On the first day of the war, Shabbat Simhat Torah October 7th, Hamas unleashed a massive barrage of thousands of rockets targetting cities, towns, villages and farms all over central and southern Israel as cover for their invasion of Israel. In addition to the 1300 Israeli murdered by Hamas terrorists in the Gaza border area several more Israeli civilians were killed and wounded by rockets hitting homes, farms, vehicles and spraying open areas like fields and backyards with deadly shrapnel.
One of the areas worst hit was a collection of small Bedouin communities in the Negev desert. Several children and women, some from the same family, were killed by rockets hitting their villages. Other Israeli Bedouin were killed and injured by terrorists while working in the Gaza border area.
This is some of their story as told by Shalom Weil, a member of the regional council in charge of bereaved families (my quick translation of his Hebrew article):
As the regional council member with the dubious job of caring for bereaved families I call Jum'a and ask him how I can pay condolence calls for those murdered in the Bedouin diaspora in the Negev. How can I honour the memory of Bedouin pupils killed during the intense rocket bombardment last week?
Jum'a, the impressive school supervisor for the Bedouin sector listens for a moment. He then answers emphatically "You have to come and visit them. It's very important to them. It will honour them. I'll come right now and take you in my jeep from the Beer Sheva region, it will be fine."
We set off. The drive was over winding roads, then on to dirt tracks, climbing through hills, past makeshift homes. On the way he explained to me that the covenant between the Jews and the Bedouin is a covenant of blood going back to the days of the Palmah (the pre-state period underground). This covenant is strengthened today.
We arrive at the first mourners' sukkah (tent), between corrugated iron makeshift structures and sheep. Outside waiting for us in the sun is a line of barefoot men with red eyes.
Salam aleikum, shaking hands, greetings and blessings, and a hand over the heart as a sign of pain and condolences. We sit on a colourful rug, Jum'a and I cross legged, the mourners kneeling.
One of the children comes over to us with bottles of water, another with dates, another with a traditional finjan Bedouin coffee pot full of strong, bitter dark coffee.
I hear about the two children killed from the rocket which exploded on top of them in the sukka where they were playing. I ask where was the sukka? Right here, they point to the open area outside the mourning sukka in which we are sitting.
We return to the jeep and Jum'a explains to me that this is the first visit from a government representative to the bereaved families, and that is why they are all so emotional and moved, and even though the traditional three days of mourning have already ended they have turned out immediately to honour me and give respect to an official representative of the government. It turns out that the whole of the State of Israel is on my shoulders and I am her representative.
We go to the next mourners' tent, and the next. From there we drive to a more organised village, and when we arrive at the mourners' tent there the head of the local council, three sheikhs and a kadi (Islamic judge) are standing outside and waiting for us. The mourners are standing in the tent with red, tearful eyes full of pain.
With all the pain I can't ignore their pride in being visited by an official government representative who has come to honour them, and also the emotional way I hear over and over, with which they talk of faith in the Creator. "Everything is written".
One of the sheikhs asks to sit besides me. Tells me in shaky Hebrew and with profound shock about the atrocities of Hamas.
He told me that there was a woman in the community who was working in agricultural fields on that cursed Saturday morning. She was wearing the traditional modest long Bedouin robe typical of many southern Bedouin women. Hamas terrorists shot her 42 times, shot 42 bullets in to her and then desecrated her body.
She was found lying like that in the fields and returned home for burial.
"I see that you are also a religious man" he said "Are these acts that honour faith in Allah? These are beasts" he asserted "Inhuman beasts of prey."
In the sixth mourners' tent we visited I was already exhausted and full of dates, water and coffee. But nothing prepared me for the sight I saw. Outside the house lay two overturned, burnt out vehicles. They had been hit by a rocket which caused them to burst in to flames, killing the children who'd been playing nearby. The mourners' tent faced the site of the rocket strike, and the impact site was clearly visible to all who came to offer condolences. The bereaved father looked over at me, hurting and seeking comfort in his surviving children.
All was quiet.
Jum'a returned me to my car in Beer Sheva and as we parted ways the rocket alert siren sounded. We got out of our cars and lay flat on the ground. Another rocket hit the Bedouin communities of the south. This time without injuries.
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