Memories of Nahal Oz

I went to high school with someone from Nahal Oz (her father's work took the family away from the kibbutz for a few years) and many years ago DH's cousin got married to someone from there in a beautiful, joyous, irreverent kibbutz wedding (the couple later set up their home elsewhere).

When I hear Nahal Oz these are the people and images that come to mind. Every time we drive by the area. Every time over the years I see it flash up with a rocket alert on my rocket siren app that just about everyone in Israel has the way people elsewhere might have a weather app.

I know the news is a dizzying blitz of place names most of you have never heard of, Beeri, Kfar Aza, Re'im, Nir Oz, Nahal Oz. Two weeks later and the horror stories merge in to each other, the murdered families, the butchered babies, the houses burnt with their residents inside, the elderly and children kidnapped to Gaza, even the family pets slaughtered for sport in the modest gardens and neat paths of these kibbutzim. Each place name a nightmare of gruesome photos and body bags, families wiped out, communities shattered. But please try to also remember the reality of what these places were, the modest agricultural communities, the special people, the idealism, the spirit of these places. The care and concern for each other and for their neighbours in Gaza. The many social initiatives locals were involved with. Their love of Israel and their for their fellow human being. This is what Hamas could not abide, this is what it so gleefully wanted to erase in its barbaric amok murder spree of its Israeli neighbours. Remember what Hamas did to these kibbutzim, but also remember what these kibbutzim were, what hopefully one day they will rebuild and become again. Keep this in your mind: a wedding in Nahal Oz, locals and guests in sandals and informal summer clothing in the heat of this semi-arid region in late spring. A makeshift outdoor hupa (wedding canopy) in the dusty, sandy soil with a backdrop of agricultural fields, a few dusty leaved eucalyptus trees. The sun low in the sky, glowing in to a gorgeous sunset. Depending on which direction the breeze is blowing there is a faint or not so faint smell of cow shed. Everyone is smiling and happy and a bit silly. The groom walks down the aisle to the theme from the Muppet Show. The bride to something Latin American. There's a lot of giggling and humour during the ceremony. And then dancing in the meadow near the hupa to music that spans modern Israeli and Middle Eastern pop, Latin American dance beats and golden oldie rock and roll. Simple, irreverent happiness and love.

I don't know what happened to the local people at that wedding, to the people from the kibbutz we were casually dancing with. To the couple from a neighbouring kibbutz I got chatting with. All these years later I don't remember names, just people I casually chatted and danced with at a wedding nearly 25 years ago. But each time a new death or kidnap notice is posted with a photo I'm afraid it will be one of those random smiling faces I remember from all those years ago at a wedding in Nahal Oz.