The anxiety among the residents of the Israeli communities adjacent to the Gaza Strip border was palpable this week, ahead of the mass Hamas-orchestrated march planned for Friday.
The terrorist group that rules the coastal enclave has called for a series of "peaceful protests" beginning March 30, and Hamas said it expected as many as 100,000 Palestinians to take part in the so-called "March of Return."
Some of the residents of the Gaza-vicinity communities said they were wary of chaos, while others were sure the concerns expressed by defense officials, who warned that violent riots or a mass Palestinian rush of the border could trigger a security escalation, would prove false.
It would be a classic mistake to look at southern Israel as one sphere, but if there is something that the residents of the border communities have in common, it is their infinite optimism. If you listen carefully, you also learn that if and when masses of Palestinians march on the border, the people on the other side are not full of hatred toward them – quite the contrary.
On both sides of the Israel-Gaza border, the only real enemy is Hamas. The residents here have nothing but empathy for their Palestinian counterparts, and it is exactly the people who deal with the painful reality of living under the constant threat of terrorism and rocket fire that are the first to point out the dire situation in the Strip, and are the first to say that in Gaza, too, all most people want to do is put food on the table for their children.
This has nothing to do with right- or left-wing politics, which seem not to play any role in the minds of most residents. It is only a matter of trying to understand that, if so many Palestinians have had enough, a fresh round of hostilities will solve nothing. If anything, the Israelis here are furious that Hamas' leadership refuses to understand what is so glaringly obvious.
My visit to the Gaza-vicinity communities was an interesting, eye-opening journey where I met people who, while being acutely aware that another war could erupt at any given time, talk about how they will never leave their home, no matter what happens.
A silent understanding
David Ferrer was born in West Virginia. Equipped with suspenders and a white skullcap, he looks far younger than his 71 years. He learned Hebrew at home and grew up listening to his father's stories about fighting Nazis during World War II. When his time came to enlist and fight in Vietnam, he declared it was not his war and immigrated to Israel, where he fought in the 1967 Six-Day War – because Israel "was the country I had to fight for."
He traveled the world for a few years after that and eventually settled in Jerusalem. His interest in southern Israel peaked when rocket salvos began hitting the city of Sderot. He moved there and served as a tour guide for Evangelical Christians who visited Israel to learn about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.
"It was nice. I like small places that remind me of the way I grew up, and Sderot is definitely a place like that," he says in Hebrew, with a thick American accent. "True, it's scary sometimes, but when projectiles were whistling over my head [in the Six-Day War], it was scarier."
Three years ago, he met Hava, who was born in Darmstadt, Germany. She came to Israel as a volunteer and the two decided to share their golden years and got married.
Hava was busy reading a Hebrew children's book, which she does to learn the language, when a massive explosion sound rocked the house. "Boom," she said, with a soft smile. A moment later, an alert on our phones informed us that an IDF tank shelled a Hamas observation post inside Gaza.
"A Qassam [rocket] makes a completely different sound, but the loudest noise is created by the Iron Dome [defense system] and the collision between them," Ferrer explained.
Taking a walk around the neighborhood afterward, we could see the scars left on some of the houses by years of shrapnel impact.
No one here will say that everyone agrees with IDF Chief of Staff Lt. Gen. Gadi Eizenkot's latest assessment, saying that further escalation is on the horizon, but their silence and in their alertness show they understand exactly where things are going.
Ferrer says his heart goes out especially to the city's children, the majority of whom suffer from anxiety. Every siren and every night spent in a bomb shelter push the normalcy they so vitally need further out of reach.
"I really feel for them. You see children who have to deal with all sorts of issues, like bed-wetting. It hurts me because they live in such a beautiful and enchanting place that unfortunately is plagued by rockets and war."
Ferrer explained that despite security tensions, "There is no doubt that the situation at the moment is the best it has ever been and Iron Dome was certainly a game changer. I hope Friday won't turn into chaos, but in any case, you are always welcome to come and stay with us for Shabbat."
A matter of luck
Omer Hermesh, 42, has lived his entire life in Kfar Aza, a kibbutz located about 5 kilometers (3 miles) east of the Gaza Strip border and where tens of thousands of Palestinians are expected to march Friday.
The Hermesh family has something of a celebrity status in the area. Hermesh's father, Shai, was a senior member of Peace Now. He later became head of the Shaar Hanegev Regional Council and was a two-term lawmaker for the Kadima party.
"My father, unlike me, shifted a little to the Right given the [security] situation. From his point of view, once he realized that our side wants to pursue collaboration and they [the Palestinians] fire rockets on his projects, it changed him. He's not a rightist, of course, but I'm left of him on the political map and I'm adamant that the situation won't change me completely," he said.
Hermesh is currently building his home in Kfar Aza and says he plans to continue living there.
"My life is here. When I finish a day's work, I take a bottle of beer, listen to one of my records and enjoy every minute. Think about it – until the age of 27, I had never heard a single siren in this place and suddenly it became our daily routine.
"What pains me the most is the children who were born during this period and think that this is our reality. They don't know that this wasn't always the case in Kfar Aza," he continued. "I'm not angry at the other side because if there's anything I've learned is that there is no one truth here. We, like the residents on the other side, are victims of the situation."
News of a potential flare-up over Friday's march leave Hermesh unfazed.
"Hearing the news this week and seeing what's going on in the media, I think they [the media] are making a mountain out of a molehill. Living here, experience tells me that nothing will happen. Not this time, but who knows when they [the Palestinians] will fire rockets at us again? It's all a matter of luck."
In Kfar Aza, opinions about recent security tensions are divided. Once affiliated strictly with the Left, the last decade has seen the community undergo a considerable change, and while the left-wing parties Labor and Meretz dominated here in the 2015 elections, right-wing parties the likes of Yisrael Beytenu and Habayit Hayehudi marked historical achievements.
"I can understand people's anger and frustration, but I try to live my life. I don't want to live anywhere but Israel and Kfar Aza," Hermesh said.
On a more serious note, he said, "I'm not that indifferent to the situation. That would be a bit like fooling myself. There are many nights when I dream about the rocket attacks and explosions, and I'm on edge if I hear sounds that remind me of the Color Red [rocket alert].
"I remember moments when we were sitting outside on the lawn and panic suddenly ensued because of the alerts. It's clear to me that I'm repressing it and I'm experiencing post-trauma, but sometimes, I also dream of Hapoel Tel Aviv," he said with a smile, referring to the Israeli Premier League soccer team.
Memories of the Gaza market
In Ashkelon, where residents experienced considerable anxiety Sunday when an Iron Dome battery engaged a suspected rocket barrage that turned out to be errant Hamas machine-gun fire, I met optimistic residents, who informed me, in no uncertain terms, that the Palestinians "won't defeat us anytime soon."
"In my eyes, this optimism attests to something else: it indicates that people have grown used to the situation, and they say that it is possible to live with it, despite the difficulty, because this is our city and we love it," Ashkelon Mayor Tomer Glam said. "But we mustn't get used to this situation. We may be at the forefront of this campaign, but things can change."
Glam, 42, remembers a different time.
"When I was a boy, we would go shopping in the Gaza market and we would have [Palestinian] friends and acquaintances who would come to Ashkelon. Today, just talking about it is inconceivable. It makes no sense. But that's exactly the reason I do talk about it, to stress that everything is possible, that nothing is a done deal and we can effect change. Just like our security has improved since Iron Dome was deployed and like the fact that Ashkelon enjoys positive immigration."
Statistically, Ashkelon is the city that was hit by the most projectiles from Gaza during Operation Protective Edge in 2014. Sirens sounded across the city 154 times, during the 50-day conflict, more times than anywhere else in Israel, and if another military campaign is launched against the terrorist groups in Gaza, Ashkelon will once again be in their crosshairs.
"All that still didn't change our status, and I'm still fighting to get what we need to recover and prepare for the future," Glam said, referring to the fact that Ashkelon was excluded from the government's 2 billion shekel ($570 million) post-war recovery plan for the south's communities.
"It's clear to everyone that when the next round erupts it will be harder and more complex, and Ashkelon will once again be in its forefront. This is why when I ask for things like reinforcing buildings, I expect the state to listen and help. My motto is that if we're ready in times of peace, we'll be ready in times of war."
As for Friday's march on the border and its potential effect on the Passover holiday, Glam said he hopes for peace and quiet but remains prepared for any scenario.
"I can tell you that we are ready for any situation. There are concerns, of course, but I trust the authorities. Can I tell you that I don't hear people talking about hearing digging sounds underground, about how they [the terrorist] are closer to us than ever? I hear that all the time, but I think that at the moment of truth, this country proved that it knows how to handle things, just like this city.
A little slice of paradise
Every news edition throughout the week led with updates on the increasing security tensions in southern Israel. But the residents asked us, the Tel Avivians, not to believe the daunting image portrayed in the media.
Even if the conversation always revolves around war, certainly this week, when tensions seemed to escalate by the day, the air here goes beyond that.
Ferrer, whose home was struck by Qassam rockets twice before he moved in, said the reason he bought the place was "because chances of it getting hit a third time are slim." Hermesh vowed to defend his treasured record collection even under the most punishing rocket attack, and Glam reminded us that the projectile fire aside, real estate prices in Ashkelon were on the rise "because it's a very good city to live in."
There is no real way of knowing whether the Passover holiday will be peaceful or not, but what is clear is that within the abnormal reality of life in southern Israel there are thousands of stories seeking to underscore that there is no one truth in this area, and no one here plans to break down or bow out even when faced with the most difficult times.
If you ask them, apart from the minute issue of rocket fire, they live in nothing less than their own little slice of paradise.
