by Atida Lipshatz
I’ve just returned from a long trip to Israel.
I’m asked two common questions.
“How was it?”
“What’s it like over there?”
Cliché response – you can’t describe the cocktail of emotions in a word, a sentence or even a full article.
Also “it” varies according to people’s location, circumstances and degree of separation from tragedy.
Of course, there are common themes of fear, despair and hardship.
But as a tourist/visitor you could potentially not feel the impacts of the difficulties.
As a friend who visited in December described to me – if you’d lived under a rock since October 7, you could ostensibly walk up and down the incredible, buzzing beachfront promenade in Tel Aviv and not be aware there is a war. But as soon as you open your mouth to talk to any local, you’ll immediately feel the pain. And the severity of that pain depends on which local you are speaking to, but certainly all will be suffering.
So, to try and answer the questions, I can just list some of the experiences that made up my visit. In no particular order, but all contributing to my very conjunctive visit to our homeland.
We walked our beloved son down the aisle to marry his beautiful bride.
Pure joy.
At the chuppah we sang songs of prayer for the release of the hostages and the safety of the soldiers.
Pure supplication.
I watched magical sunsets.
Pure beauty.
When driving, a few times I had to pull over to the side of the road because the callers’ stories on talkback radio were too harrowing to process.
Pure heartbreak.
I handed out heart shaped chocolates to the evacuee children I had been volunteering with for 2 weeks and explained to them, at an age-appropriate level, that despite all the hate and all their suffering, that Jews around the world love and care for them.
Pure unity.
I hugged my son in law farewell before he returned to military service.
Pure worry.
On the news, I watched the demonstrations in Tel Aviv and the police clashes with the Ultra-religious about drafting.
Pure despair.
I listened to stories of heroism from Oct 7 and since.
Pure adulation of the young Israeli generation.
I chatted with our neighbour who was off to represent Israel in Artistic Swimming at the Olympic games.
Pure pride.
I played cards with friends who are evacuees from the North and during one hand, their phones buzzed with red alerts that their kibbutz was under fire.
Pure sadness.
I enjoyed Shabbat meals surrounded by my family.
Pure delight.
Staying by myself in an apartment, I was woken many times by unknown loud sounds in the middle of the night.
Pure fear.
I regularly watered the Plumeria on our balcony and enjoyed watching pretty new buds open every day.
Pure growth.
I discussed the current situation and the future of the country with many family members and friends.
Pure gloom.
I sipped iced coffees and watched beautiful smiling children build sand castles at the beach.
Pure hope.
And then in the last week of my stay there were the assassinations, and the promise of revenge to be extracted by our evil enemies. The anxiety levels across the nation rose many notches.
I drove to Haifa to a pre-arranged dinner that I didn’t want to cancel,
but with no GPS operating, I packed a paper map, a phone charger and some water and snacks in the car.
Pure uneasiness.
I stocked our cupboards with tuna, crackers, chocolate and bottled water.
There were long lines at the supermarket with all shoppers piling their trollies with non-perishables.
Pure Jewish mother instincts.
The same night I went to a food truck/music festival which was crowded with lively families and chattering people of all ages.
Pure Israeli resilience to be out and about despite the high level of danger.
I went to give blood after there was a call out for donations.
There was a 3-hour queue and the clinic was a world away from the state-of-the-art facilities of the Caulfield Blood Bank. But when it was finally my turn, I was welcomed by a friendly nurse dressed as a clown. I told him, as I always do when I donate, that I’m actually very squeamish and a little scared. He assured me that I shouldn’t worry about needles – that there’s definitely a much higher chance of being hit by a missile in the next half an hour, than a mishap with the injecting.
Pure Israeli humour. (!?!?)
Despite the country being under imminent threat of a major attack by multiple enemies that day, I cried all the way to Ben Gurion airport.
Pure maternal instincts, and connection to our country.
But actually, the short answer, if people ask me questions about what it’s currently like in Israel, my preferred reply would be – if you can, Go and Visit yourself.
Perhaps this month flights may be tricky, but we need to show solidarity to our brothers and sisters in Israel by having our feet on the ground.
Whether it’s one of the many excellent missions available, or a visit to family and friends, or even just a top up of Vitamin D at Tel Aviv beach – Israelis need our support and as well as donations, a positive way to show solidarity is an in -person hug.
And if you can spend a few shekel along the way, even better!!
Or volunteer for a day or two.
Visit tourist sites that are suffering terrible losses.
Show Israelis that we are all in this together and that we genuinely care.
If you’re doing an overseas holiday already, add a few days in Israel.
If you don’t have any travel plans, but could somehow organise a trip – do it soon while our moral support is so desperately needed.
I think that most of us believe that if there was a really serious threat here, people resembling the cast of Fauda or Teheran would suddenly materialise in Melbourne to assist community groups to protect us.
So, let’s be there when Israelis could really benefit from us showing up to demonstrate our unity.
And if you can’t, continue to support from here.
Am Israel Chai.
Atida Lipshatz is a board member of Zionsim Victoria