A traumatized community from the Gaza border finds refuge at a Tel Aviv hotel

It looked like the greatest of summer camps. Piles of toys and games, balloons that resembled swords and crowns, paints and crayons, and a makeup and hair “salon” where youngsters Ella Meskel and Eva Volovik were getting full makeovers. Two cuddly golden retrievers wandered around to be stroked.

Just minutes before, dozens of children had whooped in delight to meet two actors from the popular supermarket TV sitcom “Kupa Rashit” (Cash Register), Noa Koller (who plays Shira, the supermarket manager) and Amir Shurush (Ramzi abd-Ramzi, the devoted worker).

But this was no ordinary party.

Forty-eight hours earlier, the children had been locked into bombproof rooms in their homes in Kibbutz Nir Am close to the Gaza border – stuck for hours without air conditioning, television, or phones, listening to a pitched battle taking place outside their front doors as kibbutz members fought off terrorists trying to infiltrate.

Roughly 100 children are among the more than 300 Israelis, mainly from Nir Am, who have arrived at the 326-room beachside Herod’s Hotel in Tel Aviv since Sunday. On Monday, they continued to come, exhaustion etched into their faces, some in tears.

None of them know how long they’ll be there, or when they’ll next see their homes.

Hotel manager Racheli Amsalem was manning two phones while answering questions from guests and new arrivals. “If you’ve got dogs, you should go to the Nix Hotel,” she told one man. “Parking costs? I’ll check that for you right away,” she told another.

“The phone doesn’t stop ringing,” she told The Times of Israel. “People wanting to volunteer, big names from the music industry. Everyone wants to come as quickly as possible to help.”

The hotel, she explained, was charging “nominal” rates and the government was footing the bill.

News traveled fast that evacuees from Gaza had arrived Sunday.

One large room was filled to the brim with donations of clothing, shoes, and games — so many toys and games that parents asked hotel staff not to put all of them on display as the children were being overwhelmed. Cakes seemed to cover every flat surface.

A side room was operating as a situation room for psychologists and social workers from the kibbutz, the Social Welfare Ministry, and the Tel Aviv-Jaffa Municipality. Education Ministry officials had called in earlier. A family doctor, pediatrician, and nurse were on call.

“We have three goals,” said Tami Beladev, a social worker from the Welfare Ministry. “Trying to help with trauma and anxiety and giving people tools to cope; meeting concrete needs for clothes, games, and food — we’ve already made a list of the kids who have birthdays in October so that we can celebrate them here; and advising people about their rights vis-à-vis government ministries.”

Parents in the hotel were so physically and emotionally drained that they weren’t yet ready for psychological counseling, she said. “They say, We were shut inside for so many hours that we just need to stretch, let the kids let off steam.”

But as time went by, problems started to surface, Beladev went on. “This morning there was an air raid siren that really shook them. People cried, some broke down,” she said. “There’s one young man who got the news that one of his charges in his youth group was murdered, and a pupil in his class. We’re trying to help him.”

“As the scope of the disaster becomes clearer, the distress comes out,” she said.

Beladev said it was clear the families would not be going home for a long time. “As soon as the schools reopen [they are currently closed because of the war], the Education Ministry and the children’s teachers will come here to provide solutions for the different age groups.”

Orna Schwartz, responsible for the kibbutz’s emergency services, sat at a table in the middle of the lobby putting names into the computer, answering the phone, and greeting newcomers. She hadn’t changed clothes since leaving the kibbutz. Nir Am had 550 permanent residents and 100 students when the war broke out, she said. On Sunday, around 190 people had arrived at the hotel, many by car, and another 110 had gone to the Leonardo Hotel in Ramat Hahayal, a Tel Aviv suburb.

“It was terrible getting out of the kibbutz,” she said. “Unfortunately we’re used to this [shelling from Gaza]. Some people just got up and left as soon as they heard the first air sirens at 6:30 a.m. on Saturday. At 2 a.m. on Sunday morning, I got a call to take everyone else out to waiting buses. I told people to take a change of clothes, a toothbrush and their medications. We would get people onto the buses and then take them off again because missiles were raining down. We had new immigrants from Ukraine and Russia, and workers from Thailand. The army took some bedridden elderly to Netivot [a small city nearby], and we picked them up from there.”

Saar Paz is a third-generation resident of Nir Am whose grandparents helped build the kibbutz.

“Everything started with an unusually heavy rocket attack. In what turned out to be a life-saving move, the kibbutz armory was immediately opened and the men trained to defend the community were called,” Paz said.

“We took guns and ran to the perimeter fence to guard and patrol it,” he said.

Another member of the team, who asked to be called by the Hebrew letter “Aleph,” continued with the story.

“The last line of defense was what we call the orchard gate. There we stood, armed, some of us in sandals, some in sports shoes. Beyond the hatchery, we saw commercial vehicles out of which armed terrorists were pouring. They were firing at the hatchery. During the firefight, some of the terrorists headed for the kibbutz. We ran at them and shot them down. We couldn’t let them get near the fence.”

“After 90 minutes of fighting by the hatchery, we understood that their ability to get to the kibbutz gate was closer than ever. One of us took hold of the communications equipment and just repeated over and over, ‘Nobody gets into Nir Am!’ At that point, one of the team called the police, who sent border guards to help, enabling the kibbutz fighters to go back to their families.”

Yoni Meskel, a father of three, whose daughter Ella’s hair was being plaited by a volunteer as we spoke, left the kibbutz by car on Saturday night, bound first for his sister in Gan Yavne, in south-central Israel, en route to Tel Aviv.

“We were in the safe room at home for around 16 hours with the kids, without any electricity. No air conditioning, telephone, or internet. The gunfight was just opposite our house. You could only try to distract the kids with games,” Meskel said.

“Ella was so scared, she wouldn’t go out [of the safe room] to pee from 6:30 a.m. to 2 p.m.,” he continued.

“When we left, I told everyone to sit in the back [of the car] and told my wife to hold everyone’s head down, including hers, until I said it was OK to look up,” he said. “There were dead bodies on the road, and burned cars all over the place.”

Four years ago, Meskel moved with his family to Nir Am from the city of Sderot — also hit hard by rockets and terrorists over the past few days.

As we spoke, his wife was having a massage — on the hotel.

How was he feeling now? “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m strong for my wife and kids. I haven’t had time to think about myself.”

“This time was completely different,” he added. “Today, a few Kassam rockets seem like a joke compared to what’s happening.”

“I know everybody here. I knew them before and I know them now. And they are completely changed,” he said. “Israel will never be the same. Neither will we. That’s for sure.”