I sit in the car in front of the yellow gate and wait for the guard to open. That is, the guard. The volunteer. The one who totally happens to be my friend too. Ten o'clock in the morning, she went on a tour and eliminated the possibility of opening the gate from the mobile app.
While I wait, I can't help but worry that something has happened to her. Kidnapped, for example. Since Black Saturday, every horror scenario is possible. Quite a few mothers across Israel are sitting at these moments praying a strange prayer: that their son or daughter be abducted - just not God forbid missing. Other mothers check in the kitchen drawer which knife would be better suited for self-defense, that of schnitzels or vegetables.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Here she comes in the orange vest. Smiling her sweet smile from afar, but not opening the gate yet. Until she makes sure that my car has the local sticker "Lattices are in my nature," and until she puts her curly head inside and realizes that I really am me, the gate to my house will be blocked to me. Since October 7, the concept of home has undergone a complete shake-up.
For the past 21 years, Sarigim has been my home. A small community of 250 families established by the Jewish Agency in 1960 in central Israel, south of Beit Shemesh. In antiquity, a wine road mentioned in the Bible passed through here, and therefore the settlements and moshavim received names in this spirit: Sarigim, Rogalit, Gefen, Tirosh. Two years after its establishment, as in Saleh Shabti, the name of the settlement was changed and named after a Jewish philanthropist named Lee On. At the beginning of the 2000s, the place expanded and attracted young people who wanted to fulfill the Israeli dream: a small house with a garden, children running around in the nearby forest learning the names of trees and flowers instead of brand names.
Winery Street in Sarigim. Full of sadness and pain, photo: Arik Sultan
Tradition has it that at the junction near the settlement, the battle of David and Goliath took place. Tour guides who bring tourists from all over the world define the area as the Israeli Tuscany. Those who chose to live here, between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, were not looking for a shiny slogan. It was an inexpensive option for quality housing and an opportunity to create a socially engaged community life. A community that accepts responsibility for its life.
The first civic initiative to which the new residents formed was to demand that the Ministry of the Interior restore the original name, Sarigim, and give its seven streets names: clusters, vines, the vintage, Mevo Sorek, Sarig, vineyards and the winery. After a long struggle, the name was changed to Sarigim (Lee On), but the Ministry of the Interior did not recognize the names of the streets, which did not prevent the residents from independently carving them with beautiful mosaics.
The organization vis-à-vis the establishment served as an engine for establishing a cohesive community that knows how to rely on itself: celebrate the holidays on the lawn of the playground, go on family trips on Shabbat, distribute tasks to the Bnei Mitzvah, be there for anyone in distress, and quarrel over issues of the highest order, such as dog feces on the sidewalks or removing pruning.
At 7:6 a.m. on 30 October, an alarm sounded in the community and the local WhatsApp group sprang to life. "Why don't we ever hear the siren?" quipped the residents of Vine Street. "Can we open shelters?" asked residents of the old community, who don't have a safe room in their homes. "Yes," the committee representative replied apologetically: "It came as a surprise."
The guard in the orange vest doesn't open the gate until she makes sure that my car has the local sticker "Lattices are in my nature" on it, and until she puts her head inside and realizes that I really am me. In general, since Black Sabbath, the concept of home has undergone a shake-up
The WhatsApp group was buzzing: one resident asked for milk for her coffee in the safe room, another was looking for a ride to her soldier son Beit Kama. A third invited "those who are alone and want to stay with us," and a fourth reported that she had spoken to MDA, "and they ask for blood donations."
And again an alarm, and a strong smell of burning from the direction of the forest. The security statement: "There is a fire in the area of the Mecca fields, being handled by the firefighters." Is the gate locked? No, open. Border Police staff at the entrance need food and drink. "Pay attention to children who are exposed to the media. Terrorist videos are being circulated, and it's really better not to be exposed to it."
Within hours, the community organized to open shelters, station a guard at the gate, with close-ups, locate rides for soldiers who had been jumped, provide alternatives to sirens, mobilize for blood donations, and offer society to individuals. And also pass milk to the one she lacks in coffee.
As the hours passed, the group posted links to lists of survivors of the nature party in the south. At 16:00 P.M., a link to donations to southern communities was provided, and some residents asked how to effectively lock a safe room. At this point, it still seemed that Sarigim was keeping her protective bubble.
The small, cul-de-sac stretches up a steep climb. At the entrance, on both sides, there are mosaic signs "The Winery". The young trees on the roadside, planted here 22 years ago, have taken root and split the sidewalks
Slowly, however, the scale of the disaster began to become apparent, draining into the winery street. A small cul-de-sac, home to about 40 families, is like an average Tel Aviv housing complex. Six families on the street experienced the Black Sabbath disaster firsthand, and directly.
All the interviewees for this article are stored in my contacts as "the mother of..." and "Dad of...". We sat together in the playground, banished darkness with a torch march on Hanukkah and did teenage parent tours. I enter the street not as a journalist, but as a neighbor, as a friend and as a partner. Like vine lattices, our human stories are intertwined.
Winery 4: The Shoham Family
Lieutenant Tomer Shoham z"l of the Nahal Patrol was killed in the heroic battle to save Kerem Shalom
Lt. Tomer Shoham z"l, photo: from the family album
The small street, like most streets in the settlement, stretches steeply. At its entrance, on both sides, there is a mosaic sign "The Winery". The young trees by the roadside, planted by residents 22 years ago, have taken root and split the sidewalks. I enter the second house on the right, Winery 4, home of the Shoham family.
Lieutenant Tomer Shoham, a soldier in the Nahal Patrol, was killed in the first hours of a heroic battle for the defense of Kibbutz Kerem Shalom in the envelope. He was 23 years old. Yael Shoham (27), his older sister, a graduate student in psychology, meets me in a room she shared with him until recently, at her parents' house.
We sit in the yard at a small garden table. Above us is a fallen vine. In recent days, Yael has renewed scented candles on the table and planted seasonal flowers in iron wheelbarrows and potted plants scattered around.
Yael Shoham, whose brother, Lieutenant Tomer Shoham, was killed in battle at Kerem Shalom, photo: Arik Sultan
Tomer stood alongside nine reconnaissance and tank fighters against dozens of terrorists. "They fought for about an hour near the Kerem Shalom fence, killing dozens of terrorists," Yael says. "At one point, Tomer went up a small hill with his slingshot to examine the situation and got hit by a bullet, which penetrated through his helmet. He was killed instantly, and the slingshot was wounded. The rest of the crew fought valiantly for another five hours, until reinforcements arrived."
It's not easy for Yael to be interviewed. "I'm afraid Tomer will turn out to be belligerent. He just wanted to defend, he fought for peace. I see the questions, 'Where was the army?' It's important to me that they know that the army was there and fought hard. Soldiers paid with their lives to protect. The soldiers fought."
The family found diary notebooks that Tomer had written from the moment he was drafted, which he called "Sadach - a thought arrangement." As a commander, he noted to himself in lists how to relate to each subordinate. "Throughout his service, Tomer spoke and dealt with moral issues. It was important for him to be moral and moral, and in these notebooks he arranged for himself the command concept. It was important for him to set an example for soldiers, to strive for excellence and to show that racism is a red line.
"He wanted to introduce educational values into the army. Discuss moral and complex questions. He learned Arabic from a Druze soldier, and during his last 'regular' vacation, he even went to study an Arabic course in Abu Ghosh, where he lived all week. When he moved to guard the envelope, he believed it was a really important matter. He even thought about moving there after liberation."
Tomer was recently appointed to command a team of soldiers on the verge of completing their service. "He advocated the concept that even if the sector is quiet, and even if there is no intelligence information, everyone must remain prepared for war. Just as it actually happened. The veterans had a hard time with him, because they were about to be released, but he didn't change his position, just debated how best to deal with the situation. "I'm not their friend, I'm a commander in preparation for war," he said.
Yael says that as part of his strict adherence to the alert, Tomer made sure to prepare and refresh a sample ammunition bag, which contained no less than a thousand bullets. In the fierce fighting on Black Saturday, this case played a very important role.
"It's a little comforting to know that Tomer knew what to do at critical moments, and that he saved many residents of Kerem Shalom. He died as a soldier on duty for peace. He didn't want this battle, but he knew how to be loyal to values and goals, and know how to realize them."
On Saturday morning, Tomer did not answer the phones. "Even when he served in Jenin, a few months ago, there were some scary days in which he didn't answer, and we were really worried. He explained at the time that it was forbidden to walk around with phones, and that what his soldiers were forbidden to do was forbidden to him either. Because of that, when he didn't answer on Saturday, we still had hope that he was okay."
On Sunday morning, two soldiers came to Sharigim Gate and asked the Border Police volunteer, who also happens to be the neighbor opposite, where the Shoham family lives. "A few minutes after the news, our neighbors from Sarigim set up a grill in the garden and a coffee corner," Yael says. "My friends from the community, who study all over the country, arrived within an hour, and haven't left me since. It's hard to describe how wrapped we've been since then."
In her youth, Yael was a student of mine in the Department of Communication. As part of the lessons, she directed a film about the dogs that relieve themselves on the sidewalks of the community. When I remind her of the forgotten movie, she almost smiles. I, for my part, look at the talented girl who has become a smart and precise woman.
Her parents, Ran and Michal, have now partially returned to their jobs, and her younger brother, Avshalom, now volunteers in agriculture. In the vine arbor, Yael hung the Nepalese flag, "which reminds me how to breathe. We planned to travel there together after Tomer was released."
Winery 18: Bartov Family
Sisi Bartov's two relatives, mother and daughter Yehudit and Natalie Raanan, were abducted and released, and another 8 members of her family in Gaza
Yehudit and Natalie Raanan, abducted by Hamas and released to Israel, photo: Reuters
A variety of projects have been set up in Sarigim since October 7. A war room has been stationed in the old Pepperon kindergarten, an alert squad is guarded in several locations, and there are those who take care of volunteer activities for children and youth, along with support and guidance for parents. The social enterprise "Sarigerosh", second-hand clothing for only five shekels, became a war room for transporting equipment and clothing for soldiers and evacuees. There are many more organizations, and the scope is too short to contain.
Hila Lankri, who is running for mayor of the regional council, also lives on Winery Street. On the fence of her house hangs a poster ahead of the local elections, scheduled for this week, in which Lankri is photographed smiling – the only full smile I have seen here since the disaster. The poster itself is already crumbling.
On the way to Sisi Bartov's house, at Winery 18, an ad is pasted on an orange cycle container: "Looking for a lost cat." In contrast, Sissy is also dealing with loss - which has to do with her extended family. Her aunt is Tamar Leviathan (85), a resident of Nahal Oz. Tamar's daughter and granddaughter, Yehudit and Natalie Raanan, were among those abducted to Gaza, and later became the first to be released and returned. Eight other members of Tamar's family are being held captive by Hamas.
"When I called Tamar to ask how she was, she said: 'The best it can be in the current reality.' I told her she was inspiring, and in response she replied that life itself is inspiring every morning. She also reminded me of her key phrase for life: 'Statistics show that you die only once.' She's really awesome, my aunt. She gave me her resilience."
Winery 17: Rosenblatt Family
Orna Rosenlevat lost her female officer niece, Capt. Eden Nimri z"l in battle
Capt. Eden Nimri, z"l, was killed in battle against the terrorists who infiltrated the Nahal Oz outpost, photo: from the family album
On normal days, the parking lot at the end of Winery Street stands empty. Excellent place for social activities. My children, for example, learned to ride bicycles there. Now the lot is packed with comforters' cars that came to some of the families on the street.
ביום הלווייתו של תומר שוהם ז"ל עמדו תושבי שריגים עם דגלי ישראל וחלקו כבוד למסעו האחרון, שיצא מביתו. אורנה רוזנבלט ובני משפחתה הציעו לתת לי טרמפ עד לבית העלמין. בתוך המכונית, בדרך, עמדה שתיקה גדולה, עד שאורנה בישרה: "האחיינית שלי, סרן עדן נימרי ז"ל, בתה האמצעית של אחותי, נהרגה בקרבות".
בהלווייתו של תומר לא גילתה משפחת רוזנבלט לאיש את דבר השכול שפגע גם בה. רק אחר שבוע פרסמה אורנה בווטסאפ הקהילתי: "נמנעתי מלספר כדי לא להכביד עליכם, חברים יקרים. כעת אני בוחרת לשתף את כולכם ולספר לכם על עדן, בת אחותי, שנפלה בשבת, כי היא ראויה שכולם יכירו מי היתה.
"עדן היתה קצינה, מפקדת לוחמת ב'רוכב שמיים', במוצב בנחל עוז. היא נהרגה תוך כדי לחימה בקרב נגד מחבלים שפשטו על המוצב. היא התעוררה לשמע קול נפץ, אחזה בנשק יחפה, הורתה לחיילות שלה לרוץ למיגונית והדגימה להן איך לדרוך את הנשק והיכן להציב את עצמן. בתוך כך הצליחה להציל את כל פיקודיה וחיילים נוספים. אני שולחת תנחומים לכל המשפחות האבלות ולמשפחות הנעדרים".
במטבח, תוך שהיא מכינה תבשילים למשפחות האחרות ביישוב, אורנה מבקשת שיזכרו את עדן. "עם כל השאיפות, ההצלחות וההישגים שלה, עדן תמיד היתה צנועה וענווה. יפהפייה תמירה עם גוף של דוגמנית, שהעדיפה את הערכיות על פני החומריות".
היקב 15: משפחת אדר
חמותה המבוגרת של אדריאנה אדר נחטפה לעזה. אחיינה, תמיר, נעדר
יפה אדר, בשבי, צילום: אי.פי
למטבח מצטרפת חברתה הטובה של אורנה, היזמת החברתית אדריאנה אדר, שגרה עד לפני שנה ביקב 15. בינתיים עברה עם בעלה ארז וילדיהם למושב סמוך, אך הם נשארו חלק מקהילת שריגים.
אדריאנה, שגדלה בקיבוץ ניר יצחק בעוטף עזה, חיה שבע שנים עם ארז בקיבוצו, ניר עוז. אמו של ארז, יפה אדר (85), היא הקשישה שנחטפה על הקלנועית המפורסמת, ואחיינו, תמיר, נעדר. כעת מתמסרת אדריאנה לסיוע למפוני ניר עוז וניר יצחק, ולמאבק למען שחרור כל החטופים.
"היינו אמורים לנסוע ליפה לחג", היא משחזרת את השבת השחורה. "בבוקר, כשהתחילו הטילים, יפה כתבה בקבוצה המשפחתית שנצטרך לדחות את המפגש. הנכדים צחקו, מה היא תעשה עם כל האוכל שהכינה. הקשר איתה נותק ב־8:38. בהודעה האחרונה היא כתבה שהיא שומעת מחבלים מחוץ לבית.
"ואז אביו של ארז, הגרוש של יפה, איש בן 87, כתב לנו שהוא נחנק וחייב לצאת מהממ"ד - כי שורפים לו את הבית. הבנו מזה שיש בעיה גדולה, שיש כאוס. האחיין תמיר יצא להגן על הקיבוץ וכתב בדרך לאשתו: 'תנעלו את הממ"ד מכל הכיוונים, אל תפתחי גם אם את מזהה את הקול שלי ואני מתחנן בפנייך". מאז הוא נעדר.
"יפה היא אישה גאה. מעולם לא הסכימה להיות נצרכת, למרות שהיא מאוד חולה. אני חושבת עליה כל היום, איפה היא ישנה, זרוקה על מזרן? מה היא אוכלת? היא חייבת תרופות. אני מקווה שהיא לא סובלת. כשראינו את התמונות ששיתפו ברשת הצטערנו שהיא לא מתה מייד, ושהיא עוברת את הגיהינום הזה. קשה לנו לחשוב כמה היא סובלת.
"אגב, הקלנועית שבה היא מצולמת בסרטון אינה שלה, למרות שגם הקלנועית שכן שייכת לה נבזזה. החבר'ה בקיבוץ מתווכחים ביניהם עד עכשיו למי הקלנועית בסרטון שייכת".
אדריאנה וארז אדר במיצג משפחות החטופים בכיכר ספרא בירושלים, צילום: אורן בן חקון
בשבוע שאחרי האסון נסעו אדריאנה וארז לאילת, לשהות לצד המשפחה. "קהילת ניר עוז מרוסקת. מתוך 400 חברים יש 130 נעדרים, חטופים או נרצחים. בבתי המלון באילת, שהמפונים לשם קוראים להם 'מחנות עקורים', התחלנו להקים פעילות תוכן וטיפול לילדים.
"העשייה עוזרת, גם לנו. חברנו למטה החטופים והקמנו חמ"ל יח"צ של ראיונות: אני בספרדית, הבנות שלי בעברית ובאנגלית - והבן מתזמן. ארז ואני השתתפנו במיצג בכיכר ספרא על משפחות החטופים. עמדנו עם כל נציגי המשפחות מסביב למיטות ריקות, ושרנו את ההמנון 'התקווה'".
אדריאנה אדר: "יפה היא אישה גאה. מעולם לא הסכימה להיות נצרכת, למרות שהיא חולה. אני חושבת עליה כל היום, היא זרוקה על מזרן בעזה? מה היא אוכלת? היא חייבת תרופות. כשראינו את תמונותיה ברשת הצטערנו שהיא עוברת כזה גיהינום"
איך אפשר למעשה לעזור לכם?
"אנשים לא מבינים שאי אפשר לעזור לנו, רק לתמוך בזעקה שלנו. רק תמיכה רגשית. את התמיכה האחרת נצטרך אחר כך, כשניפול. כרגע אנחנו חיים על אדים של אדרנלין".
באותו אדרנלין, אדריאנה מחבקת עכשיו את אורנה, משם תמשיך לבית משפחת ברדיצ'בסקי ואחר כך משפחת לוק. היא חייבת להגיע הביתה עייפה במידה שתמנע ממנה לחשוב איפה ישנה עכשיו סבתא יפה בעזה.
היקב 17: משפחת ברדיצ'בסקי
הבן איתי ז"ל ואשתו הדר ז"ל נרצחו בכפר עזה. תאומיהם הרכים ניצלו
איתי והדר, שנרצחו, עם התאומים שניצלו, צילום: מהאלבום המשפחתי
את הפגישה עם רוית ברדיצ'בסקי אני מתאמת מול סדר היום של נכדיה התאומים. אנחנו נפגשות מאוחר בערב, אחרי שהשכיבה אותם לישון. הסלון המרווח של ביתה מלא בצעצועים. עד לפני כמה שנים התפאורה הזו היתה שגרתית: רוית ניהלה בביתה משפחתון שבו הצעידה רבים מילדי שריגים את צעדיהם הראשונים.
במבצע צוק איתן, ב־2014, רוית ואני נפגשנו בסופר המקומי, ליד מקרר החלב. עיניה היו אדומות מלילות ללא שינה, אחרי שאיתי, בנה, נכנס אז כקצין גולני לתוך רצועת עזה. שתינו הבנו זו את זו ללא מילים.
Itai was discharged after completing his successful service as a company commander, and about a year ago received a medal of excellence in the reserves of the 36th Division, ahead of Israel's 74th Independence Day. "If we want to close another circle for Golani," she is now trying to connect the parts of the new, tragic reality forced upon her, "then those who saved the twins' lives were fighters from Battalion 13, and Golani's staging areas were in the village of Gaza."
Itai and his wife Hadar, blessed memory, were among the first murdered in the village of Gaza. Their ten-month-old twins were left alone in the safe room. "From what I understand, the terrorists left them there on purpose, as bait, so that whoever came to save them would be kidnapped. The first fighters who tried to save the babies were indeed shot."
The romantic match between Itai and Hadar was made by his good friend, neighbor Ofir Bartov, Sisi's son. The couple met at the end of an officers' course and moved to live near Hadar's family in the village of Gaza. During the Corona period, we got married in a winery in a neighboring moshav.
Ravit remembers the moment Itai sent her the ultrasound picture with the twins in Hadar's womb. "I screamed for joy, but when I closed the phone I cried. I cried over Ilan's miss."
Ravit Berdichevsky with her twin grandchildren, photo: Arik Sultan
Ilan-Shmuel, Ravit's husband, was killed about five years ago in a motorcycle accident. The twins, his grandchildren, were named after him - Guy Ilan and Roy Shmuel. From the moment they were born, Ravit made sure to visit them in the remote village of Gaza.
Were you afraid that they lived in a tense area?
"Of course, but Itai and Hadar always made sure to calm down. Their bedroom was initially located in the safe room, and they said that when you close the door you don't hear anything. There were no traumas in them. But when the twins were born, it became more sensitive. In the previous round of fighting against Hamas, I felt that as parents they took it harder."
Ravit Berdichevsky: "The twins, who are ten months old, are happy and positive, but notice that they miss their father and mother who are gone. The first few nights they would cry and check who came to take care of them. To this day, they are not willing to fall asleep in beds. Falling asleep only on your hands."
On the bloody Saturday, Hadar was last seen on the family's WhatsApp at 6:55 a.m. "She tried to joke, 'You know what it's like to be locked in a safe room with two diapers with poop?'" says Ravit. "Then they weren't available. I started telling myself stories. Maybe they're busy with the babies. Maybe they didn't go into the safe room with their phone."
When she heard the first media reports about terrorists roaming the area, Ravit sent a message to Nurit, Hadar's mother, who reassured her that there were problems with reception. As the hours passed, she realized that they were trying to hide something from her. "I felt my body start talking, but my head refuses to accept. Today I know that at 11:00 A.M., Hadar's parents received a report from a neighbor in the alert squad that the door to the house was open and he heard the babies screaming. Twice he tried to reach the children, but couldn't. The terrorists guarded the house very much."
In retrospect, from the fragments of the stories she heard, Ravit understood the terrible sequence of events: when I heard the rockets, Hadar and I entered the safe room with Hadar. At one point, Hadar went out to prepare bottles for the twins, and then a neighbor heard her screaming. Her body was later found in the kitchen. Itai apparently closed the safe room door and held the handle, but the terrorists fired at the door and three bullets penetrated and wounded him in the stomach. Itai crawled toward the twins, and then the murderers came in and shot him in the head. The children were rescued only after hours of fierce fighting.
That Saturday night, Itai's younger brother, Ido, who has been released for two months, received Order 8 and packed his bag to leave. At that point, he and Ravit didn't know that Itai and Hadar were no longer alive. Hadar's family, who knew, contacted two childhood friends of Itai's from Sarigim, who, together with a good friend of Ravit's, and a pair of social workers from the council, came to tell Ravit the news of Job. They added that the twins had survived - and that they were on their way to lattices with Lior and Inbar, Hadar's brother and sister.
"We all started crying terribly. My father called to ask how it was, and I told him. A fan, my middle son, kicked in the door."
Soon Hadar's entire family reached the lattices: parents, brothers and sisters. At the same time, WhatsApp settlement volcanized. Three residents donated their empty homes to the visitors. Within hours, the community mobilized beds, bedding, household items and clothes, and a cleaning team and staff were set up for the necessary renovations. A therapeutic team of professionals came together to provide professional emotional support to the family, on a voluntary basis.
How are the twins now?
Ravit: "The whole day revolves around them. In the morning they're with Hadar's parents, who are on the street next door, and in the afternoon they come back. They are happy, positive, but you can tell they miss mom and dad. The first few nights they would cry and check who came to take care of them. To this day, they are not willing to fall asleep in beds. They fall asleep only with their hands or on a trip in a stroller."
Vine Corner Winery: The Locke Family
The daughter, Shani Luke, z"l, went missing, until it was finally announced that she had been murdered at the nature party in Reim
Shani Luke, z"l, who was murdered at a party in Re'im,
Locke House is located on Geffenim Street, near the meeting with the winery. The beautiful and life-loving Shani Luke was kidnapped to Gaza from the nature party in Re'im, and a video of her being transported in a van was circulated online. As long as they did not know what had happened to her, her parents, Ricky and Nissim, refused to accept comfort. They made it clear to the community that they were waiting for her to come home, alive.
Riki agreed to be interviewed, but when I arrived, Nissim asked me not to. "The other has German citizenship, and we are interviewed only by the foreign media. Hamas is following us, and I don't want them to know that she lives in Sarigim. As a German citizen, she has a better chance of being released."
Shani Luke's parents and brother, photo: Arik Sultan
In the yard, Amit, Shani's brother, scores a basket with a friend. On the dining table is a puzzle of thousands of pieces. "We're all building it together, it's already our sixth," shares Ricky. Tomorrow, she plans to go pack the contents of Shani's rented apartment, which needs to be vacated.
Nissim clings to the signs. After the abduction, someone tried to buy Shani's credit card at a pharmacy in Gaza, and the family is trying to use all the connections in the world to get a chip of information, including from friends from Germany and Holland.
Nissim tells of a WhatsApp correspondence of a team of nurses in a Gaza hospital concerning Shani, and Adi, her older sister, explains to him that such correspondence can easily be forged. The father swings like a pendulum. One moment he asks them to bomb the tunnels from above, "even if two are inside, so they won't endanger our soldiers," and the next he clings to another picture in which he believes he recognized his daughter.
But in the morning, Nissim sends me a message: "Now there's no problem with you posting. At night, a ZAKA representative, a representative from the army and a social worker came to us with an official DNA document. Shani was shot on the party grounds, a bone from her skull was found by ZAKA and identified."
Within minutes, the neighbors in the lattices had erected a mourning tent in front of the house. The painful community gathers again. Ricky and Nissim share with red eyes the immense pain mixed with a little relief: "Shani danced all night, enjoyed herself until the last moment, was shot at the beginning of the attack and did not suffer. And we have an answer about her fate, which is not certain for all families."
Winery 22: "The End of the Winery Market"
Michal Ellefson's cooking project is now also feeding the grieving families in the community
In the last house on the right, in front of the parking lot, lived Michal Elfson. She works in tourism, but during Corona, when she had no job, she enlisted to help farmers market their goods. They brought vegetables to her warehouse, and the neighbors bought everything directly through a WhatsApp group she set up - "End of Winery Market".
Since the outbreak of the war, and in parallel with the market, Michal brought together a group of 80 cooks who enlisted to prepare meals for families whose father or sons were assigned by Order 8, and now also for the mourning families in the community. "The cooking is done at the expense of the volunteers," she sighs, "and the hard moment is to look the neighbors in the eye."
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