Waiting for Bombs to Drop, as I Wheel the Babies of Israel's South Happily Along

"You can feel the death here," said my roommate of a few days, as we passed each other at the Nova Festival site, after each exploring it on our own for about fifteen minutes.

A casual remark said without any emotion, on a beautiful sunny day at around 5pm - the time of day where you have to be careful which side you take a picture from, as one way will face the shining sun as it gets ready to set, and the other will give your shot exquisite lighting.

This meant I could get incredible shots of some of the faces of the dead gorgeous people who went to the Nova party or terrible ones, depending which way I was wandering.

Bar Tomer, burned to ashes in an ambulance with 17 others

And there was really nobody there today - and this was a first - as Israel is essentially closed.

It was my third time at the Nova site, not my first, as it was for this "roommate of a few days," - an Israeli woman who traveled here suddenly from her home near Haifa in Israel's north because of the terrifying bombing from Iran - traveled south by car to the tiny kibbutz I have been volunteering at for nearly a month - a kibbutz that is relatively empty - having had Hamas terrorists running through it on their murderous rampage on October 7th, 2023.

I'm doing what I said I would do since discovering the south 15 months ago when I visited Kibbutz Be'eri with a survivor, after I wrote about his murdered best friend Itay Svirsky, who had been taken hostage alive. It started with my getting to know these people and what they had been through and my connecting with their stories - their trauma - their strength and their resilience - and their openness to share their pain and let someone like me into their worlds in their darkest hour.

And now I'm back permanently - moved back alone on May 14th - and am volunteering on a beautiful kibbutz in the south exactly as I said I would.

I couldn't sleep for the first two weeks on this kibbutz because of the sounds of the war in Gaza, which is only 2 kilometers away, but being put to work with the babies in the kibbutz made it easier to listen to, as I had moments throughout my day where I would imagine terrible things happening to these babies, as they did to others on October 7th - and as they did to the Bibas babies.

Strangled.

But it has gotten quieter now, as I guess the air force and soldiers are over Iran instead.

And the day care for the babies where I normally work is closed, as are schools across the country, though they opened a super-mini daycare here for the older kids for three hours a day, since for the most part Iran's missiles aren't targeting us here...but we get the warnings, and our friends are all over the country, and I myself traveled to Hazerim last weekend at the start of this Iran war to visit my friends from Be'eri, as I didn't want to be by myself, so I traveled there despite the danger of being on the road - and the danger of being next to the Hazerim air force base - which is a total target.

I didn't care.

I only care about--

A WhatsApp notification just popped up onto my screen: "Iran Launches Missiles into Israel..."

I only care about Israel - was what I was trying to say.

And so...we wait, all of us, for the decisions coming from abroad, and for the fate that awaits each of us, and that awaits us all, and we pray for each other and for this tiny little country on the sparkling Mediterranean that I once wrote a letter to on Day 300...

And we try to remember our hostages on this Day 620 - unimaginable - and we (I) try to stop caring about what the world thinks or doesn't think and understands or doesn't understand.

But I have never been very good at that.

So, I distract with the normal things, and text until my phone dies, and stream bad movies and way too much news.

Although today I found the shelter - the one I have looked for since February of 2024 - the one Or was taken from - and Hersh and Alon - the one with the bird on it. I found it - finally.

And Alon's Mom was right. It is the size of a parking spot.

And it is next to a bus stop, which I did not expect. It was totally missable, but I have been searching for that bird, and I found it.

And inside were the piles of yurtzeit candles for the 18 slain young people, and the posters of the kidnapped, two of whom have returned, Eliya and Or - which is a miracle, and one that can't be overlooked.

And the drawings of Hersh - who has not and will not return.

And what about Alon?

Playing the piano on his chest - who we say is not alone, but fear just may be?

And it's Day 620 - and he's a little more than a mile from me - and there's nothing I can do.

So, I'll stream a movie, and wait for the decision from America, and hope people read my article, and wish the world could understand how it feels to be us.

--

Melanie Preston is a Jewish writer who took herself by herself to Israel in the days following October 7th to help the families of the hostages by writing their stories. This project led her to the south where she became close with various kibbutzim affected by the attack, and inspired her to move back to Israel. She is now volunteering on a kibbutz in the Gaza Envelope to help them rebuild their community. To support her, her writing and her move back to Israel, please click on the donate button or visit her GoFundMe page.