Nothing in her role as head of registration and displays at the Israel Police's logistics center prepared Superintendent Anat Alterman for the work she has done over the last three weeks. From the moment the war started she became a shift supervisor and part of the team of hundreds of policemen who were given thousands of sterile transparent bags containing personal items that were carefully removed from the bodies of the dead.
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There were wedding rings and bracelets covered in congealed blood, torn wallets, and burnt ID cards. One of the thousands of bags drew the attention of Alterman. It contained a single earring belonging to a young girl. She knew that the parents of the murdered girl would want to receive any memento of their daughter and she insistently sought additional items belonging to her. When she circled the bag to find the sticker marking the number or name of the victim, she felt her legs failing. It was a member of her husband's family, who was murdered at Be'eri together with her sister, parents, and her father's brother.
The final item they touched
"After a week of sorting personal items, when you imagine the people they belonged to, it was a moment of crisis. I knew that I had to gather myself together and recover because the work there was a mission. Maybe it sounds technical, but it's the most non-technical work that I've ever done in my life. I held people's memories in my hands, and I treated them with the fear of God, so I could give the family the last thing that their child or partner touched. I looked carefully for the second earring, but I didn't find it. Later we found other items from my family, like a watch, rings, and bracelet. Last Shabbat I visited the only brother who survived and his aunt, the father's sister. It was important for me to personally give them what I had found."
Q: How did the brother respond to the items belonging to his parents and sisters?
"It was hard for him to be there and to see the items, so I gave everything to his aunt. It was a very painful and moving moment. From her perspective, she received an entire world that was left from her family. She wanted to know what happened to them and how they died, but I didn't know. I only told her that all five arrived in a state that we were able to identify them, and that gave her a small mercy.
"Since then, I've been constantly thinking about the brother who survived, a young man without parents or siblings. I think he's now seen what I left, but I respect his privacy. When he wants, I'm here."
Over the last week Superintendent Anat Alterman, who is married with two children, has been working at the large logistics center that was lent to the police in the center of Israel. The first thing we see are the dozens of policemen wearing purple gloves and holding different pieces of jewelry, make-up bags, and IDs. It's difficult to miss the long table at the side, upon which are placed dozens of pairs of shoes that belonged to the revelers at the party in Re'im. It's a frightening site that is reminiscent of the piles of shoes outside the gas chambers and the ovens in the Nazi death camps. There were sports shoes, walking shoes, and different flip-flops. Next to them, on enormous iron shelves, are dusty bags that belonged to the revelers, a white bag containing clothes gathered from the site, and one small box with the sticker "items belonging to survivors" – a small ray of light in a complex full of bereavement.
"We received the personal items from the forensics team, who were responsible for identifying the dead. Each bag had a number, according to which we documented the contents. I saw wedding rings and sooty chains and I thought about the people they belonged to. I will never forget the perforated wallet that a bullet had passed through. Maybe that's how its owner was killed.
In some of the wallets, there were ID cards, and the pictures broke my heart. It's impossible not to imagine the person. I'll always remember the telephone with the irregular cover that we specially looked for. It belonged to a young woman from the party, and her parents requested the phone as a memento. Some of the items don't have any financial value, but the sentimental value for the broken families is priceless."
"The moment of collapse is yet to come."
Yesterday Alterman finished her work gathering items belonging to the dead at the logistics center, which is under the responsibility of Lahav 443 [normally responsible for national crimes and corruption], and returned to her regular work at the investigation and intelligence department. "Now nothing feels to me like it's connected to reality. Nothing feels normal. I'm constantly looking for ways to contribute something else to the huge story of the victims. Soon there will be a website with pictures of items that weren't identified, so survivors and families of the victims can identify them."
Q: Do you dream at night about what you did?
"No, but I have sudden flashes of what I saw. It can happen while preparing dinner. Suddenly I see an image of a certain item or the smell of what was in the air there. During those three weeks, I knew that I needed all my strength for the families of the victims, but I think that the moment of collapse is yet to come."
