Dispatches from Israel
Dispatches from Israel: Part 3
I waffled for a few days on whether I could adequately express my thoughts about the Gaza Envelope in an email. Whatever gets written here, the answer to that question is an unequivocal no. However, I do hope to share here some reflections on what I saw, and in the near future, find some time on a weekday evening or weekend afternoon to show pictures from the trip and explain the experience in more detail.
Our day to the south had three components: Kibbutz Nir Oz, Nova, and Sderot. Below is an account of my experience at Nir Oz, detailed, yet with so much more to share.
The ride down from Jerusalem to Nir Oz was a serene trip. After a day of heavy rain in Jerusalem, we were blessed with blue skies and sunshine. The first thing you notice when entering the part of Israel where Hamas terrorists infiltrated are the roadside memorials for civilians and soldiers who were killed trying to escape or trying to defend their home. As we drove toward Nir Oz, it was surreal to imagine that these country highways were sites of battles, sites of terror, and sites of great heroism.
Nir Oz is a kibbutz frozen in time. While many other kibbutzim are either rebuilding or resuming their industry and lifestyle, Nir Oz remains essentially as it was on October 8th. The first thing you notice about Nir Oz is its beauty. It is one big neighborhood with greenery, art, and a sky open to legions of birds soaring through the trees. The natural beauty of Nir Oz persists even amidst the ruins of the kibbutz.
Our tour was led by a Nir Oz resident named Yossi, who was part of the QRF team (quick reaction force) on the kibbutz. The QRF is the rapid response team of kibbutz residents. Armed, and typically trained for rocket attacks or a single insurgent. On October 7th, estimates put the range between 600-900 Hamas insurgents that entered Nir Oz. Nir Oz at that time had 9 residents on the QRF, who throughout the course of 7 hours, killed 120 terrorists. On October 6th, Niz Oz had 412 residents. 67 were murdered on October 7th and 82 were taken hostage. The residents of Nir Oz view it as the forgotten kibbutz. The Hamas attack on Nir Oz ended at 1:37pm, and the IDF arrived at 3:30pm. They feel abandoned and left behind by the government, and that the narrative of Nir Oz is too focused on its “fall” and not focused enough on the stories of bravery and the heroes who tried to save it.
Yossi walked us through the ruins of the kibbutz; almost every house was set on fire, some completely burned through save for the reinforced safe rooms. The safe rooms were designed for rocket attacks, not individual insurgents. For this reason, safe rooms were not built with locks on the inside, in order that survivors of a rocket attack would not be trapped inside.
Some of Yossi’s experiences and testimonials are better left for an in-person gathering. He saw and heard things that no one should ever see or hear; he heroically (I will use this word despite him saying it is not his favorite descriptor) fought to protect his community, and he lost many many friends and family that day. Walking us around Nir Oz was not easy for him. Each pause in a sentence, each time he spoke of a friend, the times he rehearsed in his head what he could have done differently, spoke to a heaviness and the weight of the trauma of that day that is now a part of him.
As we were walking through the kibbutz, different colored flags were planted outside of each home. A black flag meant that a resident was killed on October 7th, a yellow flag meant that a resident was taken hostage, and a blue appendage to a yellow flag means that a resident has come home, a black appendage meant they had not.
Partway through the kibbutz, we came to the home of Shiri and Yarden Bibas, and their two children Ariel and Kfir. The scene spoke for itself. The house was gutted and run through, and the personal items of the Bibas family - children’s toys and playmats, were still in the front yard. It felt wrong and invasive to be there, to look in on their home when they can no longer, to see the devastation and the remnants of their life on display in a way they never would have desired. I hold these concerns along with the gift of being able to witness and give testimony to what we saw that day.
There was so much more to Nir Oz and the rest of my trip that I hope to share with you all soon, but I’d like to close with a perhaps ironic image of hope that is sticking with me.
Toward the end of our visit to Nir Oz, we went up to the roof of a safe room on the edge of the kibbutz and looked out at the view. To the east was the kibbutz, still charred from the October 7th attack, devastation and trauma and great acts of heroism and bravery issuing from the rubble. To the west, less than a mile from where we were standing, was Gaza. With the naked eye one is able to see destroyed buildings, collapsed infrastructure, and wreckage of its own variety. Standing up on this vista, I have never felt more intensely that this conflict has hit rock bottom. So much has to happen for Israel to become whole again, and for Gaza to become a place of tolerance and dignity. Finding room for hope even amidst the ruins is a religious imperative; it is essential to a Jewish perspective. When the Babylonians were besieging Jerusalem in the time of the prophets, God tells Jeremiah to buy a parcel of land in Anatot, despite the imminent invasion. God says to Jeremiah: “Houses and fields and vineyards shall be bought again in this land.”
The Torah reminds us that despair is just a step removed from nihilism, while hope, and down payments toward a seemingly impossible future, can ultimately be drivers of actualizing that reality. I am leaving Israel in awe of a society forging ahead, mindful of the many internal and external forces weighing it down, and ultimately, hopeful that the next generation will be able to look out from the vista atop Kibbutz Nir Oz, to the east and to the west, and see houses and fields and vineyards once again.
With gratitude for the gift of this past week, and hopes that time in Israel together can be in our future.
Rabbi Max Edwards
Dispatches from Israel
Jerusalem:
On Monday afternoon, I had about four hours to myself in Jerusalem before our formal trip began. As soon as I arrived at Yitzhak Navon station and rode up the seemingly endless escalators to the street level, a warm embrace of familiarity came over me. If Tel Aviv felt familiar, Jerusalem felt like home. I took the bus to our hotel, dropped my bags, and spent the next four hours winding my way through the city. The calling card of this trip so far: nothing has changed; everything has changed.
The informal start to the rabbis' trip began with my good friend and a Goldstar beer before dinner. The formal start was Monday evening in a session with Jessica Steinberg, Culture Editor at the Times of Israel. The conversation with our group was on a wide-range of issues in Israeli society, the effect of October 7th on culture and music, and the kernel of hope that can be extracted from the trauma of that day.
Tuesday was filled with experiences in Jerusalem that stretched our minds and hearts. It began with two leaders from the Rossing Center for Education and Dialogue. This organization leads initiatives in schools and around Israel and with educators to develop empathy and a shared understanding of what it means to live in a shared society. Their efforts since October 7th have been more vital than ever before., and by the same token more challenging than ever before.
Following this session, our group met with His Beatitude Patriarch Theophilos III of Jerusalem, the Patriarch of the Orthodox Church in Jerusalem since 2005. A man committed to deep religiosity, dialogue, and who reminded us repeatedly that political histories are short, religious histories are long, and the road to understanding Jerusalem comes from an awareness of the breadth of religious life. The Patriarch lives in a palace in the Old City, in a nondescript section of the Christian Quarter that you may otherwise walk right by. The palace was truly palatial - marble staircases, thrones, robes, and priests interrupting the conversation periodically to come in and kiss his hand. It was fascinating.
Afterward, we were guided around the Christian, Armenean, and part of the Muslim quarters in the Old City for visits with longstanding artisans and bakers: an Arab spicemaster, an Armenean potter and photographer, and a visit to the oldest tattoo shop in the world, established in 1300. Yes, a bunch of rabbis visiting a Christian tattoo shop in Jerusalem, the jokes sometimes write themselves. What did all these places have in common? These were non-Jews, some Muslims, some Christians, living in Jerusalem, committed each in their own way to building and maintaining relationships in the city that they all call home. An important reminder that people and peoples are multidimensional, and identity, especially in Israel, stretches beyond simple binaries.
Two more sessions concluded our day. First was a two hour session with Dan Deutch. Dan is an Israeli who most recently served 350 days as a reservist in Gaza. His role in the army for these past years has been frontline therapy for soldiers both in Gaza and those who have returned home and are dealing with the trauma of war. Following October 7th, PTSD trauma services in Israel grew from 3000 per year to serving 300,000. Facilitators ballooned from 20 to 1000. The cost of this war on the battlefield and off has been high, sometimes unbearably high, but Dan exuded hope with his whole being. He sees hope in the resilience of the country, in the way Israelis have grown through their trauma, and in society becoming stronger and more compassionate.
Before a memorable dinner at shuk Machne Yehudah, our day formally concluded at Jerusalem City Hall, where we met with Deputy Mayor Adir Schwartz. Adir was an dynamic speaker and advocate for Jerusalem. We had a wide-ranging discussion on where he sees Jerusalem in the landscape of Israel, the challenges a city with its demographic issues faces, and the potential therein. Adir spoke about Jerusalem as a city of pluralism, a city with the potential to be a homebase for every Israeli Jew, Israeli Arab, and every Jew in the world. No one will feel at home in every corner of Jerusalem, but it’s important for him, vital for him, that the city maintains pockets of familiarity and aspires to truly be a homeland.
The warm embrace of my arrival in Jerusalem was a welcome feeling, as were these sessions with leaders from across the cultural and municipal landscape, all committed to making it work. If there’s one thing that gave me hope today, it’s zooming out and seeing this itinerary and knowing that there are corners all over this city - soldiers and trauma therapists, leaders in interreligious dialogue, Arab bakers, Armenean potters, the head of the largest Christian denomination in Israel, and the Deputy Mayor of Jerusalem - who believe that living together is the only way a homeland can be a land once can truly call home.
Down to the Gaza Envelope tomorrow.
Rabbi Max Edwards
Dispatches from Israel
January 12, 2026
If you’ve been to Israel, you know the pedestrian ramp at Ben-Gurion Airport; a long walkway down from flight arrivals to passport control to customs to the outside. Considering that the word we use for moving to Israel is aliyah (to go up), I’ve always found it a little ironic that one enters Israel by way of the airport through descent. But maybe there is a point to this walking descent. Collectively, no matter who is getting off that flight: immigrant, tourist, resident, or citizen, everyone begins on the ground floor. Aliyah, the ability to ascend to the heights endowed within the Land of Israel, begins at street level - the place where our prophets imagined that God encountered the word - amidst the reality of a changed yet enduring land.
I arrived in Tel Aviv on Sunday morning and took the train from the airport to the Tel Aviv-HaShalom station. From there it was a short bus ride to my hotel where I dropped my bags and headed out for the day. I am here for 24 hours before my rabbinic group trip begins, and am taking that precious time to reintroduce myself to Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. My day in Tel Aviv began first with the necessity of a good Israeli breakfast at a cafe: eggs, fresh bread, Israeli salad, dips, coffee. Liv Breads does a respectable job for New Jersey, but, in the words of Marvin Gaye, “ain’t nothing like the real thing.”
I spent the morning walking around the center of Tel Aviv - strolling along the promenade by the beach, visiting Halper’s books on Allenby, an eclectic bookstore where in 2011 I purchased a dear copy of Heschel’s The Prophets, walking through shuk hacarmel, and ending up at Dizengoff Center. On the surface, everything in Tel Aviv was as I remembered: the sound of matkot all along the beach, parents pushing bassinets and walking dogs, the efficient yet turbulent city bus system, teens making TikToks and elders seated at cafes rotating between an espresso and a cigarette. But then there are reminders, peppered throughout the city, that the country has been through and is still going through the trauma of October 7th. On virtually every lamppost and every bus stop are hundreds of bumper stickers - each with a picture of a victim of October 7th and a quote representative of their outlook on life:
Ofir Tzioni: Still waters run deep
Dor Avitan: We won’t stop the melody
Norelle Manzuri: When you smile the whole world stops
The entirety of Dizengoff square is covered in these stickers, pictures, and quotes - a heavy and visceral reminder that while daily life in the city pushes forward, the wound of October 7th remains raw, visible, and ever-present. Even as a rabbi, even entrenched in the Jewish world, being here is the only way to adequetly catch a glimpse of the present reality.
This first half-day ended at an early dinner with a close family friend, Dr. Dana Wolf. Dana is a professor of international law at the Lauder School of Government, Diplomacy, & Strategy at IDC in Herzeliya. She is a regular guest on Channel 12 news and is a voice of deep knowledge and realism in the Israeli public sphere. Speaking with her was a reminder that both Israel and the US are at political inflection points, with the potential to strain or mend the connection of world Jewry. And yet, being here is a healthy indication that, as Professor Omri Asscher writes, “there is more to homeland-diaspora relations than foreign policy and politics…Israeli and American Jewries have historically found meaning in their collectivity through religion and culture no less than through political and organizational activity.”
I’m grateful for the opportunity to learn from, examine, and reconnect with Israeli civil society this week, and look forward to sharing more in the coming days.
For all of the vibrancy of Tel Aviv, Jerusalem is my adopted home here, having spent 1.5 years wandering its streets and alleys.
Off to Jerusalem.
Rabbi Max Edwards