Dear Friends,
First, I want to explain that everything is fine, and things are fairly quiet here (except for the usual outgoing artillery). I actually had to do some paying work before I could send you my daily update, hence the lateness of this missive.
Also, those of you who have purchased the packages sold by Hyperneto and other chain supermarkets, thank you. We received and distributed the first truckloads yesterday afternoon.
Several people have asked me how I manage to sit and write, apparently so calmly, in a war zone. One of the secrets is that, unlike almost everyone in Israel, I'm not glued to the television set. I get all of my news from radio, on-line news or newspapers, and occasionally manage to catch the 9:00 p.m. news on Channel One. As a result, I'm not subject to all of the sensationalism of pictures, reporters looking for scoops, or endless analyses of every detail.
For instance, several people have told me that they've heard that Kiryat Shmona is a "ghost town", with 75% - the figure varies - of its residents having left. I have no way of knowing if that's true or not, or where the figures come from. What I see is that the situation is very dynamic. People leave and return all the time. For example, friends Ofer and Jacqueline, who had left with their children at the very beginning of the war and hadn't been here for two weeks, returned yesterday. And thank goodness - Ofer is the air-conditioning technician with the municipality, and finally fixed the air conditioner in the room in which I've been working! I mentioned that Ziona, my next-door neighbor, had stuck it out until Sunday, but after the Katyusha landed on the mall across the street, she and her daughter left. However, the neighbor across the hall, Zina, who has been gone for over a week, returned from Rishon Lezion today. "How long can you stay with family?" she asked. (The names have not been changed - Zina's here, Ziona's not.) The fact is, with people being told to stay indoors and/or in shelters, you don't see a lot of people in the streets. And anyway, there's nowhere to go: except for grocery stores, the pharmacy and supermarkets, everything's closed.
Another thing I heard only today on the radio was that last night, a woman from Kiryat Shmona, Mrs. Tuito, was interviewed on television. She complained bitterly that she wanted organized evacuation, and that the mayor's family and that of the municipal administrator had been evacuated, saying in so many words that the people with political pull got taken care of first. (I'll address that below.) In fact, there has been no organized evacuation, for many reasons. I've been telling people that, as far as I'm concerned, those who live in Nahariya should take priority in any evacuation. Nevertheless, Kiryat Shmona has seen organized evacuations before, and after Sunday, pressure mounted for such an evacuation.
This morning, Gabi Gazit interviewed Mrs. Tuito on the radio, and during the course of the interview, said arrangements were being made for a hotel in Eilat for some people. I knew that the neighborhood center would be active. In fact, even before we got the official word, the calls and requests started coming in. Tomorrow, 4 buses each from the 4 neighborhoods, 16 in all, will be leaving for a hotel(s) in Eilat, to return on Sunday evening. Our instructions were that we were to recruit 150 people to fill 3 buses, and the social services office would fill the fourth bus in each neighborhood; priority was on families with young children. Of course, we didn't have to go knocking on shelter doors! Each of us who have been volunteering there recommended several families, (some of whom actually refused), and people throughout the neighborhood called in or came to register. Incidentally, when Alex came in to pick up some fruit - still refusing the hot meals - I asked him if he and his family would be interested in going. He said he wouldn't leave, but did want his wife and children to, and as far as I know, they will be going. Of course, there was a lot of pressure. Our neighborhood seems to have the most considerate people or something; when other centers have come under real pressure from the residents, ours has not. The situation is helped by Amir's patience, Limor's popularity, and respect for the volunteers who go to the shelters. (Limor is the principal of the junior high school, who takes volunteers and soldier-teachers into the shelters to work with kids, and runs around "in the field" all day.) Today, evidently, some of the other centers were besieged and actually closed their doors for a while. We filled our buses in two hours, and while Amir had to field a lot of telephone calls demanding places no longer available, we really didn't have a lot of trouble.
One woman, whom I don't know by name, came in with a friend. She'd received a call from a psychologist with the social services office, advising her to come to our center and register for the trip to Eilat, but was reluctant to go. She said she was useless without her husband, but he was a policeman, and she barely saw him anyway. Together, the friend and I convinced her to go. The clinching argument was that her husband would be better able to do his job as a policeman, if he weren't worrying about her and the children. I explained (without knowing him personally) that he was torn between his official responsibilities, and his concern for her and the children.
That is the point about the mayor, the municipal administrator, and many, many others who have been working for the community. In order to function, they first have to make sure that their families are safe. Although I have my differences with the mayor and the administrator, I know that they didn't use any "pull" or public funds for their personal families. There was no organized evacuation; each person made his or her own personal arrangements. For example, Amir's wife and 4 children, one of them an infant only 3 months old, are staying with his mother in the center of the country. Limor's son, here the first few days, is now with her mother in the center of the country.
As if I needed further illustration, I got it late this afternoon. Shaul's wife and children are still at home. This afternoon, we were leaving the center together, and he was in a terrible hurry. It turned out that his wife was walking home (I don't know from where), they live at the top of a hill, no one else was around, and she was very frightened. She called to have him pick her up. We've been parking in an area that was once a basketball court behind the school. A low stone wall separates the driveway from the roadway below it, and Shaul was so worried about his wife, and rushing so much, that he turned the corner too closely. Not only did his front tire blow out completely, but he seriously dented his car on the stone wall. Trying to change a tire under that kind of time pressure is no picnic; while doing so, his wife called again, practically putting him into a frenzy. I ended up driving his wife home, while he and a volunteer changed the tire. Luckily, Shaul's spare is brand new: he won't be able to buy a new one here until the war is over.
I wish everyone a peaceful night.
Marsh
