When I was in Moshav Matityahu last
month, former Baltimorean Lisza Beltz Jessel took me on a tour of a couple of miklatim
(bomb shelters) that were used during the Gaza War and Operation Rising Lion
(the 12-day war with Iran last June). Although Operation Roaring Lion was
looming, we weren’t certain just how imminent it was. This is Lisza’s
experience of the two previous wars.
“The real fear was in the very
beginning, after October 7th, because Moshav Matityahu is close to
an Arab village that is very much a hotbed. Every Friday, this village would
have protests to attract the press, so on erev Shabbos, the wind would often
bring tear gas used at the protests to elevated neighborhoods, including parts
of Kiryat Sefer, which is next to our moshav. The possibility and fear of a
foot attack by intruders was hard to live with – you couldn’t sleep at night.
Many of us had been very laissez-faire; no missiles have ever fallen here.
Since we, like nearby Kiryat Sefer, are a makom comprised of learning
people, it is considered that we are also under the bracha of the Chazon
Ish, who said a missile will never fall in Bnei Brak.
“It was very quiet here during the
Gaza war, and although there were not many sirens necessitating running to the miklat,
we heard constant explosions coming from Gaza and felt our house shaking every
day, all day long. We could actually hear much of the bombing in northern Gaza.
It turns out that part of what we felt and heard was probably coming from the
Iron Dome, at its site in Modiin – which protects Ben Gurion and Tel Aviv.
“For us, the war wasn’t really here
in the beginning. We didn’t have anything falling on us; we had very few alerts,
and life went on normally. We did not feel under threat – especially when the moshav
got its security cameras installed, and we saw that nobody was going to try to
break in on foot. We had a presence of soldiers.
“Our children were seven and four
when the war started. They knew what was going on. Our son, the eldest,
understood about the hostages; our daughter did not. We had to decide if we
were going to wake them up in the middle of the night and take them to miklat,
causing them anxiety and terror, or just let them sleep through. So, we
lied to them quite a lot. My husband and son would run to miklat, and I
would tell my daughter the next morning that I took her out of her bed in the
middle of the night and stood in the safest place in our house. Every time
there was a siren, she wet her bed.
“We tried to do our hishtadlus,
even when the attacks were coming from the Houthis – which everyone felt were
not as serious a risk as attacks from other enemies. We said our tehillim
and kept a “bug-out bag” by the door, whose contents changed with the seasons.
In the winter, it had blankets in addition to socks and kippahs – since our
kids and others did not always have these things when they ran out from bed
into the miklat. It also had flashlights, chocolate, cans of sardines,
treats, kids’ books, as well as Tehillim and siddurim. In the
summer, we had hand and electric fans. We never had to stay that long in the miklat,
except for one time – right before Rosh Hashanah – when we were there for over
an hour.
“During the 12-day war with Iran,
it was very traumatizing because we were constantly running to the miklat,
but it was very exciting for our son to count the drones and missiles rushing
overhead. We tried to make it fun, but my daughter was anxious about hurrying
into the miklat. Yet it was often a “happening” place, whether a guy
from Rabbi Fischer’s yeshiva was putting on a show or someone initiated an
impromptu kumzits. Once, ice cream was served, and another time it was popcorn.
We also had Mincha and Kabbalat Shabbat – there was definitely life in the miklatim.
We got to spend time with our neighbors.
“In the beginning, none of the miklatim
had bathrooms – we used diapers for our older kids. Ours was the only miklat
that did not have electricity; we had to take it from someone’s house and bring
it in. We were pouring money into security for the moshav, rather than into the
miklatim. The newer people who built their homes here all have mamads
(safe rooms), so they don’t need to use the shelters. The miklatim were
eventually fixed a few months ago.
“The alerts give us about a five-minute
heads-up. But even when there are no sirens, I’m on the alert for them. I
constantly hear noises that sound like a siren – it can be a motorcycle or a
truck’s acceleration up a hill [see sidebar]. We have two miklatim near
us, one house away on either side. One was flooded and got moldy; we couldn’t
use it during the 12-Day War. The other one was filled with all the Rabbi Fischer
yeshiva boys, so it was standing room only for them.
“Even after the 12-day Iran war
ended, it wasn’t finished emotionally – we still felt like something would
happen. When the last hostage came home, I couldn’t celebrate. There was so
much trauma tied up to it, I couldn’t feel the joy and excitement. I couldn’t
believe it. It took time for it to seep in that it was over. It didn’t feel
like reality. We are really living on brachos. We feel the reality is
that it’s the learning of the Torah and the focus on mitzvot and doing chesed
that is our protection.”
*
* *
Bracha Schnitzer of Maale Adumim
shares:
“Maale Adumim was hardly ever in
the line of rocket fire, and we had very few sirens, so I wasn’t really
concerned about my own safety. Of course, I worried about my family being in
the line of attack, but I knew that they all had access to shelters. B”H,
my grandchildren, who spent many nights in their safe room, were more bothered
by the lack of sleep than by the fear of being hurt.
“But we were all very, very worried
about the chayalim. The danger that they faced was very real to us.
Three soldiers from our dati leumi neighborhood were killed during the
war, including the son of friends of ours. The small town of Elazar in Gush
Etzion, where my daughter lives, lost seven young men, some fathers of young
kids. There was really no religious Zionist neighborhood that was untouched by
this tragedy. I read recently that 60% of the casualties in the war were from
the dati leumi population, even though this demographic is only 12% of
the general population. But our boys serve disproportionately in combat units
and put their lives on the line to protect their country.
“My own son, Eliav, who is a
full-time yeshiva student with a wife and two young children, was called to miluim
(reserve duty) six times between October 7, 2023, and October 2025. He was in
Lebanon during the war with Hezbollah, searching villages for weapons meant for
use against Israeli towns. And he was in Gaza from July to October 2025,
guarding the Israeli border from possible incursions. I would literally count
the days until his next scheduled leave.
“This is the impact of having a son
serving in a war zone: The sound of a car door slamming outside filled me with
dread because, when a soldier is killed, the army sends specially trained
officers to the family’s house to notify them. It was only after Eliav was home
for good (at least until he is called to miluim again, probably this
coming summer) that I could hear a car door slam and realize that I didn’t have
to worry about who it might be.
“We realize, more than ever before,
that there is always the possibility of attacks happening here without any
warning. It’s always in the back of your mind when making plans, especially
plans to travel anywhere.
“And I have to say that it makes me
angry that there are so many people whose lives are centered around being shomrei
mitzvot but do not comprehend the Torah imperative of protecting their land
and their people.”
*
* *
The following account is from a woman
in Gush Etzion, the mother of a post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) wounded
warrior:
“My son came home from war, but he
didn’t come home whole. You can’t always see the scars that combat leaves
behind – not on the outside. But they’re there, deep in the soul. He spent a
month on and off in a decompression chamber. He has lost his hearing in one ear
and has several physical injuries that still must be dealt with.
“My son was the sweetest, kindest,
happiest, most fun person you could imagine. He shined wherever he went. Today,
that shine is gone – replaced by a shadow of sadness and silent pain. A
wonderful person can be triggered by so many things – a door slam, a strange,
unexpected face, a comment that is upsetting. This wonderful person can become
violent – both verbally and physically. It is heartbreaking… heartbreaking.
This is what PTSD does to our heroes. But we ‘see’ them, we honor them, and we
will never forget their sacrifice.”
*
* *
American-born David Sussman is the
CEO of David Sussman Israel Tours. He lives in Northern Efrat, which is only
500 meters from Beit Lechem (Bethlehem), a city of 50,000 Arabs, and within
close proximity of other surrounding Arab villages:
“I pulled down the shades and
parked my car down the street to make it look like nobody was home. We put food
and water in our mamad as well as in our attic that has a dropdown
staircase.
“During the war, when there was a
lull in the tourist industry, I spent a lot of my time helping to raise over
$5.4 million for bullet-proof vests for soldiers serving on the front lines in
Gaza as well as for the communities in Gush Etzion so they could purchase
thermal optic drones, night vision scopes, and everything else they needed for
their security. This equipment was used to eliminate attacking terrorists.
“I also made several trips with a
friend down south to Shuva Achim, a rest stop which provides food, clothing,
and supplies for hundreds of thousands of soldiers that were entering and
exiting Gaza, to try to assess the needs of the survivors. Seeing the achdut
(unity) of am Yisrael at its finest – somebody chareidi next to a
chiloni, a secular Jewish woman from Tel Aviv in short-shorts, and a
tank top next to a guy from Kiryat Sefer, cooking food and serving it to the
soldiers, side-by-side – was amazing. That would not have happened on October 6th.
It is amazing how our people can be when we’re able to be unified and our focus
is for the betterment of am Yisrael. Unfortunately, it takes the threat
of survival, the threat of mass murder, to bring us together, but seeing the achdut
is something I will never forget!”
*
* *
Postscript: Lisza Jessel updated me on February 28 with this
WhatsApp message about Operation Roaring Lion with photos taken in the miklat
just days before Purim, as well as on Purim, when a siren went off during Megillah
reading:
“We went to the miklat 11
times this Shabbat, staying on average 20 to 30 minutes each time. Multiple
sirens went off while we were there. We had to wait for an all-clear signal before
leaving…. After Shabbat, we learned what was going on. Over 100 missiles were
sent, and not one caused any real damage. No injuries. Shabbat protects us!”
SIDEBAR
