Sara Abebe ’10

“We are a country with incredible citizens and residents, but a government that, for the most part, gets in our way.”

Daily Triggers
For me, the war is present everywhere. Yesterday, for example, I walked out of the college gate, heard a deafening bang, and saw a rocket fall right next to me, just across the street. No siren. This happens a lot; some rockets slip through the radar, and others, they just say, ‘Okay, we can see this one is going to land in an open area,’ so they don’t bother to intercept it or give any warning. This is the reality in the area. It’s extremely dangerous, extremely triggering, and I have no choice. Zoom is only for reserve soldiers and I can’t afford not to finish my degree. So, I have to face the trauma every day and pray and hope that the next rocket won’t land any closer. Meanwhile, I constantly hear the bombings in Gaza. My body is in a constant state of heightened alert, and the smallest sound — like a car’s trunk being shut a little too hard — sets me off. 

Post-trauma is with me every day, and it affects my ability to leave the house. I think that day left me feeling exposed and unprotected, and now I don’t feel safe anywhere. There is also a lack of governance in daily life here — no enforcement of the law, and a pervasive sense that anything could happen. It’s this feeling of insecurity in public spaces that makes me prefer to stay at home. And that’s so unlike me! I’ve always been the one who’s never home, who’s always going out, visiting friends, traveling. But in a way, that has been taken from me.

Calling it Trauma
It took me a long time to call it trauma. Throughout the entire evacuation period, and especially at the beginning when I was in the evacuees’ hotel, I noticed there was some kind of hierarchy. It wasn’t intentional, but in every channel where help was offered, it was clear there were priorities — there was always someone in greater need. I constantly felt as though I was at the bottom of the hierarchy. I wasn’t physically injured, my house hadn’t collapsed, no one I knew was kidnapped, and no one I knew died. I was simply evacuated from my apartment. There are people for whom all of these things actually happened. So, I internalized the idea that nothing had happened to me. At first, I felt guilty calling it ‘trauma.’ What trauma? It took me a long time to accept that, yes, this is real trauma — being in a war zone. Just because we were lucky and there was someone around to save us, it doesn’t mean we weren’t in terror. I was there. I had just moved to the kibbutz. I was alone in my apartment for twenty-two hours with no connection to the outside world. I didn’t understand what was happening, and the things I heard and saw… that’s not something that just goes away.

Alone and Afraid
My apartment in the kibbutz is one of those old buildings from back in the day. My window doesn’t close properly, and the door won’t shut. I spent that entire day hiding under my bed, terrified that a terrorist might come, or that the gas cylinder outside my room would be hit by a rocket or shrapnel — and that would be the end of me. Rockets were falling nonstop that day. At some point, the signal started to return — luckily, in my area, the electricity didn’t go out, so I had some Wi-Fi. But since I was new to the kibbutz, I wasn’t yet connected to any WhatsApp group, and I didn’t have anyone’s phone number. On the news there was talk about the other kibbutzim in the area, but there was no mention of Nir Am. No one knew what was happening there. At some point, I managed to get in touch with another student living on the kibbutz. At 2:00 AM, she called and said, “Sarah, there’s an evacuation. Pack your things and come quickly to the bus station.” In retrospect, it turns out the Home Front Command had already evacuated everyone, and it was only thanks to her that I made it in time to catch the last bus, along with the new immigrants who were learning Hebrew at the ulpan and the foreign workers from Thailand. It felt like a second abandonment. We finally left at 4:00 AM, still under rocket fire, and they took us to the Mishmar HaNegev military base. The way there was… horrifying. Thank God it was dark and there was no electricity, so we couldn’t fully see what was happening on the road. From the little I did see, I never imagined that something like this could happen in Israel. Destroyed police cars, doors wide open, overturned on the road… luckily, they had managed to remove some of the bodies from the scene, so we didn’t see everything. And the smell… I will never forget that smell for as long as I live.

A Plastic Bag with Law Books and Pajamas
I had two minutes to pack. I didn’t know how long we were going for, I didn’t understand the severity of the situation in the country. I left with a plastic shopping bag. I packed a pair of pajamas, completely forgot to pack underwear, and left my computer behind — but I did take the materials for my Constitutional Law exam on Tuesday. The day before, my friend and I had just celebrated finishing the material for the exam — it was so intimidating, studying Constitutional Law during a constitutional revolution in Israel. We went to celebrate at Zikim Beach, where, the following morning, about twenty people were slaughtered by terrorists who came by boat from the sea. We had planned to meet again the next morning to practice, so all I could think about was the exam — that I’d be returning soon and couldn’t possibly leave without the materials for it. So, that was the only thing I took. 

A Country with Incredible Citizens
When we arrived at the evacuee hotel in Tel Aviv, I saw the strength of this country. I have plenty of criticism for the government, but without civil society organizations, I wouldn’t have had any clothes to wear. Never mind me — there were people who came with babies, elderly people with their caregivers. Some people arrived with absolutely nothing. Within a day, people set up command centers everywhere. The offices next to the hotel cleared out an entire floor and set up a mini-mall with hangers and everything, so we could come and take what we needed. People donated supplies, and the Jewish Agency sent money, but it took about a month for the government to step in and help. That’s what stayed with me the most. We are a country with incredible citizens and residents, but a government that, for the most part, gets in our way. After being more divided than ever over the judicial overhaul, witnessing the sudden wave of solidarity — people who left everything behind to help others — that was my Israel. That’s the Israel I know. It was uplifting to see that unity return after all the turmoil, but also a bit sad that it took such a crisis for us to come together.

Recognition & Failed Hasbara
I’m very connected to social media, and I see what’s happening around the world. One cannot deny that we are in the minority compared to the other narrative. It breaks my heart that there is still no recognition of what happened to people along the Gaza border, or of what is happening today in northern Israel. There are people who are still reliving October 7th. And there are people who wake up every day with their children or parents still in Gaza. The lack of empathy for something so fundamentally human — that’s what breaks me. And our inability to explain it. Our hasbara (public diplomacy) has always been weak; it was one of Israel’s most important tasks, and it has failed. Antisemitism has always existed and always will. And this is directly linked to what happened in Amsterdam and what’s happening on campuses in the U.S. It drives me crazy. Are we destined to never be understood? Or is there something we can do, and if so, what is it?

I believe our alumni in the U.S. can make a difference, even with small actions. The average person has no idea what’s really going on, misled by lies online. Whatever they can do matters. Ignorance is thriving worldwide, and change has to come from the bottom up, because it won’t come from the top.