Israelis evacuated from the Lebanese border wonder whether they’ll ever return
KIRYAT SHMONA, ISRAEL
For four years, Sivan Shoshani Partush recruited families for Kibbutz Malkiya, a community of around 400 that she calls her “little slice of heaven.” It wasn’t a hard sell: spacious homes, beautiful nature, paths winding through manicured lawns, and a slower pace of life than in Israel’s frantic cities.
The border with Lebanon is just 650 feet away. Partush would pass it on her daily runs, a feature of the landscape just like the view of the snow-topped Hermon Mountain in the winter.
“There was fear, but I got over it, because that’s the choice I made, because someone was protecting me,” said Partush. “But now there’s a feeling that no one is protecting us.”
Among approximately 60,000 Israelis evacuated from northern Israel after months of cross-border fighting, Partush and her children are staying temporarily in another kibbutz, and she isn’t sure if she wants to return to Malkiya. Nearly 91,000 people from southern Lebanon have also been displaced.
Lebanon’s Hezbollah militant group began launching rockets toward Israel one day after Hamas-led militants stormed into southern Israel from the Gaza Strip on Oct. 7, killing some 1,200 people, mostly civilians, and taking around 250 back to Gaza as hostages. More than 31,000 people have been killed in Israel’s subsequent invasion of Gaza, according to Gaza’s Health Ministry. There has been near-daily violence along the Lebanon-Israel border, and international mediators are trying to prevent an all-out war between Hezbollah and Israel.
The fighting has killed eight civilians and 11 soldiers in Israel. More than 200 Hezbollah fighters and about 40 civilians have died in Lebanon.
Israeli Defense Minister Yoav Gallant has said that Israel’s military is concentrating on Gaza, but that Israel has a simple aim in Lebanon: to push Hezbollah away from the border, by diplomacy or by force.
That hasn’t happened. Israel said it has targeted 4,500 Hezbollah sites in the past five months. But Hezbollah’s well-stocked and deeply entrenched militants continue to launch rockets, and Israel said the militants have attempted to or have actually crossed the border half a dozen times.
Partush is grimly resigned to the reality that it may be a year before she can return home, if she ever goes back, and she struggles to explain what would make her feel safe in the post-Oct. 7 world. The reality of living next to
Lebanon has irrevocably changed, she said.
Some in her kibbutz are doubtful about returning, and it’s hurting their tightknit community, said Partush.
“We want to go home, but on the other hand, where will we go? It’s very scary,” she said.
Many Israelis who evacuated from the Gaza border after the Hamas attack have returned home in recent weeks. Those from the hardest-hit kibbutzim are moving to semi-permanent housing while their homes are rebuilt.
In Sderot, the largest city near Gaza, with some 30,000 residents, life is starting to return to normal. Schools reopened this month. City streets, deserted in the early days of the war, are bustling again. Stores and cafes are doing brisk business, even as the conflict continues just a few miles away.
Some 30,000 displaced Israelis are living in hotel rooms across the country as the war enters its sixth month, according to the Prime Minister’s Office. Others have moved to rented apartments or are staying with relatives.
From their cramped hotel rooms, evacuees from Israel’s north have been watching with mixed feelings the news reports showing Sderot’s residents return home; they are aware their own journey is far from over.
Israelis who have grown up under the shadow of rockets from Lebanon no longer find it tolerable.
“I don’t want my daughters to grow up like I did,” said Michal Nidam, a high school counselor from Kiryat Shmona, the largest city in Israel’s north, which has suffered rocket fire from Lebanon for decades. “I have had anxiety since I was little. I used to sleep with my fingers in my ears, under the bed, and many times I slept with shoes and clothes on.”
After the Hamas attack, Nidam and her children bounced between rented apartments for a few months and now live in a hotel in Tiberias. Her two teenage daughters have one room, while her two youngest daughters stay with her in another crammed with clothes, snacks and their small dog.
Some families are struggling with the transitory living arrangements. Bored teenagers are tempted by drugs, alcohol and other forms of rebellion, while their parents are overwhelmed with the challenges of evacuation, Nidam said. The city of Kiryat Shmona has employed her to serve as a trusted adult presence in the lobby in the evenings, talking with the teens and making sure their parents are kept in the loop about their comings and goings.
Another challenge: “Families have been broken up,” Nidam said.
Nidam’s mother is in Jerusalem, while her 85year-old father refuses to leave the city and — wearing army fatigues — volunteers for an emergency preparedness squad. Nidam’s husband and some of her brothers also remained to serve as emergency personnel. Other displaced siblings are spread across the country.