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  • Writer's pictureJonny Maxwell

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I’m a kibbutznik!



I finally made it to my kibbutz after a long two weeks in quarantine. I now have a place to call my own. This tiny little community in the northern Negev is home.


Where exactly is this home?


Kibbutz Urim is in the Eshkol Region of Israel within the Gaza Envelope. We are about 30 minutes from Be’er Sheva, 30 minutes from the border with Egypt, and less than 10 miles from the border with Gaza.


I could not be happier to live here.


Why? It’s not exactly the standard notion of paradise. It’s hot, sandy, and our neighbors try to light us on fire.


Hamas continues to launch incendiary balloons over the border. Plumes of black smoke stain the baby blue sky. They burn our forests, crops, and kindergartens. Israeli retaliatory airstrikes growl throughout the night. 


Life is so chaotic, yet simple. We go for runs, play team-building games, lay in hammocks, enjoy the,


RED ALERT: ROCKET ATTACK IN ASHKELON


Stop. Stop. Please, no more. Please, none in Urim.


Pool. We enjoy the pool.


Despite the ugliness, I love my new home. The landscape is breathtaking and the people are genuine. And most of all, I’m serving a purpose by living in Urim.


There are plenty of Israelis in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. Don’t get me wrong. I love the center. My friends know that I’m a wanna-be Tel Avivi. To live in Florentin, vibe to live music, and scooter to the beach. 


Life in Tel Aviv is unarguably fun. I love it. I lived it during my semester abroad. But it is only surface-level gratification. I’m not needed there. There are plenty of “Jonny Maxwells” renting overpriced apartments in dilapidated Bauhaus buildings built in the 30s. 


But here in the desert, I’m building something new. I’m living out Ben-Gurion’s dream.


“It is in the Negev that the creativity and pioneer vigor of Israel shall be tested.”

Most of Israel is desert. If Israel does not cultivate this arid land, we will be consumed by it. No Hamas rocket or terrorist attack will bring down the foundation of the State of Israel. Neglect of the land just might. 


People are tough down here. You have to be. But there is also something in the air. It’s an energy. It’s a fire hotter than the sun that burned my Ashkenazi skin.


 


Let me take you back to December.


I traveled to Israel with a JNF volunteering trip. I intended to make Aliyah in the summer, although I did not yet know where I would be living. Coincidentally, our trip was centered in the northern Negev, the region in which I currently live.


We began the trip in a small community on the Halutza Sand Dunes in the Eshkol Region. Our task was simple. Make a nature observation post for the community. 


I didn’t quite understand the instructions. My Hebrew wasn’t great. Maybe I was just tired. Something about putting up a metal menorah?


We began to dig a hole. 


The man instructing us, Yedidya, explained life in Halutza as we slowly dug into the sand.


“It’s not an easy life. We are constantly terrorized by rockets. To live in Halutza means that if a siren goes off while you are driving, you have to choose which one of your children you will lay over to block the shards of metal Hamas puts in rockets to maximize pain.”

But it’s home. He cannot let the terrorists win.


Eventually, he decided that our hole was as deep as us Americans could realistically dig. Then came the menorah. This massive 15-foot behemoth towered above us.



To the left, Egypt. You could hear Egyptian airstrikes attacking ISIS in the Sinai throughout the day. Straight ahead: Gaza. In between this horror is our menorah. Just in time for Chanukah. We are here to stay.


Yedidya opened up about his family history over lunch.


He comes from a long lineage of Zionist pioneers. His grandparents lived in a community in the Sinai while it was still under Israeli control. Israel traded it to Egypt for peace. They were forced to leave their home. 


They then moved to a settlement in Gush Katif (Gaza). Yedidya was born there. He articulated the beauty of the land, yet the daily evil they faced. 


He knew a pregnant woman. She went for a drive. Terrorists stopped her on the road. They murdered her and her baby.


For what? “Liberation?”


Eventually, the attacks became too frequent. Israel withdrew from the Gaza Strip in 2005. Yedidya’s family, once again, found themselves evicted from their home by the very government they so strongly believed in.


“We have some nice houses for you. It’s an already established community. It’s right on the beach!”
“We don’t want to go there. We want to go where nobody else wants to go. Where we are needed.”

And that is how Yedidya and his family ended up on a dusty sand dune sandwiched between ISIS and Hamas. 


He explained that it was demanding to build a community there. There was no infrastructure, schools, or even greenery. Today, there is a flourishing town with a community center, playgrounds, flowers, and now, a 15-foot menorah.


Is life easy? Absolutely not. But it’s pure. It’s life.


And now I get to live in this crazy, confusing, flawed, yet beautiful region of Israel. I am existing in my ancestors’ land. That alone is a miracle. 


 

And in this land of miracles, we have incomprehensible paradoxes.


I know exactly why I am here but I also have absolutely no idea.


I know why I chose to make Aliyah, why I’m joining the IDF, but I cannot understand why I physically exist. 


So few survived the Kamianets-Podolsky Massacre and the Holocaust.


Why did my family live?


I feel guilty.


I agonize over this guilt every day.


I…


Stop it, you’re talking about the Holocaust too much. Don’t let it STILL affect your family.


I grapple with how to move beyond the pain.


But I’m here. In our land. Alive.


20 brothers and sisters exist in Kibbutz Urim, Israel. 


We, the ones with 15 seconds to reach a bomb shelter, are the lucky ones. 


O 23,600*, I hope to give purpose to your absence.


To those that were and never were, this is for you.


I wish you could come home.


It's what you dreamed of.



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