The context
Ayelet Cohen and Shahar Schnurman are returning to their life in Kibbutz Kfar Aza three months following the traumatic events of October 7, determined to restore normalcy as they await the blossoming of marigolds in the Negev.
Why it Matters
The return of Ayelet and Shahar symbolizes resilience and steadfastness amidst the lingering shadow of war and the psychological and physical scars left behind by the October massacre. Botched street lighting, silent streets, and stark devastation underscore the kibbutz’s current state, now illuminated by the couple’s solitary homestead and undeterred spirit. The societal impact and political ramifications of citizens returning to a fractured war-zone encapsulates a profound narrative of home, identity, and ideology.
What They’re Saying
“In bad times you must be at home,” asserts the couple in regards to their unwavering presence in the kibbutz. While expressing awareness of their unique situation, they articulate an ideology centered around refusing to be displaced and adhering to their roots—ideals that prompt hard questions about state responsibilities and citizen resolve during conflict crises.
On the Ground
Kibbutz Kfar Aza is stationed in darkness at night, but Ayelet’s and Shahar’s home stands out, enveloped in welcoming light. October 7 residue looms over the semi-deserted streets, contrasting wavering exterior tranquility with resolute internal strength. Soldier patrols, storytelling police officers, and touring officials trace the outline of life struggling to wrest back its vitality amongst whispering echoes of devastation and heroic remembrance.
In Their Words
“We didn’t leave for 30 hours,” recalls the couple, referring to their lengthy shelter stay during the attacks, a stark admission that underscores both the acute fear and aftermath of feeling “forsaken,” as power outages deepened despair.
Looking Ahead
The scarcity of facilities underscores practical challenges draw stark lines against enduring optimism. Ayelet documents silver linings and captures the kibbutz’s serenity on her WhatsApp group ‘Good Morning Kfar Aza.’ Undocked determination mirrors nature’s indifference to conflict – “the marigolds don’t care that there is a war,” an adage balancing resilience with hope onto the baked canvas of the Negev soon to adorn itself in flower garments.
Bottom Line
While Cohen and Schnurman navigate their isolation amongst Kfar Aza’s compromised pragmatics, their commitment excavates potent examples of the human spirit – tested, bent, unbroken, poised to renew beneath the looming marigold sun.
This story was first published on ynetnews.com.