"Sasson's Corner" is a long-standing establishment in the heart of the old commercial center of Sderot. For decades, Sasson Sara managed his kiosk there, which he later expanded into a small café, but it was much more than just a place to drink coffee: it was the emotional center of Sderot. The local barometer. The place where parliaments met and fates were determined.
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Every politician or journalist who visited Sderot and wanted to know what was going on, went to Sasson. There he heard the truth, with no filters. Since then, many rockets have fallen on the city and Sderot has changed: shopping centers have sprung up, taking the place of the old center, and the crowds are flocking to them. The area where the kiosk stands is gone; it is no longer bustling during the day, but rather crowded at night. Bars have opened up around it, attracting many young people from the city and its environs.
Sasson is also gone. He passed away three years ago and thanks to his friends' persistence, the city named the alley where the kiosk is located, near the old municipality building, after him. But even though Sasson is gone, the kiosk that bears his name stands in exactly in the same location. This week, on a particularly hot morning, we found two people who are still loyal to him. Yaakov Timsit, who has lived in Sderot for 56 years ("When I was 9 years old, Sasson allowed me to sell sabra fruit near his store"), and Mordechai Barsheshet, 40 years in the city. They say they have no intention of going anywhere else. For them, even without Sasson, Sasson is home. And no one leaves home.
We asked them what they thought about the recent military operation in Gaza. "Excellent operation," Timsit replied, "We showed them."
"And what do you think of the politicians who led it?" we wondered. "Yair Lapid is a super power. He has guts," Timsit said.
"Will you vote for him?" we continued to question him. "Totally not. I only vote Bibi. But you should still write: he won't make it. Gantz and Sa'ar will succeed."
Barsheshet adds: "Why do you say that? This operation wasn't like the real thing. There's no one like Bibi. If he really has balls, he'll win." Timsit interrupts him: "Do you know who Gantz is? Do you know what kind of a man Gantz is? He was an excellent chief of staff, eloquent."
This conversation summed up the general feeling that characterized our visit to the communities surrounding the Gaza Strip. A week after Operation Breaking Dawn, those who stand, as always, on the front line against Gaza unanimously agree that it was an achievement, but it hasn't changed anything for them. Those who voted Likud or the right-wing parties in the previous elections, will continue to do so now; and those who voted for the Center and Left – mainly the Center, because even in the left-wing kibbutzim the stature of the Left is steadily eroding – will do so this coming November, as well.
Netiv Haasara: Flowers and a gun barrel
Yariv Volk lives on Moshav Netiv Haasara. This is the closest community to the Gaza Strip, where only a wall separates the chrysanthemum greenhouses of the Regolski farm, which he manages, and the Palestinian areas in the northern Gaza Strip. Until the last operation, there was a Hamas outpost there that greatly worried the residents of Netiv Haasara. Even though the IDF destroyed it, it will probably be rebuilt, in a case that is less a matter of military intelligence and more of a psychological war.
Volk has been living here for many years. His entire extended family lives here and he is raising his two daughters on the moshav. The elder daughter is now starting a year of national service, like many local youngsters. Volunteering "is in the blood" of residents in these communities and the IDF recruitment percentages are sky-high. The cliché of "protecting one's home" is true here on a daily basis, and most certainly during days of combat. Volk feels that this is relevant not only to the IDF, but also (and perhaps mainly) to the residents.
"Before the operation, we felt the bad vibes here, as if others had to take pity on us," he says. "It's really not accurate. There are strong people here, who do not think even for a moment of leaving. The army is doing what it needs to do, and we are doing what we need to do. Our responsibility is to live and work here, and while we are living here, those in Tel Aviv are also living in peace."
Obviously he spent the tense days before the operation on the moshav. The greenhouses continued to function, and it was necessary to water and harvest the produce. They worked in the areas of the southern greenhouses near the fence only at night, accompanied by the army or the community's emergency squad. "We had to bring food to the workers and send out flowers. We had no choice."
He praises the government and the army's conduct during the operation, but says that there are quite a few civilian loopholes that require attention. "There are farmers here who are still dealing with property tax on debts from Operation Cast Lead in 2009. We still have open cases from Operation Protective Edge in 2014. This is unreasonable. People are losing strength in the war against endless bureaucracy."
We asked him to explain what the dispute was about. "On one hand, the area was closed to the farmers on the orders of an IDF general, like in the last operation. This obviously affects our ability to make a living, to harvest, to market. Then the year ends and they ask us for financial reports from the previous year and they have no intention of compensating us for all the acres of tomatoes or flowers that wilted during the days when we couldn't work."
Many of the residents, he says, decided to leave during the operation. The euphemism in the local area is called "to re-energize oneself." Unlike previous operations, the regional councils did not wait for the state to organize residents' evacuation. Each local council took initiative and made arrangements with "host communitites." As soon as the tensions rose, the evacuation began – mainly children and adults who had no reason to remain in the line of fire, both to avoid physical injuries and protect them from the mental challenges involved in endless running, night and day, to safe zones. "There are people here who live with a packed bag by the door. As soon as they feel tension, they leave," Volk says.
He believes that the success of the operation will not change anything politically. "This is a good government, but everything will remain just as it is. Gantz has strong support here, especially in the kibbutzim. The fact that he has [former Agriculture Minister] Alon Schuster in his party also helps him, because Alon lives in the area. I think that [former IDF chief Gadi] Eisenkot can help him, maybe with a mandate or two, but no more than that. Likud? I don't know anyone in the kibbutzim here who would vote for Netanyahu. He has never visited us. We are probably less important to him."
He would like to see a government that will take care of the residents and the agriculture in Gaza periphery communities. "The latest reform did enormous damage," he says. "People are finding it difficult to live with it. Agriculture is a tough business." He solved the problem of the chronic shortage of workers in an original way, and also found a social solution: the farm he manages started to employ Bedouin women from the South, as part of the project run by the Yanabia Association for the Advancement of Women in the Bedouin Sector, to allow women to earn a living and advance themselves, freeing themselves from male domination. "We do it out of ideology," he concludes.
Sderot: Close to their heart; but too expensive
We meet Sderot Mayor Alon Davidi at his office. He is a seasoned and charming politician, who was almost tempted to jump into national politics and only at the last moment escaped from third place on Naftali Bennett's Yamina list and stayed in Sderot. "Mayors have much more power than Knesset members and also than most ministers," he says. "I like it here. I have influence. I can make a change."
He does not regret the way that he demonstratively walked out on a meeting of the heads of Gaza periphery communities with the Chief of Staff on the eve of the operation. "I'm here to push matters. When I bang on the table, it has an impact. I didn't see them closing Tel Aviv or Jerusalem when there were warnings of terrorist attacks, so they won't close us either without just cause. You want to close the city? No problem. Explain why. You can't just close everything and that's it."
We told him there was something unprofessional about his behavior. Nevertheless, he is a mayor in an emergency situation. "Let them say I'm not behaving in an official manner. I don't care. My job is to speak on behalf of the residents. Do you know what it's like to deal with 150 rockets in two days? In the last operation people here ran to safe zones 48 times. It's hard to describe how it wears you down. We want to know that people care about us. It is also obvious to us that there will not be permanent quiet here, but give us the feeling that you are fighting for us."
He actually compliments the government, even though it's not exactly what he would have chosen. "I don't remember a government that made decisions about us so quickly. Yair Lapid came here and immediately issued operational instructions. Some of the funds have already been transferred. They promised us that the government's decision would be completed by the 18th of the month. This has never happened before."
Sderot is a distinctly right-wing city: in the last election, the Likud won 41% of the local votes. Bennet and the Right won 13.5% of the votes, Shas 11% and the Religious Zionist Party 10.5%. We asked Davidi if the Lapid government's conduct and the massive aid to the city and the region would have any effect on the voting ratios. He smiled and said "No. People are very fixed in their beliefs. The majority of the population voted Right in the past and they'll vote Right in the future, too. It's true that they're satisfied with the government, but it won't change anything."
He believes that the government's experiment – a coalition with the Arab parties – was carried out too early. "Bennett made a very severe mistake. It was a wrong move. We need to take care of the civil and economic aspects of the Arab and Bedouin sectors, as well as dealing with crime and personal security there, but we shouldn't have set up this government." We told him that Netanyahu also "flirted" with Ra'am leader Mansour Abbas and would have reached the exact same government, but Davidi – an experienced politician – answered as expected: "Leave me out of this. I'm dealing with Sderot."
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To his credit, the city has prospered during his time as mayor, growing at a dizzying pace. Every month, more cranes rise above the city and more neighborhoods are being built. Today Sderot boasts 32,000 residents. By the end of the decade, its population is expected to number 50,000-60,000. Many of the new arrivals are traditional, looking for a community: good education, culture, and also solidarity. "They used to live here because they were poor, and they whined about it. I'm against that attitude. The state should help, but the city is the address for everything. Who knows the residents better than me? I know what their needs are, where the problems are. The government needs to give us more authority. This was proven during the COVID-19 pandemic and also during times of emergency."
We asked him how much an average apartment in the city costs. Here too, he said, prices have jumped drastically in recent years. A plot that sold for 350,000 shekels ($107,500) five or six years ago costs five times more today. An average four-room apartment costs 1.2 million shekels ($369,000). Many couples from the center find the prices attractive; it's only way they'll ever be able to buy a home. For many locals this is a distant dream: the Sderot they grew up in has suddenly become too expensive for them.
He knows that the future of the city depends on two components: security and livelihood, and he is fighting for both. He hopes to attract industries and businesses to Sderot to provide work for as many residents as possible. He is less optimistic about security. "Nothing really changes. Maybe it's time to change the tactics."
We asked if he thought anything would change after the election and he laughed. "You have to be really optimistic that it will happen. I've been mayor for 10 years. I've seen five division commanders come and go. They're all excellent people with good intentions, but reality doesn't change and it won't change in the next government, either."
Eshkol Regional Council: Dairy farmers as a parable
We met Gadi Yarkoni at the Eshkol Regional Council. As we entered, he was taking several pills: one for his heart, one for his eyes, one for the pain in his legs – the result of the amputations he underwent after being hit by a mortar on the last day of Operation Protective Edge in 2014. The council head spent the last operation here. The residents were locked in their homes. Some could leave only at night; some only in their private vehicles. Kerem Shalom was completely closed off for two days, until a way was found to rescue its residents. "This must never happen again. It should be handled in a more orderly manner in the future," Yarkoni said.
He is careful to clarify that this isn't criticism, but lessons must be learned. "The army operated exceptionally well. The government also. The GOC Southern Command spoke to me several times every day. The prime minister called every day; also the defense minister. At some point I told them it was all fine, we were coping, but it meant a lot to me to know that they cared about us. That didn't happen in the past."
We told him that his praise contradicted criticism by some of the residents. "We live in a democracy. Criticism is permitted. But it represents a small minority. Ninety percent support what I say. I can tell you who'll be criticizing the next time, too. It's the same people, who always have complaints."
We asked if the satisfaction would affect election results. "Unfortunately not," he said. "Nothing will change, and it's a shame, because this government has done more for Gaza periphery communities than previous governments." We told Yarkoni that Davidi said that the government acted quickly in passing emergency budgets, and he confirmed it. "They immediately made decisions about millions. This didn't happen in the past."
During the operation, he took about 2,000 residents on a "re-energizing retreat" – mainly to Jerusalem, Eilat and the area north of the Dead Sea. "It worked very well, but only because we did it ourselves. The government can't really organize something like that." He expects the government to solve bigger problems for him, which would catapult the area forward: for example, to approve a solar project near the fence that is planned to stretch from Mefalsim south to Kerem Shalom, and from there east to Bnei Netzarim. This project is predicted to save seven billion shekels ($2.1 billion) in the next 20 years, provide electricity to Israel (and Gaza), and generate income for the regional communities and councils. "Everyone benefits, and only the Environmental Protection Ministry is against it."
The same applies to a major recycling project planned for Holit or Kisufim, the aim of which is to solve Gaza's garbage problem. The construction of this facility, where garbage will be incinerated, creating energy that will go back to the Gaza Strip, is supposed to be funded by international sources at a cost of NIS 1.5 billion ($460 million). "We'll solve their garbage problem and some of their energy problems, as well as the resulting damage it causes us," he says. "The Environmental Protection Ministry opposes this, too. They're our biggest problem today."
There are also security issues, which drive him crazy. For example, the fact that the state established an arbitrary seven-kilometer (4.35 miles) line of defense, and communities located a few hundred meters beyond this line – Sde Nitzan, Ohad, Orim, or Tze'elim – are not entitled to government-funded rooms in homes that are fortified against rocket and mortar fire.
"When the tensions started, I had to stop the summer camps here, even though the buildings are protected, because we didn't want the children riding buses on the roads and being in the line of fire. We had to send them back home, to houses that aren't fortified. It's ridiculous."
He adds that there also needs to be a solution for cowsheds. "If worst comes to worst, we won't pick flowers, and they'll die. We can make up for that loss. But the cows have to be milked every day and the cowsheds aren't protected. This means that when the dairy farmers go to milk the cows, they're putting their lives at risk. There have already been dairy farmers and dairy farms that have suffered. It doesn't make sense. It costs four million shekels {$1.2 million] to secure a dairy farm. That's a small amount for the state. These dairy farmers are the spearhead of agriculture here. It's time they dealt with this."
We asked him if he thought the next government would take care of all these issues. "They remember us when there is an emergency. Later, when we're back to routine, we're forgotten. We're on the frontline. This must be emphasized and they can't forget that we're here the day after a military operation ends."
On his kibbutz, Nirim, 82% voted for Center-Left parties in the last elections. Meretz won 32% of the votes, the Labor Party 23.5%, Yesh Atid 16% and Blue and White 10.5%. We wondered if this would be the case in the upcoming election, and he said yes. How does this fit in with the security situation? People want a solution. They want quiet, he explained. They also support any humanitarian-economic move that could help Gaza stabilize its situation. So, for example, when bringing workers from the Gaza Strip to Israel "the problem is that workers recently started staying to sleep in Israel," he reveals. "It's quite a difficult situation to deal with. Their employers, who are hiding them, are the ones to blame. This problem must be resolved."
Epilogue: Netanyahu vs. all the others
The rifts in this region are glaring: between the former development towns, and the kibbutzim and moshavim, between the populations, and even between the political leaders. What unites them is a shared fate, especially in times of emergency. Although they disagree as to the solution (Davidi favors a much more substantial use of force, and Yarkoni supports negotiations), but they share the threat and the struggle that is unique to all those who are included in the "Gaza periphery."
Even so, when it comes to politics, they return to the old and familiar patterns. The kibbutzniks go Center and Left, and the city-dwellers to the Right. While the cities almost exclusively support Netanyahu (although the far Right is expected to make gains), the kibbutzim are divided between Lapid and Gantz, Labor and Meretz. A broad coalition sounds like a utopia here; those who support Netanyahu, like Yaakov and Mordechai from "Sasson's Corner," refuse to hear about any other option; those who oppose him, like Volk, do not see him as an option.
In the end, residents on all sides, and their local leaders, are mainly concerned with issues of survival: livelihood, education, welfare. Even so, all their voting patterns stem from other sources – primarily security and political. This is a paradox that is difficult to explain and which also concerns the speculation regarding the compliments that the current government is receiving in Sderot, for example, which are reconciled with the almost comprehensive decision to vote for their political opponents, even as they existed (in reverse) in previous governments as well.
The lesson to be learned, which most polls indicate, is the past will repeat itself. The vote will remain as was and the political polarization is not expected to change. On a national level, this is a real danger: the election campaigns are tearing the nation apart, inciting the camps against each other, and causing many to lose hope.
But on the local level, at least in Gaza periphery communities, all this has disappeared. They all share the same red color alert and the rockets do not distinguish between the residents of the new neighborhoods of Sderot or the extension of Nahal Oz. If it were possible to replicate the local region's ability to reproduce common denominators on a national level as well, it might be possible to find a solution for the political chaos that Israel has found itself in in recent years. On second thought, this is probably impossible: it looks like it will be easier to first find a solution to the Gaza problem.
