Featured Post


Praying that the mosque reconstruction she sees in the distance is no sniper outpost, but for peaceful, soulful solace

I live on the border. I have lived here since I was 21. My children were born here. My parents were buried here. My husband is buried here. My greatest joys and deepest traumas are rooted in these clumps of fertile soil which was once desert, but today bears wheat and corn. Throughout the last two escalations of violence, I remained behind to bear witness to our lives here on the border with the Gaza Strip, and to this day, I give talks and tours for dignitaries and students and citizens who come to show that they care. I explain, depict, describe our life here. As a matter of fact, a group is being helicoptered in next week.

As part of my talk, I show pictures of the mosque that we can see from the corner of our little community and hear when the wind is right and the imam calls his faithful to prayer. In the picture I use as the background to my talk, you can see the little blue dome and two minarets standing like sentries on either side. At the end of my talk, we walk through the community and end up at the corner from where they can see the mosque for themselves.

“What is the difference between what you see today and what I showed in the pictures?” I ask.

“The minarets are gone,” they reply.

Indeed. In the middle of the horrible summer of 2014, I suddenly noticed one minaret missing. And then, a few days later: the other was down. The Hamas had been given permission, or just commandeered the mosque and its minarets, to hoard weapons and shoot at the soldiers of the IDF. It also gave them a clear shot at our people, who kept on working our fields despite the fighting. Because, you see, we know when escalations begin, but no one can ever tell us when they will end. Despite the rockets, fields must be tended, animals fed, communities sustained.

Then, suddenly, two weeks ago, as I was driving around the fields with a friend — I saw them: the minarets were being rebuilt. Still with scaffolding, they look taller than their predecessors. I joked to my friend, saying that my talk is now ruined, the punch — gone.

But in reality, I am so very glad they are being rebuilt.

People need their places of worship, and sanctuary. Maybe this is a sign that the rebuilding of people’s lives is actually starting to happen on the other side of our fence. I just hope that these structures will be used only for peaceful purposes. For purposes of soulful solace, rather than sniper outposts or the stockpiling of weapons. But I am acutely aware that until the Gazans have something to live for, they will have only reasons to die for.

New minarets on the horizon
New minarets on the horizon

If you wish to read more about what it is like living on the border with the Gaza Strip, you can follow me on Facebook, join the FB group I moderate: Life on the Border and “like” The Movement for the Future of the Western Negev.

I am also happy to be in contact via Twitter @AdeleRaemer.

About the Author
Born in the USA, Adele has lived in a Kibbutz on the border with the Gaza Strip since 1975. She is a mother and a grandmother living and raising her family on the usually paradisaical, sometimes hellishly volatile border. She is affiliated with "The Movement for the Future of the Western Negev", for sanity's sake. She also moderates a FB group named "Life on the Border". Adele is a teacher of English as a Foreign Language, as well as a teacher trainer and counselor for the Israeli MoE for EFL and Digital Pedagogy. She blogs here about both Life on the Border, as well as about digital pedagogy, in "Digitally yours, @dele". She has recently become a devoted YouTuber, churning out about a YouTube a week on the topic of digital stuff. (https://goo.gl/iBVMEG) Her personal channel covers other issues close to her heart (medical clowning, Life on the Border, etc.) (https://goo.gl/uLP6D3) In addition, she is a trained medical clown and, as any southern clown would do, clowns as often as she can in the pediatric ward in the hospital in Ashkelon. Adele has 4 children, 6 grandchildren (and counting) and two dogs. She has yet to acquire a partridge in a pear tree.
Related Topics
Related Posts