the occupation and the blockade of Gaza remains uncertain. Many Israelis claim that Arabs only understand the language of force, but this is often a sad reflection of our own nature.
I had a heavy heart as I boarded my Saturday night flight back to the UK, leaving my family behind. While waiting to board, another alarm went off. It turned out that the safe space at the airport was the duty-free shop. I received messages from my brother and a friend, informing me that the rocket we were seeking shelter from had landed between their houses.
As I rode with Attila the cab driver from Luton, he engaged in a conversation about why people hurt each other. If I had known the answer, I might have quoted Rihanna’s song “Shut Up and Drive” to him.
Sunday was spent doing laundry, distracting myself by watching football with friends, and calling my father in Israel to share the one piece of good news from the weekend – West Ham’s draw against Newcastle. I was grateful that my father’s care home had a floor underground for vulnerable individuals. He was safe there. He asked me to describe the second goal, and I couldn’t help but cry. Describing goals and holding back tears are not my strong suits.
On Wednesday, I am scheduled to speak and perform at a conference at Brunel University regarding my PhD research on immigrants’ standup comedy in the UK. I have no idea how I will manage it. The only thing that comes to mind are the words of French philosopher Emmanuel Levinas, which I discovered during my research on communication with the “other”. He wrote, “The face of the other, in its vulnerability and defenselessness, is simultaneously a temptation to kill and a call for peace, the ‘thou shall not kill’.” Peace and the prohibition against killing seem far-fetched at the moment, but there can be no life without them.
Daphna Baram, a Jerusalem-born former human rights lawyer, journalist, and standup comedian, is currently pursuing a PhD at Lancaster University. She published a book, “Disenchantment: The Guardian and Israel,” in 2004 (Guardian Books).
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