Harry Stemp was born in Uxbridge in 1934. He started his career with the Uxbridge Times-Journal as an apprentice typesetter at age 14. He soon began writing sports for the Times-Journal and eventually owned 10 community newspapers in central Ontario including the Times-Journal. He started writing his award-winning Stemp’s Stew in 1965. The column came to an end shortly after he sold his newspaper chain in 1989, but was rejuvenated in 2006 when Harry became a regular contributor to The Cosmos.
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Hell in Gaza
A 'Stew' wasn't planned for this week as I prepare to head to warmer climates. However, a letter from a friend in Israel is one that both my editor and I thought should be shared with Cosmos readers. Let me state emphatically this column is not written to take sides in the tragedy that we know as Israel and Hamas. What happens to the ordinary residents on both side of the Gaza wall is extremely offensive to peace-loving people around the world. And, if we had the power, all of these people would understand and respect each other and the conflict would end. But it is not easy to deal with religious fanatics, and to decide who has the rights to Israel and other lands in that part of the world.
Over the years I have visited that part of the world a half dozen times. Israel is a fascinating land and every visit I enjoyed visiting the historical and religious sites. Two years ago our group visited the Renanim Nursery School in the northern town of Kiryat Shmona. The school is on the Gaza border and, a couple of days before we arrived, had suffered a direct hit from a rocket fired from Gaza. The rocket came down through the middle of the building, causing massive destruction. Fortunately it was the day the children walked to a close-by park for a time of recreation, so the school was empty, save for the superintendent whose office was in a far corner of the school and suffered no damage. Walking through the school and seeing the walls, desks and play areas completely destroyed left a sickening feeling for what could have been. Small colourful notes and drawings containing messages of good blessings to parents, brothers, sisters and grandparents were strewn around the floor. Shattered memories of fun classroom activities by innocent children. To see the upper floor we climbed ladders, as the central staircase had been completely demolished. The thoughts of blood-soaked young bodies lying about sent a sick feeling through our entire group. On the flip side we have been witnessing the same human suffering and destruction in Gaza, the result of the Israeli invasion. Who suffers most? The innocent civilians who just want all this to end so they can get on with their lives. Having said this, I share the letter only to show that suffering affects everyone in this part of the world, regardless of what side of the border you call home.
Hi Harry
Thought you would be interested of what my visit to Israel has been like. Scary. You time how long it takes to run from your bedroom to your basement bomb shelter. You drive with seatbelts and radio off, windows open, one eye on the road and the other on where to run if you hear an air-raid siren. You move your entire family to a dank, tiny communal
shelter because it's the only place your kids feel safe. As Canadians read about southern Israeli cities under siege from Hamas rockets fired from the Gaza Strip, it's hard to conceive what this means. And while I have visited Israel dozens of times, including right after the Second Lebanon War in 2006, I had never experienced the panic and fear of recurring rocket attacks until my visit this week to the Israeli city of Ashkelon, where more than 90 rockets have landed in the last two weeks.
Schools and colleges are closed. Many malls are closed, leaving small business owners with no income. Community activities are suspended. Non-critical patients have been discharged or moved from the Barzilai Medical Center, where a makeshift emergency room has been set up in the basement. Kids are wetting their beds.
I learned that when the sirens wail in Ashkelon -- as they did three times in 25 minutes at one point in my visit -- you have about 30 seconds to take shelter (a luxury compared to the 15-second warning in the more southerly city of Sderot) in a private or public bomb shelter, under the stairs, on the north side of a building or wall. If you're in a car and can't get to cover, you run away from the vehicle, throw yourself facedown on the ground, and wrap your arms around your head, because Hamas's Grad rockets are packed with nails and ball bearings to inflict maximum shrapnel damage. You count the seconds until the first boom, and wait to hear how many more rockets will hit in the next five minutes. Then you emerge, heart still pounding, speed-dial your spouse, kids or aging parents to make sure they're OK, and try to go back to your normal life -- until the next siren. Israel's critics like to emphasize the relatively small number of Israeli casualties compared to the Palestinian civilian victims of the Gaza conflict. But there is a more significant asymmetry. The Palestinians know that they will have peace the moment their leaders stop shelling Israeli cities. Israelis know that every time their leaders stop fighting Hamas terrorists in Gaza, their lives become a living hell. And terror is not a numbers game. It's about chipping away the foundations of normal life, murdering sleep and shattering innocence. It's wondering when the next rocket will hit -- and whether 30 seconds will be enough.
Bye for now,
Barbara, Ashkelon, Israel
