Posted on August 16, 2024
“I truly understood the greatness of educators”
I am Eliya Gopas Dadush, an Amita from the 2000 cohort. I am married to Gabi, and we have four children. We live in Yeruham, a very special town in the Negev Desert. I am a high school teacher and a pedagogical coordinator; I teach history, civics, and more. I’ve always been involved in formal education. I really enjoy it; it fulfills me.
When I think about the war, I think of various ‘scenes’ of coping.
Choosing Your Role in the Story
As an educator working with teenagers in a time of war, I constantly asked myself what my role was and what theirs was. What is the right balance? How much of a routine should I create for them, and how much should we be focusing on the war? It was important to me that it not become something my students get used to, and at some point I would feel they were starting to develop a bit of indifference, saying, “Stop drilling us about the war all the time; it’s hard for us, it’s sad.” My constant mantra was, “Guys, listen, we are in the midst of a historical event. You have the privilege of choosing your role in this story. In a few years, when your children and grandchildren ask you, ‘What did you do during the war?’ I want you to have a good story, one you are proud of. I want you to be able to say, ‘We volunteered to do agricultural work, we cooked for reservists…’ You have the opportunity to choose your part in this story, and it is a privilege, because not everyone has had that opportunity. It will be discussed and taught about in the future, and you have the privilege of choosing a side.” And I think it resonated and stayed in their minds.
Youth Stepping Up
Another thing that really occupied me during this time, also as a mother of teenagers, was the local youth here in Yeruham. The youth here – I can tell you, there’s nothing like it. The sense of community, too, is remarkable. Everyone was on their feet, both adults and young people. But the youth – I felt that all the activity and volunteering was their way of controlling the situation, of feeling they had the ability to make an impact, to help. They did laundry for soldiers, organized food and babysat for evacuated families and kids with parents on reserve duty. They organized bat mitzvahs, weddings, and more. The youth did everything. It was incredible to witness, to be part of it. I also saw it at home with my own daughters, how meaningful it was for them. My daughter, a 10th grader, volunteered at the evacuees’ school that had opened in Yeruham. Her help there was so significant, she received permission from her school to be absent two days a week in order to go and teach the evacuated children. I was glad that her high school also supported this important work.
The Displaced-Teachers’ Lounge
A group of students and teachers from Nofei HaBasor High School, the high school in the region surrounding Gaza, was relocated to our school. During those first days, teachers would come in completely broken. They would enter the teachers’ lounge, crying, crying, crying – mourning their friends, mourning their community. Then they would take a deep breath and go out to the students. They were their anchor, their resilience, their routine, and their punching bag. And then the bell would ring for recess, and they’d return to the lounge, cry, take a deep breath, and go out again.
I think, during the war, I truly understood the greatness of educators. It was simply unbelievable. It was also amazing to see the process these teachers went through. At first, they were in total disarray and then they gradually started holding their heads high again. They developed some sense of belonging to our school, and a feeling of meaning amid all the chaos. And as you got to know them and the stories they carried, you wondered how they even came to work. It was very moving to witness their strength, and their ability to enter a classroom while carrying so much, personally… It was mind-blowing. I kept walking around and telling myself, “We are so privileged, we are so privileged…”
Returning from Duty
The story of reserve duty – the men absent, and the women coping at home and at school – was a constant reality. Specifically, in our high school, there are quite a few male teachers. One of our amazing teachers was called up on October 7th for reserve duty with his tank unit and was the last to return from duty, months later. Coming back to school was so difficult for him. The gap between the worlds – the vitality and energy of the school after the tough service in Gaza. During his absence, his students and teachers prepared a notebook with letters that were brought to him in the field. When he returned, it was heartwarming to see everyone so happy to have him back. I felt that the school really gave him full support and time to adjust, but also that we had a responsibility not to give up on him or allow him to give up. When he returned, he asked me to continue filling one of his roles that I had taken on while he was away. I told him it wasn’t a problem, you’re not responsible, it’s all on me. But we constantly tried to see how we could help him reconnect with the school, how to get the sparkle back in his eyes. Towards the end of the year, I was happy to see his vitality returning to us (along with receiving a second call-up for July and August….).
The First Wheat in the ‘New World’
I had a student join my class who had been evacuated from one of the kibbutzim that was hit hardest on October 7th, in terms of casualties and hostages that were taken. She is amazing, and coping incredibly well, and it took me some time to understand the extreme trauma she had gone through. Her cousins had been taken hostage, her family had lost many people they knew, and they themselves had, of course, spent all those long hours hiding in the safe room on October 7th. It was very hard for her to share, and initially, my communication and assistance were very technical – helping her get settled, seeing where we could ease the burden. Slowly, she began to open up more. At the end of the year, I got a message from her mother: “Hi Eliya, I left you a gift outside the door; I didn’t want to disturb you. Thank you for this year.” I went outside and saw a jar by the door with a sprouting sweet potato inside, and a paper grocery bag with a glass bottle and stalks of wheat coming out of it. I didn’t quite understand what it was. The note they had left for me said, “The sweet potato represents growth and renewal, and the wheat is the first wheat
from our kibbutz in the ‘new world’ [since October 7].” It was the most beautiful and moving gift I have ever received, truly a gift from displaced people, searching for a sense of home and belonging. A sprouting sweet potato – it’s the most student-like thing, when you don’t have a home and you try to create and nurture something. And the new wheat that had sprouted, the choice to return and plant anew in the destroyed kibbutz. It really moved me.
Existential Thoughts
I have a lot of existential thoughts about what we are doing to ourselves. With the judicial overhaul and all the chaos in the country even before October 7th, everything is in upheaval. There’s this gap. On the one hand, you have the people you encounter in daily life, the civic involvement, the majority of the country, which has more in common than not.
Then there’s everything that’s happening up top and on the extreme right and left of the population. We are constantly living in parallel channels. I feel that by focusing so much on creating a good and safe routine for the kids, I also absorb it a bit. I try to celebrate life, precisely because of the war. You learn to appreciate your relationships with people and to be grateful, every day, for what you have. I feel that nothing can be taken for granted. And despite all the difficulties surrounding the war and the existential physical security issues alongside the terrible rifts within our nation, this is still the place where I feel safest in the world. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.
I think that working in education, interacting with teenagers, with such life forces and energies, is part of what gives me strength, interest, and satisfaction in my daily life. And it turns out that it has even more value in times of war.
