This is what a massacre smells like. A smell I have never smelled before. It’s complicated to explain. Actually, maybe it's better that I don't try at all. The experienced, those who’ve been here from the time of the battles two weeks ago, go in carrying sage leaves in their palms to overpower the smell. The sights are indescribable. "The sun rose, the acacia tree blossomed, and the butcher slaughtered". I remember Bialik's line.
The descriptions of the people who came to take away the dead, seem to be taken from the testimonies of Holocaust survivors.
וָאֶעֱבֹר עָלַיִךְ וָאֶרְאֵךְ מִתְבּוֹסֶסֶת בְּדָמָיִךְ
"And when I passed over you and saw you wallowing in your blood," [a verse from the Prophet Ezekiel] plays in my head over and over again.
We pass by the house of Ofir Liebstein, the head of the local council, who with his son Nitzan, was murdered on that Black Sabbath.
I remember how just a few months ago Ofir took me to see the site where he dreamt of establishing a new industrial zone for the residents of Gaza, an industrial area that would bring peace closer. It was the second time he took me there, but I didn't have the heart to tell him I'd seen it once already - he was so excited.
On the way to Kibbutz Be’eri we meet soldiers and stop to talk. They have only one request, let us go in and defeat Hamas. Just don't stop us. A few hours later I am at the funeral of Ze’ev and Zehava Haker from Kibbutz Be’eri.
I reflect that it’s been some time since I’ve heard people talk about the land with love like this. The children promise their parents that they will return to the kibbutz and continue in their path.
I remember that just two hours earlier, when I was in Be’eri, an elderly, morose man said that it was quite evident that they would return and added "but to be clear, it's either them or us". And I thought to myself that in any other situation or time that would not be a statement I’d hear expressed there.
At the terribly sorrowful funeral, one of the speakers was a man with a big black kippah. He talked about his in-laws, Zeev and Zehava. He spoke of them with such admiration - their virtues, the educational values they passed on to their children, their love for one another, for the land, and for the country. And amidst all this terrible sadness, this consoled me and seemed so right.
At Assaf Harofeh Hospital I met a combat soldier from the 51st Battalion of the Golani regiment. It's a little difficult for me to consider whether he was more a giant or more a handsome young man. He was dressed in his battle fatigues and was busy arguing with the medical staff. He wanted to get back to fight with his friends from the unit. The doctors thought the time had not yet come. I asked him what happened that Shabbat. He started telling me and went on and on, correcting himself, as maybe he didn't recall something perfectly enough - and this hero hasn't even been in the army a year.
I understand so much why he wanted to go back in, and yet I so hoped they would convince him to wait. His body still full of shrapnel and surely his mind is too.
The next day I paid a Shiva call to Rabbi Tamir Granot and his wife Avivit, the parents of tank division commander Lt. Amitai Granot, who fell in a battle with Hezbollah in the north. Religious, secular and haredi sit there, trying together to think what goes through the mind of an officer who races his tank into battle and knows that on the next trip home he’s going to marry his beloved fiancee. And they talk about the Rambam's laws of war. Rav Tamir asks a haredi gentleman, the grandson of Sanz-Klausenburg Rebbe, "Say something that will comfort us." It seems to me that there is something comforting in this man’s very presence, and the grandson reminds us all that the Rebbe lost his wife and all his eleven children in the Shoah, and started afresh here in Israel. Rabbi Tamir and Avivit with a mental strength I have no idea from where they can muster, talk about their pain and personal loss within the great course of events in the revival of the people of Israel.
…and I'm writing this now on Saturday night, wearing a reserve uniform, on a short break between patrols, surrounded by reservist men and women who sing and play:
שִׁיר לַמַּעֲלוֹת אֶשָּׂא עֵינַי אֶל הֶהָרִים מֵאַיִן יָבֹא עֶזְרִי
"A song of ascents: I lift up my eyes to the mountains from where will my help come".
And I think to myself:
בְּדָמַיִךְ חֲיִי
בְּדָמַיִךְ חֲיִי
"In your blood live - in your blood live".
יַחַד נְנַצֵּחַ
Together we will win!
Matan Kahana is the former Religious Affairs Minister of Israel and current serves as an MK on behalf of the National Unity Party. Heserved in the IDF Matkal Commando Unit and was a fighter pilot in the IAF