“Ninety Miles v. Ninety Seconds:” Life in the Age of Missiles

Below are some reflections written on the way back from Israel 10 days ago, just as the cease fire with Hamas went into effect.  For those who only see images Israel through the lens of CNN, I wanted to share some of the experience and, hopefully, help readers appreciate one element of the human side of the conflict. 

Leonard Saxe
Director of CMJS and SSRI

Ninety miles, the distance from Cuba to Florida, is emblazoned in my childhood memory of the nuclear brinkmanship of the 1962 Cuban missile crisis. A few days before Thanksgiving, I arrived in Israel to visit communities being pummeled by actual missiles from Gaza.  I came as an American Jew to show solidarity with Israeli brethren. I returned feeling an even stronger bond, but also fearing that we have become inured to violence.

At a briefing when I arrived, the memory came to the fore as the communities we would visit were described in the metric of time: How many seconds we would have from a “red alert” to reach safety in a shelter or by prostrating ourselves on the ground. Only 15 seconds is available in Sderot, 30 seconds for Ashkelon and 60 seconds for BeerSheva. Tel-Aviv and Jerusalem, where one had 90 seconds to find shelter, seemed very safe.

As I traveled the next day, vigilant for the sound of alerts and contrails in the winter clouds overhead, I didn’t experience fear. Whatever I felt dissipated as I met person after person, each of whom had an ordinary exterior, but seemed to possess extraordinary dignity and resilience. They were clearly struggling to make life as normal and safe as possible for themselves and their children, and perhaps their lack of fear was contagious.

All of my encounters — in a day of traveling through a zone of red alerts — were extraordinary, but one stands out. We visited an absorption center for new immigrants just outside of Sderot, a frequent target of Hamas rockets. The center is home to dozens of families who have immigrated to Israel from Ethiopia. Our welcome to the village was a red alert. We were in a protected building in less than 15 seconds.

We were joined in the safe space by Natan Sharansky, the refusnik jailed for nine years in the Soviet Union now head of the Jewish Agency for Israel.  Sharansky is a hero, but that day, the heroes were the Ethiopian immigrants who had come to live in the midst of a surreal 21st century conflict. One was a father of five who had come three weeks ago.  When asked if he was “afraid,” he said, “No … in Israel, my children are ‘happy’. They have a future.”

Indeed, outside was a group of happy-looking children playing soccer.  I imagined, although perhaps it was a hope, that they were tethered with an invisible line to their parents’ homes and shelters. As we left, it was poignant when the children said, in unison, “shalom” (peace), and in the distant sky, a small cloud marked the spot where an Israeli anti-missile had destroyed a rocket headed to the city of Ashkelon.

Later, I was at a village for the elderly nearby Kiryat Malachi, where days before a missile had killed three people. Although some are being pressured to leave, the residents made clear that this was their home, their community, and that they weren’t leaving. As one told me, “this is where my friends are, why would I want to be elsewhere?” Her concern was for her children and grandchildren.

The comments of another grandmother remain with me. As I ate home-baked cookies she had prepared, we talked about what she does when there is an alert. She said that her house did not have a shelter and that she was supposed to go to one a few doors away. But, she said, “I’m old and don’t walk very well. So, during an alert, I sit in my favorite chair and look at the garden.”

In the fog of war and a depressing moment for humanity, much of what I heard – from young and not-so-young individuals — was awe-inspiring.  There was a lack of rancor toward the enemy, an acceptance of whatever life throws one’s way, and gratitude for being part of a community.  Psychologists talk of resiliency and the role of social support in coping.  What I saw, however, demands a new vocabulary to describe the strength that people derive from their bonds with others.

I return to the U.S. with a heavy heart. Anxious to spend Thanksgiving with family, but also troubled by the state of a world in need of repair. The existential threat of a nuclear missile 90 miles from our shores that I have had since childhood has been replaced by my first-hand knowledge of danger that is seconds, not miles, away. I was inspired by those I met, but I am angry at a world in which innocents are targeted for violence and in which to save a life requires even more violence.

President Kennedy, who drew a “line in the sand” when the Soviet Union started to move missiles toward Cuba, once said, “Peace is a daily, a weekly, a monthly process, gradually changing opinions, slowly eroding old barriers, quietly building new structures. And however undramatic the pursuit of peace, the pursuit must go on.” A cease fire has been achieved between Hamas and Israel, but it’s only a small step. It should be reminder of the urgency of the task to create a more peaceful world.

Elderly in Russia and Ukraine: An analysis of the needs of Hesed Clients

In this blog post, CMJS researchers Liz Tighe, Raquel Magidin de Kramer and Dina Bleckman describe a recent research trip to eastern Ukraine and Moscow. This project is the latest in a series of reports on international comparisons of neediness among elderly Jews in the Former Soviet Union (FSU) conducted by researchers at CMJS.  The present work also included an initial review of data on international comparisons of the situation for children at risk in the FSU.

Throughout the FSU, the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee (JDC) has supported the development of Hesed welfare and Jewish community centers to assist in the provision of services to Jews in need and to support the renewal of Jewish life after years of suppression. Raquel, Dina, and I visited Hesed welfare centers in eastern Ukraine and Moscow, Russia in order to gain a better understanding of data collected by the JDC as part of their case management system.  As a resource for describing the needs of Jewish elderly and children served by these centers, the Hesed data are unparalleled.

Playground in Melitopol, Ukraine with the old mikveh (ritual bath) in background.

The primary goal of the visits was to determine how well the data reflect the nature of the problems experienced by elderly and children in these regions. It was also important to gain a better understanding of how information is interpreted and understood by those in the field who were collecting the data and whether their understanding is reflected in how we interpret the data here in the United States.  Given that the nature of community in these regions can vary dramatically from the typical communities we study here in the United States, it was also important for us to get a sense of the complexities of the social context in which these data are collected.

Our trip began with a late night arrival to the city of Dnepropetrovsk, Ukraine.  Dnepr is the fourth largest city in Ukraine, with a population of around one million.  Located on the Dnieper River (which was frozen during our visit!), the city had been an industrial center for weapons and space industries during the Soviet era and had been a closed city, not appearing on maps and with restrictions on residents for travel outside and for outsiders to enter.

In the late 1800s and early 1900s the city was estimated to be nearly 40% Jewish.  At the start of World War II, it was estimated fewer than 20% Jewish.  Today, the Jewish community is estimated to be around 40,000, less than 5% of the total population in the city.

We also visited a smaller city outside of Dnepr, Melitopol.  We were so focused on our quest to understand the local data that we were taken by surprise by the generosity and enthusiasm of local community members who had prepared traditional Jewish music and dances to perform for us. We could not resist pulling out an iphone to try to capture some of what was experienced.

For Dina, whose family had emigrated from Russia when she was very young, seeing people engaged in Jewish activities in Dnepr and Melitopol had special meaning. From groups of men meeting at the local synagogue in Dnepr on the Tu B’Shvat holiday who invited us to join them for a fig and an Ha-aitz blessing, to the Hebrew classes, dance classes, literature clubs and other activities organized through the community centers, it was a powerful experience to witness such engagement in Jewish life knowing that just 25 years earlier there was nothing.

Jewish folk dance group in Melitpol.

Raquel, a daughter of a life-long Yiddish teacher, was especially taken by the renewed interest in the Yiddish language and culture. And all of us were impressed by the Tzedakah-o-matic in the lobby of one of the local Hesed centers, which in collaboration with a local banker, enabled users to make anonymous donations electronically.

Melitpol Hesed Center.

We learned much about the local data and we left with much more, including fond memories of the hospitality of all, particularly the patience and dedication of our translator, Anna, who worked tirelessly to convey our research questions to local staff and community members, and the generosity of the cooks at Hesed Menachem—the kindness in the food that they prepared and shared with us will always be remembered.

We also left with fond memories of dumplings, chicken schnitzel, pickled vegetables, sweet farmer’s cheese blintzes, and the best beet salad I have ever had.  If anyone can find the recipe from the restaurant in Melitopol I’ll forever be grateful!

Our report on the needs of Jewish elderly, which includes some of the Hesed data, can be viewed here, and the short-form research brief here.  It might be a bit more difficult to digest than dumplings, but we hope it provides at least a bit of food for thought. Enjoy!