By Chana Hirschowitz
“My daughter Ariella was three weeks old when we were told that we had to evacuate our home,” Dekel says to me. “It was October 20th, and it was too dangerous for us to stay. Our wounds were so deep, but the war had barely begun.”
“Were you ever afraid before about living in Kiryat Shemoneh, on the border of Lebanon?” I ask.
“Never,” he responds firmly. “We never could have anticipated this.”
I am in Eilat, with Dekel and his family, as far from their home as it is possible to be in Israel. I have the privilege of volunteering for Rabbi Mendi and Chanie Klein at Chabad of Eilat as the people of Kiryat Shemoneh evacuate here in the tens of thousands, turning a vacation spot into a refugee encampment. Yet through the pains of war, Chabad of Eilat becomes their family—becomes all our family.
“In the beginning, talk of relocation simply sounded like a little distance from the chaos engulfing our reality,” Dekel recalls. ‘No one could have anticipated that we would celebrate our daughter’s birthday in a hotel room in Eilat. I never imagined that it would be 2025 and we would still be in the thick of it.”
The story I tell is one I have witnessed firsthand. I consider myself fortunate to tell it. The story of those who once lived on the one end of the country, and were exiled to its farthest end. But if they were going to be sent anywhere, Hashem sent them into the hands of Chabad of Eilat, led by the two most supportive people I have ever met.
“I just wonder if I’ll ever have a home again,” the children tell me. They’re in a small hotel room. A family of nine lives here. Personal space does not exist. The kids run around in the hotel hallways. The teenagers wander around in the streets. There’s nowhere else for them to go.
I ask the adults about parenting children in such conditions. I hear the same phrase from each one. “Ze lo pashut.” It’s not simple. “It’s impossible to enforce a sense of schedule and discipline when a room meant for a three-day vacation is forced to be your house.”
‘They told us our house was hit. We don’t know how bad the damage is.’ The level of instability that now plagues thousands of children in Israel is rarely spoken about. “Refugee status is a familiar part of Jewish history, yet who would have ever thought that it could happen in our own land?”
The weekly Parsha takes on a different meaning. We ask the children questions about Pharaoh, and Moses, and the G-d’s promise to the Jewish people. They all agree, without hesitation, that ‘Pharaoh will let the hostages and all the Jews go back to Kiryat Shemoneh.’ It rolls off their tongues so naturally that I can’t argue. History is repeating itself. They are, quite literally, stranded near the Sinai desert for over 500 days.
Rabbi Mendi and Chanie arrange beautiful Bar Mitzvah and Bat Mitzvah celebrations for the children. “I don’t want a Bat Mitzvah. I am not growing up here,” says one of the girls. She sounds mulish, but there are tears in her eyes.
The boys are gifted siddurim in honor of their Bar Mitzvahs. One of them opens it up immediately, eager to recite the comforting prayers. He turns to Chanie and asks, which direction is south? She doesn’t understand. South, he repeats. We’ve always prayed facing Jerusalem, in the south. He cannot comprehend that it is now he who is so far south of the holy city. His inner compass will not adjust.
“I can’t even begin to tell you what Rabbi Mendi and Chanie have done for us,” Dekel says. “Building our school community, programs for the children, programs for the women, weekly classes, daily prayers, challah baking, Shabbat programs, presents for the children, surprise bags for every holiday…” He hasn’t stopped to take a breath.
New volunteers are arriving. We are leaving. The children throw us a goodbye party. Tears stream down her face as a mother speaks. “You don’t even know what it means to us for Chabad to come here day in and day out. In the most difficult of times, you brought a shining light, an energy that we so desperately need. In our makeshift underground bomb shelter kindergarten that barely sees the light of day—you are the light.” She is sobbing. Even the four-year-olds are sad. Each one of them tells us how much they loved baking challah and learning English, and how they wish us a life full of “fun and friends.”
We leave, but the families stay. Their exile continues. The government says that they will update them in July. The children wander the hallways. The teens wander the streets. Rabbi Mendi and Chanie come back with the new group of volunteers. Their work continues.
“Rabbi Mendi and Chanie are our anchor,” Dekel says with conviction. He pauses. “It’s very, very touching, very, very emotional. There is so much love.”
Chabad Eilat is raising funds for Bar and Bat Mitzvah celebrations for the refugee children of Kiryat Shmona and year-round support for the evacuated youth. Partner with their work by donating at causematch.com/Eilat.
