Huge swaths of scorched land with burned pinkish orange trees line the road through northern Israel’s Biriya Forest.
The strange color of the trees, which makes the area look like a forest from another planet, is the result of chemicals sprayed on them to prevent and slow flames.
The fires are the result of rockets and drones shot at Israel from Lebanon by Hezbollah.
The flames have burned nearly 5,000 acres of land in Israel’s North compared to the around 300 that burn in forest fires in an average year, said the Keren Kayemeth LeIsrael-Jewish National Fund (KKL-JNF). They expect this number to climb once closed military areas near the border are opened and they can survey the damage there.
This is a scope unlike anything KKL-JNF has seen in the forests they tend. They are working with Israel’s Fire and Rescue Authority, but locals are also pitching in to help, because their proximity means that they can be on the ground long before professional firefighters can arrive.
One of these citizens-turned-firefighters is Eitan Lebel, the owner of Bat-Ya’ar Farm – a local business that caters to groups and provides horseback and jeep rides as well as meals at a beautiful outdoor venue – and has been closed since October 8.
Founded by Lebel about 40 years ago, the farm is carved out of the forest, standing on land that used to hold only brush and trees.
Lebel, who sardonically said that he has a lot of time on his hands these days, had printed pictures of what each part of his venue looked like before the war and placed them at each location the picture showed. The contrast between the picture and the current reality is striking.
What's going on in the North right now?
A picture of charming tables set for dozens of guests was tacked onto the railing around a deck that now holds dozens of metal table frames without surfaces. A picture of a laden buffet was tapped to a long counter laden with fire hoses.
The hoses are laid out there because the buffet is located right around the center of the farm, and so is the most logical place to store equipment for Lebel’s citizen fire team.
When they respond to a fire, they can get to the buffet, grab the hoses, and be ready to go out into the woods in any direction from the relative center of the farm.
THE TEAM started as a more typical kitat konenut (civilian emergency response team), training to defend Amuka, the town Lebel lives in, from an attack.
When the weather dried out, every rocket that fell or every shard of rocket or interceptor that rained down began to cause fires, he said, explaining that this is when his 20-person team shifted gears to fire fighting.
As soon as there is a siren, or as soon as they hear a boom, Lebel’s team rushes into the forest to find the site where a rocket or fragment may have fallen, so that they can try to extinguish the flames before they grow into a fire.
If they get there soon enough, his team can put out smaller flames with just a bat and a jerry can of water, Lebel explained, but if they are too late, the fires can grow enormously and be much more complex to extinguish.
The last major fire in the area came within 40 meters of the business. “I started thinking about what souveigneer I wanted to grab from the office,” the farmer-turned-firefighter said.
His farm is located 10.4 km. from Israel’s border with Lebanon, so Lebel is not eligible for much of the compensation offered to those who are in the area up to 9 km. from the border in what is considered the conflict zone.
He has received some compensation but not since January, Lebel said.
“The nine km. line is imaginary,” he said, explaining the frustration many feel that the conflict zone line is what determines compensation. “No one is coming here,” he said, adding that he doesn’t blame them as no one should take that risk.
He has submitted a request for aid aimed at tourist attractions that have been hurt by the war, and is still waiting to hear back.
COMPENSATION FOR the 106 workers he had to put on unpaid leave has also run out, he said, explaining that they were eligible for unemployment benefits, but that these are capped at six months of wages.
Lebel anticipates that this means his workers will have been forced to find other employment, adding that rehiring staff in order to reopen will be very hard.
July is the height of tourist season, and some 400 people should be coming through his business every day.
In spite of this, Lebel is hopeful that rebuilding is possible. “If I thought this whole place was going to burn up, I would pack up and leave,” he said.
The farmtrepreneur also expressed his gratitude for the help of KKL-JNF firefighters, and for some of the volunteers who have come to try to help him protect his farm.
Around 32 people came to help him clear the edges of the forest away from his farm to hopefully keep the fire from reaching it more easily.
One volunteer stood out, an American man in his late 50s who came for two days and stayed for a week, clearing brush and continuing the work of making the farm as safe from fire as possible. “He wasn’t even Jewish,” laughed Lebel, gratefully remembering the help.
The most ominous part of the trip through the lush but damaged forest and my visit to Bat-Ya’ar Farm was the knowledge that a “real” war with Hezbollah hasn’t broken out yet, but is warily expected by many.