Being In The Shalit Tent

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Written by Shmuel Katz

Thursday, 30 June 2011 10:20

Gilad Shalitâ€™s parents spend their days inside this tent, to which there is a constant stream of visitors.

Sitting for an hour in the â€œShalit tentâ€ a couple of weeks ago, I was struck by the humanity of the atmosphere. It has been almost a year since Noam and Aviva Shalit concluded a 12-day march across the country and moved in to the tent on Jerusalemâ€™s Rechov Aza, just outside the prime ministerâ€™s residence. The tent had actually been open for more than a year by that time, serving as a base for awareness and a constant reminder to the prime minister (first Olmert and now Netanyahu) that Gilad Shalit is still in captivity and, organizers hope, as a spur to the prime minister (and government) to do â€œwhat is required of him to return Gilad to his family and home.â€

Although I had driven and even walked past the tent many times over the last few years, this was only the second time I stopped in. I expected to be uncomfortable (I was) and for the atmosphere to be extremely tense and nervous (it wasnâ€™t). Even though I had scheduled an interview for that time, as I approached the tent, I felt like an interloper, intruding upon their ongoing tragedy.

Last summer, my family walked to the tent on a summer Shabbat afternoon, just a few weeks after the Shalits had moved in. There were tour groups and youth groups there, and the tent was a lot more congested. In contrast, I arrived to an almost serene atmosphere, with much less tension than I anticipated.

As I entered the tent, a group of teens preceded me, quietly entering and reading the different signs and posters on the walls. Some of them are publicity posters; others are works presented by individuals who simply wanted to express their support for Gilad and his family. The teens stayed for no more than four minutes in total, not even sitting down in one of the 15 or so chairs provided for visitors; they simply took a look around, expressed their support and wishes to Aviva Shalit, Giladâ€™s mother, and left.

Another group brought a poem with them, which they presented to Aviva. When they left, Aviva and the two women who were sitting with her commented upon the beauty of the work and that it had been done by an eighth-grader. It was clear that despite the fact that they must have gotten hundreds, if not thousands, of similar works of art or expression, each one continues to provide encouragement and support to the family.

Throughout the time I was there, Aviva Shalit sat calmly at the back of the tent, knitting, with a knitted blue babyâ€™s hat on the chair next to her. She would lay down her knitting to chat with visitors and return to it as they left. Even though I knew it already, I was reminded that here was someoneâ€™s mother.

I was struck by a specific girl who stopped in the tent. She could not have been older than 13 or 14 and may have been as young as 10. With her backpack on her shoulders, it was clear that she had stopped in on her way home from school. She was definitely a â€œregularâ€ visitor, as the women greeted her by name when she entered. She sat in the chair closest to the exit, barely speaking, despite several attempts by the women to engage her in conversation. I do not think she was embarrassed as much as shy. And she stayed for perhaps 10 or 12 minutes before leaving.

What struck me was the fact that this single girl, who barely spoke 20 words (if that much) in the time she was there, was a comfort to all those in the tent, not just Aviva Shalit. They were happy to see her and she was clearly proud to be there. Here was a girl who simply wanted to make a difference in the lives of the Shalit family, showing her desire for Giladâ€™s return and her support for his family. For most of the time she was in the tent, there were only five of us there, including me. No one really talked. We just sat together.

Another man came by and asked if he could grab the sports section of the paper sitting on one of the chairs to the side. He chatted with everyone for a minute, got his newspaper section, and went on his way.

I was not prepared for the casual, everyday atmosphere. Not to say that this minimized the importance of what they were doing there; the shadow of Giladâ€™s absence was felt throughout, perhaps no more so than in the empty chair to his motherâ€™s right that was marked (as are other chairs in public locations throughout the country) as â€œreserved for Gilad.â€ Yet, as with other things in life, one adjusts.

Living in that tent, spending every day there, at some point becomes if not routine, then habitual. They are there for a purpose and have a specific goal, one that has only one measure of successâ€”seeing Gilad safely home. Yet, throughout their ordeal, they manage to convey a sense of dignity, love, and respect to those around them.

In my trepidation of intruding into their pain, I had prepared a sentence or two to preface the interview. As I sat with Noam Shalit, Giladâ€™s father, I expressed my desire not to cause him any more anguish and apologized if something I was about to say was offensive. Halfway through, he waved me off. The sentiment, although appreciated, did not need to be said.

They know that we wish them well. They know that we want Gilad home. They know that we are often awkward and uncomfortable. And they are there, day after day, greeting and welcoming us and appreciating our encouragement and support. They have committed to stay there and keep the focus upon Gilad until he comes home.

It is my fervent prayer that they are able to shut the tent down today or tomorrow because its goal has been accomplished. However long it is there, I encourage you to stop in. I did not realize how deeply each visit touches until I saw it myself. If not for your own sake, then visit for the support and encouragement of the Shalit family. Even if you feel that you have nothing to say, your presence makes a difference.