News

My aunt and uncle from Canada visited me last month in my home on Kibbutz Saad, four kilometres from Gaza.

They were part of a volunteer group whose mission was to raise the morale of those stressed out from the recent war. I served them tea and biscotti to the tunes of cannons and gunfire in the background. I watched them jump at loud noises, and with each boom the reality of war became more evident in their expressions.

"Who would have thought, a girl like you from Toronto to this," my uncle said. I had to laugh.

Who would have thought that 35 years ago when I first came to Kibbutz Saad my experience would be so life-changing? Who would have thought I would leave my comfortable Canada, marry an Israeli, raise five children and turn into a war veteran?

My husband was called up for the First Lebanon War when I was a young mother of two. Our neighbour came over to tell him to get ready because the computer had spit out his name. I remember my stomach dropping and everything becoming hyperreal and sharp.

The Persian Gulf war caught me unprepared. My husband had injured his hand, and when the siren went off on the night of Jan. 16, I was furious that it was up to me to get everyone into their gas masks, tape up the windows and maintain a relaxed attitude despite my chattering teeth.

I will never forget the 1 a.m. phone call from my son who was serving in an infantry unit during the second intifada in Nablus. He asked me whether I thought it was okay that he had volunteered to stay back with his soldiers while the others went out into the alleyways looking for terrorists. I felt his dilemma of not showing enough bravery in the eyes of his fellow soldiers.

I wanted him alive, so it was fine with me that he wasn't in any more danger. Yet I couldn't say so and it took all the courage in the world for me to tell him that dying is not up to us and we have to believe there are some things we can't control. I tried to make him understand that he didn't have to judge or be hard on himself. It dawned on me after I hung up that our conversation might be our last.

I was on a visit to Canada when the Second Lebanon War started. The journey back was one of the saddest in my life. I almost didn't want to return.

During the latest war operation in Gaza, my daughter's husband was called up and she turned to me for help. I couldn't believe she was asking me for this kind of advice. Who would have thought I would be telling my daughter how to cope in times of war?

After my experiences, my conclusions for the next generation are varied.

Don't watch television. It does nothing except overload the brain. If you must watch, limit yourself to once a day and don't eat while doing so. It is wrong to eat while watching other people suffer.

Learn to recognize the different types of war noises — gunfire, cannons, shooting missiles, hovering helicopters, sonic booms. Never disregard the alert warning — don't think it's not your turn to be hit.

When people ask how you are, answer, "It's very complex." At its best, language will always have layers. Use it carefully.

Do not engage in political discussions — they are a waste of time. If you must vent then do it with someone from your area. Talking to anyone who doesn't experience what you experience is frustrating and may end violently.

Exercise, and if you are not allowed outdoors because of army orders to remain inside, exercise your mind by learning a new language, preferably Arabic.

This is the time to believe in the potential of human beings. Don't be cynical. Always remember that everything could be a whole lot worse.

Embrace people. Dance in your living room. Look at growing things.

Thank all soldiers, not only in your heart — tell them.

If the television cameras are parked outside your gate, be sure you walk in front of them and wave. Demand a fee for the use of your land, or at least a 25-second plug. Never watch yourself on TV; you will not believe how you look.

After three and a half weeks I finally went to bed to a ceasefire, but the following morning I was woken by helicopters and sonic booms. It was a short-lived ceasefire.

War is a time that brings out all the absurdities of life and makes it clearer to me that living in a peaceful country is not a given. But I'm not going to dig into a hole and complain. I'm going to find ways to continue living as fully as I can.

I'm not living in the worst of times or the best of times, but it's as good a time as any to be a more developed person. I still have a lot of work to do to make this world a better place. It's just a lot more challenging when there's a war across the street.

Jane Simon lives on Kibbutz Saad, Negev, Israel.

Illustration by Mark Lazenby.