A Day in Sderot

Dedicated to the Memory of Ela Abukasis

There are stories that are easy to write, because they are just historical narratives. And there are those that you keep on postponing from day to day, because you have to first come to grips with your own emotions before you are able to record that particular event.

My wife and I, joined by Leah Oelbaum (our “sister”) from Bayit V’Gan, visited Sderot on Wednesday, February 4, 2009.

Sderot, for those who might not have been following the news, is a small town in southern Israel, immediately north of the border with Gaza. The Palestinian terrorists have bombarded the town with over 7000 rockets over the past several years.

But the story of our visit is not about the inhumanity of the Palestinians, but about the humanity of those living in Sderot.

Our visit to Sderot is one of those stories that, as I mentioned above, require you to come to grips first with your own emotions. Dear Reader, when you are finished reading this story, I expect that your tears will mingle with mine, falling as I am writing.

First let me give you a little of the background.

We had all heard and read about the suffering of the people of Sderot and other towns in the area over these many months and years, and the killing and wounding of residents, including children. Even before we left for Israel, I had planned to visit Sderot, and while there, actively participate in helping improve the lives of at least a few. It is obvious that it is the children who suffer most under these war-like conditions.

I remember vividly, as I had mentioned in my earlier story “Life in Frankfurt 1938-1941” the 72 times that we as children had to run to an air raid shelter in Frankfurt, mostly at night, for protection against the British bombs that were falling not too far away. Probably, therefore, I have a better understanding than many others of what the children of Sderot had to endure.

Consequently, it was children that I wanted to help, if possible.

Already on the way from the airport to Jerusalem, I had arranged with the driver to take us to Sderot the following week, although at that point I had no idea what we would do there, or who would take us around once we got there.

We did know, through a contact established by a good friend, Akiva Holzer, director of public relations at Bikur Cholim Hospital, that we would be able to meet with the Abukasis family. More later about that family and their tragedy.

I had transferred some money to Mrs. Abukasis, who runs a kindergarten in Sderot, and requested that she purchase towels, blankets, pillows and linen (as well as candy), all items that these children, all from very poor families, did not possess.

Although we had now laid the groundwork for our visit, and although the rockets had mostly stopped, for the time being at least, still it would not be a good idea to be lost in a town when you suddenly hear a “Red Alert” and have only a few seconds to find a shelter.

But Hashem helped us out and sent us a young man by the name of Y. S. He is a student at the Hesder Yeshiva in Sderot, and he had found out from the Abukasis family that we were planning a visit.

After we were in Israel already for a few days, I got a call from Y., out of the clear blue sky, offering to rent a car, pick us up at our hotel in Jerusalem, take us to Sderot, show us around and then take us back to Jerusalem. He had also already arranged for a meeting with the Abukasis family, a close look at the stack of spent rockets at the police station, lunch at a local dairy restaurant, Mincha at the Yeshiva and a visit to the kindergarten.

We were happy to have solved our dilemma, and as arranged, Y. picked us up at 10 a.m. for the roughly one to one-and-a-half hour trip.

(To be continued next week)

By Norbert Strauss

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