More than five decades after terrorist missiles claimed the life of her younger brother Yehuda in the infamous Avivim school bus attack that killed nine children and three adults, Sara Peretz's home was destroyed by missiles in a northern Israeli community evacuated nearly seven months ago. The residents have since been dispersed across the country.
Sara and her husband Chananiya were evacuated to Tiberias as tensions escalated on the northern border. Their prolonged displacement has worsened Chananiya's dementia. He continually pleads to return to his home, synagogue and the comfort of familiar surroundings, unaware that there is no home to return to.
"It's hard for us, I don't know what we'll do," says Sara in tears. "I've lived in Avivim since 1963. We're afraid to go back there if it's not quiet."
A week ago, a small home of Almog and Kochi Ohana, parents of four, was struck by four rockets. Minutes after the Hezbollah attack, their eldest daughter received a video showing the damage to their home. Almog, who was nearby tending to the family's poultry farm—a task he performed daily—hurried toward the house but was halted by the local emergency alert squad.
"I saw my house burning before my eyes," he said. "The damage was relatively minor and it was possible to save it, but they didn't even let me get close to try to put out the fire with a hose. I don't blame them. It's dangerous. Hezbollah is watching us and just waiting to fire again."
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The ruins of a home in Metula after Hezbollah attacks from Lebanon
(Photo: Amir Levy/Getty Images)
Only in the evening, hours after the shooting from Lebanon, was the local fire brigade able to put out the smoking embers. "My house is completely destroyed," Almog said. "I am with four children between the ages of 4 and 17. We have no clothes left, we did not take albums or keepsakes from the house because we did not imagine that they would hit it. Maybe there were soldiers near the house and therefore Hezbollah fired at it. Everyone is told, 'Wait, until after the war,' and I have lost everything. The children are crying that they want their stuff. I told them the truth."
Almog and Kochi, who rented an apartment in Tiberias, have already decided not to return to Avivim. "We lived in the moshav for 22 years, and we will not bring the children back there," they said.
"Who are we to believe that there won't be a massacre here too? After 8:00 p.m. there is no street lamp lit in the whole community. Are we worried about our sense of security? We have the strongest army in the world, so why don't we shoot 20 back for every missile they fire and destroy them?"
Above Sarah and Chananiya's house lived their son, Yoram, with his wife Revital and their four children. From the beginning of the wa,r he tried to suppress the possibility that his house would be damaged. "I didn't believe it would happen," he said. "I can't even believe that we have been away from our home for so long."
At the end of the week, he managed to get to the house and collect some of their surviving possessions. "Everyone has already gotten used to the reports of the shooting at us and the air force attacks in response. This is a terrible situation. Before the attack on the house, I thought that after the war I would return home, but now I know that it will take at least a year to restore and rebuild what was damaged."
Also on Tuesday, anti-tank missiles continued to be fired at the town of Metula, about a quarter of whose houses have already been damaged by Lebanese rocket fire. One of them is the home of Kobi and Orit Katz, which was hit twice.
"All the windows were broken, the shingles flew and everything in the house was destroyed by the rains," said Kobi, CEO of the Pri Metula packing house and who served as head of the town council from 1998 to 2008. The pioneer colony founded in 1896 has never been evacuated for such a long time, and even during the Second Lebanon War, during Kobi's tenure, its residents did not leave.
"At the time, we evacuated only a few, and we took care of food and medicine for everyone who remained," he recalled. "This time we were evacuated in a panic because they were afraid of kidnappings. Then we mainly dealt with Katyushas, and today there are accurate anti-tank missiles aimed at us."
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Kobi and Orit Katz lived in Metula during the Second Lebanon War and did not evacuate the town
(Photo: Nahum Segal)
Since the evacuation, they have come to visit the house once. "We didn't think to take albums or keepsakes with us. We didn't think anything would happen, nor did we have time," Kobi said.
"What is happening here is heartbreaking. We now live in the Dan Panorama Hotel in Haifa, and you walk in the center of Carmel and there is no table available in the cafes and restaurants. I am happy for them that the businesses are working, but it is not perceived that meters away families with children live in crowded rooms with complete uncertainty."
Unlike Kobi, who is not sure about returning to Metula, Orit is already thinking about the work of restoring the family farms. "I want to go home. I'm going crazy," she said. "I want to see how the house is doing, but Kobi is worried. I am eighth generation Israeli and fourth generation in the town, and I never dreamed that such a thing would happen. I thought they wouldn't dare to do anything to us, because they have a lot to lose.
"There were signs that the same thing as in the south was going to happen. I saw the photos and the documents that they are digging under the fence and going in and out, but I preferred to believe the stories about the army following and knowing everything," she added.
"Kobi says I'm a strong woman, but I'm not strong. I'm fed up. It's true that there are worse things, but we want to return home. My mother was born in Metula and so were all my uncles and brothers, and we never left. I don't intend to be the one who leaves."