My House Survived A War

The last week of August, 2006 marked the sixth year of my journey as a teacher at a nearby kibbutz school, which was situated in one of the most beautiful areas of Israeli countryside and was only one kilometer bike ride away from my kibbutz home.

This year, I packed my teacher’s bag with dread and uncertainty, as opposed to the feeling of previous years, where the thought of starting school again brought me closer to my Israeli teaching colleagues.

This year, everything was different because I had just returned from spending 34 days as a refugee living in other peoples’ homes. The second Israeli-Lebanese war had just ended and we all weren’t looking forward to the opening of the school year.

As a large group of English teachers, we discussed ways to handle the situation. How would we confront our students? Would we let them talk about the war? It was probably inevitable: teachers couldn’t help but tell their stories reflecting human strength and endurance in times of war.

School psychologists discussed how to cope with the tragedy of two of my former students who were killed in the war in terms of the psychological aftermath. Nobody had answers. Many teachers broke down. But human strength prevailed and we found the courage to enter the classroom on September 3, 2006.

As a group of English teachers, we agreed we would discuss the war, its facts, circumstances, and personal anecdotes, but only if the students initiated the discussion. We longed for a routine - a sense of normalcy, a return from the living dead and, for many, from hell.

The entire country was in shambles, millions in mourning and suffering from shock.