Life in a War Zone

This map shows the ancient Decapolis cities, including Hippos (Sussita on this map), Damascus (the current capital of Syria), and Gerasa (Jerash, now in Jordan) and Philadelphia (modern-day Amman, current capital of Jordan). One can see how close we were to Syria and Jordan; Lebanon is further to the north.

The hostilities between Hezbollah and Israel began on Wednesday, July 12. It was ex-Marine Irene who, on a trip to the women’s latrine area with me that day, noted the increased air activity of the Israeli military. Until then I had been oblivious to it. With our speedy wireless internet connection, we had quick and immediate access to news sources and by Wednesday afternoon were well aware of the growing conflict, most of which was further north of us. Since our work week was Sunday through Thursday, by Thursday afternoon we were all settling into what we had thought would be our first relaxing weekend at En Gev, with no day or overnight trip scheduled. And it did start that way for us. There were some students who needed or wanted to go to Tiberias for some shopping. Since Mark and I were low on shekels, I went with the group to show them around to the places they needed to go and take care of our personal business as well. It was a pleasant, successful shopping trip. Steph and I got money at the bank machines; Jessica got a new camera just like the one she had lost, and Steph got lip balm; Irene browsed a bookstore and got a children’s game to help her with her elementary Hebrew; Cameron and Andrea looked for souvenirs for family and friends; and we ended with ice cream on the Sea of Galilee. But just a little over 24 hours after we had returned by public bus to En Gev, the first Katyusha rocket hit Tiberias. And so began the Saga of the Evacuation of Students.

It was Tuesday when Darryl and I returned from that adventure and Wednesday before we were back on the hill of Hippos. I think that was the first of many days when, in my state of half-sleep hiking up the last half mile of hill to the dig site, I heard what sounded like distance thunder and thought, “Oh, we might get rain.” NOT! It never rains in Israel in July; that sound was the distant booming of Israeli artillery. Those distant, thunder-like booms were our constant companions on Hippos for the remainder of our time in Israel, reminding us of the superior military strength of Israel.

I don’t know exactly how many times Tiberias was hit by Katyusha rockets in the remaining days we were in Israel, but it was occasional enough that I never felt we were in imminent danger. From the news reports it was clear the areas of Israel north of us and major population centers like the city of Haifa were much more dangerous—and nowhere in Israel was as dangerous as Lebanon, which suffered far more civilian casualties and damage to infrastructure. I tried to reassure family and friends via e-mail that we were relatively safe: Being at En Gev, a kibbutz with a population of 250, was not a major target area; it was no riskier than driving a car across the United States, I said in many e-mails (which was no comfort to a friend planning a trip from Fargo, ND to Santa Rosa, CA!). I did NOT mention in any e-mails that the kibbutz had opened its bomb shelters. The one for the Concordia Team was close to our “lab” building, where Mark and I had our living quarters; no one else from the group could have made it into the shelter in the one minute warning we told we would have between the time of the air raid siren and the impact of a Katyusha. I counted on our isolated location and took comfort that Mark and I had had the good sense to update our twenty-year-old will before leaving for Israel.

I don’t think either Mark or I lost sleep because we were in a war zone, but after a few days, the tension of the situation did begin to wear on everyone, especially through the situations of our Israeli friends there. Efrat, the kibbutznik who took care of our needs, was very worried about her elderly parents living on a kibbutz in the North Galilee. She wanted them to come to the relative safety of En Gev, but they refused to leave their home. Itamar, the King of Logistics for the dig, worried about his wife and young daughter in Haifa until they moved temporarily to Elat in southern Israel. During the last week, they joined him at Kibbutz En Gev. Arthur Segal and Michael Eisenberg, the dig director and his assistant from the University of Haifa, also worried about their families in the city of Haifa and reported in low tones to us when injuries and deaths occurred there. As Andrea stated so eloquently in her interview with Minnesota Public Radio, we could leave; our Israeli friends could not.

Perhaps most evident to us was the economic impact of the conflict on northern Israel. Kibbutz En Gev has a variety of economic ventures to remain solvent; those related to tourism were hit early and hard. The Fish Restaurant, catering to tourists by the busload, saw its business dry up instantly. At first the kibbutz closed it for a couple of days but then re-opened it for the trickle of guests who lived nearby or took the risk to travel in the area. Efrat confided that it was very expensive to keep it operating but they had resolved to keep it open. Just days before we left Efrat told me she had a meeting with kibbutz officials about the operation of the mini-market she managed. It was losing money, and they had to decide whether or not they would keep it open. These economic hardships were quick and severe; I can only imagine the extent of the economic hardships the people of Lebanon suffered during the month-long conflict and will continue to suffer for years because of the devastation to lives and property in their country.

It was Thursday, July 27, in the late afternoon when the breeze across the Sea of Galilee picks up strength. We were in our living quarters with the air conditioner running noisily to keep us cool as we got organized to pack and leave the next morning. We were startled out of our routine by the sound of not one but a series of several blasts, the sound of Katyusha rockets hitting. The force of the blasts was so strong it rattled our windows (as had earlier Katyusha blasts on Tiberias) and also blew open the door to our bathroom. We thought they had hit on the east side of the Sea of Galilee; nothing we had experienced before then was that loud, that forceful. We were mistaken; it must have been the stiff breeze across the lake that made them sound so close. Once again, Tiberias had been hit; no casualties reported. We gratefully resumed our organizing and packing, counting the hours left before our bus would take us to the Tel Aviv airport.

We’ve been home for over three weeks, and I’m still hearing from friends who say, “We prayed for you.” I’m thankful for those prayers and say so. What I often forget to say is, “Pray for the people of Israel and Lebanon; pray for lasting peace in the Middle East.” What we experienced for two weeks was nothing compared with the lifetimes lived in war zones by millions of people around the world.

For more on life in the war zone of northern Israel, read Marc Hequet’s account:

http://www.biblicalarchaeology.org/bswbOO_diggingunderfire.html