12/03/2025
October 7 and its aftermath, including the war with Hezbollah, have permanently changed the guiding narrative and way we tell the story of this land. Unlike previous conflicts, this one will be remembered not just for fallen soldiers but for the immense civilian losses- men, woman and children, the ongoing hostage crisis, and the hundred thousand plus families displaced (some still) from their homes in the north and south of Israel.
Last week, I was in the Gaza Envelope. Yesterday, with the same tourists, we explored the Upper Galilee and Golan Heights. It was a stunning day—blue skies, rivers flowing, wildflowers in full bloom, birds everywhere, and the snow-capped Hermon in the distance. A perfect time to visit.
The plan was my usual pre-October 7 route: Rosh Pina, Kiryat Shmona, Metulla, Banias waterfall, Majdal Shams for lunch, then Har Bental and Ein Zivan for a quick wine tasting before heading back. A classic day of touring.
But it wasn’t the same.
Kiryat Shmona felt eerily empty. Metulla, usually a picturesque and quaint village, was filled with sadness and disrepair. By chance we met Chana outside her home—she eagerly invited us in and shared her story. Her house and farmland were badly damaged, and she still hasn’t moved back. Instead, she sleeps in her car, staying close to the only home she’s ever known. “Where would I go?” she asked. “This is my life’s project and investment.” Much of the village is scarred by the war. Looking north, across the border on the Lebanese side where ‘beautiful’ homes once stood literally on the fence/wall, now there’s only rubble. Something positive at least. Maybe, this means less of an imminent threat from Hezbollah.
After a delicious Druze lunch in Majdal Shams, we visited the soccer field hit by a missile on July 27, 2024—12 children killed, many more injured. The kids are back playing, the game goes on, but the wreckage remains. Twisted metal from the fence surrounding the field, burnt bicycles—silent reminders of that terrible and horrific day. A mother showed us where her son had been standing when the missile struck and where he landed after the blast. “He survived…. one of the lucky ones,” she said.
After that, none of us felt like wine anymore. We tried to go to Mt. Bental, which was closed by the IDF, but we found another vantage over Syria. As I gave the briefing, jets roared overhead.
On the surface, it may seem like things are “same same.” But they’re not. A new layer, a new lens, a new nuance, has been added to the story of this place.
Last post, I ended with Am Yisrael Chai. This time, with the words of Chana from Metulla still resonating, I’ll leave you with some lines of the song written by Ehud Manor’s: Ein Li Eretz Acheret, meaning I have no other land/home.
See you in the Land.