This Purim, it’s a balance between trauma and gratitude

Just as shuls were reading Parshas Zachor, the commandment to wipe out Amalek, Israel Air Force bombers set out to pound the Iranian enemy in its largest sortie in history, which included approximately 200 aircraft that struck more than 500 targets in one first wave, while four B-2 stealth bombers from the United States took out military targets in the eastern part of the country. While last summer’s 12-Day War focused on neutralizing Iran’s nuclear and sophisticated missile capabilities, the current campaign hit the heart of the rule of the ayatollahs and the Revolutionary Guard.

As expected, though, the Iranian counterresponse was fast and furious, and from Shabbos morning, Israelis were paying the price, as hundreds of ballistic missiles and swarms of suicide UAVs showered over the country in precision strikes from over a thousand miles away.

The first penetration that succeeded in breaching Israel’s aerial defenses and caused casualties was in Tel Aviv, a direct hit on an old residential building and lots of collateral damage, in an area with public shelters in the absence of the more modern apartment safe rooms. But the fiercest reprisal came the following day, when a heavy barrage of launches from Iran sent millions into shelters. And in the greatest tragedy of the war so far, a ballistic missile with an enormous warhead made a direct hit on a shul and shelter on Yehuda HaMaccabi Street in the old part of Beit Shemesh, leaving at least nine dead, dozens injured, and an entire town reeling.

The Tiferet Yisrael shul and the public shelter underneath were completely obliterated; hundreds of scorched seforim were scattered in all directions, dozens of surrounding houses were destroyed or severely damaged, and victims were trapped under the rubble of several collapsed structures.

As of press time, there were nine known fatalities: Ronit Elimelech,45, and her mother, Sara; Oren Katz, a father and husband; Gavriel Baruch Ravach, 16; Bruria Cohen and her adult son, Yosef; and three siblings from the Biton family — Yaakov, 16, Avigail, 15, and Sara, 13.

“We live over a mile away,” one Beit Shemesh resident said, “And when we emerged from our safe room after hearing a blast that literally shook the foundations, we saw that all the windows had either blown out or shattered. And we weren’t even nearby.”

I was there 20 minutes later — there are no words to describe the devastation. Firefighters were still busy extinguishing the fires that raged through the destroyed homes, as personal belongings, furniture, entire lives of people, were scattered in horrifying chaos across the road that until a few moments before was a quiet street.

Home Front Command teams had already begun to deploy, but time was playing against them. Drones scanned the upper rooms, dogs sniffed in the courtyards, while rescue workers called into the cavities of the destroyed homes, desperately searching for trapped victims who were still alive. Due to the complexity of access to the impacted area, a forward triage point was set up from which evacuations were carried out. Some survivors, dazed and injured, refused to be evacuated before knowing what happened to family members, some of whom were no longer alive.

“I can’t find my family!” cried one of the local residents in hysteria, while Home Front Command personnel tried to persuade her to urgently go to the hospital. But she refused to leave. “My son has a heart condition, and I’m not leaving without him!”

Tension of Opposites

Even when it wasn’t a question of life or death, everyone in Israel had their Purim plans upended, with children spending days in shelters instead of at costume parties in their schools, which have been closed since the beginning of the week.

Yossi Moskowitz, who lives in Givat Shmuel outside Bnei Brak, isn’t alone when he says that despite the upended plans, the constant air-raid sirens and the impending danger, there is a feeling of gratitude when looking at the greater scheme of things — the collapse of the evil Iranian regime, whose death-to-Israel threats and frenzied race for nuclear capabilities have been haunting the Jewish state for the last 47 years.

“We’ve been spending almost the entire day in the shelter, and now we’re deliberating what to do regarding reading the Megillah,” he told me on Taanis Esther, a few hours before Purim. “Our shul doesn’t have a protected space, and with sirens going nonstop today, no one wants to be running through the streets in the middle of the Megillah looking for a shelter. But you know, when we saw what happened in Beit Shemesh, we understand that we’re getting off easy. Of course, everything is in the Hands of Hashem and the shelter is only our human effort, our hishtadlus, but it’s the effort we need to make.”

Yossi’s parents and in-laws live in Bnei Brak, and have neither a safe room in their apartment nor a miklat in the building.

“My parents live on the fourth floor, and when the siren goes off, they go out to the stairwell, which is the minimum they can do,” he says. “They can’t go down four floors and then run to a public shelter, it’s too dangerous for people their age. They make their effort within what there is.”

Despite all the discomfort and inconvenience, Yossi radiates optimism. “Because,” he says, “in the end, what is happening in Iran is an open miracle. I’m 47 years old, and since I can remember, the Iranian threat has been shadowing us. Suddenly, to see how HaKadosh Baruch Hu dismantles this monster is simply amazing. Sinwar had his plan of destruction on Simchas Torah, and in the end it led to a chain of events in which Khamenei is eliminated and Iran collapses. These are certainly special times.”

Sara Nachshoni, who lives in Petach Tikvah, which suffered a direct hit both this week and last summer, says the war has forced the public to distill the inner essence of the holiday, while giving up the external and often elaborate and unnecessary wrapping. Still, she says, she feels a lot of confusion.

“Purim is a holiday of connection to innerness and breaking boundaries, but it’s very difficult to feel free when you need to be constantly calculating where the nearest protected space is. The war has also created a heavy emotional burden on the children, and this of course affects the parents, who need to contain their disappointment while at the same time feeling anxiety themselves.”

For years, Sara and her husband have gone to hospitals on Purim to read the Megillah and bring good cheer to patients, but this year she doesn’t know if that will happen. And regarding the large family seudah she traditionally holds, with relatives coming from all over the country, that, too, is not happening. But we’re trying to find our joy from the inside these days, and remember and connect to the great miracle Hashem is doing for us.”

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1102)