Letters from Israel
Two reflections on grief
This week I’m sharing guests posts from two Seattleites. The first is from Oscar Olivier, who you may be familiar with from a profile I wrote about his experience relocating to Israel from the Democratic Republic of Congo (when it was still Zaire) and the challenges faced by African migrants in Israel for Jewish in Seattle magazine. Oscar relocated to the Seattle area a few years ago, but he’s still connected to Israel. That’s where his daughter still lives and serves in the IDF. It’s a heartbreaking story of a personal connection to the war from a perspective you probably don’t hear from much.
The second piece was graciously shared with me by Rabbi Mark Greenspan. Rabbi Greenspan is also relatively new to Seattle, and is spending seven weeks in Israel with his wife, volunteering and experiencing the country in this uncertain time. He’s writing a lovely daily journal, and agreed to share this section with The Cholent.
Shabbat shalom,
Emily
A Tribute to Stav, My Hero
By Oscar Olivier
I got to Israel in 1994. I came by bus through the Rafah border after a long journey from Zaire, now the Democratic Republic of Congo.
Though I spent a couple of years in Ashdod, I lived in Tel Aviv for the most part. Since I wasn't a homeowner, I had to move around. In 2003, when my daughter was born, I decided that I was going to live in the Shapira neighborhood, a Mizrachi neighborhood in south Tel Aviv. If you’ve been to the central bus station in Tel Aviv, you have been to this neighborhood. A single mom, Jackie, likely made the same decision. She was from Kenya, and she moved to the Shapira neighborhood with her little boy, Stav.
We were among many African immigrants looking for a better life, who found a home in Israel. During those years, I mainly cleaned houses and did advocacy work for refugees and other foreign workers. We worked long hours every day. In the evening, we took our kids to the park to get fresh air.
This is how I came to know Jackie and her sweet little boy, Stav. Stav just stood out. Sweet, energetic, friendly, funny.
Stav was Jackie's only child. I had an only child too. My daughter, Esther, was a tough kid, born to a South African mother whose parents suffered under Apartheid. Our kids were lonely and needed company.
I would take them to play in the public park, and when we stopped at the traffic light, I remember asking these two little children, “What color can you see?”
They would say “red.”
“What do we do?”
“We stop.”
“Till when?”
“Until it turns green.”
I still had to hold the back of their bicycles to make sure they wouldn’t make any wrong moves.
I can recall a day when Stav’s mom brought him over. As soon as he walked in, he told me, “do something and I will help you.” Stav was always offering his help before it could be asked for.
After my daughter finished elementary school, I moved with her to Bat Yam, but the kids stayed in touch. A full Israeli citizen, at the age of 18, Stav joined the army and made it clear: he was going to join the Golani brigade or nothing.
Golani is one of the most prestigious units of the Israeli army. As far as Stav was concerned, being the only child was in no way an obstacle to joining a top fighting army unit. When Stav was around, he always said, “No thanks, I don’t need help now.” He was strong and capable on top of being kind and helpful.
In Golani, Stav became a commander. On October 7th, Golani was on the frontlines and paid a heavy price. Commander Stav lost many of his soldiers, the brothers he never had. Losing them was too much for his heart.
Since my daughter was doing her military service, they didn’t see each other that much. But during the winter, he called her to invite her to Jackie’s surprise birthday party. As a soldier himself, Stav knew that a last minute announcement wouldn’t work since Esther is a soldier, too, so he only called her a week before the party.
Then a few days later, my daughter called me to tell me: Stav was no more.
Stav didn’t die in battle, and so he didn’t get a military funeral. I believe he died because the war was too much for his heart. Of all the people who have died in my adopted home of Israel, this was the first time I lost someone so close to me.
Now who will celebrate Jackie’s birthdays?
Thank you, Stav. Thank you, hero.
Signs of War
By Rabbi Mark Greenspan
Recently, I went for a medical checkup. The doctor wanted to order some tests. “That’s fine,” I said, “but they need to happen before I leave in February. We’re going to Israel for seven weeks.” My doctor looked at me in disbelief. “Yeah, I know,” I said. “It’s a war zone!”
Jerusalem, of course, is hardly a war zone. It’s easy to be here and forget there is a war raging in the south and rockets falling in the north. Life goes on, though it seems quieter than I remember, and there are constant reminders that there is nothing normal about the present situation. Most of all, there are signs of war at bus stops, intersections, and most of all, on people’s faces. It’s not a good idea to ask the people you meet, “How are you?” unless you are willing to really listen to their answer.
Walking to the baggage carousel in Ben Gurion Airport, the first thing you see are signs directing new arrivals to the closest bomb shelter. Chances are you won’t need it, but it’s good to know where the shelter is located, just in case. And then there are the ubiquitous posters containing pictures of the hostages. But here the posters mean something closer to home; you know someone who knows someone who knows the family of a hostage or a victim of the horrific attack on October 7th. There is a story that goes with every picture and a heartbroken family.
As we walk by people sitting in a cafe, I wonder what they are discussing. Are they musing about everyday life, the cost of oranges, or are they discussing the latest military incursion? Or are they worrying about a son, daughter, grandchild or a neighbor who is either in the south or north?
But the most blatant signs of war are the literal ones. Banners can be found almost everywhere. They are in business windows, at intersections, on people’s balconies, and on bumper stickers. People wear yellow ribbons to show their support for the hostages. There are two types of signs around the country: those that say, Machzirim otam habayitah achshav, “Bring them home NOW!” and those that declare, Yachad Ninatze’ach, “Together we will be victorious.” Interestingly, while the signs declaring victory are almost all in Hebrew, many of the signs calling for the return of the hostages are in English, at least in Jerusalem. The signs calling for unity and victory are meant for Israelis, while the signs about the hostages are addressed to those visiting Israel and to the world. Or maybe, the signs calling for the return of the hostages are addressed to the world, so that the world will address the Israeli government.
In synagogues a prayer for the hostages is recited each day at the conclusion of services, and in some synagogues the names of the hostages are read each Shabbat. Israelis are painfully aware of the hostages every day. They also listen apprehensively to the daily announcements of soldiers who have fallen the past day. The announcements are always the same: “The IDF announces the death of…age ...who was killed.” Or “A hero soldier has fallen.”
The signs of war are everywhere. Many of the posters and signs are worn out by the winter rains and wind or have been covered over with new signs. Some of the banners are familiar, no different than the ones in our Seattle synagogues and that were held up at the rallies I have attended. But they convey a greater sense of urgency and desperation here. They are personal.
So while there haven’t been any sirens in Jerusalem since we arrived, we sense the tension as well as the distress many Israelis feel at this time. They are appreciative of our presence, especially when they learn that we have come for an extended period of time. But the truth is, being here and doing whatever we can to support Israel does more for us than it does for Israel. I am certain that the signs of war will still be within us when we return.
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Shoutouts
Shoutout to Peta & Ira Mehlman for their dedication to our Seattle Jewish institutions! —Dina Levitan
A shoutout to Lelach Rave and Lori Shelden for spurring the North End to action to prevent an Anti-Israel resolution from passing unchallenged. —Paul and Danielle Nacamuli
Hazakim u-berahim to Joanne Angel, Jeff Solam and our Seattle Sephardi community for their continued support of Congregation Ezra Bessaroth. EB is celebrating 120 years since Nessim Alhadeff’s arrival to Seattle! —Ty Alhadeff