ON the other side of the country from where people were being gunned down in their living rooms, kitchens, and bedrooms, Dr. Tamar Schlezinger, a crisis response specialist, had gotten up early in her home in Rosh Pinah. Tamar had already milked the sheep and gone for a walk in the nearby wadi. A volunteer for United Hatzalah, Tamar knew that there had been a lot of sirens in the Gaza area — and when she arrived home, the first call of the day came in on Chosen’s dispatch, who asked if anyone was available to accept the call.

“I told dispatch that I could take the call,” Tamar said.

A social worker by profession, Tamar was also a longtime member of United Hatzalah’s team of crisis response volunteers, well-trained in helping people deal with emergencies and trauma of all kinds. While she’d dealt with all kinds of people and situations over the years, nothing could have prepared her for the conversation that lay ahead.

Tamar asked dispatch what to expect on the other end of the line. They only knew the basic details. A boy had seen his parents murdered and needed help.

“I called Michael,” she said. “I didn’t know how old he was and what condition he was in, especially if he was in the proximity of terrorists who’d just killed his parents.”

He answered the phone. What follows is Tamar’s account of their conversation.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m Dr. Tamar and I’m calling from United Hatzalah.”

Very quickly I understood that I was speaking with a young child.

“I’m with you now, and I will stay on the line until a responsible Israeli adult comes to take you out of the safe room. Okay?… Is there a closet in the room? Yes? Is it a closet with shelves or a walk-in closet?”

“It’s a clothing closet and we’re lying on the shelves, hiding.”

I told Michael that they were doing great and praised him for showing such wonderful initiative. Soon his sister Amelia wanted to join the conversation.

“This is Amelia. I’m afraid! Nobody is here with us. Can you come save us?”

I told Amelia that there were good people who were on their way to help.

“I’ll stay on the phone with you until they arrive to save you, okay?”

“AT this point,” Tamar recounted, “I needed to know the situation on the ground in Kfar Azah. I also needed to know how much battery was left in the phone the kids were using. I had no idea how long the attack was going to last — but I understood that there was a good chance that we were going to have to stay on the phone for a long time. In my mind, I figured our conversation would probably last ten minutes, maybe half an hour. I mean, how long could it take to rescue two kids from a closet?”

In her wildest dreams, she never imagined how long their conversation would actually last. Because Tamar Schlezinger ended up staying on the phone with Michael and Amelia for the next 12 hours.

That phone call meant 12 hours of extreme bravery by two children, and 12 hours of extreme resourcefulness and composure by a woman on the other side of the country.

“The first thing I did,” Tamar said, “was ask them to please put both of the phones that they had on silent mode.

“Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.”

“Are the windows in the safe room closed?”

“Yes.”

I asked them if they hear any voices nearby.

I asked them a bunch of questions.

“I hear that Amelia is being very quiet, right?”

“Yes.”

“Michael, do you have any other brothers or sisters?”

“Yes.”

“Are they in a different room?”

“No.”

“Until then,” Tamar said, “I had only known that the parents had been killed. Now I learned that they thought another sibling had been killed as well. At the time, they had no idea that Avigayil had run away. All they knew was that she fell to the ground, covered in blood.

“I asked if their parents were in the room. They said that their mother was on the floor on the other side of a curtain partition but she wasn’t answering. Smadar, it turned out, was lying dead a few feet away from them.”

As they were speaking, Tamar heard the sound of voices.

“Are the people nearby talking Ivrit or Arabic?”

“Ivrit.”

“Who is it? Who’s talking?”

“It’s Amelia. She’s speaking to my aunt on the other phone.”

“Where does your aunt live?”

“In the Golan.”

“Is there anyone closer to you that I can call? Do you have a number for one of your neighbors or your aunt?”

“I know my aunt’s number.”

While all this was happening, the terrorists were still going on a rampage in Kfar Azah. It sounded like the shooting from outside was never going to stop.

“I smell smoke,” one of the kids said to Tamar. “Maybe it’s from an explosion or from one of the fires outside? Do you think the smoke is outside the house or inside the house?”

Tamar sent a text to one of their uncles, Zolli, who also lived on the kibbutz — his house was surrounded by terrorists and he himself was hoping for a miracle. If he left to try and rescue his niece and nephew, he’d be shot on the spot.

Zolli. Michael and Amelia are smelling smoke.

He wrote back. Everything here smells like smoke.

Another time she wrote to him, The children are hearing gunshots.

His response: There’s an endless stream of gunshots here.

Tamar got back to the children: “Your uncle told me that you’re not the only ones who are smelling smoke right now. The entire kibbutz smells like smoke.”

AS the hours ticked by, the country began to learn that more and more people had been kidnapped and taken to Gaza. Mothers and children. Fathers and sons. Grandparents. Babies. Nobody was safe from the murderous hordes. This made Tamar even more afraid for the children on the other end of the line.

“Kids, if you hear anyone speaking in Arabic, you need to be completely silent. You can’t even say one word. Do you understand me?”

They understood.

“I’m going to stay on the line with you the entire time,” she said. “I’ll talk to you. I’ll stay with you until you get out of there. But if you hear anything that you think might be dangerous, you need to be completely and absolutely silent. Okay?”

By now it was afternoon. The massacre at Kfar Azah had been going on for hours.

Tamar’s conversation with Michael and Amelia had begun at 9:30 in the morning. They had been on the phone for hours already and she still didn’t know if there was anyone on their way to save them, to release them from those closet shelves they’d managed to squish themselves into.

“Michael, do you want me to call you back in ten minutes, or do you want me to stay on the line and continue talking?”

“We want to stay on the line the whole time.”

“Okay, we’ll stay on the line. You don’t have to talk to me the whole time. You can also talk to each other and I’ll just listen. But I’ll be here and I won’t go away. Meanwhile I want you to continue hiding on the shelves, like you’ve been doing the whole time.”

Suddenly —

“Tamar, someone is outside. We hear them knocking on the door. Do you think they came to get us?”

The terrorists had been prowling around the kibbutz, knocking on doors and trying to convince hopeful residents that their salvation had come. Now Tamar was really frightened, but she mustered the calmest voice she could.

“Do not open the door. Do you understand? Stay where you are in complete silence. I am with you. You are not alone. Okay?”

They didn’t answer.

“It’s good that you’re not answering me. You are doing the right thing. I know that you can hear me. Is the knocking still going on? Answer me with one word, yes or no.”

“No.”

“Okay. It’s very important that your cellphone has enough battery so that we will be able to continue speaking for as long as we need. Is your mother in the same room with you?”

“Yes, she’s in the room. She’s lying on the floor. Abba and Avigayil are outside.”

“Does that mean that if you leave the closet to go get a charger, you’re going to see her?”

“Yes.”

“How much battery is left on the phone right now?”

“It’s at 57%.”

Iwas faced with a dilemma. I needed Michael to be able to charge the phone. But if I sent him to get a charger, he would see his mother lying on the floor.

He’d also have to leave the safety of the closest, and leave Amelia alone for a minute or two. I asked him if he would be able to deal with a very challenging and scary mission. To leave the safety of the closet and to go out of the safe room and find a charger. I was also really scared by the enormity of the mission — I can only imagine what he felt like. I decided to conference my superior, Einat, and to bring her into the call. Meanwhile I asked Michael if he knew where the charger was.

“Yes.”

“What room is it in?”

“It’s right next to the kitchen.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to go and get it even if that means you’ll have to see Mommy?”

“Yes.”

“When you go, make sure that nobody sees you through any of the windows, okay?”

“Amelia doesn’t want me to go and get the charger.”

“Is she afraid that you will be too far away from her?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to promise Amelia that you’ll go quickly and come right back. Are you able to run fast?”

“Yes.”

I was able to hear him running. Seconds later, Michael was back with the charger.

“I got it!”

“You are the biggest hero in the world!”

I told the kids that our conversation would be featured in the Guinness Book of World Records as the longest conversation ever held. We spoke about many different things. I asked Amelia to tell me about her friends. I asked the kids to tell me what they did on Succot. We didn’t speak about their father or mother, but we spoke about where they might end up living after this was all over. When they asked me where they would go, I told them that their family was going to fight over who would get to have them. The truth is, they are truly amazing children. Anyone would want them.

By eight o’clock that night, they had run into a serious communication issue. The children’s phone was losing service and their mother’s phone was locked with a password, which they didn’t know. I called their grandmother and asked her if, by a longshot, she knew the code. She told me no one knew it, because Smadar worked at a job that was extremely classified. That’s when I learned that Smadar worked for the Shin Beit.”

At the same time, Roi’s brother Amit Idan made contact with the Yahalom unit who’d gotten into Kfar Azah. He directed them to the house where the children were hiding, but the door was locked.

The soldiers knocked on the door but there was no answer. They tried again and again, and even shouted, “Michael, Amelia, we’ve come to rescue you!” Silence.

Amit told them, “Shout my name! Amit! Maybe they’re afraid to go out. Then they’ll know I’ve sent you.”

The forces shouted to them: “It’s Amit!”

Michael asked permission to leave his hiding place. I told them, “Go to the soldiers right now! Leave the hiding place right now and go to them!”

Seconds later Michael hung up the phone and the longest phone conversation ever came to an end.

Four-year-old Avigayil was released from Gaza with Hagar Broduch and her children at the end of November. Roi was considered unaccounted for until ten days later when his body was finally identified. The children’s uncle and aunt, Amit and Tal Idan, have been caring for them since the massacre.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1013)