Beyond Words – Reflections from the Mission
by Tani Gordon, SAR Parent
On our first night in Israel, while walking back to the bus after a meaningful dinner in Modiin, I was stopped by a man asking us who we were. As a New Yorker, accustomed to ignoring strangers in the streets, I instinctively kept walking. But suddenly, remembering where I was, I turned around, saw his kippah and warmed up to his familiarity. I struggled with my words and in my broken Hebrew I explained to this stranger that we were here in solidarity from the United States, seeing how we can help in any way. He paused. His eyes welled up with tears and he simply said, “Thank you–this means so much to us. This means the world.”
Over the next three days, we were graciously invited to meet with United Hatzalah, Brothers in Arms, and representatives from Sderot. Farmers who needed workers in Pri Gan, soldiers in hospital beds, families of those taken hostage. We heard their stories, we listened and while we were also aware of the needs and the financial pressures they face and will continue to face in the coming months and years, what most stood out was their appreciation of us just being there. Like the man on the street in Modiin who had nothing to gain, our presence was more important than our purpose. Our presence became our purpose.
My cousin, a mother of five, called out to me and we immediately hugged. I felt the embrace so hard. She is a strong, proud woman and hugged me tighter than I ever knew she could. She was excited to see me and repeated how grateful she was. I showed her the bag of toys and she said, “Where am I going to put all of this?” She was grateful, but she didn’t care about the bag of toys; she wanted to see us.
When we were able to visit displaced families at the Dead Sea, I personally was excited; our cousins, who live in Sa’ad, a kibbutz in the south that was miraculously spared, were being temporarily housed in Hotel Nevo along with their neighbors. I prepared and brought toys, clothes, and iPads for our family members. The SAR mission brought activities and games and played with the young children of the kibbutz in tents lined up in the hotel parking lot that served as temporary classrooms. I got off the bus with my large suitcase and looked around for my family.
My cousin, a mother of five, called out to me and we immediately hugged. I felt the embrace so hard. She is a strong, proud woman and hugged me tighter than I ever knew she could. She was excited to see me and repeated how grateful she was. I showed her the bag of toys and she said, “Where am I going to put all of this?” She was grateful, but she didn’t care about the bag of toys; she wanted to see us.
On our last day, we spoke with a survivor from Kfar Aza. We bore witness to the terror she experienced, to the courage she and her husband had to find to remain calm throughout to protect her children from her own fears. She hid in her bomb shelter for 36 hours while her neighbors were being killed outside of her home. She showed up to tell us her story, and we listened. We showed up for her to witness her story, to ensure her stories were repeated and that people know what happened to them.
And when we hear these stories, I think many of us are often unsure of what to say, or worry about saying the wrong things. As I approached the speaker to thank her, I felt apprehensive; should I say “You are an inspiration” or “Wow, what a great mother you are;” Do my words actually make them feel better? Is there anything I really could have said to relieve their immense pain? But as I reflect, I am not sure my words meant as much as the hug we shared, or the gaze we held in each other’s eyes, in our bodies physically being there for them to fall on, to touch, to see.
My heart is struck by my memory of a survivor from Ain Hashlosha. As she told us her story, standing there with two young children at her legs, and a pregnant belly, she bravely told us how she survived and how she continues to survive alone as her husband is now fighting in Gaza.
At the end, she repeated, “ain li milim, ain li milim.” And sometimes you don’t have to have the words. Sometimes you just have to show up.
What We Can Do Now to Help
I encourage everyone to do what they can to simply show up. Show up for survivors, for our friends and family, for Am Yisrael. But since we can’t all physically be there, let’s commit to writing letters or emails. It may seem simple to you, but it may mean the world to them. SAR can help make sure the letters are personally distributed; please submit a message here to be formatted and delivered on your behalf.
The SAR Supports Israel Fund
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