Posted on November 3, 2024
“I’m beginning to realize that what I’m missing won’t come back.”
I’m Zohar Shohat, 17 years old, from Safed (Tzfat). Being from Safed means a lot to me and I have a strong connection to my city. I served as the chair of the city youth council for three years, and both of my parents are involved in social initiatives here.
Safed Under Fire
Safed is one of the four holy ancient cities in Israel and it has a rich and fascinating history. Known as the ‘City of Kabbalah,’ it symbolizes the element of spirituality in Jewish mysticism.
Since the beginning of the war, however, Safed has become a focus of a very different kind. We’ve had over 160 sirens, hundreds of rockets launched at us, and devastating fires. Safed is located on top of a prominent mountain overlooking the Galilee and is home to several military bases, making it a significant target. Additionally, Safed mainly consists of very old buildings, some almost 1000 years old, so about 40% of the citizens do not have a safe protected space in their homes.
Thirty Seconds to Get to a Shelter
In September, there was a serious escalation in the north, and everything became more intense. There have been missile launches, sirens and interceptions several times a day, allowing just 30 seconds to get safely to a shelter. As a result, people in Safed don’t really go out much these days. Before, it was occasional and it didn’t feel real. You’d think, “It won’t happen to me.” But then the explosions started getting closer and the blasts became more intense. You can really feel the change. There have also been many sirens at night, so sometimes it’s hard to fall asleep because you tell yourself, “I’ll stay awake and wait for the siren rather than be woken up in the middle of my sleep,” but it can go on like that until 5 AM.
Right now, I feel the most fear I’ve felt since the beginning of the war. October 7th felt distant to me: An infiltration by terrorists… it didn’t feel real. We thought it would end in a few days, and the idea of a war with Lebanon seemed absurd, unimaginable. Today, it feels like everyone has lost their direction, and no one has any idea what will happen next. We’ve now marked a year since the war began and things are only escalating, and expanding to more fronts. So it’s very hard to imagine the end and what the day after will look like.
Senior Year – What I’m Missing Won’t Come Back
This year is my senior year in high school, but the schools have been closed since the end of September, following the directives of the Home Front Command. Now, every day, we have three hours of Zoom lessons, but no-one has the mental space for it. I also don’t get to meet with friends much, because I live too far away to risk being on the road when a siren goes off.
Throughout middle and high school, we’ve had to deal with COVID, strikes, and now a war. Senior year should be about fun, friends, and making plans for the future. I’m beginning to realize that what I’m missing won’t come back. There’s a strong sense of loss. We’re a year into this, and the end doesn’t seem to be in sight.
Routine of Fear
The fear is real and it’s everywhere. Everything you do and think about is tainted by it. But things have also become very normalized. We had a Bronfman seminar on Zoom, and during an association game, they said the word “war,” and I wrote “routine.” It has become embedded in our consciousness. You go to the supermarket, and you immediately look for the nearest protected space. While traveling, I constantly ask, “If there’s a siren now, where do I stop?” so I feel prepared. You think about it all the time, but you also get used to it, and a day without a siren suddenly seems strange.
In the meantime, Nasrallah and Sinwar have been killed, and you think, “Wow, they’re managing to dismantle Hezbollah and Hamas,” but the day after Nasrallah was killed, a rocket fell on the house above my best friend’s home, and since then another has also fallen on the house across from mine. So I don’t even feel like I can celebrate the military’s achievements because they don’t feel real. The rockets keep coming, and nothing has changed.
Jewish Pride
During the war, I had the opportunity to go on a delegation to Palm Beach through a partnership program with the Jewish Agency. I remember the security briefing with the security officer assigned to us, who was very clear: Don’t show any Jewish symbols – no Hebrew shirts, no Star of David necklaces, boys should replace kippahs with hats, and speak Hebrew quietly in the streets. The message was clear: It’s not safe out there for Israelis, for Jews. Then we landed in the U.S. and were greeted at the airport with two huge Israeli flags and Hebrew songs blasting at full volume. We were shocked. While we were told to be discreet and afraid, here were these American Jews, wearing their Jewishness openly and with pride. This is something I also felt when we met with the American Fellows. Watching the news, all you see are the protests at universities and attacks on synagogues, and it’s hard to believe that this is the attitude towards Jews today. But you don’t hear enough about the Jews who are still proud of their identity and openly support Israel.
These experiences, both with Bronfman and with the partnership program, were profoundly meaningful to me. Learning about what it means to be Jewish in the diaspora opened my eyes to the challenges of maintaining one’s Jewish identity abroad, especially in a time of rising antisemitism and conflict. It has also deepened my desire to connect with Jewish communities around the world.
Meeting with the Israeli Amitim during the seminars has also exposed me to many new people and concepts, as well as the variety of realities that people are experiencing across the country right now. I think that because of the war, any content related to identity has become much more significant.
A New Sense of Purpose
Next year, I’m planning to do a year of service abroad through the Jewish Agency. This has been a dream of mine for a long time, and now it feels more relevant than ever.
As for military service, I feel a change in those around me. Before the war, some wanted to avoid it or just do a desk job at the nearest army base. Now, with the war so real and frightening, you’d expect people to be more afraid and even less willing to take on serious and dangerous roles. But the opposite is true. Everyone I know is now more determined than ever to serve in combat roles and find the most meaningful positions they can. People really want to do their part.
