(Live here with the war evacuees) - A year has passed since the outbreak of the war, a year since the seventh of October, the day when the lives of all the citizens of Israel turned upside down unexpectedly and in many ways. Among the Israelis who feel this change in a special way, simply because they have been experiencing it for a year now, are the evacuees who left their home at the beginning of the war and have not returned to it to this day.
Hani Hatan, 62 years old, mother of four and grandmother of four, was forced to leave their home in Moshav Shtula, located only 100 meters from the Lebanese border, along with all the family members. The day the war broke out, the IDF arrived in the north, and the place where they had a house became a military base.
Hani and her family left the house without taking anything with them. It was clear to them that it was a matter of a few days until they could return. For a moment they did not imagine what turned out later.
"We arrived at the 'Kedem' hotel in the Carmel Castle," says Hani. "It was very difficult, but they welcomed us with love and warmth, just like family. At first we were together with the evacuees who became a family for us. I am in good contact with them to this day."
Two of Hani's sons were drafted into the reserves, her daughter remained in Kibbutz Gaaton, and the third son headed to Tiberias. Hani says that the difficulty of being far away and scattered was enormous. The feeling of uncertainty accompanied them every day, when on the one hand the whole family kept in contact by phone, and on the other hand the feelings of fear and concern for the safety of the children were there all the time. We were scattered, and every two weeks we could be together was like air to breathe."
Trying to create a routine
After several months of upheaval and instability, the children managed to find a housing unit closer to their parents - a sort of refuge for the soul in Zion captivity. "It was already clear that this was not a short period and the children wanted us to be close to them."
So Hani and her husband moved to a place near the sea, trying to create some sort of new routine. "At least here I see the children and grandchildren, that's what keeps us going."
Life in Shatula, the beloved home, became a distant memory. "We haven't been back to visit the house since we left," says Hani sadly. "Our house was opened to the soldiers, and my son, who was in the emergency room, was also forced to leave the seat due to the difficult situation. Missiles were fired, the house was damaged, the doors and windows were shattered when a Burkan missile exploded in our neighbor's coop. But the property does not interest me, the main thing is that the son Mine got out of there."
With all the loss, Hani finds a bright spot thanks to the people she met during this complex year. Her friend Nega, whom she knew in Haifa, helped her raise her head. "I was in a serious slump, but Nega came with strength and energy. She saved me. Every morning I say thank you for knowing her."
Hear the birds without fear
Still, alongside the gratitude for the new friends and the "oxygen" given to her by the family that surrounds her, Hani admits that the feeling of joy does not return to her. "There is no desire for anything, everything has stopped. Even the holidays are not what they used to be. But the children and grandchildren keep us going, they are the reason to get up in the morning."
Hani's smile fills when she talks about them, but the eyes tell the story of a woman who has passed a year that will not be forgotten.
"I miss my garden when it's planted," she says. "There we didn't hear the noises of cars and trains, only the chirping of birds and the howling of jackals at night. I'm waiting for the day when we can hear the birds again without fear."
To conclude, Hani shares another pain - her son, who owned a coffee cart and tabon in Shatula, lost his business following the war. "The business was known all over the country, the Israelis loved it," she says sadly.
In a quiet voice, almost to herself, Hani suddenly says: "Everything has stopped for us this year. There is no desire to do anything, there is no desire even to celebrate." Rosh Hashanah is spent with the family and children, but inside there is no joy in life. The children and grandchildren are the ones who hold us, she repeats. "When I get up in the morning, I tell myself: the children are fine, the grandchildren are fine, that's the most important thing."
"This is a difficult year," she says, "a year of sadness and loss. All I wish for is that we be healthy, that we return to peace and that we can get up in the morning again with a smile on our faces."
A woman who is an inspiration👑