|
|
| |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
IN-DEPTH FEATURES
The first two parts of this series dealt with the political and diplomatic
background of the war, and with the fighting itself. This part deals with the Jewish
aspect, in which the Yad Hashem was so evident.
Was it just a coincidence that Iraq's 18 missile attacks on Israel -- during which
Saddam Hussein fired a total of 39 SCUD missiles, each of which had an accuracy
rating of 200 feet at a range of 500 miles, and each of which carried enough
explosives to kill anyone within 400 feet -- killed only one Israeli? Was it a
coincidence that the war with ancient Babylon's modern counterpart ended on Purim?
Ten years have passed since that war in which the code word "Nachash
Tsefa" on the radio (viper snake -- the code word for a missile attack) sent us
running into our sealed rooms thinking it was safer in there. The fact that only one
solitary individual was killed by 39 missiles during the entire war is inexplicable.
A series of amazing miracles which occurred throughout this strange war generated new
faith in the verse: "If Hashem does not protect a city, the watchman guards in vain."
Since that time, many hair-raising facts have been revealed establishing the chaos
which reigned in places where the average citizen would not dream it, and yet, for
every blunder there was a miracle.
A Typical Missile Attack in 5751
All it takes is one wail of the siren and all of a sudden we are at the front. A
trail of fire cuts through the dark sky and crashes to the ground with an ear-
shattering "boom" bringing the war right into the safe, secure shelter of our homes,
simultaneously waking us up to reality as all the myths of "secure borders,"
"deterring force," "it won't happen in our time," and "he wouldn't dare" are debunked
before our very eyes.
Yesterday we were still making fun of those masks that lent us an ape-like mien, and
suddenly: the siren wails, and our hearts wail with it. "Chani, Ruthie, Moishy,
Shmulik! Quick! Hurry!"
We all crowd together on the bed inside the room that we reluctantly sealed (we don't
like to be one of the herd). The boys use up a whole roll of masking tape as they
seal the door shut making sure to put a bleach-soaked rag on the floor. Our hands are
shaking, our whole body is trembling, and it is hard to maneuver the mask while the
echoes of detonating missiles shatter the remnants of our delusions!
After we recover from the initial shock, our hands automatically reach for the only
weapon at our disposal: Tehillim.
"The One Who dwells on high will laugh!" "You shall break them with a rod of iron,"
"I will not fear from tens of thousands!"
All we did was open the sefer Tehillim from the beginning and recite the verses
in order. We didn't even bother to look for special prokim and yet every single
word seems to speak straight to our hearts; every verse is perfectly suited to our
situation at this moment.
Our pulses begin to slow down and our heartbeats go back to normal. Our voices,
though a bit muffled through the gas masks, are now calm and stable, emitting
profound faith.
When the all-clear siren was sounded the realization hit us full force: We are in the
front lines of the battle. But we must not reveal our whereabouts--Saddam might find
out and use it to target the next missile more accurately. Even after the all-clear
is sounded, "The city where the missile fell" is a top-secret location, which nobody
knows except for a few thousand curious onlookers who arrive at the scene within
minutes, and another few thousand who arrive daily to watch the rubble being cleared
away, and thousands of others who, as the missile was falling, communicated to each
other via phone from their sealed rooms.
And so, we won't tattle either, we'll just give you a little hint: we are in a city
of refuge, an armored haven, sealed off from all poisons, both prevalent and not so
prevalent. We are hiding in a city of faith and trust in Hakodosh Boruch Hu.
Ten Years Later
The above was written just ten years ago--Shevat-Adar 5751. In those days we were not
allowed to publish where the bomb had fallen. The fact that the butcher from Baghdad
did not know exactly where his bombs fell meant that he was shooting blind.
Friday, the third of Shevat 5751, January 18, 1991. The code words "Nachash Tsefa"
and "Sharav Kaved" announce to horrified Israelis that the Iraqi tyrant has decided
to launch an unprovoked attack against Israel. Long-range Scud missiles begin to
threaten the lives of citizens who had always been secure in the knowledge that they
were far from the perilous border. But the real fear is from chemical and
biological warheads that could, G-d forbid, spread disease, bacteria, and viruses.
Nylon sheets and masking tape are sold at exorbitant prices. Gas masks and special
sealed cribs become vital commodities, not to mention baking soda and bleach which
are supposed to neutralize some common chemical weapons.
Ten years later, nobody really likes to recall what was. We didn't provoke this
strange war, and we didn't win it. What is there to boast about? Our passivity? Our
hysteria? Messages communicated in Russian and Amharic? Our collective attack of
"nerve gas"?
Everyone feels somewhat humiliated by the whole thing. Saddam made us a
laughingstock. He set the rules of the game without even consulting us. He caught us
unaware and exposed the "ghetto mentality" embedded deep in our souls. Like lambs to
the slaughter almost and, thanks only to Hashem--in the end there was no slaughter.
There was no way to fight back, only to hide. The faint of heart left Tel Aviv the
"nonstop city" in convoys while the mayor condemned their cowardice from the safety
of his reinforced bomb-shelter.
The psychologists called it, "A serious breakdown of confidence." The nation had
simply lost its confidence in everything that had previously symbolized stability:
the leadership, its military strength, its independence as a state, the protective
friendship of the United States.
The Protective Hand of Hashem
But as for ourselves, "we will call in the name of Hashem." The words "Gulf War,"
"Scuds," and "sealed rooms" bring to our mind great miracles and wonders, Hashem's
Hand which so openly protected us from all harm and miraculous salvation which was
evident for all to see. For us, this challenging period proved to be an opportunity
for spiritual strengthening and enrichment in many spheres: faith, security, reliance
and trust in Torah scholars, prayer, learning, and acts of kindness. This period will
not be quickly forgotten; its impressions remain imprinted on our souls long after
the final "boom" was heard. It is important that we bear in mind how we witnessed
Hashem's intervention at every opportunity.
The first blast was in a southern Tel Aviv neighborhood, which had been previously
slated for demolition and reconstruction. One of the final blasts echoed in the
streets of quiet, prestigious Ramat Gan. The results were identical. So were the
miracles.
The very first siren screamed out its warning. Less than a minute later, before
anyone had time to rush into their sealed rooms and pull on their masks, two Scuds
whistled over Israeli skies and exploded deafeningly in southern Tel Aviv.
The force of the explosions carved out two huge craters, each one two meters deep and
about four meters in diameter. Shutters were torn, walls caved in, windows shattered,
and cars were smashed--all from the shock of the blast. The destruction matched that
of a powerful earthquake. Eight people needed medical care, and one or two elderly
people suffered heart attacks. Where was everybody at this late hour? Precisely
where the missile did not cause damage..
"I heard a mighty blast one minute after the siren sounded and I flew into my
apartment. Everything all around was smashed to bits; shards of glass flew from
windows, and everything was destroyed. But my family and I, seven adults and two
babies, managed to get out healthy and uninjured."
At 2:00 in the morning Meir Malchan and his brother ran to the home of Naima Yonah,
an elderly woman who lived in the next building. "We had a sealed room and wanted her
to be safe. We were afraid that something would happen to her if she would be alone.
We had hardly taken her out of the building when, just a few seconds later, right
before we got to our own building, the missile fell smack into her yard and
demolished both buildings, ours and hers. We were saved miraculously and
sustained only minor injuries."
An obvious miracle thanks to an act of kindness. And let there be no mistake. The
sealed room was totally devastated along with everything else. Later on it became
apparent that the order to sit in sealed rooms rather than to go downstairs to the
bomb shelters was a grave error: Plastic sheeting is not effective against bombs. Had
the missiles fallen on homes and caused the bloodshed intended, there would have been
a great hue and cry due to the fact that the people were not told to run to the bomb
shelters. But the leaders were also saved by a miracle.
"As soon as we heard the siren we quickly grabbed the baby from his crib and rushed
to the sealed room in our mother's apartment, one floor below us. Seconds later the
missile hit and the crib was covered by thousands of shards of broken glass.
Hakodosh Boruch Hu protects every Jew, every child. We are all in one piece--
isn't that enough? It is more than a person deserves," assert Gidon and Sigal, a
homeless couple who lived in a storeroom on the roof of their parents' apartment.
From here they were evacuated to a hotel, better accommodations than they had
previously, and from there, maybe to permanent quarters, thanks to the Scud.
Five at Once!
Shabbos morning, 7:30 a.m. Many Jews run to shul, others try to relax in spite
of the anxiety. Suddenly, a barrage of five missiles hits Tel Aviv. One of them lands
on Netanel's jewelry store and embeds itself in a sefer Tanach.
That Shabbos Netanel went twice to shul for Shacharis. The first time he left
the house at 7:15 a.m. and managed to begin pesukei dezimrah before the siren
went off. Everyone rushed home to their sealed rooms without thinking that it might
already be too late. At 7:52 a.m., after the smoke from the rubble had cleared and
there was no sign of another approaching missile, the all-clear siren was sounded.
Netanel went back to shul.
A little after Yishtabach police officers came to shul and asked for
Netanel. "What terrible news do they have for me?" he thought as his heart pounded in
fear. But they only wanted him to open his jewelry store on Allenby Street. "It's a
matter of pikuach nefesh," they said by way of explanation and he stepped into
the squad car.
The main shop window was smashed, as were the few pieces of jewelry that had been
left on display (the rest were in the safe) but the policemen did not bother with
this. They were concerned with what was happening inside the store. Netanel unlocked
the door and discovered an uninvited guest: an enormous missile, twelve meters high
and weighing three hundred kilos, implanted in his Tanach.
Sappers worked for hours neutralizing the Scud, which could have "come back to life"
at any time and exploded in the midst of the crowd that had gathered to witness the
miracle. The inactive missile was removed with a crane through the hole that it had
punched in the roof upon entry. The police were shocked at the sight of missile;
Netanel was shocked at the sight of the "landing pad."
He later told reporters that he always kept a volume of Tanach in the store to
learn with in between serving customers. Hardly anyone had came to the store on that
fearful Friday that marked the opening of the Iraqi attack, and Netanel had been able
to learn more than usual. He had no doubt that this was what had saved the entire
area. Even more miraculous was the fact that the missile had fallen on Shabbos, when
all the stores were closed!
At the large kiddush that he gave at shul, Netanel acknowledged the
miracle and pledged to donate money towards the building of a Torah institution.
Definitely a Miracle
"Would you call this a miracle?" the reporter queries the person whose house had just
been ravaged by a direct hit. The prompt answer: "Yes. It definitely was a miracle."
And on Shabbos morning, as he stands in front of the wreck that was once his home
this person recites hagomel with intense concentration.
Miracles shebechol yom imonu--that are with us each day. "The miracles are
literally rolling in the streets," people say. One person decided to leave the room
at the last minute; another sat beside a Chumash and emerged unharmed; an older
couple decided to visit their son; the missile missed by just a few meters!
An acquaintance of mine, a government clerk at the property tax offices and a
generally quiet and unassuming individual became, overnight, one of the most
important people in the country. He's the one who goes from house to house, assessing
property damage and listening. He is literally inundated with stories of miracles:
There is the case of the two widows who were cajoled by neighbors to sleep over at
their house. The widows' apartment was totally wrecked, while the neighbors' house
did not even suffer the effects of the shock--certainly in the merit of their kind
deed. Two houses, one next to the other: one remains untouched while the other
suffers extensive damage; the Hashgocho protis is as clear as day.
And what about the "feeling" that we keep hearing about from all those people who
were miraculously saved: "I had an uneasy feeling and left the house," "I had a
feeling that something was going to happen, so I immediately began saying
Tehillim," "I had a feeling that there would soon be a siren so I ran
straightaway to the bomb shelter."
Life takes on a surrealistic quality, and our souls suddenly become more sensitive,
more attuned, more in touch with what really matters. Maybe this war will somehow put
everybody on the right track.
That's what we wrote then.
In Adar We Must Increase our Joy
A well-known lawyer stood across from the ruins of his home on motzei Shabbos
and, in front of the eyes of the entire nation via the electronic media, made
Havdoloh. "Hinei Keil yeshu'osi . . . " he said with intense
concentration and with a tremor in his voice.
Later on he told his story: "I did not leave the house (in Ramat Gan, now we're
allowed to divulge the location) even once since the first missile fell. I have trust
in Hashem that no one will come to any harm. My whole family shares this
bitochon. All the missiles that have landed to date have not caused my family
to think about leaving, not even for a short time.
"But that Friday was different. "Before Shabbos my wife came to me and said, `I feel
apprehensive. Let's go somewhere else for Shabbos.' I told her, `No. We never left
the house since the war began and we won't leave now.'
"My wife begged me until I gave in, but on the condition that we stay at a friend's
house who live a few streets away.
"That night the explosions sounded closer than ever before, but only after we had
emerged from the sealed room did we hear the megaphones warning the public against
approaching a specific area! Soon I was standing next to what was once my home. It
was demolished. The entire area was full of debris and soot from flash fires! The
ceiling had caved in right on top of the children's beds in the sealed room. We are
alive today in the merit of Hashgochoh protis. On Shabbos morning I organized a
Shacharis minyan at the site of the wreckage. We read from the Torah and I
bentched gomel.
"The message that I would like to convey," the lawyer says when questioned, "is
crystal clear. We must, as a nation, continue to increase our observance of Torah and
mitzvos. Moreover, we must be extremely joyous. `With the arrival of the month of
Adar we must increase our joy.' That suits me perfectly. I, myself, together with the
entire Jewish nation have much to be happy about. We keep on witnessing miracles.
Whoever did not see this place today would have a hard time believing it. We removed
a huge piece of the missile's shrapnel from the roof. It was like a gigantic steel
sword that could have easily claimed many victims, G-d forbid."
He goes on to explain: "I cannot help but bring to mind the recent Iran-Iraq war in
which each Scud killed at least seven people."
The lawyer pledges to build a new house, not in the material sense, but in the
spiritual one--one that will increase Hashem's glory.
Meanwhile he rummages through the rubble until he finds what he has been looking for:
two yarmulkes with his sons' names embroidered on them. These yarmulkes
were all that they had requested. And then, he goes from one door post to another,
gently removing the mezuzas with a small screwdriver before the bulldozers
arrive to clear away the wreckage. He will use these same mezuzas in his new
home as a constant testimony to Hashem's miracles.
Yehudah, chairman of an organization that introduces Yiddishkeit to Russian
immigrants, also found his front door mezuza unscathed in spite of the fact
that the door itself was blown right off. From among the rubble he was able to
salvage the eleven pairs of tefillin that he had recently purchased for
immigrants from Bucharia whose homes had been ruined during the first wave of
missiles.
When the missile hit, the first thing Yehudah thought about was his seforim and
those tefillin. His heart was pounding as he rummaged through the ruins.
Eventually he found everything -- covered with a thick layer of dust but unimpaired.
"I will bring the immigrants here to dance at the site of the miracle," he said.
Opportunity for Brochos
"We have had the privilege to witness countless examples of wondrous miracles and
Hashgochoh protis. But how can we know when to bentch gomel and in which
instance to say She'oso li Nes bamakom haze--for causing a miracle to happen to
me in this place?"
This timely she'eila was posed to HaRav Yitzchok Zilberstein, rav of Ramat
Elchonon in Bnei Brak. The following are a few examples:
1. There were places in which the missile completely demolished whole buildings,
whereas nearby buildings "got away with" cracked roofs, broken walls and shattered
windows. Should the residents of the latter buildings bentch gomel?
2. There were families who left their homes minutes before the missile struck and
demolished the whole building. Should they say the brocho? There were also
incidents in which people could not find the key to their own bomb shelter and
therefore went to a different shelter. Meanwhile the missile struck the shelter whose
key had been lost. (This was the case of a large public shelter in the Tikva
neighborhood of Tel Aviv.) They are full of gratitude to their Creator. Do they
bentch gomel?
3. A missile struck a private home and did not explode. It could have caused untold
death, destruction and tragedy, yet the Ribono Shel Olam prevented it from
wreaking any harm. Should the residents of the house say the brocho?
4. A missile struck an apartment building head on and destroyed it. The residents of
the building were evacuated from between the smashed ruins and were found to be
healthy and unharmed. What brocho should they say?
The Floor Fell Down
Literally fished out from between the debris. That's what happened to Menasheh. "The
walls caved in, the windows and doors flew off, and all of a sudden the upstairs
neighbors literally fell on top of our heads. We found them lying among the debris in
what was once our apartment. It seems that their floor collapsed and everything
turned into a pile of rubble. Our four children were supposed to be in the other
rooms. To our great joy and relief they were not at home. In our worst nightmares, we
never imagined that a missile would hit our house. We were saved by a great miracle."
It also happened in Haifa. A Scud missile was rammed by a Patriot missile sent to
intercept it, right over an apartment building. It isn't hard to imagine what could
have happened. "We were seven people in the apartment. All of a sudden we heard a
tremendous explosion. It was clear that something was happening right above our
heads. The whole building shook, and when we exited the sealed room we were shocked
to see that the damage amounted to nothing more than the picture window in the living
room being shattered to smithereens."
Even more astounding is what happened in Ramat Gan one Friday. (Most of the missiles
were fired on Fridays and Shabbos--a clear provocation against all Jews.) On that day
seven missiles struck different locations all over the country: Ramat Gan, Tel Aviv
and Haifa. Nineteen people were wounded in Ramat Gan, 25 in Tel Aviv. In Ramat Gan
170 homes were damaged, in Tel Aviv 1000 and in Haifa 700 as well as 200 stores. One
person was killed--the only casualty from a direct hit.
One Ramat Gan resident recounted: "The missile struck close to my bungalow. The walls
and the ceiling collapsed, but the huge slabs of concrete fell in such a way as to
form a shelter around us." Unbelievably, as soon as he and his family were evacuated,
the sheltering walls fell and the whole house collapsed.
Phoning All Over
The following is an excerpt from a phone call from worried parents who live in the
holy city of Yerushalayim: "Maybe you'll come and stay with us for a while? It's much
safer in Yerushalayim! They say he won't point the missiles in our direction!
Remember the bombing of Yerushalayim in 5708 (1948)?" they add. "It was much worse
then."
In this war we have the luxury of telephone communication..
Soon the phone rings again. "Hello, my name is so and so. You probably don't remember
me!" Of course I remember. Two years ago we took a course together twice a week.
Since then we had lost touch. Today she lives on the outskirts of Yerushalayim.
"Well," she went on, "I thought to myself, who do I know that lives in the dangerous
"Region A"? And I remembered you. I wanted to know how it feels to be at the front,
how are you managing?"
What a heartwarming conversation! It's amazing how much kindness a person can do just
by pressing a few buttons. We chatted about this and that, laughed a lot, and after I
had put down the receiver I was in a much better mood than before. I decided to learn
from her example and dialed a lonely acquaintance of mine who I knew would appreciate
hearing the sound of another human voice.
Later on I got a call from my aunt who lives in the north, and then one from my
nephew who lives in an even more exposed area than we do, and who wanted to reassure
us. My daughter glowed with pleasure as she answered the phone call from her teacher,
and then from her counselor who wanted to know what all the girls were doing now that
the Shabbos afternoon program was suspended.
While we are still in our sealed rooms, waiting for the all-clear signal, the boys
call one after the other from yeshiva, and the married children call saying that they
have already been given permission to remove the gas masks and to leave the sealed
rooms and are we okay?
This too is our secret weapon: kindness, caring, and unity.
Focus
Nostalgia, from a ten-year perspective: The memories are not the most pleasant,
however, there are some who are able to recall positive aspects of the period: the
disregard for life's vanities, the focus on the really important things in life, and
the return to one's true self.
"A prime example would be the weddings that were held during the afternoon instead of
at night when everyone would be closed up at home," a friend of mine observed.
"Whoever went to a wedding then, did not go in order to see and be seen, nor for the
festive meal, but purely for the sake of bringing joy to the bride and groom--genuine
gilu bir'odoh--joy with trembling!"
"What about the thoughts of repentance that resulted from both the fears, the likes
of which were previously unknown, and the miracles, the frequency of which we were
previously unaccustomed? Was there a mass return to Yiddishkeit as a
consequence of the countless miracles?" we asked HaRav Eliyah Yashar, who deals with
ba'alei teshuva through Arachim.
"People do not tend to make serious changes in their lives just from witnessing a
miracle," asserts Rav Yashar. "There was undoubtedly a great awakening, many people
spoke, many people took upon themselves various resolutions, but as soon as the
tension eased they hurried back to their daily routine. Bomb blasts come and go, but
a person who wants to return to Yiddishkeit will do so only after much thought,
based on solid proof and in-depth study, which we provide at the seminars, and not
because of some miracle that can ultimately be passed off as coincidence."
That is how Arachim sees it. But there are many popular lecturers who, till today,
invoke the memory of the many miracles witnessed during the Gulf War to move and
exhilarate their listeners in the knowledge that indeed, there is Someone guiding
history.
In Summary
Thirty-nine missiles fell in Israel, most on Shabbos. Some maintain that for every
one of the 39 ovos melochos a missile was fired. This is without a doubt, a
thought- provoking idea, however, the most significant miracle was in the missiles
that were not fired.
After Saddam surrendered and the Americans began scouring the missile-launching sites
it became clear that there were 26 missiles ready to be launched simultaneously
against Israel in a "suicide attack." The American victory was instrumental in saving
Eretz Yisroel at the last minute from a disaster of unknown proportions.
Maran HaRav Shach shlita addressed this issue in a shmuess that he
delivered at the Ponevezh yeshiva erev Rosh Chodesh Shevat, the eve of the Gulf
War. "People get so confused and bewildered; they act thoughtlessly like crazed
horses in war. To this end it is important to get together and discuss the matter, as
a person would speak to a good friend.
"Every one of us believes, without doubt, in the Ribono Shel Olam. We all worry
about a war breaking out, and yet, we know that every bullet has its address. If it
is decreed on an individual that no bullet will touch him, then he can be sure that
the bullet will not fall on him!"
In Hashem's great mercy, the bullet indeed did not fall.
SCUD Number 31
by C. Walder
On Friday night, 24 Shevat, 5751 (Feb. 8, 1991) a SCUD missile landed in the middle
of a small, quiet street on the border between Ramat Gan and Bnei Brak.
Ten years have passed since then, yet history refuses to erase this episode from its
consciousness. History toys with repeating itself in the cat and mouse game which
Saddam Hussein still plays with the rest of the world.
Six years ago in October, a small announcement appeared in all the Israeli papers
asking those who suffered damages in the SCUD missile attacks four years earlier to
submit their compensation claims to Iraq. Seeing this announcement led me to visit
that small street once again and investigate what has happened to the people who live
there since that fateful day.
Take one right turn off of Yehuda HaNasi Street in Ramat Gan and you suddenly feel as
if you have entered another city. It seems as if someone had cut a segment out of
some fashionable quarter somewhere and pasted it onto Yonah Street. Luxurious villas,
electronic gates, huge, dazzling gardens -- all rubbing up against the shabby tile-
roofed houses with peeling walls in nearby streets.
These houses stick out like a beautiful rose in a garden full of prickly thorns. But
maybe we should say `like a scar on a person's face,' because the scars left by that
terrible evening have not yet faded.
A faint melancholy feeling envelops this street. Perhaps it is the unnatural quiet,
or the feeling of incongruity from these brand-new homes in their dilapidated
surroundings.
I approached one of the houses and attempted to ask the residents about their
experiences. No -- they were not prepared to cooperate, not in the least. "The wounds
have not yet healed," said one of them. "I do not wish to discuss the subject at
all."
He was not the only one. Many of those living on Yonah Street suddenly become
speechless when questioned about that evening. These are people who, at that time,
immediately after the SCUD fell, rushed zestfully towards any microphone or camera to
be interviewed. Four years have passed since then. What has happened? What are they
suffering from now? Why do they shut themselves within their renovated houses?
"Are you from the Income Tax?" one of the residents of the street asked me
suspiciously when I tried to interview him. My emphatic denial that I was one of the
"arch enemies" did not help. This person did not want to have anything to do with me.
Finally I found some who were ready to speak. The picture that emerges is one of
people who are simply tired of war. I do not mean the Gulf War -- I mean the one
fought with the government over compensation payments for the reconstruction of their
homes.
It is not only this encounter with the authorities that has crushed their strength
and drained their patience. It seems that for many of them the SCUD missile shattered
not only their homes, but also their lives. Almost all of them mentioned the example
of R.'s wife, who died as a result of the combined suffering of a wrecked home,
wandering among alternative residences and, worst of all, the unending battle with
the various authorities for compensation and reconstruction.
"We are dealing with middle-aged people, and even elderly ones. It is not a time of
life when a person can bear changes, certainly not such drastic ones like suddenly
being uprooted from one's home with nothing left but the clothes on one's back," says
N., whose house was badly damaged. "For us it was also an aggravating ordeal, and we
are still young," she says.
The Mighty Appraisers
The residents were entirely dependent upon the whims of the appraisers, who came
afterward to evaluate their homes and furniture and fix the amount of compensation.
"With one stroke of his pen the appraiser decided our fate, whether or not we would
be able to reconstruct our homes and lives," says N. "I will never forget those tense
days."
The inhabitants of Yonah Street claim that the appraisers put down -- not the cost of
replacement -- but the current market worth of their possessions, as used items. "I
had an exquisite closet in the living room that was completely destroyed. Its worth
was fixed at half the price of a comparable closet as sold in the stores. It did not
bother them in the least that with that amount of money I could not purchase a closet
similar to the one that we had. They worked coldly, with their heads and not with
their hearts."
The laws of Nezikim generally fix the liability of the damager in this way, but
we were not dealing with the damager (Saddam Hussein) but with insurance and
government.
Perhaps there is no need for tears, but surely there is no reason to envy these
people. No compensation can replace what they went through. Permanent emotional scars
are left on those whose houses were wrecked. "We would have preferred remaining in a
rundown home rather than undergoing this petrifying ordeal again," they all said.
I slipped away to the house of Moshe Maron, Deputy Mayor of Ramat Gan, whose house
had also been destroyed and rebuilt. He, incidentally, was the only person who agreed
to have his name appear in print.
The first thing I encountered when entering the new home is a framed "Cornerstone-
Laying Scroll" hung up on the wall opposite the entrance, containing the signatures
of rabbonim, politicians, and members of the city council.
Maron is the only person who has no complaints against any governmental authority. He
claims he received permission to add another 20 square meters to his house, but chose
to build only the original area. He relates that his house was new, just after a
remodeling, when the SCUD missile landed on his street. "When we rebuilt, we did it
in a more modern style, and I paid the difference between the compensation that was
awarded us and the expenses of the more modern building from my own pocket."
And what about the promise from Ramat Gan's City Council that taxes would remain
the same as they were in the previous houses?
"No such promise was made," says Moshe Maron. "There was a young couple who brought a
legal action, claiming that it was not their fault their house was destroyed and
requesting that the court rule that they are obligated to pay taxes only according to
the previous rates. Their case, however, was dismissed."
Maron agrees that no compensation was granted for the anguish the residents went
through. "Picture what it is to pack thousands of books and possessions, and to place
them for a year and a half in storage, and meanwhile just wander from place to place.
Great emotional strength was necessary, something that I did not believe existed in
many of them," he says.
Yet according to Maron, the only party with the right to complain is the Ramat Gan
City Council which paid the bill for moving these people to hotels without ever being
reimbursed. Maron sees the full half of the glass. "There is no limit to the
compensation one can demand for emotional grief, but the fact itself that I am alive
and can tell you my story causes me satisfaction."
One of the Damaged
At last I entered a barber shop, where Yossi, the barber, told me a little story.
"During the war someone sat down in the barber chair and I began cutting his hair.
After I had finished half his head we heard a warning siren. I told him I was going
home. [Yossi lived opposite the barber shop.] The customer insisted, though, that I
finish his haircut. He preferred to die in a missile blast rather than suffer shame.
In the end he had to go out into the street just the way he was. And I ask you: Did
anyone compensate him for that?"
Miracle on Yonah Street
Thirty-nine missiles fell during the Gulf War. Missile number thirty-one, with which
this article deals, provided one of the biggest testimonies to the overt miracles
that took place during the war. It must be remembered that there were thirty-nine
missiles and only one directly-caused death.
Below is a detailed list of those who apparently should have been hit but instead
were miraculously saved.
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
All material
on this site is copyrighted and its use is restricted.
Click here for conditions of use.