Over 1,400 Israelis Were Murdered

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We will no longer be able to smile

I woke up at 6am and after 20 minutes the rocket barrage began. The sky lit up with an insane…

We will no longer be able to smile

Saturday morning, Kfar Maimon.

Simchat Torah [Jewish Holiday marking the end of the annual cycle of public Torah readings].

We had set to meet up at 7am, at the house of a neighbor suffering from cancer for minyan [a prayer service].

I woke up at 6am and after 20 minutes the rocket barrage began. The sky lit up with an insane amount of rockets. My son had brought 3 guests for the holiday.

We all went outside, to see the chaos in the sky.

Still not understanding.

My husband goes to tell our neighbor that there won’t be any prayer service. The military security coordinator of the town sends him home.

We lock the door, no one leaves or comes in. Meanwhile, we tell our guests to open their phones and let their families know they’re okay (they keep sabbath). There is fear in their eyes. Throughout Saturday we hear all the operations in our area.

Bombings in Gaza, soldiers flooding in. A terrorist group at our fence.

And one security squad forcibly driving away any terrorist that tries to get close.

On the horizon we see a dairy barn go up in flames.

We decided to not know the magnitude of the tragedy throughout the sabbath, our phones were for messaging only. On Saturday evening we began to understand what we were saved from. Were we saved? Physically yes, but I’m not so sure about our soul.

For 17 years I’ve been teaching in the Eshkol Regional Council, at the Nofei ha-Bsor High School, 17 years I’ve been driving on route 232, which is now covered in blood.

Another name.

Another student.

Another parent.

Another husband.

Another friend.

And the list goes on and on.

And the faces I got mad at, the faces I loved, the ones I laughed with will no longer sit in the classroom.

And the friends who have lost everything will no longer be able to smile.

Darom Adom [red south – annual festival celebrating the blossoming of the red Anemone flower] in every sense of the word.

There are no words.

Our hearts bleed.

Our guests managed to return home on Sunday, after a night in which 10 people slept in the safe room, together in the same bed. At least we’re alive. They left at noon when an opportunity to leave the village arose. Thank god.

The following day, we left.

We left Monday morning to the North, the sights along the way… the roads are ruined, burnt cars on either side of the road.

Only then I managed to break down.

Only then I dared to see who is still with us.

My favorite student from Be’eri who was murdered with his mother.

Two students still missing, their fates unknown.

Five former students murdered at point-blank range while fleeing Nova in their car.

A commander from a neighboring village who drove to the Re’im base and was killed, but not before killing 10 subhumans who came to murder us.

Three husbands of friends.

A son of a friend.

Two friends missing.

Many students whose fates are still unknown, kidnapped or murdered with their families…

I don’t understand how we survived…

Now we’re refugees in our own country and we hope that we will be able to come home again.

Miri A. – resident of the area surrounding the Gaza Strip for the past 55 years, married and mother to 5 boys. Well-versed in mortar bombs, qassams, etc.