"How do we continue?" I asked the smartest man around. "Biting your lip and carrying on," he replied.
The eyes refuse to believe it. 200. 300. 350. Interpret screens, rub eyes. 400. 500. At least 600. Already 700. By morning will we reach 800? This is the tip of the iceberg of horror, which becomes clearer as the dust settles. But a lot more dust rises over the surrounding communities, and there is an impression that it will take a long time to settle.
President Herzog in a Speech to the Nation in the Shadow of the Difficult War in the South
For every "omission" and "war." Big, horrible, frightening, fearful words. Words reserved for the worst moments of horror in our history. And if we use them now, then we understand how terrible the place is. But strangely, these words help to decipher, to digest, to somehow contain the horror. We have already experienced an omission. And wars, unfortunately, we know too well. There is, therefore, something comforting about knowing, or perhaps delusional, that we have already experienced. We've already been through that disorder. A sign - that we will get through this too.
But deep down we know that these expressions, precise and appropriate as they may be, are like crutches we use to wander through the fog of an unfamiliar reality, through the smokescreen of an event of a new magnitude.
The father of one of the missing persons in the statement of relatives of the missing. A black hole opened in the ground, Photo: AP
This is, first and foremost, the face of evil revealed by the enemy. Dark abysses of hatred, cruelty, bloodthirst. It is impossible to bear the descriptions, the testimonies, the sights - to those who made the mistake and pressed the play button in one of the dozens of videos that burned the networks. Inhuman barbarism, to which any forgiveness or restraint in the face of her actions is a moral betrayal. We have no right to forgive. Not now, and not in the foreseeable future.
And more than that, it is the knowledge that we have not yet had time to internalize, and it is doubtful that we will ever fully internalize, that many, many hundreds, have gone from us within hours. A black hole has opened in the ground, and we will walk around it, in a spiral motion, for many, many years to come. How we weren't there. How they were left there alone. How they are still alone there, besieged, captive, stray, missing.
Police evacuate civilians after a fall in Ashkelon. Photo: AP
A member of one of the networks wrote: At Guardian of the Walls, we were shocked to discover that we do not have enough police at the time and place that needs it most, and on Simchat Torah we were horrified to discover that we do not have enough army at the time and place that needs it most. A surprising breakthrough through the fence is perhaps understandable; It is impossible to digest hours of massacre in the backyard without security forces arriving. Don't be tense – the IDF is on the ground, they once said. He wasn't.
It's a feeling of abandonment, and it will probably accompany us from now on. In '73, the fighters felt abandoned by the state; In '23, the citizens felt that way. Something about the sense of personal security has been undermined in recent years. Indiscriminate killing on city streets. Groupings are deleted. Civilians are slaughtered in their homes. Others are taken in convoys into captivity. Where was their country? She wasn't. This is the deep, painful nature of the fracture. We turned our heads, and there was no one behind us. An orphan jumped on us.
An armored personnel carrier near the Gaza Strip. 'Biting your lip and carrying on', Photo: Getty Images
But how do we proceed, I ask. "Biting your lip and carrying on." That's the only thing that makes sense. We've totally done that already. That's what we're really trained at. In this we never disappoint ourselves. This is how we got up in the past, and only this way will we rise this time. But not today. More soon.
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