Shalom All,

Sderot is a small town in the western Negev, on the border of the Gaza strip. For those of you who don't remember the details of our map, it is inside Israel proper.

Usually we would hear about Sderot in the news when yet another talented young group of musicians is discovered - Sderot is notorious for its young talents - or when there is a debate about the situation in the Negev. Sderot is a small development town, with many Olim and a high rate of unemployment. But lately Sderot has been in the news for other reasons: it is constantly attacked by Kassam rockets, launched by the Palestinians from Gaza.

Last week, for the first time, a Kassam killed two people in Sderot: a 49 year old man and a 4-year-old child. The tragedy and the shock of people being killed by rockets falling inside Israel was at once a deja-vu feeling and a social wake-up call.

The Jewish agency has been highly active in Sderot for many years. During the past year, the Israel department has been operating 3 major projects in the small, desert, border town; projects that support excellence, commitment and partnership with other Jewish communities.

One of these projects, "The excellence incubator", had a festive celebration of the end of the year this week.For a whole year, more than twenty 16-year-old high school students developed multimedia and theatre skills.

The celebration included an exhibition of their work, a high-spirited ceremony and a play - written and performed by the students themselves. In view of the situation, it wasn't surprising that the play they wrote was called: "Letters to the neighbor from the farm nearby", i.e. - letters to Israel's prime minister, Ariel (Arik) Sharon, who happens to live on a farm right outside the town.

Coming to Sderot and watching these kids celebrate was eye opening. Only a little more than an hour drive from Tel-Aviv, these kids live in a very different reality. Sderot doesn't have much to offer them. Hardly any activities, no regular every-day movie theatre, a very high rate of unemployment (18%!!) and an ongoing threat of Terror that can fall from the sky any minute without any warning, Sderot is a sad city.

I took Bar with me to the celebration. On the way, he asked where we were going.

"We're going to Sderot. Remember, the place we heard about on the news?"

He remembered all right. "Why are we going there? Isn't it dangerous?"

I remembered that I had heard the mayor of Sderot that morning, talking on the radio: "Sderot," he said, "is the symbol of Israel's front line with Gaza. The situation is intolerable, but we must find ways to keep people from leaving - for if Sderot falls, all of Israel will fall with it".

He's right. We have always known that, through the toughest times, we have to hang in there, cling, survive.

Kiryat Shmona knows it. Manara knows it. Naharia knows it. and Sderot knows it.

But knowing it doesn't make it any easier. What do you tell a child who is afraid?

"Yes, it is dangerous," I answered simply. "But it's important we show the children living there that we care about them enough to come and celebrate with them, even though we are afraid. They are afraid, too, but they still live there. The least we can do is be with them."

Bar thought for a minute and then, in the typical simplicity of a 9-year-old, said only: "OK".

He had no idea that somewhere, deep down inside, I was silently wondering about the never-ending conflict of our lives - knowing, on one hand, that I am giving him the correct parental guidance while praying, on the other hand, that I won't regret it. I was eased by the sight of him running around the exhibition, laughing with the kids, enjoying himself.

The celebration was beautiful. "The excellence incubator", together with other projects that we are operating in Sderot, gave these kids something exciting to do, a way to express feelings, talent and camaraderie.

It wasn't easy listening to them. The monologues they wrote and acted out were very direct, sincere and piercing.

One of them was especially difficult - and, with their permission, I would like to share it with you:

" Shalom Arik. I would like to write you a simple letter, without sophisticated symbols or implicit messages. I would like to write you a letter so you can stop for a minute and feel. I don’t know you personally, and although we are neighbors chances are we will never meet. But I want to tell you that I am afraid, very afraid.

I am afraid to ride the bus in every single city in this country. I am afraid not to ride the bus and remain stuck within 4 walls.

I am afraid to stay home and have a KASSAM rocket fall on me. I am afraid to go to school and have a KASSAM rocket fall on me.

I am afraid to walk in the streets and have a KASSAM rocket fall on me. I am afraid of the KASSAM.

I am afraid of the fact that there is no work. I am very worried for all the people who can’t provide for their families even when they are trying very hard and I am afraid of those who aren’t even trying.

I am afraid, and I am afraid of the fact that I am afraid, because it is paralyzing me, because I have no hope.

I see no light at the end of the tunnel. I see no tunnel. They tell me it was fun here before I was born and that people woke up with Eucalyptus’s in their eyes. Today the Eucalyptus is causing allergies and I don’t understand.

Once coming to live in the Negev and establishing a place like Sderot was considered Zionism and the people who did it were called Zionists, now everyone is searching for new definitions of Zionism and I don’t understand why.

I love Sderot. I want to live here. But I need help so I won’t have to be afraid any more.

Thank you for listening

Meytal"

In spite of the difficult message, in spite of the pain, there was a lot of joy that evening. The kids eyes were shining. Their gaze found their friends and relatives watching proudly in the audience, and in a wonderfully unprofessional way they waved and smiled. The thanks that the Jewish agency received for impacting their lives, for always coming and supporting in whatever modest but highly important way we can, was priceless. It gave the saying "a penny can sometimes move worlds" a real, down-to-earth meaning. If ever I questioned where the global Jewish agenda in Israel should really be focused, what our shared responsibilities really are - I found the answer that night.

On the way home, Bar asked: "When can we come again?"

And with that, he said it all.

Shabbat Shalom,

Liat