Keeping lawns neat in front of burned homes - a year on at kibbutz where Hamas killed 101

 

A few metres from a charred home in Kibbutz Be'eri, Simon King tends to a patch of ground in the sunshine. The streets around him are eerily quiet, the silence punctuated only by the sound of air strikes that ring in the near distance.

In this community almost a year ago, 101 people were killed after gunmen from Hamas and other groups rampaged through Be'eri's tree-lined streets, burning homes and shooting people indiscriminately. Another 30 residents and their family members were taken to Gaza as hostages.

Survivors hid in safe rooms all day and long into the night - exchanging horrifying details with each other over community WhatsApp groups, as they tried to make sense of what was happening.  

The kibbutz was a strong community, where people lived and operated together as one. Neighbours were more like extended family. It is one of a small number of kibbutzim in Israel that still operates as a collective.

But now, post-7 October, the collective is splintered - psychologically and physically.

About one in 10 were killed. Only a few of the survivors have returned to their homes. Some travel back to the kibbutz daily to work, but can't face overnight stays. Many, after months in a hotel, are now living in prefabricated buildings on another kibbutz 40km (25 miles) away.

The community, built up over nearly 80 years, is being tested like never before, and its future is uncertain.

There are reminders everywhere of those who didn't survive - says Dafna Gerstner, who grew up in Be'eri, and spent 19 terrifying hours on 7 October holed up in a safe room - designed to protect residents from rocket attacks.  

"You look to the left and it's like, 'Oh it's my friend who lost her parents.' You look to the right, 'It's my friend who lost her father,' [and then] 'She lost her mother.' It's everywhere you look."

Inside Be'eri, surrounded by a high fence topped with barbed wire, you are never far from a house completely burnt or destroyed, or an empty patch of land where a home, wrecked that day, has been demolished.

Some streets might, upon first glance, appear almost untouched - but look closely and even there you will see markings spray-painted on walls by military units on or after 7 October. Houses where people were killed or kidnapped have black banners on the facades with their names and photos.

In the carcass of one burnt-out home, a board game rests on top of a coffee table, next to a melted television remote control. Food, long-rotten, is still in the fridge-freezer and the smell of burning lingers.  

"Time stood still in the house," says Dafna, 40, as she pokes through the ash-covered wreckage. She and her family had been playing that board game on the eve of the attacks.

Here, her disabled father and his Filipina carer hid for hours in their fortified safe room, as their home burned down around them. Dafna says it is a miracle they both survived.

Her brother did not. A member of Be'eri's emergency response squad, he was killed in a gunfight at the kibbutz's dental clinic. Dafna was staying in his house at the time, on a visit from her home in Germany.

Dozens of buildings in Be'eri are spattered with bullet holes - including the nursery. The play park and petting zoo are empty. No children have moved back, and the animals have been sent to new homes.  

The kibbutz's empty streets sometimes come alive, though, in a surprising way - with organised tours for visitors, who give donations.

Israeli soldiers, and some civilians from Israel and abroad, come to see the broken homes, and hear accounts of the devastation, in order to understand what happened.

Two of those who volunteer to lead the tours, Rami Gold and Simon King, say they are determined to ensure what happened here is remembered.

Simon, 60, admits this can be a difficult process.

"There's a lot of mixed feelings and [the visitors] don't really know what to ask but they can see and hear and smell… it's a very heavy emotional experience."

Rami, 70, says these occasions are often followed by restless nights. Each tour, he says, takes him back to 7 October.

He is one of the few who moved back to Be'eri after the attacks. 

And the tours are not popular with everyone. "At some point it felt like someone took over the kibbutz - everybody was there," Dafna says.

But Simon says the stories have to be told. "Some don't like it because it's their home and you don’t want people rummaging around," he says. "But you have to send the message out, otherwise it will be forgotten."

At the same time, both he and Rami say they are looking to the future, describing themselves as "irresponsible optimists". They continue to water the lawns and fix fences, amid the destruction, as others build new homes that will replace those destroyed.

Simon describes the rebuilding as therapy.  

very long read.    https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c30305l5jqpo