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‘There was no time to sleep’: 4 Jews reflect on a year of helping Ukrainians at war
(JTA) — In the months after Russian tanks rolled into her country last February, the music largely stopped for Elizaveta Sherstuk.
The founder of a Jewish choral ensemble called Aviv in her hometown of Sumy, in the northeastern flank of Ukraine, Sherstuk had to put singing aside in favor of her day job and personal mission: delivering aid to Jews in Sumy.
“There was no time to sleep,” Sherstuk recalled to the Jewish Telegraphic Agency recently. “All my team members worked the same, 24/7.”
A year later, Sherstuk is still hustling as the Sumy director of Hesed, a network of welfare centers serving needy Jews in the former Soviet bloc. But she has also begun teaching music classes again, too — with performances sometimes held in bomb shelters.
Catch up on all of JTA’s Ukraine war coverage from the last year here.
Sherstuk’s story reflects the ways that Russia’s war on Ukraine has affected Jews in Ukraine and beyond. The conflict has killed hundreds of thousands, left even more in peril and fundamentally altered the landscape and population of Ukraine, forcing millions to flee as refugees.
But the war has also mobilized the networks of Jewish aid and welfare groups across Europe, leading to a Jewish organizational response on a massive scale not seen in decades. And Ukrainian Jews who have remained in the country have recalibrated their lives and communities for wartime.
Here are four stories about Jews who stepped in and stepped up to help, and a taste of the on-the-ground situations they found themselves in.
‘I was needed there’
Enrique Ginzburg, second from right, is shown with Ukrainian doctors in Lviv. (Courtesy of Ginzburg)
Since nearly drowning at 23, Dr. Enrique Ginzburg has felt he “had to pay back” for the extra years of life he was granted.
Now 65, the professor of surgery at the University of Miami’s Miller School of Medicine and its trauma division has lent his critical care expertise in Haiti, Argentina, Kurdistan and Iraq, in various emergency situations. But until last year, he had never been to a war zone.
The Cuba native felt drawn to Ukraine because his grandfather is from Kyiv, while his grandmother is from nearby eastern Poland. So early on in the conflict, he called Dr. Aaron Epstein, an old friend and the founder of the nonprofit Global Surgical and Medical Supply Group.
“Get yourself a flak jacket, a helmet, a gas mask and come on over,” Ginzburg said Epstein told him.
He has been to Ukraine twice under the nonprofit’s auspices, last April and July. Ginzburg’s explanation for why he flew across the world to put himself in danger: “I was needed,” he said.
His base was an emergency hospital in Lviv, a city located west enough that it became a major refugee hub. He consulted with front-line Ukrainian physicians, many of them young and inexperienced, and hospital administrators, watching the doctors in action. He also visited patients in hospital wards and helped to treat gunshot wounds and assorted combat injuries.
Ginzburg’s bags were packed with meaningful supplies. Some had been requested by his Ukrainian colleagues for medical use, mostly specialized catheters. But he also brought tefillin, the phylacteries used by Jews in their morning prayers. Ginzburg, who studied in a yeshiva while young but no longer considers himself Orthodox, wrapped them every day while in Ukraine.
Even though Lviv was far from the fighting, he could hear air raid sirens and the explosion of the Russian missiles, sometimes feeling the earth shake. When intelligence reports warned Ginzburg’s medical team of impending missile attacks, they sought refuge in safe houses.
“Today,” he told the Miami Herald last June, “I was calling my life insurance [company] because I have young sons and my wife, so I’m trying to make sure I have good coverage.”
By the end of his trips, Ginzburg lost count of the number of doctors he helped train and the number of patients he saw. “I’m sure it’s hundreds.” He plans to make a third trip sometime this year.
‘This is our new reality’
Karina Sokolowska is the director of the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee’s activities in Poland. (Courtesy of the JDC)
As the director of the JDC, or the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, in Poland, Karina Sokolowska has heard countless harrowing stories over the past year. But one sticks out in her memory.
It involved an elderly Ukrainian couple she met at the Poland-Ukraine border in late spring. The husband was in a wheelchair, and Sokolowska helped push him — back towards Ukraine. They had spent three months in a shelter in Poland but eventually “realized we cannot go looking for jobs, we cannot restart our lives. We are too old,” the woman said.
“If they are to die, they’d rather die back home,” Sokolowska said. “It’s a story of hopelessness. They are so vulnerable.”
Last year, about 8 million Ukrainian refugees made their way to Poland, the bordering country that accepted the most refugees. Early on in the conflict, Sokolowska contacted and visited Jewish communities throughout Poland, investigating the availability of places where the soon-to-be-homeless refugees could be housed. She also traveled to some of the border crossings where the Ukrainians entered, to arrange transportation to venues in Poland and to oversee the conditions in which the refugees would begin their new lives.
Later she would help with, among other things: arranging legal advice for the people who arrived with few identification documents; lining up medical care and drugs; finding them short- and long-term housing; connecting them to psychological counseling; providing kosher meals; and even caring for the refugees’ pets (“dogs and cats with no documents”).
According to JDC statistics, the organization “provided essential supplies and care” to 43,000 Jews in Ukraine and “aided 22,000+ people” there with “winter survival needs … more than double the amount served in previous years.” The welfare organization also claimed to provide “life-saving services” to more than 40,000 refugees in Poland, Moldova, Romania, Hungary, Bulgaria and other European locations. It also helped evacuate about 13,000 Jews from Ukraine. (Israeli Foreign Minister Eli Cohen recently said 15,000 Ukrainian Jews in total have immigrated to Israel since the start of the war.)
Karina Sokolowska, JDC director for Poland and Scandinavia sits in her office down the hall from a hotline room, in early March 2022. (Toby Axelrod)
At the height of the refugee flood, Sokolowska said her monthly JDC budget ballooned to more than what she previously spent in an entire year. Her office went from having a few employees to over 20. The amount of sleep she got decreased in tandem; she started taking sleeping pills to get rest when she could.
“This is our new reality” in Poland, she says of the JDC work with Ukrainian refugees. “This is our life now.”
Sokolowska, the granddaughter of Yiddish-speaking Holocaust survivors, became active in Jewish life during college, when a classmate heard her pronouncing some German words with a Yiddish accent and persuaded her to lead the Polish Union of Jewish Students. As JDC director for Scandinavian countries in addition to Poland, she typically organizes educational conferences and helps Jewish families learn about traditions they had not learned while growing up in the communist era.
Today, her sense of optimism has been ground down.
“Everything changed when war came to Ukraine — there is less hope,” Sokolowska said. “It’s a totally new everything. Every aspect of our life changed. Our hope for this to be over soon is going down, down, down. Nothing will change.”
‘It could [have been] me’
Tom and Darlynn Fellman volunteered in Krakow in October 2022. (Courtesy of Tom Fellman)
Sometime in the late 1890s, Harry Fellman, about 20 years old, left his home in Ukraine. According to family legend, he was a sharpshooter in the Ukrainian army and was about to be sent into active combat. Instead, he emigrated to the United States and settled in Omaha, Nebraska, where he became a peddler.
His grandson Tom Fellman — whose middle name is Harry — doesn’t know all the 120-year-old details, but he knows that he is grateful that Harry Fellman decided to leave Ukraine when he did.
“It could [have been] me, if my grandparents had not left when they did,” said Fellman, a successful real estate developer and philanthropist in Omaha.
In October, at 78 years old, Fellman made the reverse trip across the Atlantic to pitch in to the relief effort. He also wanted to pay what he sees as a debt to the memory of his late grandfather and to help the current generation of Ukrainian Jews.
He and his wife Darlynn served as volunteers for a week at the Krakow Jewish community center, joining hundreds (possibly thousands) of volunteers from overseas who have gone to Poland and the other nations in the region over the last year to participate in humanitarian programs on behalf of the millions of Ukrainian refugees. Fellman worked nine hours a day with a half-dozen fellow foreign volunteers in the basement of the community center, transferring the contents of “big, big” sacks of items like potatoes and sugar into small containers to be distributed to refugees in the building’s first-floor food pantry. His wife spent her time in an art therapy program that was set up for the refugee mothers and children to raise their spirits.
Fellman is “not particularly religious” but supports “anything Jewish.” In 1986, he accompanied a rescue mission plane of Soviet Jews headed to Israel. “It was the most rewarding experience of my life,” he recalled.
Fellman says he plans to return to Poland, in June, for the JCC’s annual fundraising bike ride from Auschwitz to Krakow.
What did his friends think of his septuagenarian volunteer stint? “They thought it was cool,” he said. “But none of them are going too.”
‘Everything was a risk’
Elizaveta Sherstuk runs a branch of Hesed, a network of welfare centers, in Sumy, Ukraine. (Courtesy of Sherstuk)
Sherstuk’s parents would have sent their daughter to a Jewish school in her early years if they had had the option. But Jewish education was not permitted In Sumy during the final years of communist rule in the Soviet republic. Sherstuk was exposed to Jewish life only at home.
Her parents infused her with a Jewish identity, she said, and her grandparents used to talk and sing songs in Yiddish. That inspired Sherstuk’s first career as a singer and a music teacher, during which she founded Aviv and took it on tour throughout the region singing traditional Jewish songs. Later, she became the director of Sumy’s branch of the JDC-funded Hesed network.
Sumy, an industrial city with a population of 300,000 before the war situated only 30 miles from the Russian border, was one of Russia’s first targets. In the days before the pending invasion, Sherstuk stockpiled food, which was certain to become scarce in case of war, and arranged bus transportation to safer parts of the country for hundreds of vulnerable civilians, mostly the elderly and disabled. The bus plan fell through for safety issues.
As the bombing started, it became dangerous for members of the local 1,000-member Jewish community, many of them elderly, to venture outside of their apartments. Sherstuk, working out of a bomb shelter, assisted by a Hesed network of volunteers, coordinated food and medicine deliveries.
The situation grew more dire, and she coordinated the Jewish community’s participation in a brief humanitarian corridor evacuation of vulnerable civilians that the Russians permitted. She communicated with Sumy residents mostly by smartphones provided by the JDC — the Russian attacks had cut the landlines — and accompanied the busloads of Sumy Jews to western Ukraine. Some of them eventually moved on to Israel, Germany, or other nearby countries, she said.
Sherstuk stayed in western Ukraine for a while (“The humanitarian corridors are only for one-way trips,” she noted), moving from place to place, keeping in touch with the Jews of Sumy and waiting for Ukraine’s army to make the trip back safe. But Sumy, like many Ukrainian cities, has come under frequent Russian rocket attack.
“Everything was a risk,” she said. “We were following whatever our hearts told us to do. We had to save people. I was the one who had to do it.”
Last May, Sherstuk was among 12 men and women (and the sole one from the Diaspora) who lit a torch at the start of Israel’s Independence Day in a government ceremony on Mount Herzl. During two weeks in Israel, she spent some time with members of her family, and held a series of meetings with JDC officials, government ministers and donors. “It was not a vacation,” she said.
After going back to Sumy, at the suggestions of her choral group members and fellow Sumy residents, she organized concerts in Hebrew, Yiddish, Ukrainian and Russian — some in person, some in a bomb shelter in the city’s central square, some online. She has now resumed her music classes, too, and it has all boosted morale. “I [teach] all the time,” she said.
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Longing for the way secular Jews used to be
איך זיץ דאָ און הער זיך צו צום קול פֿון מײַן פֿעטער יונה ז״ל ווי ער ריכט אָפּ דעם פּסח־סדר אינעם יאָר 1962… און איך קוועל דערפֿון.
יונה גאָטעסמאַן איז געווען אַ סעקולערער ייִד, אָדער ווי מע פֿלעג עס רופֿן אין יענע יאָרן — אַ וועלטלעכער. ער האָט נישט געהיט שבת אָדער כּשרות, און טאַקע דערפֿאַר איז בײַ אים נישט געווען קיין מניעה צו רעקאָרדירן זײַן קול בײַם סדר. אָבער ווען מע הערט ווי ער זאָגט דעם יום־טובֿדיקן קידוש, אָדער דעם „הא לחמא עניא‟ (די דערקלערונג וואָס רופֿט יעדן איינעם וואָס ס׳איז הונגעריק צו קומען און עסן) אָדער דעם „אחד מי יודע‟, דאַכט זיך דיר אַז סע זינגט אַ פֿרומער ייִד מיט אַ קיטל. ער זאָגט די הגדה מיט אַ ניגון וואָס חזרט זיך כּסדר איבער און די ווערטער פֿליִען פֿאַרבײַ אַזוי גיך אַז ס׳איז מיר אַ מאָל שווער צו דערקענען וווּ ער האַלט. אָבער טאַקע דערפֿאַר קלינגט עס אַזוי נאַטירלעך.
אונטן קענט איר אַליין הערן ווי יונה גאָטעסמאַן ריכט אָפּ דעם סדר. די ערשטע 30 סעקונדעס זענען שווער צו הערן אָבער דערנאָך הערט מען שוין אַ סך בעסער.
ווי אַ סך ייִדן פֿון זײַן דור איז דער פֿעטער דערצויגן געוואָרן אין אַ פֿרומער שטוב. די משפּחה האָט געוווינט אין סערעט, אין דער בוקאָווינע, און יונה האָט, אַ פּנים, גוט געדענקט דעם נוסח פֿון זײַן טאַטן, חיים, וואָס האָט געדאַוונט סײַ בײַ די וויזשניצער חסידים, סײַ בײַ די סאַדעגערער. ווי עס דערציילט זײַן זון, איציק גאָטעסמאַן, האָט יונהס טאַטע אָנגעשטעלט אַ גמרא־מלמד צו לערנען מיט אים ווײַל קיין ישיבֿה איז אין סערעט נישט געווען. אַפֿילו מיט יאָרן שפּעטער, ווען יונה האָט שוין אויסשטודירט אויף דאָקטער און מער נישט געפֿירט קיין פֿרום לעבן, אַז ער איז געפֿאָרן צו גאַסט צו טאַטע־מאַמע האָט דער טאַטע אָנגעשטעלט פֿאַר אים אַ גמרא־לערער.
אונדזער שרײַבערין מרים האָפֿמאַן דערציילט אַז איר מאַן, מענדל ז״ל, אויך אַן אָפּשטאַמיקער פֿון די וויזשניצער חסידים, האָט געטאָן דאָס זעלבע. נישט געקוקט אויף דעם וואָס ער האָט נאָכן חורבן (בפֿרט נאָך דעם וואָס ער האָט אָנגעוווירן זײַן טאַטע־מאַמע, זײַן 12־יעריק ברידערל בנימעלע און דרײַ שוועסטער אין גאַזקאַמער) אָפּגעוואָרפֿן זײַן אמונה און אַפֿילו געהייסן זײַן פֿרוי נישט פּראַווען קיין שבת אָדער האַלטן אַ כּשרע קיך אויס כּעס צום אייבערשטן, פֿלעגט ער יעדן פּסח זיך אָנטאָן אַ יאַרמלקע און אָפּריכטן דעם גאַנצן סדר אויפֿן אַלטן שטייגער.
אויך מײַן טאַטע האָט יעדעס יאָר אָנגעפֿירט מיט אַ טראַדיציאָנעלן סדר אויף לשון־קודש כאָטש ער איז, אין פֿאַרגלײַך מיט יונהן און מענדלען, דווקא נישט דערצויגן געוואָרן אין אַ פֿרומער היים. ווי אַ דערוואַקסענער האָט ער זיך אַליין אויסגעלערנט ווי אָפּצוריכטן דעם סדר — מסתּמא טאַקע פֿון זײַן שוואָגער יונה — ווײַל ער האָט געוואָלט אַז דער סדר זאָל האָבן אַ דורותדיק פּנים.
מיט אַנדערע ווערטער, אין יענע יאָרן איז געווען אָנגענומען אַז איינער וואָס האַלט זיך פֿאַר אַ פֿולשטענדיקן סעקולערן ייִד קען נאָך אַלץ, כאָטש איין מאָל אַ יאָר, אָנפֿירן מיט אַ רעליגיעזע צערעמאָניע (אַפֿילו אַ דרײַ־שעהיקן ריטואַל ווי דער סדר), כאָטש עס דערמאָנט גאָט אויף שריט און טריט.
אַן אַטעיִסט וואָלט אפֿשר געשטעלט די פֿראַגע: וואָס איז דער שׂכל פֿון מאַכן ברכות און דורכפֿירן רעליגיעזע ריטואַלן ווען מע גלייבט אַליין נישט אין דעם? איז דאָס נישט אַ מין נישט־אויסגעהאַלטנקייט? מײַן טאַטע ע״ה פֿלעגט, למשל, יעדן שבת מאַכן קידוש און המוציא אויף אַזאַ נאַטירלעכן אופֿן, אַז איך בין געווען זיכער ער איז אַ גלייביקער. און דערפֿאַר ווען איך האָב צו 17 יאָר אַליין זיך פֿאַראינטערעסירט אין גײַסטיקע ענינים און געפּרוּווט פֿאַרפֿירן אַ שמועס מיט אים וועגן דעם, האָט ער פּלוצלינג אויסגערופֿן: „פֿאַר וואָס פֿרעגסטו מיך די אַלע שאלות? דו ווייסט דאָך, אַז איך בין אַן אַטעיִסט!‟
„דו ביסט אַן אַטעיִסט?‟ האָב איך איבערגעפֿרעגט, אַ פֿאַרחידושטע. „פֿאַר וואָס זשע האָסטו די אַלע יאָרן געמאַכט קידוש און המוציא יעדן שבת?‟
זײַן ענטפֿער: „צוליב אײַך!‟
לאַנגע יאָרן האָב איך איבערגעקלערט וואָס עס מיינט טאַקע דער „צוליב אײַך‟. הייסט עס, אַז ער אַליין האָט נישט הנאה געהאַט דערפֿון? אַז דאָס איז בלויז געווען אַ מיטל צו פֿאַרבעסערן די שאַנסן אַז זײַנע קינדער זאָלן זיך שטאַרק אידענטיפֿיצירט ווי ייִדן?
אַז איך קלער איצט וועגן דעם, זעט מיר אויס אַז עס זענען מסתּמא געווען עטלעכע סיבות פֿאַר וואָס די דרײַ וועלטלעכע ייִדן (צוויי פֿון זיי — געשוווירענע אַטעיִסטן) און אַ סך אַנדערע פֿון זייער דור, זענען געווען גרייט אָנצופֿירן מיט אַ רעליגיעזן סדר. ערשטנס, ווי מײַן טאַטע האָט געזאָגט, האָבן זיי עס געטאָן פֿאַר זייערע קינדערס וועגן. ס׳שטייט דאָך בפֿירוש געשריבן אין דער הגדה: „והגדת לבנך — זאָלסט דערציילן דײַנע קינדער וואָס ס׳איז געשען אין לאַנד מצרים‟.
נו, אויב אַזוי, האָבן זיי דאָך געקענט פּשוט דערציילן די געשיכטע פֿון די ייִדן אין מצרים און זייער באַפֿרײַונג אויף אַ סעקולערן אופֿן, אָן צו דערמאָנען גאָט בכלל. זיי האָבן געקענט ניצן די הגדה אַרויסגעגעבן פֿונעם אַרבעטער־רינג אָדער אַן אַנדער סעקולערער ייִדישער אינסטיטוציע. זיי האָבן דאָס אָבער נישט געטאָן. יאָ, אויפֿן סדר־טיש זענען טאַקע געלעגן די וועלטלעכע הגדות, כּדי מע זאָל קענען זינגען בציבור די שיינע מאָדערנע ייִדישע לידער ווי אַבֿרהם רייזענס „אויפֿן ניל‟, דוד עדעלשטאַדטס „אין דעם לאַנד פֿון פּיראַמידן‟ און יצחק לוקאָווסקיס „חד גדיא‟. די וועלטלעכע הגדה איז אָבער בלויז געווען אַ צוגאָב צום סדר, נישט דער הויפּטטעקסט.
מיט אַנדערע ווערטער, די אָ דרײַ וועלטלעכע ייִדיש־רעדנדיקע ייִדן האָבן געוואָלט ביידע: סײַ דעם כּמעט צוויי טויזנט־יאָריקן נוסח, סײַ די וועלטלעכע ייִדישע עלעמענטן.
אויב אַזוי איז די כּוונה, אַ פּנים, געווען עפּעס שטאַרקערס ווי בלויז איבערגעבן די געשיכטע פֿון יציאת־מצרים. ס׳איז אויך געווען אַן אופֿן צו ווײַזן דעם ייִנגערן דור ווי רײַך און ווי טיף איז די ייִדישע טראַדיציע; אַז ייִדיש איז נישט בלויז אַ לשון נאָר אַ גאַנצע קולטור, וואָס איז אָנגעזאַפּט מיט רעליגיעזן וויסן; אַז אַ ייִד דאַרף קענען, אָדער כאָטש זײַן היימיש מיט, דעם רעליגיעזן אַספּעקט פֿון דער ייִדישער טראַדיציע, אַפֿילו אויב ער אַליין איז נישט קיין פֿרומער.
פֿון מײַן זײַט בין איך גאָר צופֿרידן וואָס איציק גאָטעסמאַן האָט אָנגעהאַלטן די רעקאָרדירונג פֿון זײַן טאַטן. איצט קען איך — און ווער נאָך עס וויל נאָר — זיך אויסלערנען דעם סדר־נוסח פֿון די אַמאָליקע בוקאָווינער ייִדן און דערבײַ באַרײַכערן דעם אייגענעם סדר.
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Iran War Increases Threat to Sweden, Security Service Says
Swedish Security Service Chief Charlotte von Essen speaks next to Fredrik Hallstroem, chief of operations, during a press conference where the Swedish Security Service (SAPO) presents the situational picture of the country’s security, in Stockholm, Sweden, March 18, 2026. Photo: TT News Agency/Claudio Bresciani via REUTERS
Sweden‘s Security Service (SAPO) warned on Wednesday of increased threats to the Nordic nation from the war in Iran, including risks to Jewish targets, as it released its annual national security assessment.
“History has shown that a desperate and pressured regime can be a dangerous regime,” SAPO operative chief Fredrik Hallstrom told a press conference, referring to the US-Israeli war on Iran.
Iran has long been considered a serious threat, and Swedish authorities have noted how criminal networks – already at the center of a decade-long surge in gang-related violence – have been exploited by state actors to carry out attacks.
“The US-Israeli military operation against Iran, and the countermeasures carried out by Iran, have increased the threat against American, Israeli, and Jewish targets in Sweden,” Security Service Chief Charlotte von Essen said in the report.
In recent years, the agency has also highlighted threats from China and, above all, Russia, which it describes as increasingly willing to take risks in support of its war in Ukraine — including through hybrid operations across Europe.
“Overall, we expect that the threat levels against Sweden will continue to deteriorate in the coming years,” von Essen said, adding that Russia was regarded as a primary driver.
While it is difficult to determine what can be linked to a particular actor, Sweden assesses that Russia is behind several sabotage incidents in Europe targeting critical infrastructure, the security service said. Moscow has denied any involvement.
The agency said it has reviewed hundreds of cases of suspected sabotage in Sweden, including of underwater cables, electricity substations and water-treatment facilities.
“It has so far not been possible to link any physical sabotage to a foreign power,” it said.
The comments came as Iran executed a Swedish citizen on Wednesday, according to Sweden‘s foreign minister, who added that she had summoned the Iranian ambassador in Stockholm to condemn the decision.
The person, who was not named, was arrested in Iran in June of last year and Sweden has repeatedly raised the case with Iranian officials, Foreign Minister Maria Malmer Stenergard said.
“The death penalty is an inhumane, cruel, and irreversible punishment. Sweden, together with the rest of the EU, condemns its application in all circumstances,” Stenergard said.
The legal proceedings leading up to the execution did not meet the standards of due process, she added.
The European Union’s foreign policy chief Kaja Kallas condemned the execution in a statement on Wednesday evening.
“The appalling human rights situation in Iran and the alarming increase in executions are intolerable and show the regime’s true colors,” she said, sending condolences to the family of the citizen.
The Swedish foreign ministry and the Iranian embassy in Stockholm did not immediately respond to a request for comment when contacted by Reuters via phone and email.
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Israel Doubles Troops in Hezbollah Fight, Searches Homes in South Lebanon
Israeli soldiers walk next to military vehicles on the Israeli side of the Israel-Lebanon border, amid escalation between Hezbollah and Israel, and amid the US-Israeli conflict with Iran, in northern Israel, March 16, 2026. Photo: REUTERS/Avi Ohayon
Israel has more than doubled the number of troops along its border with Lebanon since March 1 and they are searching homes in southern Lebanese villages that the military has ordered evacuated, a senior Israeli commander said on Wednesday.
As Israeli warplanes pound Beirut in operations against Hezbollah that have become the deadliest spillover of the US-Israeli war on Iran, heavy smoke could be seen rising from villages in southern Lebanon as troops fired artillery across the border.
Hundreds of thousands of Lebanese have fled southern Lebanon since Israel ordered people to clear the area south of the Litani River, viewed by Israel as a stronghold of Iran-backed terrorist group Hezbollah. The Shi’ite Islamist group has been firing rockets toward Israel since joining the war in support of Iran on March 2.
‘DEFENSIVE POSITIONS’ INSIDE LEBANON
“The plan is to make sure that Hezbollah does not have military infrastructure,” said the commander, whose name was withheld by the Israeli military on security grounds.
Speaking to Reuters in Eilon, an Israeli town four kilometers from the border, the commander, who is responsible for infantry warfare in Lebanon, declined to say how many troops Israel had now deployed in the area.
Describing the military’s fortifications inside Lebanon as “defensive positions,” he said troops were searching “the villages to see if Hezbollah hid weapons or communications centers.”
Asked if that included searching houses that residents had fled following Israeli orders, the commander said: “In some of the cases they hid their weapons in houses. We have no choice but to make sure that house is not a military installation.”
Two Israeli soldiers have been killed since the start of operations in southern Lebanon, the Israeli military says.
At least 968 people in Lebanon have been killed since the start of Israel‘s attacks, Lebanese authorities say.
Hezbollah has not provided regular updates on deaths among its fighters. On Monday, a Hezbollah official told Reuters that at least 46 had been killed so far.
LEBANESE VILLAGE OF KHIYAM AN INITIAL TARGET
The Israeli military is advancing slowly through southern Lebanon, aiming to completely clear the town of Khiyam as a first step before advancing toward the Litani River, according to a Lebanese security source and a foreign official tracking developments on the ground.
In response to a question on whether Israel intended to establish positions up to the Litani, the commander said it was not his decision. If troops receive orders, he added, they are “prepared to do all kind of operations.”
The Israeli military did not immediately comment on its operations in Khiyam, five kilometers inside the Lebanese border from the Israeli town of Metula.
Along the border near Metula, Reuters saw several Israeli military fortifications dug into hillsides, filled with rows of tanks, armed personnel carriers, and bulldozers.
Smoke rose from Khiyam throughout the day on Wednesday, and many of the buildings on the southern side of the town had been reduced to rubble. A neighboring town remains in ruins from Israel‘s attacks in 2024.
‘EVERY FIVE MINUTES YOU CAN HEAR THE BOMBS’
Israel‘s northern border area with Lebanon is known as the Upper Galilee, its rolling hills offering vantages into southern Lebanese villages now occupied and bombarded by Israeli troops.
Near Metula, Israeli Apache helicopters and jets were making near-constant sorties on Tuesday and Wednesday, with the sounds of rocket fire from Lebanon interspersed with the booms of Israeli artillery fire.
For residents of Israel‘s far north, the current war with Hezbollah has seen less rocket fire than during a year of fighting that ended in 2024.
Hezbollah‘s ability to launch missiles has largely been degraded, but it still retains capacity to strike areas deep inside Israel, Israeli officials say.
Ofer Moskovitz, 60, who works at an avocado farm in the area, and said being so close to the border meant he had little time to run to a bomb shelter when sirens signaled incoming Hezbollah fire.
Near his farm, the military dug out a muddy fortification from where troops fired artillery across the border.
“Every five minutes you can hear the bombs,” he said.