Avigal Be’er ‘07

Posted on July 12, 2024

We can’t wait for the day after, because it simply won’t come.

I am Avigal, 34 years old. I am an illustrator and have a business producing my artwork, both locally and internationally. We have two daughters – Miriam, who is almost one year old, and Ya’ara, who will soon be starting first grade. I am married to Evyatar and we live in the Ein Gedi Field School, where Evyatar manages the hospitality.

Ein Gedi

Ein Gedi is a nature reserve in the heart of the Judean Desert, an oasis by the Dead Sea with abundant springs and waterfalls.

Within the reserve is a field school, which offers accommodation and nature activities to visitors. Ibexes like to wander through the site and nibble the lawn. Normally, we host schools and groups of travelers here, but after October 7th, everything changed, and the place was transformed into a temporary school for evacuee children.

Something else altogether

Kibbutz Ein Gedi, adjacent to the nature reserve, had opened its gates to host displaced communities from Be’eri, Holit, and Sderot (communities that suffered terribly during the October 7th attacks).There was a need to establish an educational framework for the children evacuated from the kibbutzim of Be’eri and Holit. Led by two organizations, IsraAID and Dror Educational Centers, a decision was made, and within a week, a school was set up here from scratch. Staff was recruited, furnishings and equipment were provided – everything. Some classes were set up in tents. The dining hall became a third-grade classroom and an art room. My husband Evyatar’s office became the teachers’ room and also the principal’s office, doubling as a counseling room when needed. The entire place was completely transformed into something else altogether.

At the time I was here in Ein Gedi with my girls, while Evyatar was in Gaza with his reserve unit. I was actually on maternity leave at the time – Miriam was then three months old – but I felt that something important was happening just outside my door and that I needed to be involved. So, I brought Miriam to the kibbutz daycare – much earlier than I had planned – and I started volunteering at the school. When I approached the principal and asked her what she needed, neither of us really knew what was going to happen. At that stage, she simply needed another pair of hands, so I said okay. You’re missing awheel? I’ll be the spare wheel. This was also the feeling I got from everyone who came here to volunteer: they just showed up without asking questions.

Avery special team gathered here from all over the country – teachers from Be’eri who were themselves evacuees, teachers who cut short their sabbaticals, some who returned especially from overseas, students, soldier-teachers, participants in a pre-army program at Kibbutz Holit, and tour guides from the Society for the Protection of Nature who live hereat the field school. Some came from Tel Aviv or Eilat and traveled every day for over two hours in each direction. Some teachers moved here to live in the kibbutz or the field school, including teachers displaced from the north and south who had no home. Many people whose defining characteristic and way of coping with the crisis was taking action.

An oasis in the desert

We were approached by many people offering their help and support. There was a strong desire to give, and it was necessary to create a safe haven here where the children were protected. As part of the management team, we were the gatekeepers. It was very challenging. We were very careful in deciding who entered the school, and what resources came in. We wanted to maintain simplicity and stability, and to be as consistent as possible with the educators and therapists we worked with.

There was also a lot of external interest in what was happening here, and one of our challenges was to create a space here that was not publicized. The community chose when and how it was appropriate for them to speak publicly, but the school remained sheltered in this regard. It was a real challenge. It’s a challenge of the times we’re living in. This is the tendency now. When something happens, we put it out there very fast, to social networks, to donors. The challenge was to allow this place to exist, to bring in the necessary resources, and to create a private space for the children and families.

Over time, this came to be a very special space. A beautiful therapeutic garden was created, a flourishing garden, and the children were constantly coming up with creative solutions to keep the ibexes out. A small, temporary, and very special community was also formed here, with a lot of mutual support, invitations to shared meals, and WhatsApp exchanges about the ibexes eating the garden. The teachers who moved here became my new neighbors, and when Evyatar was sent back for another round of reserve duty, they even helped me watch over the girls.

Throughout the year, we experienced many farewells, with families leaving their hotel accommodations for temporary homes. The goodbyes were challenging for the staff and the children, partings that carried both hope and sadness. At the beginning of July, the school year ended and we parted ways with the community and the school staff, each following their separate path.

History in the making

I’m trying not to sound dramatic, but I feel that I’m in a place where history is unfolding. And I see it, right here. Each one of the people who came here has a story that could have starred in a movie about this period in time. Every single one of them. You meet all sorts of personalities here, and you feel that you’re witnessing something taking shape.

We toured Be’eri with the school staff and parents, who told us about the experience ofOctober 7th from their children’s perspective, the children we worked with daily. I listenedto their stories and was constantly reminded of Evyatar’s grandfather, who was a child inthe Holocaust, and of the stories he told about his rehabilitation in the displaced personscamps.These stories stayed with me throughout this period.I felt that I was seeing anew generation emerging, and these stories that one would normally read about –here I was encountering them in person. I also saw extreme processes that were takingplace very fast in a very short period, for better or for worse. I was watching history in themaking.

And this is how I feel, that I am part of something much greater than myself. I think I am a very small part, and I’m comfortable with being a small part. I gave and did as much as I could within the constraints, but there were many. It was a challenging time. In my experience, and I also see it in the struggles of young mothers and families around me, raising a family within this reality while being a functioning person somewhere — in the family, at work, in the reserves — it’s a lot. We are carrying a heavy load.

On October 7th, I lost a friend, Adi Vital Kaploun, who was a mother to two young children from Kibbutz Holit. For weeks, I hosted in my home a friend from the Gaza envelope who is a mother to two young children, and another woman I know just couldn’t cope with the anxiety and fled abroad with her children. Each one copes in their own way, but we are all coping. We are the generation dealing with this war as parents to young children, and I have never felt so grown-up, with so much responsibility.

Don’t wait for “the day after”

A significant part of our family’s story during this time is the protests, calling for the government to sign a deal for the return of the hostages and to hold elections now. This is part of the way our family has been coping from the early weeks after October 7th. Evyatar’s mother, already in the early days, simply moved to live in a protest camp outside the Knesset. She has five sons, all of whom were called up, all in combat units, and she was there with others who felt there was nowhere else for them to be.

For Evyatar and me, it took time to join the protests. I couldn’t be there as long as Evyatar was in the reserves and I was dealing with the girls on my own, and Evyatar was just waiting to return from the reserves to join in. I see the impact of this on my family and society as a whole. We are a recruited society, and our ability to be critical within that context is very limited. It’s an ongoing conversation between Evyatar and me. We’ve been waiting all this time for him to come home, and in some way, it’s somewhat akin to the country waiting for the “Day After” the war, waiting for the day to come when we can be critical again. But we’ve felt for a long time now that we can’t wait for the day after, because it simply won’t come. So despite Evyatar still serving, and though it’s difficult, part of our routine now is participating in the demonstrations – in Tel Aviv’s Kaplan Street and Hostages Square, and in Jerusalem. Sometimes we go together and sometimes we take turns. For me, the protests were initially a complex and contentious matter. But today, I feel it’s the only way to take action. With everything that’s happening, it’s the one place that gives me hope.