‘I was heartbroken to leave Israel during the war’

Libbi Myers, who was evacuated from Israel during the Israel-Iran War[Missing Credit]

The country entered a Covid-like lockdown: no more smoking or playing cards outside cafés or countless scooters zooming down the tayelet (boardwalk). It transformed into a new Israel I had yet to experience.

I remained staunch in not wanting to leave. In a tsunami of confused WhatsApp messages between my mum and myself, one thing was clear: I wasn’t leaving the country unless was given no other option.

This differed from the opinions of some of my peers. Understandably, they were keen to get back to the UK, where their families were and life was continuing as “normally” as possible. This was a war situation after all, and, as British citizens, something most of us were completely new to. But through some blind, uncompromising love towards the country, I didn’t want to go back to the UK. Yes, it’s my technical “home”, but leaving Israel felt far more like leaving home.

Although I am a very resolute person, my stubbornness was nothing in comparison to the resilience shown by Israelis. Life goes on for them, no matter the circumstances –  even when schools and workplaces are closed. My friends attended weddings in bomb shelters. Birthright organised a white party for my group in the mamad with a DJ and a (hired!) reincarnated Elvis. We went to the beach every day and made friends with the Americans in other Birthright groups while we waited for news of what our plan of action would be.

My first (and only) Friday night was in Jerusalem, where I stayed at some family friends. For the average family, to have to escape the Friday night dinner table to stand in the hallway, hearing rockets and drones overhead is an unimaginable nightmare. But surrounded by Jewish people from all corners of the world, we collectively bore the weight of the night. We sang Happy Birthday to one of the French inhabitants of a neighbouring apartment, while enduring an elderly (and possibly not sober) Israeli man running in and out of his apartment to bellow updates on the situation in a flurry of Hebrew.

Sleeping in a bomb shelter (Photo: Libbi Myers)[Missing Credit]

I was heartbroken to learn that I couldn’t stay in Israel. Understandably, Birthright made the decision to send home all of its 2,800 participants, based on the unknown trajectory that the war could take. As part of the emergency evacuation efforts, two cruise ships were deployed to safely transport participants to Cyprus. From there, we would all be flown to our respective home countries.

Boarding what was nicknamed the “booze cruise”,while very grateful to Birthright Taglit leaders and the donors of the evacuation operation, it felt wrong to be leaving. Despite spending the next 20 hours on a ship filled with music and new people, as I reflected on the attitude of so many Israelis I was leaving behind, it was the first time throughout the war I was overcome by melancholy.

When I was in Israel, I felt like I was doing something. Despite not contributing by way of national service or voluntary work during my time there, and merely existing in a country at war, it was the first time since October 7 that I hadn’t felt helpless. Even just getting my lunchtime falafel from the local beachside vendors felt like a win. I was doing something. I was continuing to live life in a country wholly surrounded by threat and terror. I was getting up and showing up when I had every excuse and reason not to.

Evacuees from war-torn Israel being welcomed at Limassol Port in Cyprus (Photo: Taglit Birthright Israel)[Missing Credit]

Immediately after October 7, there was a pandemic of helplessness in the international Jewish community. Social media poured out scenes of Israelis uniting to rebuild people and places; but being sat in my university bedroom, it only highlighted how far away I was and how there was only so much I could do. I know others felt the same then, and I know that many of my family and friends felt similarly over the course of what has now been coined the “Twelve Day War”. You watch the online videos and receive texts from Israeli counterparts about another sleepless night and there is nothing you can do.

Whilst away, and since being back in the UK, I have tried to reiterate the differences between how this war was being shown on social media and how it was in real life. That is not to say the social media streams lack truth; the scenes of people fleeing to shelters and the destruction of people and places were real, and truly tragic. One night, after our group was moved to Eilat, I hid in an alleyway as sirens wailed, and we watched drones being intercepted above our heads. Behind me, I could hear a lady crying, and a man standing in front of me passed out from the stress. Israelis are not immune to war.

Simultaneously, the hunger to survive and to live life is impossible to narrate through a screen. Stickers of hostages on the side of malls are gut-wrenching, but they preserve the unbeatable will of the nation to keep going.

It’s easy to watch the war from afar and neglect living a full life due to having a guilty conscience, but this is what hurts our communities the most. Leaving Israel, I was accompanied by a lesson subconsciously learnt from every interaction I had with its people. The best way we can help, no matter where we are in the world, is to keep living. I know it sounds incredibly simple, but the minute we stop celebrating and achieving is when the enemies of Judaism have really won.