Although we’ve been physically spared any fatalities from the constant rocket barrage, we’ve suffered in other ways. One grandson is deeply traumatized, and after intense therapy, is just starting to come out of his shell. My brother and sister-in-law’s home was hit, and they lost almost all their worldly possessions. At night, the city shakes from the airstrikes in Gaza. We can barely hear our own thoughts over the bombardment’s constant cacophony.
Thirty years ago, I’d never heard of the tiny city of Sderot. My father-in-law, Rabbi Avraham Dunin, was asked to move south to help piece back together a school in desperate need of a strong hand. Although he was only asked to come for one year, he ended up staying for seven. To strengthen the school, my father-in-law recruited children from neighboring cities - including Sderot.
After our marriage, my father-in-law suggested Sderot as our permanent shlichus post. After receiving the Rebbe’s bracha, we moved. I knew absolutely nothing about the town. I remember seeing a road sign for Gaza and idly thinking, “Oh wow! We’re pretty close!”
For years, while Gaza and Israel were at war on paper, a tacit peace existed. We often shopped in Gaza, and Arabs often came shopped at our stores as well. Then they signed a peace treaty on paper, and war erected walls no machine could tear down.
My parents were sent here by the Rebbe almost 40 years ago. Back then, Sderot was a very small and quiet place. It was a nice place. Our shlichus was nothing out of the ordinary. My parents opened a shul and ran holidays and events and charities - just like any other Chabad shliach. My parents were alone at the beginning. They did everything they could with their own two hands and made do with whatever the reality was. I remember before they even had a shul building, my parents would frequently host at our family home – davening, meals, Chagim, and events. I remember being constantly surrounded by people from the day I was born.
Of course, there were tough times. We faced financial, social, and many other types of hardships. My siblings and I were the only Chabad kids in Sderot, and that came with its own host of challenges. But then, when I was 11, the day after Pesach, my brother and I were walking, and we heard three explosions in the sky. At the time, we didn’t understand what it was. It was 6:55 PM, and at 7:00 PM, we tuned into the radio to hear the news broadcaster reporting that three rockets had been fired towards Sderot.
As a kid, at that moment, there was a small spark of happiness at hearing Sderot mentioned on the news - not because I was happy about the rockets, but because for the first time, I felt like we were on the map. But in hindsight, of course, the only reason I wasn’t scared was because nothing bad had happened.
But as the years went on, the reality became more and more grave. Sderot is a mere 800 meters from the Gazan border, so when a rocket is fired, it reaches Sderot within 12 seconds. That’s the amount of time you have to find safety. At first, the rockets would fall without sirens - you could quite literally be walking in the street and watch a rocket fall. But then, horribly, people started getting hurt and even killed, so the sirens began. And soon after that, safe rooms started popping up, and eventually, over the years, the bus stops became bomb shelters and protected spaces. Then the ganim, the schools, and finally, today, there’s a safe room in every home. It almost feels like some sort of horrible evolution. Over the years, 20,000 rockets have fallen in Sderot. That’s 20,000 moments sensing your life is in danger; 20,000 times sprinting for the closest shelter and praying for safety! It consumes your life - a siren can go off at 2:00 AM or 2:00 PM, while you’re sleeping, showering, or eating. You never know.
This week, my daughter, who has been sleeping in the safe room for the past five months, asked me to return her to her room. I agreed since there had been a few nights of silence. That night at midnight, a siren went off and I had to grab her from her room. I have five kids, and only twelve seconds. Horrible thoughts run through your mind about who you think needs you most, who can make it on their own, or who you’ll have to hope wakes up.
I never wear a seat belt when I’m driving in Sderot, because the two seconds it takes me to unbuckle could be my life, or, G-d forbid, the lives of one of my children. You need to be ready at any second. In the shower, in the bathroom, in the store; when you’re awake or when you’re asleep. Unsurprisingly, this causes a lot of issues and trauma for children. My children are shocked when we travel outside of Israel to find that other children don’t have safe rooms in their houses. They don’t understand that most children are so lucky they don’t need to live under the constant threat of rockets.
Of course, the ever-present threat affects our shlichus as well. We spend a lot of time giving support to people who were hurt, lost loved ones, or simply need emotional support. An entire generation grew up in Sderot with this constant fear embedded deep in their psyche. It’s not something that will ever just go away.
I can’t even count the number of times we spend weeks preparing for something, laying out thousands of shekels
