The vistas on display on the way to the Kerem Shalom crossing are breathtaking, with fields painted vibrant green. Flowerbeds are blooming, flocks of birds adorn the dark skies, and a yellow plane flies over our heads. For a moment, I forget there's a war happening here.
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Our convoy passes through farmlands surrounding southern Israeli communities. Dozens of cars maneuver through muddy trails, attempting to evade police roadblocks. Their objective: to block the humanitarian aid trucks heading into Gaza.
"The cops follow us through our WhatsApp groups," said Reut Ben-Haim, one of the protest leaders. "The route is kept secret until we head out, otherwise they simply won't let us through."
We arrive at the Kerem Shalom crossing. The cars stop. Everyone parks quickly and starts running toward the crossing, "we hoodwinked them, there are few soldiers here, run," someone shouts, and the protesters, about a hundred people, men, women, elders, teens and children start tailing it.
I catch Reut and Sefi running with their daughter in a stroller. "You came on a good day, we don't manage to get in every time," Sefi says with a wide grin.
"How old is she?" I ask, pointing at the baby in the stroller. "Two and a half months," he replies. "She was born when I was on reserve duty, and then we came here and started the protest. We're determined, we have eight children, seven of whom grew up under Hamas threats. She's with us in this fight."
Heading inside, we pass by a small number of police officers and IDF soldiers. After some pushing and attempts to hold us back, everyone gets inside and blocks the main gate. On the other side, next to positions manned by Egyptian soldiers, dozens of trucks are set to enter Gaza after an Israeli inspection in order to give out aid.
Most of the protesters are religious: yeshiva students, hilltop youth and even some secular Israelis, your typical "right-wingers." Despite a desire to find a consensus around this protest, it seems that only one side of the political divide has arrived to take part.
The only representative of the hostages' families is Yael Savareigo, the niece of Lior Rudaeff, who was abducted from Kibbutz Nir Yitzhak. "If the state doesn't know how to protect itself, we'll protect the state," she says.
"Our hostages are held by human animals, and the trucks passing through here go to Hamas terrorists, allowing them to continue fortifying themselves, giving them the power to harm soldiers, to continue firing at the south and to hold onto the hostages."
Yael, who grew up in Nir Yitzhak, now lives in the Rimonim settlement in the West Bank. "I announced that I'm running for Knesset," she says. "If elections were held today, I wouldn't vote for anyone, because on one hand, there are people who ran the state and failed, and on the other hand, there are cowards who don't want to take a stand. It's time for the people to lead this country."
After a brief chat with security forces, which concluded with the protesters holding their position, people begin spreading out in the area. Some pray, others find a corner in the shade near the border, and one even begins to play the guitar.
You can occasionally find some exceptions in the crowd, like Eran, who says: "Most people here don't share my political views, but we agree on this issue. I wish more secular Israelis would come. If we're talking about unity, here is the place for it to show."
Jake Levant, a high-tech employee from Ra'anana, arrived in his Tesla with his 15-year-old son Reuben. "I took a day off to be here," he says, "we're a strong people, and these trucks are a sign of weakness. If not for the hostages, nothing would've been allowed to enter Gaza. I'm a right-winger, but I think it's time to start new initiatives and unite. Maybe here is exactly the place to unite around the most just protest there can be."
Elkana Federman, who was the chief of security at the Nova Music Festival, arrived shortly after being released from reserve duty in Gaza. "I fought in Khan Younis," he says, "I have six friends who were taken hostage and I'm after two rounds of fighting. We saw how the aid meant for civilians goes underground with our own eyes. We, as soldiers, were harmed by this aid. We fight, and the state helps them survive."
Yoel Kadish, 65, from Binyamina, defines himself as "a practical right-winger." "The fact that there aren't 100,000 people here is disturbing to me," he says, "I'm disappointed with everyone. Both the government and the opposition aren't doing what they should. They tell us bubbe meises of unity but spend all day politicking."
Protesters said many politicians asked to come and support them, and were refused. "It's mostly right-wing Knesset members who approach us," explains Ben-Haim, "but we tell them that if they want to come - they should bring MKs from the other camps as well. We want a protest that touches the entire nation. Stopping these trucks is important, but the way of doing it is no less important."
"There's nothing better than seeing a truck going in reverse," one of the protesters says, "Yes, the trucks will eventually pass, but you get to know that at least today, a Hamas terrorist will stay hungry. It's absurd to allow aid in while our hostages are holed up in tunnels."