By Laurie Edelman Goodwin
It was early December, and I still felt stuck. I could not seem to shake off my grief from the murderous attacks of Oct. 7 in Israel. So when Caren Leven, executive director of the Baltimore Zionist District, invited me to participate on a solidarity mission to Israel, I could not refuse.
Our seven-day mission was an emotional rollercoaster. Among the many events and highlights, we first met with Tzvika Mor of the town of Kiryat Arba. Mr. Mor’s son, Eitan, was kidnapped by the terrorist invaders and remains hostage in Gaza.
With this crushing fact as background, Mr. Mor exposed us to the other side of the conversation, which before then I had not heard. He shared with us his unyielding support for the war effort and explained how, for him, its successful prosecution trumped all other considerations, including even the release of his son from captivity.
He told us that Am Yisrael is bigger than his son, or anyone of us, and that for the government to release convicted terrorists from prison in exchange for the hostages, even for his own son, was not an option for his family.
Mr. Mor reminded us that, as Jews, we should not refer to his community in Kiryat Arba as the “West Bank,” a term coined only 60 years ago by Western media outlets, but by its original name of Judea, which has its roots in the Hebrew Bible dating back to ancient times.
While our meeting did not last very long, Mr. Mor’s impact on me will last a lifetime. It is courageous and committed people like Mr. Mor who allow me and my “Westernized” Jewish friends to have the privileges we enjoy today in the Diaspora.
We then visited Kibbutz Kfar Aza, where Palestinian terrorists raped and brutalized innocent women before murdering them, and where they tortured, maimed and killed small children, elderly adults and other vulnerable individuals in the name of Allah. The complete destruction and utter devastation that I witnessed from the remnants and fragments left behind cannot be summed up with mere words, nor understood from still photographs, because neither medium can convey the stench of death.
Imagine visiting Auschwitz in 1945 and smelling the human residue of the gas chambers and ovens. This was Kfar Aza.
Following in the wake of the murderous terrorists were the so-called Palestinian “non-combatants” who continued the onslaught by their raping, destruction and widespread looting. Flat-screen televisions were stolen from homes. I saw firsthand personal belongings such as pocketbooks, shoes and empty food wrappers strewn all across the blood-stained ground.
Days later, I spoke with Amit and Yfrat, two survivors of the Kfar Aza massacre. Their entire community is currently displaced and living temporarily in Kibbutz Shefayim.
Amit, a mother of three, described how she had brought food to Gazan civilians before the attack, how she had watched their children play with her children before the onslaught, and how she had believed a tangible friendship was developing between the two sides before the nightmare. Amit conveyed the palpable anguish of her community when she questioned the possibility of their moving back and reclaiming their home, against the probability of moving on elsewhere because there’s no more trust.
When asked how we can better support them from the United States, Yfrat replied, “Everyone attends the Shiva. … It’s what you do next that matters.” She is right. How can I be sure to never forget these broken families while the rest of the world moves on?
It’s so easy to turn away, to not participate in the discourse. But Yfrat’s words will serve as my daily reminder that “Never Again” truly is now and I will never again be silent.
We also spent a very difficult morning in Shura, an army base south of Tel Aviv, where many soldiers are now tasked with identifying the remains of those killed in the massacre. Again, there are no words in my vocabulary to describe the pain — or smell — felt within this holy place. We learned that since Oct. 7, more than a thousand bodies have been brought to Shura — trucks full of burned and mutilated remains. But even still while hearing these gut-wrenching stories from soldiers younger than I, seeing how much time, respect and value is placed on every single life tripled my own sense of Jewish pride.
Though it may seem difficult to believe, there were still many instances in the course of our mission when we felt moments of inspiration. We met wounded soldiers at Tel Hashomer Hospital who described their wish for us in America to make aliyah. It is these incredible soldiers who deserve our unwavering support and gratitude for keeping Israel, Jews around the world and the entire free world safe.
We also had the honor of hosting a barbecue for an entire air force base. There, I met an Israeli lawyer named Gilad Yeshayahu who’s put his entire practice on hold to support Am Yisrael and the IDF at this critical time. With about five of his friends, their new “job” is driving all over Israel with a BBQ grill in the bed of his pickup truck, serving soldiers wherever they may request a meal.
We met Rami Davidian, an ordinary, everyday man who helped more than 750 people escape from the massacre that was unfolding in real time at the Nova Music Festival. Because of his heroic action, generations of Jews will thrive.
In Ashkelon, we met two wonderful Israeli women, Sigal and Dafna. These two leaders have made it their mission to establish safe spaces, with proper resources, allowing for parents to drop off their children during this difficult time. With so many schools currently closed, these spaces have become true co-ops; just another example of Israelis coming together for Am Yisrael.
We also met with Amir Gissin, CEO of Maccabi World Union, who has dedicated his energies to the urgent task of finding housing for 800-plus displaced Israelis. Finally, we were given the opportunity to engage in some field work on a cucumber farm at Moshav Ahituv. With so many workers either flying back to their homes overseas or currently serving in the Israel Defense Forces, participating in this worthwhile cause gave us a feeling of humbling honor, one I will cherish always.
As the granddaughter of Holocaust survivors, I learned at a very young age to speak out against injustice; to never be complicit. This mission provided me the opportunity to bear witness and share my experiences with all who will listen. I promise to never forget these men, women and children who were massacred and brutalized in broad daylight solely because they were Jews.
Thank you, BZD, for awarding me the most meaningful experience of my life. The results have only deepened my dedication and resolve to raise my three children with a proud sense of Jewish identity, and to love and honor Torah. As Mr. Mor said, “Am Yisrael is bigger than any one of us, and we will prevail.”
And to that, let me add, “May HaShem bless the IDF.”
Laurie Edelman Goodwin lives in Ellicott City and teaches at Beth Tfiloh Dahan Community School.
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