This is the first in a series, “Uprooted.” Each column is a curated monologue from an individual among the tens of thousands of internally displaced Israelis during the war with Hamas who were evacuated from the country’s northern border and the Gaza envelope.
On Saturday morning, October 7, my wife Dvora woke up to shouting from the neighbor next door that war had broken out. At first, she thought he meant the Yom Kippur War, and that he was remembering: Just the day before, we had marked 50 years since that same war.
Inbal, my daughter, called and told us that her husband was in Haifa and suggested he pick us up to go to their place in Givat Ada. None of us had fully grasped the magnitude of the situation yet.
We said we would think about it. An hour later, we called back and said, “Okay, tell him to come.” We noticed others from the kibbutz were also starting to leave. It was a very difficult moment for me. Suddenly, I was thrown back to the age of five.
What happened when you were five?
I was born in 1943 in Kibbutz Eilon, established near the border with Lebanon in 1938 as part of the Tower and Stockade settlements. [The “Tower and Stockade” system, used during the 1936-1939 Arab-Jewish conflict under British Mandate rule, established over 50 new settlements within a day or night, allowing settlers to defend themselves from the first night.]
On my birth certificate, it said “Palestine.” When I turned five, in 1948, the War of Independence broke out.
On my birth certificate, it said “Palestine.” When I turned five, in 1948, the War of Independence broke out
There were tensions with the Arab population in Lebanon, and in the Jewish settlement, they assumed that something might happen to us as well. As a result, they decided to transfer all the children to Haifa. The kibbutz was still in its infancy.
On the evening before the evacuation, our parents came to get us to sleep in the communal children’s house as usual, but the beds were no longer there because they had already been moved to the new location. During the night, a convoy of the Hagana — the main Zionist paramilitary organization operating during the British Mandate — arrived at Eilon. Our parents came to say goodbye, and all the children were put in armored vehicles together with their caregivers.
Kibbutz Eilon in the 1930s when it was established. (State archives)
It was impossible to travel south from Nahariya due to a blockade in Akko. So, they took us by sea on the immigration ship “Hannah Senesh,” which had already completed its missions. I remember that Hagana men and women led us in boats to the ship. I remember boarding the ship and how they lowered us into its belly. The babies came with the mothers, and we older kids were escorted by our children’s house caregivers.
I don’t remember what they told us, but I imagine they kept it age-appropriate. Some 8-year-old kids understood more, but we were too young to get what was going on. We arrived at the port of Haifa, and from there, they took us to Newton House (Hecht House today). It belonged to Mrs. Frances Newton, an English missionary who was pro-Arab, an anti-Zionist and anti-British Mandate activist. Eventually, she was deported by the mandate authorities. The house was purchased by the Rothschild family, who donated it for the Jewish Agency’s use.
We stayed there for six months with other children from kibbutzim in the Western Galilee and along the northern road. We formed a community, celebrated Shabbat and birthdays, had a well-equipped kitchen, and educators and caretakers took care of us. Those who remained in the kibbutz stayed to work in agriculture, industry, and farming, which made our move to Haifa easier for those handling things there.
At some point, parents were allowed to visit on a rotating basis. They came aboard a weekly supply truck. During that time, communication was conducted through Morse code from Mount Carmel and back. The kibbutz had a monitoring station, and two members underwent a Morse code course using a flashlight. This way, they coordinated things and kept in contact with Newton House.
At some point, parents were allowed to visit on a rotating basis. They came aboard a weekly supply truck
When we returned to the kibbutz after six months, things had already calmed down, and the roads from Haifa to Rosh HaNikra were open.
Was there any thought of further evacuation over the years?
There were moments when tensions flared along the border, but I can’t recall a situation where we thought it unsafe to stay. Kibbutz Eilon is close to Hanita, Adamit, and Arab al-Aramshe, a Bedouin village that kept good neighborly relations with us over the years. Salah, who worked with me in the factory, and his son Adnan were key figures in the kibbutz.
Over time, politics entered the scene, and the innocence of those relations was corrupted. In recent years, there has been talk of evacuation during tense times to allow the army to focus on fighting without worrying about civilians. I declared that I would never evacuate from Eilon again, and yet here I am, evacuated.
Children at Kibbutz Eilon in 1944. (Zoltan Kluger/State archives)
So, is history repeating itself?
I’m still struggling with how to process this. We were evacuated on the second day of the war. On Sunday, the day after that terrible Shabbat, the Mateh Asher Regional Council recommended that everyone evacuate.
Initially, a few couples chose to stay, but as the situation worsened, the recommendation became an order: the evacuation of communities located four kilometers from the Lebanon border, under the auspices of the state. Now, the kibbutz is empty of its residents, except for the rapid response counter-terrorist unit and IDF soldiers. It’s a terrible feeling — leaving home without knowing when we will go back.
What did you pack to take with you?
We packed essentials for a short stay: medications, a few clothes, chargers, some books, and crossword puzzles. I also packed my favorite granola and tuna brands. Dvora brought her sketchbook and paints, since she’s been painting a lot since the pandemic.
Beit Alfa resembles an old-fashioned kibbutz and that’s comforting, but my heart is in Eilon
Initially, we went to our daughter Inbal’s house in Givat Ada, where we stayed for three weeks. In time, more permanent solutions began to emerge. Kibbutz Beit Alfa agreed to host a large group of Eilon members. So, we moved from Givat Ada to Beit Alfa. It feels like the kibbutz has relocated there, with a different setting. We’re unsure how long it will be, and we are considering our options because the house is small, and sometimes we need help.
In Beit Alfa, we feel a sense of security, we are surrounded by people, and there’s a communal dining room. All in all, it resembles an old-fashioned kibbutz and that’s comforting, but my heart is in Eilon. I’ve spent my entire life there, served in various kibbutz roles, even served as the kibbutz secretary for four terms.
Dvora and I were also the kibbutz archivists; she set up a small museum, and I sorted through data, documents, articles, and handwritten records of kibbutz meetings.
In my heart, I’m in Eilon, thinking about what I left closed and what I forgot open.
Dvora Nevo (Dafna Talmon)
How does daily life look?
We wake up relatively late, enjoy coffee outside, and sometimes participate in activities. Then, we have lunch and take a nap. Occasionally, there’s an evening activity as well. But I don’t know how long this will last.
Now, the worst scenario, unimaginable even in my darkest fears, has come true: leaving my home, realizing that the kibbutz is now a closed military area, empty of friends and filled with soldiers stationed there to guard the border.
I must say this: the welfare agencies have been wonderful. Everyone is extremely helpful. We’ve been in contact with the welfare agencies in the regional council and in Beit Alfa. We’ll need to send flowers to a lot of people here at the end of the war.
What brings you joy these days?
Unfortunately, nothing. Despite being relatively close to my two sons and having my grandchildren visit often, there is a constant feeling that the ground has opened beneath our feet.
Ofer Nevo (Dafna Talmon)
What do you miss?
It’s terribly difficult for me to express this. When we left the kibbutz, we thought it would be for just a few days, and now we find ourselves facing a permanent directive. The stress of uncertainty is unlike anything I’ve experienced. We locked the door, left the key under the plant, and our story came to an end.
The future
As the situation unfolds, I realize that the likelihood of returning soon is diminishing day by day. The future is veiled in uncertainty.
We have three people close to us buried in Eilon: my brother, who was killed in the Yom Kippur War; the grave of my daughter, the younger twin sister of Noam, my youngest son, who succumbed to cancer when she was a toddler, just before we were going to take her for a bone marrow transplant in the United States; and the grave of our eldest daughter, who ended her life at the age of 30.
This is another thing that ties us to Eilon. The past connects us to the future. It’s a profound shock for me — closing the door, assuming it’s for two or three days, and then realizing that no one is returning anywhere. It’s taking a toll on my health, to be honest with you.
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December 16, 2023 at 08:24PM
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Uprooted: Ofer Nevo, 80, evacuated from Kibbutz Eilon. This is his story - The Times of Israel
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