The Rockets' Red Glare
How Sderot Residents Cope With Life In A War Zone

by Suzi Brozman
Atlanta Jewish Times
June 27, 2008

http://www.jewishpolicycenter.org/256/the-rockets-red-glare

When residents of the southern Israeli city of Sderot talk about rocket attacks, they say "when," not "if." This town, sitting right on the border with Gaza, is the daily target of Kassam rockets and mortars launched from inside Palestine. For more than seven years, the piercing whistle of rockets, the loud boom of mortar shells and the shrill tones of the Code Red early alert system have punctuated every activity of the city's residents.

When the Code Red alarm sounds, people have just 15 seconds to get to a "safe room," a shelter or room in a house or public building equipped with a reinforced concrete roof. Imagine being in bed, or in the shower, or crossing the road or in a car or grocery store when the dreaded siren sounds. Imagine your children standing on the street, waiting for a school bus. Imagine being a senior citizen living on the third floor of a building whose safe room is in the basement. Those living here don't have to imagine it. They live with it constantly. And many ignore the alerts, knowing there is no way they could reach safety in any event.

In early June, I was invited to join a media fact-finding trip to Sderot and Ashkelon to learn just how residents of these southern cities cope with the pressure of living in a war zone. The answer, sad to say, is "not well." Sderot has seen an exodus of any citizens who can afford to move. Those who remain are depressed, both economically and emotionally, from the daily struggle to maintain some semblance of normal life. Main priorities of assistance programs include helping people deal with post traumatic stress problems and trying to set in place emergency reaction systems to lend a degree of order to a chaotic world.

Our group visited schools, a military base, community centers and a kibbutz to learn about the conditions and the steps being taken to help those in the path of terror attacks. We visited a house that had taken a direct hit. We climbed a hill to stare down at the border.

What we found was at once shocking and reassuring. Shocking because nobody should have to live under the constant threat of attack, and reassuring because experts are at work to alleviate at least some of the symptoms of stress.

As for the causes of the stress, residents say they are angry at the Israeli government for ignoring them. Repeatedly, we heard the sentiment that if one rocket were to fall on Tel Aviv, the government would respond immediately, but they see themselves and their town as politically expendable.

They feel helpless, knowing the Palestinians just across the border used to be their friends, customers, shopkeepers and workmen. They say they used to buy just about everything, from food to building supplies, in Gaza, but no more. All communication between the communities has been cut off. Though our group was not allowed to cross into Gaza, I was able to talk with several Arabs later during my stay in Jerusalem. They, too, do not blame the Israeli citizens, but only the governments, both Israeli and Hamas, that seem to be perpetuating the warfare without regard to the civilian populations.

Stress and Resilience

In Sderot, we held discussions with professionals who are trained to provide direct care for vulnerable populations, but as they pointed out, those who help the traumatized are themselves affected. They call Sderot an impossible situation. It is difficult to provide therapy in a safe environment when nowhere is safe. The impact on both the therapist and the patient is devastating.

Israelis have invented two concepts to help deal with the anxiety. The first is a stress site, where people with anxiety but no physical injuries can go shortly after an attack. This frees up emergency room staff to deal with physical injuries while those emotionally assaulted can get "tea and sympathy" in a soothing environment, obtain psychiatric help if needed, and avoid sitting in an ER waiting room watching others suffer from their physical injuries.

The second is a resilience center. Funded by the government and by American evangelists, this concept provides for preparedness for emergency situations, training people in where to go, where to get services and in creating resilience in emergency situations. They recognize that Sderot is not an easy place to live, but see resilience growing, especially when they can create hope instead of despair.

Much of the resilience, they note, is created by people from outside. American Jews give support, particularly by coming to visit on missions or individual trips. The feeling of being abandoned by the world creates even more trauma.

Professionals have noted a host of emerging problems related to stress, such as a rising diabetes rate. They try to remind people to put the emphasis on their daily lives, not the trauma, and to remember that life is stronger than the Kassam rockets.

Residents beg for people to tell the real story. "We are loving people," one resident declared. "We educate our kids to live and to love, but it is difficult to live with neighbors who hate us." Sderot has absorbed people from the former USSR, especially the Islamic republics. It's not a big city, and the industry that once was there has largely disappeared. Residents are exhausted after almost eight years of facing rockets and insecurity.

Schools Under Fire

Eli Edrich, the principal of a religious high school in Sderot, spoke of the emergency team that helps his school's 600 students respond. "The kids are scared when a Kassam falls," he said. "But we must go back to our routine. We're better prepared in schools to deal with emergencies. The schools are always open, even if there are 10 Kassams on one day." He noted that parents feel guilty for living in a place where their children are in danger.

He described students' behavior. When the alarm sounds, they leave their classes and run to the shelter, where they stay for about 10 minutes before returning to class. After an alarm, typically one or two girls will go to the trauma room with psychological problems. The level of fear is higher in girls than in boys.

Religious students seem to have fewer problems. One of the factors that helps their resilience, the head of school said, is belief. It is a very important difference between the secular and religious settlements. Everyone has a tehillim (psalm) book in their pocket. They take it out in the safe room, and it strengthens them. In addition, he sends a message whenever there's an attack, and students in Amit schools all over the world say tehillim for those in Sderot.

During the past four years, Moshe Branden, a psychologist and former military officer, has worked with the schools to create a model of how a school should behave before, during and after an emergency. A school helping itself and not waiting for outsiders to manage a crisis builds self reliance. Professionals are used to build preparedness among students and teachers.

Kibbutz Life

After a full day of interviewing students from 5 through college age and teachers and professionals, we headed to Kibbutz Nahal Oz, where we were to spend the night with kibbutzniks right on the border with Gaza. I should have been warned when we were obligated to sign a waiver, but for some reason, the danger wasn't immediately apparent until late that night when I heard machine gun fire, and then the roar of Israeli tanks heading out to patrol the border. Then I began to wonder how I could wake up, orient myself in a strange room and get to the secure room in the 15-second grace period between the phone-activated alert and the landing of a Kassam in places you don't want to think about.

My hosts were Don and Eleanor Saliman, Denver natives who have been members of Nahal Oz for 37 1/2 years. They say the arrival of Kassams has changed everything in their lives. They used to love to walk, but now Eleanor says she won't. There are too many snipers and missiles for safety. Her heart pounds irregularly. Her doctor says it's stress-induced, and he gave her a pill. "You don't know how many people are taking pills. If our children were small, I don't think I could continue to live here. This is our home. This is where we live. Our fields are the border."

Her husband Don took over the story. "There used to be hundreds of trucks, and there was a blimp here, but the terrorists tried to shoot it down." Their home has cement roofs as well as the secure room. They try to act like they used to. Don said, "It's part of our way of life. If we hear gunfire, we don't stop. We try to go through a day like a normal day." Their children rarely bring the grandchildren to visit, so Don and Eleanor have to go to them.

They are angry and frustrated. "It's our home. We don't want to leave, but the government seems to want that. Why aren't they doing anything to help?" But in spite of this, they try to maintain a normal life - visiting a senior citizens' center several times a week, playing bridge, taking spinning and art classes, reading, watching TV and communicating with friends all over the world on the computer. And they were generous and charming hosts.

It wasn't until we left the following morning that we heard about the mortar attack that injured a Palestinian worker on the kibbutz, and later in the week, a barrage of 18 rockets fell. Would I go back for another night? Probably not, though my hosts hospitably invited me and my husband to vacation with them. But you're not safe anywhere. We had visited Sapir College that afternoon (more about that in future reports), and the school took a direct hit just minutes after our departure. Danger certainly is a fact of life in this part of the world.

Source: Atlanta Jewish Times

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