The onslaught is relentless. In the last 72 hours, Hezbollah launched a major barrage of over 200 rockets and drones at Israel, wounding soldiers and civilians and multiple forest fires. The skies above the north are haunted by the specter of suicide drones, their ominous hum a constant reminder of the danger that lurks just beyond the horizon. This weekend, Israel's center was awoken to the stark reality of this threat when a Houthi drone from Yemen struck a building in Tel Aviv, killing one person and injuring several others—a chilling reminder of the daily dangers faced by northern Israel's residents.
Since the start of this brutal conflict on October 7th, 2023, Hezbollah and other Iran-backed armed groups, including militias in Syria and Iraq, have launched a staggering 9,500 attacks against Israel's north, unleashing a devastating arsenal of over 150,000 rockets and missiles. Yet, the greatest fear for northern Israel's residents is the possibility of a mass ground infiltration attack, like the one seen on October 7th in the south. They fear rockets and drones, but nothing more than the prospect of thousands of terrorists, armed with guns and RPGs, crossing the borders into Israel.
Amidst the chaos and destruction, the spirit of the north remains unbroken. In She'ar Yashuv, Gidi, a senior member of the moshav and part of the Kitat Konenut, the civilian first responders, stands resolute. Gidi knows all too well that this silence is but a precursor to the storm - a momentary respite before the next rocket or drone strike shatters the illusion. As a member of the Alma Centre, Gidi gains valuable intel and insights on the developing situation up north, acutely aware of the proximity between residents and Hezbollah terrorists mere meters away.
Nitzan and her wife in Kfar Szold, named after Zionist pioneer Henrietta Szold, have chosen to return with their children, driven by a desire to provide a sense of normalcy amidst the chaos. Yet, the scars of war run deep, as evidenced by their son's innocent attempt to dig a bunker in their backyard—a stark reminder of the psychological toll inflicted upon the innocent. Nitzan shares, "I'm having conversations with my kids which I never thought I would have, like where should he hide in the case of a ground infiltration attack by terrorists." The mental challenges Israelis face, especially with their children, are immense and often hidden beneath a strong exterior, much like the symbolic sabra fruit.
As we made our way through these villages and towns, the landscape bore witness to the devastation wrought by the conflict. Charred forests and scorched earth, the result of rocket-fueled fires, painted a harrowing picture of the region's suffering. It is the civilian defense forces who have been tasked with battling these blazes, risking their lives to protect their homes and communities.
In Rosh Pina, displaced families from Kiryat Shmona seek respite. We met an aging mother and daughter, shuffled between hotels for nine months, cling to hope. The streets are lined with young soldiers who have become defenders of this embattled land.
In Misgav Am, a kibbutz mere meters from the Lebanese border, Roni grapples with the profound grief of losing his brother, who was murdered by Hamas terrorists in Kibbutz Be'eri while attempting to save lives on October 7th. Through his pain, Roni has found a new sense of purpose, channeling his loss into an unwavering commitment to protect his community in the north.
For Lior, born and raised in Kibbutz Snir, just 500 meters from Hezbollah fighters, leaving is not an option. A member of both the civilian defense force and an elite reservist unit, Lior remains on constant guard, unable to see his evacuated family. The toll on his mental health is palpable, as he shares stories of his traumatized pet dog and the challenges of defending not just people, but also the agricultural lands vital to the region's economy. Lior's parents were among those who built Snir, and he refuses to let their legacy fade. When asked about the likelihood of the situation improving, a heavy pause fills the air, a testament to the uncertainty that plagues the region.
In the Golan Heights, Ido, owner of Duvdevan Bagolan, faces threats from both the Lebanese and Syrian borders. On his farm, a tapestry of cultures flourishes as Druze children from the town of Buqata and Jewish children from Ein Zivan volunteer to plant seeds together—a poignant reminder of the coexistence that endures even in the face of enmity. In their act of unity and defiance, they embody the very spirit of resilience that defines this region. Ido has been providing volunteer opportunities for local children, fostering a sense of unity and purpose amidst the chaos. As we left his farm, we met Thai workers who, despite the challenges, remain an integral part of Israel's social fabric.
Michael, another Golan farmer, treads carefully among the ruins of past wars, the bullet holes in the walls a stark reminder of the region's tumultuous history. The echoes of distant booms mingle with the tranquil sight of cattle grazing in the fields, a surreal juxtaposition of war and peace.
These lands were built on the ideals of peaceful cohabitation and agricultural prosperity, yet today, they find themselves engulfed in a war that threatens their very existence. The region, once a shining example of harmonious diversity, now finds itself under siege.
As the conflict rages on, it is crucial that the world takes notice of their plight. These are not mere statistics or headlines; they are real people, with real stories and real pain. They are the faces of resilience, the embodiment of a spirit that refuses to be broken.
The people of the north are pressuring the government to take significant action to restore calm and normalcy to the region. It is a fragile and delicate situation. Residents don't feel a ceasefire in Gaza is enough; what they believe needs to be done is to push the Hezbollah fighters further south behind the Litani River.
