Late afternoon last Wednesday, I climbed a sandy knoll at the edge of Sderot, a town of 25,000 in southern Israel, four kilometres from the border with the Gaza Strip. Accompanying me was Eddy, a local community worker, Sderot-born and bred. Ten years ago, Eddy moved with his wife and four young children away from Sderot to a kibbutz 3.5 kilometres further inland to escape the near constant barrage of rockets coming from the Gaza Strip. In Sderot, once the rocket alarms sound, people have 15 seconds, at most, to dash to the nearest shelter for safety. But the elderly, sick and very young are housebound — and terrorized. Every single public bus shelter in Sderot doubles as a fortified bunker, as do the 35 or so windowless kindergartens.
For the past two months, Sderot residents and tens of thousands of other Israelis residing near the border have contended with the latest innovation in weapons from Gaza: airborne inflated balloons and condoms fitted with incendiary devices. Strong Mediterranean breezes carry the firebombs up to eight kilometres inland.
An Israeli soldier extinguishes a fire near the town of Sderot on July 31, 2018, that was caused by flammable material flown by balloon across the border with the Gaza Strip. Menahem Kahana/AFP/Getty Images
Throughout the summer months, thousands of airborne torches have been launched, burning at least 2,995 hectares (7,400 acres) of land, with recent estimates exceeding 4,450 hectares (11,000 acres). Much of the charred land is agricultural. Much of the burned crops were harvest-ready. Huge tracts of nature reserve have gone up in flames. Civilians living in close proximity to the border have spent their summer indoors. The air is often thick with smoke. Parents fear what might happen to children playing outside.
At the top of the hill in Sderot, Eddy and I happened upon four young IDF soldiers. They had erected a makeshift sun shelter and were keeping their eyes on the skies, on constant lookout for a floating firebomb in order to track or neutralize it. Such lookouts are staged all along the border with Gaza now, staffed by soldiers, nature reserve officers, civilian volunteers and firefighters.
An Israeli soldier walks through a burned field near the town of Sderot, along the border with the Gaza Strip, on July 31, 2018. Menahem Kahana/AFP/Getty Images
At this spot, affording a clear view of northern Gaza, straight to the sea, Eddy pointed out huge swaths of destroyed land ringing Sderot. From there, we could also see the construction workers installing the underground barrier along the length of the Gaza-Israel border. Just over four years ago, shortly after I arrived in Israel to serve as Canada’s ambassador, surreal stories began circulating. Hamas, they said, was digging tunnels under the border into Israel to launch surprise terror attacks. Rumours swirled of plans the IDF had uncovered for terrorists to burst through the floors of homes and attack families by surprise. Residents of agricultural settlements near the border reported hearing digging sounds at night. They wondered if they were going crazy. Israelis, who have seen and weathered so much, still couldn’t believe such wild stories. Turns out, it was all terrifyingly real.
For decades, the Gaza-Israel border was open, allowing free movement of people and goods. On the Israeli side people remember the once strong, friendly ties between communities and lament that they have been lost. But there has been no regular, normal contact between Israelis and Gazan Palestinians since 2007, when Hamas took power in the Strip. Approximately 45 per cent of Gazans are under the age of 14. All they have ever known is Hamas’s hate-saturated propaganda telling them to attack Israel and kill Jews.
An Israeli soldier extinguishes a fire near the town of Sderot on July 31, 2018, that was caused by flammable material flown across the border from the Gaza Strip. Menahem Kahana/AFP/Getty Images
Their newest weapons present unique challenges to the IDF. Trained to deal with conventional military forces — and, in specialty units, urban warfare and terrorism — the most powerful military in the Middle East finds itself somewhat stymied by balloons and condoms. A paradox of power: There is no high-tech defensive capability that can neutralize dollar-store weapon innovation. A few air firebombs landed last week at Eddy’s kibbutz, igniting huge fires that raged for too long before overworked professional firefighters arrived to douse the flames.
A week ago, many Israelis, including Eddy, found themselves fearing that another round of war with Hamas was sure to break out soon. Hamas had been hammering Israel with rockets for several consecutive days.
A week ago, many Israelis found themselves fearing that another round of war with Hamas was sure to break out soon
But the unceasing efforts of UN Special Co-ordinator for the Middle East Peace Process, Nickolay Mladenov, during the past few weeks to broker a more stable truce may bring at least some temporary calm, one that is desperately needed. Leaked reports indicate that Hamas is under intense pressure — from Egypt and the UN — to reconcile its latest rift with the Palestinian Authority and to cease its campaign of rockets and firebombs against Israel. And more countries now seem to be slowly realizing the humanitarian crisis in Gaza cannot be just Israel’s problem, and that Palestinians living there need something more than hatred to live for.
Already there is some faint hope that the fires, both real and metaphorical, may be snuffed out for a longer time, giving the besieged populations on both sides of the border a much-needed opportunity to experience a semblance of “normal” life.
— Vivian Bercovici is Canada’s former ambassador to Israel. She lives in Tel Aviv.
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