The Letter, Agam Altit, Gamla School, Katzrin, first place in fourth grade

The annual story competition is just around the corner. I sat at the kitchen table in my house and thought of ideas for a story. Mom is in the kitchen baking challah for Shabbat, and I saw her packing some special pastries in fancy wrapping.

Dad walked out of his room with the big backpack and, on his way to the kitchen, he stopped by the big bookcase and took out some important-looking documents from the closet and put them in his pocket. I continued to try to write my story, but then I saw that my dad was also taking his uniform out of the closet. Dad is going to spend Shabbat in the army again. Now the only thing that I can think about is Dad.

There’s rain outside or, more precisely, a flood. “Dad you’re going away again?” I asked, worried. “Yes sweetheart, I promise the time will pass quickly,” Dad answered as he continued to organize the big backpack. I watch Dad, it seems that he is also sad, and the silence reveals his feelings.

Now Dad took his uniform shirt and arranged his ranks and affixed the pins. They look important although I have no idea what each one means. Dad explained it to me a few times but I don’t remember, definitely not now when I have to say goodbye to him, even if it’s just for a short time. “Shabbat is family time,” Dad always says. So why is he going? I ask myself in a last desperate effort to try to find a subject for a story.

Dad took a cookie from the bag of cookies and hugged Mom. On my page, I wrote “Shabbat Shalom Dad, I miss you already,” and then I folded up the page quickly before anyone could see it.

The phone rang. Dad looked at the clock and started to hurry, “I’ll be there in half an hour,” Dad said and he added a few other words that I didn’t understand. Sometimes Dad uses words that even Mom doesn’t understand. Dad tells Mom what he was talking about and now her sad face looks worried.

Dad hugged me and I wanted to say a few more things to him but I only managed an embarrassed half-smile. I also got a kiss on the forehead.

Dad stroked Waffle, the dog, who wagged his tail as though he didn’t understand that Dad was going away for a few days. Mom finished getting the bag of food ready. One last hug and the door closes. That’s when I decided, instead of a story I would write a letter, a letter from a daughter to a father. Because that’s what happens when the longing for him comes every week.

Sunday arrives and I’m at school. At recess, everyone is playing, throwing balls, singing songs, but in my heart, it’s just me and Dad. I took the crumpled page out of my pocket – you remember it, right? The one I folded up on Friday morning when Dad left. Holding back the tears, I started to write, because that’s the only way to make the time pass.

Dad

It’s been two days already and I miss you,

the dad who helps with homework, takes us on trips,

the dad who always understands me.

Last week when I cried Dad was the first to hug me.

Are you cold? Did you eat some of the cookies?

I didn’t manage to give you the note so I turned it into a letter.

Mom told me that you got hold of a heater and slept on a mattress.

You gave the bed to a friend.

I love you Dad, you are still missed.

Agam.

The bell rings. Kids run into class, laughing, happy; they don’t really understand what we are going through – the kids who are missing someone. Because when Dad isn’t here, every clap of thunder sounds more frightening, every flash of lightning blazes more brightly.

The teacher is saying some words that I don’t understand. It’s a terrible lesson.

Because from moment to moment it just gets worse – you know, the longing.

I wonder if anyone else here in the classroom feels like I do.

This story of mine is a bit different, do you see?

I wanted to write a story about princesses and what came out was a story about life.

The teacher suddenly stopped and asked me: “Agam what’s it about, the story you’re writing?” And I smiled a little and felt embarrassed because my story is different from any fairytale. I answered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the question,” and I smiled. Dad says a smile solves every problem.

Now it’s quiet in the classroom, like the quiet before a storm, a silence that will end only when Dad comes back. This story is a true story and it happened to me last Shabbat.

It’s dedicated to my father who, in the meantime, has come back – until the next time.

He also read my story and he even shed a tear.

Dedicated to my father, Warrant Officer Idan Altit, who I love the most, forever and always!

Dangerous Viewing, Osher Mengistu, Arlozorov School, Ashkelon, second place in fifth grade

It’s the morning of the Simchat Torah holiday and there’s no school. I planned to get up late like I always like to do when there’s no school, but at six-thirty in the morning I woke up in a panic to the sounds of sirens that didn’t stop. My parents and I looked at each other – my parents looked pretty calm and were sure it was a false alarm. The truth is, my mother is naturally a calm person most of the time. Her name is Yirus, and my teacher always tells me that I was blessed with a fabulous mother, and she is really right.

Mom is always caring and sensitive, and I love to be with her. She makes me laugh and she always takes care of all of us at home. She cooks the best food in the world and I love her so much. When the sirens sounded, my little sister, who’s four years old, was scared and started to cry. Mom went to her and together we all tried to calm her down.

When the sirens sounded over and over again my father turned on the television and even though it was very early, they were broadcasting news. The headline was “Hamas Surprise Attack.” The whole day we sat and watched the news. I remember that we were all silent and my mother’s face was sad. As the day went by, we understood the scope of the disaster, an unbelievable number of dead, kidnapped, a huge disaster. The days passed – they passed slowly, with disturbing thoughts. The whole time I was afraid that there would be another surprise attack like that on Israel. Three days after the start of the war, we left our house and moved to my grandmother’s because she has a safe room.

Grandma came to Israel from Ethiopia with Operation Moses. She doesn’t speak any Hebrew at all and it’s hard for me to communicate with her because I don’t understand the language. She tries a little to speak a few words in Hebrew but I don’t always manage to understand her. But she still knows how to give me a lot of love and that’s what is important. Grandma’s house is spacious and it has room for my whole family. I slept in the safe room with my brother.

This summer my big brother Solomon will celebrate his bar mitzva. We have a good relationship. During the fighting, it seemed as though he wasn’t afraid of anything, until he changed. Solomon really likes to be on his phone – he watches TikTok and other apps. One evening my brother Solomon was in our room while the rest of us were together in the living room watching TV. I turned towards our room to call him to come and sit with us. I went into the room quietly and when he saw me, he was frightened and switched off his phone. I asked him, “What are you doing in here? Why don’t you come to sit with us in the living room?” Solomon got up and left the room and I was suspicious. I remembered his reaction when I walked into the room and I decided that when Solomon left his phone somewhere I would check what he was watching and that’s what happened.

I waited patiently for the evening and for him to have a shower. At nine o’clock I heard Mom call him, “Solomon, you’re the only one who hasn’t showered. Get in there before the sirens start again.” I heard Mom and I waited until it was time to act. Solomon disappeared into the bathroom and I hurried to our room, walked in, and immediately took his phone, opened it, and checked the last apps he used. I saw Telegram and I remembered that on the news they talked about how kids were using that app and looking at difficult pictures from during the war. I clicked on them fearfully and I saw videos that were very hard to watch. I saw a terrible image of terrorists dancing on the dead bodies of Israelis and I was shocked! I switched off the phone right away and went to Mom. I didn’t say a word, I just held out Solomon’s phone and showed her what he was watching. Mom was very angry – I had never seen her so angry. She’s usually calm and she doesn’t get irritated with us. She waited patiently in the room for Solomon and when he came in, she said to him, “I saw on your phone what you’re watching. I am very angry. You know that I don’t allow you to watch such terrible videos. They can cause you trauma and anxiety. I am asking you right now to delete the app and not to download it again!”

In response to Mom, Solomon said, “Mom, it doesn’t frighten me, I don’t understand what you’re talking about, what kind of trauma could I have?” Solomon argued with her but it didn’t make any difference. When Mom makes up her mind, you can’t argue with her, and over the years, I have understood that Mom is always right, and she was right this time too. As the days passed it seemed as though Solomon was changing. He started to close himself in the room, to spend more time alone, and he didn’t talk about what he was going through.

Mom wouldn’t leave him alone. She kept trying to talk to him all the time and she didn’t give up until he admitted, “I’m having a hard time, I need help. I’m always thinking about those terrible videos that I watched and they keep haunting me.” Mom hugged him hard. She encouraged him with lots of heart-to-heart talks. I told you that my mother is sensitive and she really is. She helped my brother so much and as the days passed, he started to act like his old self. I learned from what happened to my brother that it’s not worth it to watch videos online that are not meant for kids and that it’s important to listen to advice from adults, especially your mom, because, I’m telling you, there’s nobody in the world like a mom.

Story of A Hero, Ido Roth, Gamla School, Katzrin, third place in fifth grade

My name is Ido and I live in Katzrin, way out in the Golan Heights. Do you know it?!

I want to tell you about my relationship with my cousin, Omri.

Omri and I were really close. Sometimes it even went beyond a family connection. We were good friends who played a lot of games together on the soccer field.

Omri was a lot older than me. I’m in fifth grade and Omri already finished his army service.

I remember our talks, the funny stories that made me laugh so much, the smile that stretched across his face. When I remember the stories, I still smile and imagine Omri laughing.

Everything started to change on October 7th. Omri got a phone call, and at the other end of the line was the commander of his unit saying, “Omri, a war has broken out, go quickly to the meeting place to be picked up!”

When he got the message, he wanted so badly to get there on time, but there was a problem! You’re probably wondering what the problem was.

Omri was staying in the center of the country with his girlfriend and he was far away from his parents’ house in Katzrin. Before he could mobilize, he had to get his uniform from his house. Do you know how far it is from the center of the country to Katzrin? It takes a long time to get there!

He wanted so badly to get to the meeting place on time and he didn’t know what to do. Should he travel to Katzrin to get his uniform or should he get to his battalion as quickly as possible?

Omri went immediately to the meeting place and his father brought him his uniform and equipment. To comfort him, his mother sent him a box of cookies she had in the pantry.

Omri posted a message on the family group: “Dear family, this is the start of a war.”

I asked my mother, “Where’s Omri?” and Mom replied, “Omri and his tank unit were called to join the war in the northern Gaza Strip, to fight alongside Battalion 13 of the Golani Brigade.”

And Mom added, “He’s a hero and he’s not afraid, he is determined to win the fight.”

A month after he was called up for reserve duty Omri hurt his foot but, luckily for him, it was a relatively minor injury. You know what, I didn’t even know about it!

Even after he was injured, he decided to go back to continue his reserve duty.

I had so many questions and things I didn’t know about Omri. What did he do in his army service? Was he in the armored corps, a paratrooper, or maybe in Golani?

As the days passed, news came in about the war that cast a shadow over our peaceful lives. I felt an uncomfortable feeling growing inside me, a feeling that I couldn’t shake off. In an attempt to cope with my feelings, I turned to writing and I started a journal to keep a record of my thoughts and emotions during these turbulent times and to ask Omri questions.

How was he doing? Was he frightened because of the war? I didn’t know anything about what was happening to him and I missed him so much.

And this is what I wrote in my journal:

“Days have passed since we last talked or met and the silence is deafening. I watch the news and worry, hoping for any word about how you are. I miss our talks and our joking. Where are you, cousin? Are you okay? Please come back to us soon, I miss you.”

I knew that he was fine, but it was important to me to write in my journal every day!

“I find myself staring out at the empty soccer field where we used to play. The days feel longer without you, and my heart aches with worry. Stay strong and determined to win. I want to let you know that we are all waiting for your safe return.”

Today is the first night of Hannukah, a holiday that is supposed to be all about light and joy, but as we gathered around the Hannukiah to celebrate the first evening, the terrible news arrived – Omri had fallen in battle.

Instead of flickering flames that would provide warmth and hope, we were confronted by the chilling news of your death. How can darkness overshadow a time that is meant for joy? How will we be able to find light in the middle of such despair? Even the flames of the candles cast shadows that reflected the heaviness in our hearts. The festive spirit was replaced by silence. While we are still dealing with the harsh reality of loss and with the thought that I won’t see you anymore, I write many questions in my journal.

The question that interested me the most was how did he die.

That evening, I found the courage to share my journal with my mother, to reveal my thoughts, my emotions, and the longing that filled the pages. I wanted her to answer all my questions or at least some of the questions that I wanted to ask Omri.

My mother told me that Omri was killed by an anti-tank missile, that he was the commander of the tank.

He didn’t have time to react before he was killed.

I turned to Mom and I said, “He was always loyal and connected to everyone. He loved soccer and basketball, loved music, loved to run and he was kindhearted, and that’s how I want to remember him!”

My mother hugged me and tears filled her eyes.

The funeral was very dignified, a military funeral. Hundreds of people came from all over the country.

I wrote a eulogy for him. My voice was steady when I read the eulogy that I wrote for him. “Omri, my dear cousin, you were always the hero of the family. When I play basketball, there’s the hand that throws and the hand that supports and you were my supporting hand. You always said that Uriel and Roi (my cousins) and I are the next generation of the family. Always, but really always, remember that I love you forever.”

Omri, may his memory be blessed, was a hero – son of Shlomi and Shirli and brother of Gal and Ma’ayan.

I conclude my journal with the sentence: “This is the story of my dear cousin the hero, Omri Roth.”

Double Miracle, Neta-Li Galili, Ofek School, Bnei Ayish, third place in fifth grade

Hi, my name is Neta-Li and I’m eleven years old and I live in Bnei Ayish. Until two years ago I lived on Kibbutz Kfar Azza and I have amazing memories from there. We moved to Bnei Ayish and I built myself a life that is just as good, but I always missed Kfar Azza and remembered my friends and my life on the kibbutz.

Fate brought me to my beloved kibbutz on Saturday, October 7th. A war broke out in the State of Israel. And that’s when my mother’s private war broke out.

On the Friday before, we ate a completely ordinary family supper at Grandma and Grandpa’s, and Mom told us excitedly that she was going to a party. I wasn’t too worried because my mom loves to dance and have fun with her friends. Simchat Torah is a happy holiday and I was happy for her.

I went to sleep over at my Aunt Anna’s house. Her daughter Lia and I had fun together the whole evening. We laughed, we played, we danced until we fell asleep together in bed, exhausted. Little Lia likes to sleep with me. When she wakes up at night, she always checks that I’m still next to her and when she sees me, she relaxes and goes back to sleep. That’s how things were that night too: ordinary, calm, and happy. Nothing prepared us for the difficult morning that was coming.

At about six in the morning, we all woke up to the sound of long, loud sirens. In a panic, I grabbed Lia by the hand and ran with her to the safe room. We were all terrified, Lia cried a lot, and Anna and her husband, with their little baby, were also frightened. I was also scared, but when I saw that Lia was more scared, I wanted to make her feel safe and calm so I talked to her, “Lia, my sweetie, it’s okay, I’m here with you and I’m not going anywhere. Right, when you wake up at night and you see me next to you, you relax? So, it’s exactly the same: look at me, breathe in, I’m with you.” I saw that it was working so I immediately called my mother.

Mom answered fast. Now, when I think about it, it was quite strange. My mother usually doesn’t hear the phone when she’s in a noisy place with music, and it takes her some time to answer. She answered after one ring. I told her quickly, “Mom, we have loads of sirens! What about you? Are there sirens where you are, too?”

“No, sweetheart, it’s quiet here. I’m up north, everything’s quiet here, you have nothing to worry about. How are you? How are you doing?” Mom asked me.

“I’m here with Lia and I’m helping to calm her down,” I spoke very confidently so that Mom wouldn’t feel how terrified I was myself.

I could hear in Mom’s voice how proud she was of me, that I was mature and responsible and managing to deal with my anxieties and even helping to calm down the people around me.

I asked Mom, “Can I call you again?” Mom answered, “Of course, call whenever you want to, my love.”

What I didn’t know was that the moment I hung up, Mom was beginning her escape from the Nova festival. Mom, who knows the area around Gaza very well, got all her friends moving and begged them to get into their cars and drive home because it wasn’t an ordinary missile attack. Mom screamed at them, “Hurry to your cars, we have to get out of here, we’re exposed here!” Mom and her friend Meir got into the car quickly even though it was hard for Meir to walk fast because he has an old foot injury.

Mom asked Meir, who was driving, to turn up the music on the radio because the booms were so loud. A few times Meir suggested to Mom that they stop at one of the shelters by the side of the road but my mom just wanted him to keep driving and in the end that’s what saved her life and his…

Meanwhile, in Gadera, we turned on the TV to find out what was going on. What I saw frightened me terribly.

I saw the face of my good friend Ofri Brodutch as she was being kidnapped from her house with her family and taken to Gaza. My good friend – kidnapped in Gaza with her two little brothers and her mother???

My friends becoming a symbol of war? What kind of world is this? I asked myself over and over again. Why did this happen to her? My Ofri is kind and gentle, an amazing friend, and funny. Why would they possibly take her? All these questions spun in my head nonstop.

It’s hard for me to explain in words what I felt at that moment. Imagine that your good friend has been kidnapped by terrorists and taken to a horrible place in the middle of a war! I was so worried about her and I wanted to tell my mom the terrible news but Mom wasn’t answering me.

It was only after three days of worry and anxiety that I went to meet Mom. The moment I saw her I ran to her and hugged her hard and at night we slept together. We found out that my mother’s good friends hadn’t been as lucky as my mom was.

When she found out, my mother cried so much that I felt that she had lost her last bit of hope. I cried with her and I told her, “Mom, don’t worry, Itzik is watching over you from above and you will keep on dancing for him.”

In the meantime, my friend Ofri came back in a hostage deal.

I take care of my mom a lot, who still isn’t herself and is still processing the miracle that happened to her. It’s the second miracle to happen to Mom and me. The first was when we left Kfar Azza and didn’t experience the terrible things that happened there on October 7th.

We pray every day for our friends who are still hostages in Gaza and for peace for us and all of Israel.