By: Helen Freedman AFSI August 24, 2005

I write this from New York after returning from a bitter trip to Israel in mid-August. I wanted to be with my friends in Gush Katif during the period of the scheduled expulsion. I was sure it would never happen. Knowing the dedication, devotion, and beauty of the people and the land of Gush Katif and the Shomron, as a result of the many trips Americans For a Safe Israel/AFSI had sponsored to the areas over a period of ten years, I was certain they would win their battle, which had become our battle also. I just never anticipated the depth of the Sharon destruction plan, and how efficiently it would be enacted. I had hoped to be in Gush Katif and Sanur and Homesh for the victory celebrations. Tragically, I was a witness to the execution of the diabolical expulsion plan that has created, once again, Jewish refugees. But this time, they are wandering and homeless in their own country. This is my diary of my tragic trip.

My frequent flyer mileage route to Israel on August 8 took me first to Berlin, Germany where I visited the Berlin Jewish Museum, designed by the famous Daniel Liebeskind. There’s much to say about the scarlike, zig-zagging window slashes on gray granite that describes the exterior of the Liebeskind building, and the empty, irregular, vaulting tower, with a light at the very top of the tower and ladder rings leading nowhere, which is one of the primary Holocaust exhibits. But it was the ‘Garden of the Exiles’ which caught my attention. One enters at his own risk, and immediately experiences a loss of equilibrium amongst the tall, cement columns that fill the “garden.” In some remarkable way, Liebeskind has captured the sense of imbalance, the lack of support, the dizziness, and need to grasp hold of something strong and solid in his depiction of the condition of the exile. I didn’t realize how forcefully that image would return to me following my stay in Gush Katif, and my visits with the refugees in their Jerusalem hotels.

I arrived in Israel on Wednesday, August 10, and was part of the huge outpouring of Jews at the Kotel that evening. The reports said there were 250,000 people praying fervently that the evil Sharon decree would be repealed. I can’t speak for the numbers. I only know that we could not reach the plaza because of the crowds packed into that area, and it was only through a serious push and pull effort that we were able to reach a terrace overlooking the Kotel from which to view the proceedings. We thought, if only that crowd was pushing into Gush Katif. It would provide an impenetrable wall.

That was followed on Thursday evening, August 11, by another huge rally, this time in a central Square in Tel Aviv. Another 250,000 people showed up to raise their voices in opposition to the expulsion from Gush Katif and the Shomron communities. I had the privilege of sitting on the stage that evening, watching the array of prestigious speakers, and witnessing the huge throngs of people that spread out in every direction. I had been asked to speak for American Jews who had come specifically to Israel to oppose the expulsion. I did not get to give my message, but it contained a promise that I would go to Gush Katif on Friday, August 12, and so I was determined to keep that promise, although I had been told that getting into the Gush would be impossible at that late time.

Friday morning I arose early, spoke to my friend, Dror Vanunu, a resident of Nevei Dekalim, the largest of the communities in the Gush, and told him I was determined to try ‘getting in’. My plan was to get the bus in Jerusalem to Ashkelon where I hoped that Dror would meet me and somehow help me to accomplish my goal. He told me the Egged bus from Ashkelon goes to Gush Katif and it was still running. All I had to do was somehow get past the checkpoint in Kissufim and I would be IN. Leaving all my orange shirts, skirts, bracelets and caps behind me, I packed just a few items, believing that I might not make it, but was prepared with the minimum requirements should I succeed. I tried to look like the objective journalist simply out for a day’s reporting. At any rate, when the Egged bus was stopped at Kissufim, and a smiling soldier boarded and began checking credentials, I simply handed him my NYC press card as though there was no question that it gave me the authority to remain on the bus. He handed it back to me, proceeded to check the soldiers on the bus, and left us all to continue on our way. I held my breath, and when we reached Kfar Darom, I knew that I was IN and I had fulfilled my promise to myself that on Friday, August 12, I would be in Gush Katif.

Dror and his wife Keren invited me to stay with them and their three children in their beautiful four-bedroom, 2-1/2 bath home, which they had completed building just two months before. I remember Dror telling me how Keren insisted that their house have a blue roof, as distinguished from all the red roofs of the surrounding buildings. It was fortunate for me that the roof was blue, so that I never had a problem finding it when I returned from my various excursions into the central square and my visits to Moshe and Rachel Saperstein, other good friends who lived nearby.

The family had been enlarged to include four teenagers who joined us - two of them Keren’s brothers - and two young girls, Ruthie and Rachele. Charles Krischer, from Phoenix, Arizona had also been spirited in by Dror and completed the group. Dror drove up in a car filled with groceries from Ashkelon. Everyone pitched in with the pre-Shabbat preparations. Keren began cooking delicious foods in the most creative ways. The good smells began filling the house very quickly. Everyone showered and changed into Shabbat clothes. We went to the synagogue for evening services and Kabbalat Shabbat, the greeting of the Sabbath queen. The crowds were so great that there was no room inside the synagogue for the non-residents. We stood outside, praying in the beautiful night air, fervently believing that our prayers, offered up by so many people, with such love and dedication, would be answered.

Shabbat dinner was festive, with additional guests, and much of the conversation revolving around each individual’s story of how he got IN. This was all accompanied by much laughter and satisfaction with our accomplishments. It was midnight before the meal was completed and everyone fell off to sleep, thoroughly exhausted by the concerns of the circumstances surrounding us.

Shabbat services were again packed with too many people to fit into the synagogue. Throngs prayed outside, and I was reminded of the many minyanim that form outside the Maarat HaMachpelah, the Cave of the Patriarchs in Hebron, when the portion of Chaye Sarah is read. Abraham’s purchase of the grave for Sarah in Hebron is described in the parshe, and is celebrated by thousands who descend on Hebron for the occasion. I felt I was experiencing a similar event that Shabbat, August 13, in Nevei Dekalim. Following the services, a huge Kiddush, serving 1000 people, was offered in a park area. The hundreds of youngsters who had come to Nevei Dekalim to support the residents spilled into the area and participated in the celebration.

I joined Rachel and Moshe Saperstein for lunch, along with the permanent guests they had staying with them through this period, the Rabbi Chaim Eisner family of five and Johann and Christa Rhodius from Holland. Rachel insisted on serving the Shabbat food elegantly, believing that regardless of the circumstances, the good food dictated a dignified presentation. Everything was plentiful and delicious, sprinkled with stimulating conversation.

When I returned to Dror’s home, the Shabbat meal was still going strong and continued well into the late afternoon, with additional guests participating. The conclusion of Shabbat was a bit unusual since we were going right into Tisha B’Av and the day long fast. Huge crowds were again at the synagogue to recite the special mournful prayers commemorating the destruction of the first and second Temples. This year, facing the expulsion prospects, the mood was intensified and the prayers were filled with tears. As we milled around the synagogue area, I saw many people I knew who had come to Nevei Dekalim to strengthen it. Moshe Feiglin, who had set up his tent in Shirat Hayam, had turned it over to my good friend Rob Muchnick, and was spending Shabbat in Nevei Dekalim. Rabbi Menachem Felix, a dear friend from Elon Moreh in the Shomron, whose beautiful daughter had been an early victim of terror, was also present. Assemblyman Dov Hikind was lending his support, and Yifat and Shalom Akobi, from Hebron, were there with their five children. They were sharing a house with three other families from Hebron and I learned that eighty Hebron families were in Gush Katif. They are an amazing group of people. They share the love of land and Jewish values in identical ways with the people of Gush Katif, so their being there should have been no surprise.

On Sunday, August 14, Tisha B’av, good friends Tovah and Tzvi Abady drove over from Shirat Hayam with Rob Muchnick and joined me in attending a meeting with the Americans who had arrived with Leib Schaeffer as their leader. They were possibly the only Americans who had traveled as a group, which Americans For a Safe Israel/AFSI had helped Leib to organize. They wore their bright yellow shirts, identifying themselves as Americans protesting the expulsion, and were being housed in a public facility near the municipal offices in Nevei Dekalim. We had been told that this was the last day that travel would be permitted between the twenty-one communities making up Gush Katif, so Tova, Tzvi, Rob and I drove to Shirat Hayam in order to see the tent city there, which was quite remarkable. There was a huge cooking area with stoves set up. There were also toilet facilities. Many of the tents had wooden floors and were therefore fairly comfortable for extended periods of time. We saw families milling about, with small children playing together. Nowhere did one feel an air of tension or concern.

We drove on to Kfar Yam to visit Nadia Matar and her family and friends in her caravan. She proudly showed off the new wooden deck that volunteers had constructed for her and once again we marveled at the fantastic view from her terrace. The Mediterranean looked absolutely sparkling and magnificent laid out before us.

We learned about a legal initiative that the Shirat Hayam community was considering, to create a self-governing body once the Israeli government withdrew. We spoke about the effort to bring an injunction against the Sharon government in the High Court because of its failure to provide housing for the evacuees as per the requirements of the expulsion plan. (That effort was made, and was turned down on Thursday morning.) We said goodbye to Nadia, knowing that events would be unfolding very soon that would determine where we might meet again. Rob opted to remain in Shirat Hayam, while Tovah and Tzvi returned to Nevei Dekalim with me and found housing with the Sapersteins, whose beautiful home seemed to expand endlessly.

We awoke early on Monday, August 15, to begin the defense of Nevei Dekalim. The police and army were scheduled to arrive to begin the deportation. The residents were to remain in their homes, while the visitors were asked to man the gates. At 6:30 AM I was on my way, stopping only to read the orange sign that Dror and Keren had placed on their door, and which was seen on the doors of all the homes. In this case it read that this was the Vanunu family home - that they had been residents of the community for nine years - and that they would not move from this place. The concluding message pleaded with the soldiers not to carry out their mission.

At the entrance to Nevei Dekalim, the first of the communities to be evacuated, hundreds of young girls and women sat on one side of the entrance, with hundreds of young boys and men on the other side. They sang, and prayed, and cried, and spoke softly, and waited for the menacing troops to arrive. The evacuation orders were to be delivered to each family and the opponents of the plan were determined to prevent that from happening. Truckloads of mean machine looking policemen, dressed in baggy black uniforms reminiscent of the Nazi SS, lined up three deep across the main entrance, looking as though they were ready to charge the gates. Large, menacing trucks backed them up, with cattle guards in front. An earth-moving Caterpillar, manned by soldiers, stood opposite the gates. The police began moving forward. The entire time the boys and girls were singing, speeches of encouragement were delivered, and the people stood their ground. The Yassamnikim retreated and we rejoiced, believing we had won the first round, although in theory the expulsion papers had been served to the community as a whole, and we had 48 hours, until Wednesday, August 17, to leave.

Shortly, huge flatbed trucks arrived with two large containers on each truck, to be delivered to the residents who were packing up to leave. However, hardly anyone was leaving and word went out that the same trucks were traveling throughout the community as part of the psychological warfare. I stopped at the Sapersteins where everything seemed to be under control and was asked to be present at an AP taping of Rachel following the 8PM Sharon “we will not abandon you” speech. I joined her for the interview. Turning on the TV to hear Sharon’s speech, we first saw footage of residents in other communities being served their papers. One man tore his shirt as though in mourning while his wife tore up the order and began to cry. Other scenes showed soldiers and residents crying together. The result was that Rachel began to cry uncontrollably and I tried to comfort her, with tears rolling down my face. When Sharon spoke we could only feel more contempt and hatred for him than ever before. Although both Rachel and I dried our tears when asked about our reaction to his speech, and spoke angrily about him, I don’t believe any of our words made it into the AP report. I was told that we were seen on TV crying.

When I awoke on Tuesday, August 16, I learned that the army and police had come to the community at 4 AM and removed the front gate. I walked into the town square area and it was flooded with policemen in black, in green, and with soldiers. They were lounging around, staying in the shade, and just making their presence felt by sheer force of numbers. Dror, suffering from a bad cold, asked me to go to the nearly empty grocery store to buy schnitzel for the evening barbeque planned by the neighbors. Apparently the community felt they needed to band together for their last night. With the help of Tovah Lazaroff, the Jerusalem Post reporter, I found the last few packages of frankfurters and French fries. The store was out of bags, so I used a basket in which to pile my purchases. Some young girls saw me struggling with the basket and carried it to the house for me. It was heartwarming to see how all the young people were so eager to be helpful whenever possible.

I returned to the municipality area and learned that MK Uzi Landau would be visiting and would be interviewed by Aaron Klein who writes for World Net Daily and is heard often on the John Batchelor radio program. Avner Shimoni, mayor of Gush Katif was there, and offered me comforting words. MK Dr. Arieh Eldad was also in the community, undoubtedly studying what was happening in preparation for the battle that would follow in Sanur, the N. Shomron community to which he had moved his family. Unfortunately, as I saw on TV when I was back in NY, Sanur and Homesh were taken on Tuesday, August 23.

After Mincha services, there was a festive dedication of the new mikvah, with much dancing and music. The entire community turned out for the event and the journalists who were there marveled that while the residents were facing expulsion, they continued to rejoice in the Torah and its mitzvot. The word had spread that all non-residents should go to the synagogue with their belongings. I believed that they would then be put on buses to be removed from the area. Not wanting to leave, I asked Dror and Keren what they wanted me to do. They asked me to stay with them until the soldiers arrived at their home to expel them. I agreed. I didn’t realize at the time that they were also sparing me the last-ditch events that unfolded as the young people at the synagogue resisted expulsion as mightily as possible on Wednesday. Many of them were carried out by the soldiers, with four soldiers for each person. Charles, our Phoenix friend, not a youngster, was among those who resisted to the end and was carried out bodily.

Tuesday night’s BBQ was a surreal experience. All the people surrounded the soldiers who were moving about in groups of six or so, looking at maps and apparently selecting the homes to which each were assigned. The residents talked, cried, and pleaded with the soldiers not to do the job. The young people were amazing. They spoke fearlessly and at length, displaying a maturity and strength far beyond their years. The soldiers proved to be an immovable force. We turned to the BBQ, eating, listening to music, with some of the young people playing on tambourines. The night was beautiful, making it seem impossible to believe that this would be the last night that these people would gather together in front of their beautiful homes in a spirit of friendship and communal warmth. We were still waiting for the miracle to occur. I went to sleep after midnight, knowing that the soldiers could knock on the door at any time. Keren worked at packing cartons all through the night. I was aware of her emptying the shelves of the children’s clothing. This was the only packing that had been done in the house, except for when Dror’s five year old daughter packed her back-pack with toys she wanted to take with her. She did this without tears, selecting the stuffed animals that would fit into the bag.

I awoke at 6 AM on Wednesday, August 17, and quickly showered and dressed to be ready for the knock on the door. I had very little to pack since I had brought so little with me, leaving my suitcase in Jerusalem, but I put together all my belongings, and was ready. Keren finished cleaning up the house. She was determined that the soldiers would see it as a beautiful home, one in which a happy family had lived. Dror took pictures of everything - the living room, dining room, kitchen, bathrooms, four bedrooms, laundry room, beds, sofas, chairs, tables, and more, so that there would be a clear record of what their home had looked like before its destruction. I took pictures of the family, the smiling Vanunus, in front of their home with the orange message on it stating that they would never leave.

At 10:30 AM Dror asked me to drive the family car, loaded with necessary possessions, into Jerusalem, to the Malon Shalom - the hotel in Bayit Vagan to which they had been assigned and which would be their home until August 26. I agreed to go, and drove off, past burning rubbish in the main street in Nevei Dekalim, past soldiers and police and trucks, and headed to Jerusalem. I drove past communities whose names I knew well, where the AFSI Chizuk missions had spent many happy days visiting the residents, the hothouses, the farms, schools and synagogues. Atzmonah, Gadid, Morag and Rafiah Yam were south of me, but I drove past Shirat Hayam and thought of the innocent happy days we had spent at the Palm Beach Hotel, gathering Gaza seashells to make into necklaces. I thought of our most recent stays at Midreshet HaDarom, the charming motel where the Chizuk participants were housed during our visits to the area. I thought about the Pagoda restaurant, on the beach, where the AFSI Chizuk people had enjoyed so many delicious meals, and were treated to so many encouraging speeches from community members. Driving past Katif, Netzer Hazani and Kfar Darom. I thought of David Hatuel, whose pregnant wife and four beautiful daughters were killed by Arab terrorists on their way to promote the referendum to save Gush Katif. I was a guest at his beautiful home a few months ago and marveled at the artistry on display everywhere. Tali, his wife, had obviously been a very talented woman. She had created a warm and loving home. I was in awe of his ability to carry on despite his unbearable loss. I cannot think of how painful this additional loss of his home and all the memories of his family must be to him now. Can the soul survive such a beating?

I also thought of Anita Tucker who greeted us so warmly so many times at Netzer Hazani. She had begun her hothouses over thirty years ago, and her children and grandchildren were continuing in her tradition. She told us about the fact that the few Arabs who lived in the area at the time of the Tucker family’s arrival, warned them that the land was cursed and nothing would grow for them. Anita proved them very wrong, as did all the farmers of Gush Katif whose flowers and vegetables have been exported throughout the world. And Kfar Darom, the community that had been hit with terror so many times that we were told years ago that the children are accustomed to the fact that so many were orphans. It was the home of the Cohen children, three of whom lost limbs in a bus bombing. PM Sharon was the one who encouraged them to stay in Kfar Darom, despite the dangers of living there. He is now the one ordering their expulsion. Arriving at Kissufim junction, I drove past the check points and guards and many hitch hikers, stopping only to pick up one “tramper. ” He stayed with me throughout the rest of the trip, thanking me for the opportunity to perform a mitzvah by helping me help the Vanunu family.

By leaving Gush Katif through the Kissufim junction, I didn’t pass Netzarim, a community we love, and whose synagogue we had watched grow from the very beginning. And I remembered being in Nisanit when a rocket had fallen in the kindergarten schoolyard and we quickly altered our plans to go there and bring toys to the children. And Eli Sinai - who could forget being in Avi Farkan’s beautiful home, looking out at the Mediterranean, and seeing the smokestacks of the Ashkelon electric company just north of his home? Avi had been expelled from Yamit and was determined not to be expelled again, from the home to which he had been sent by Arik Sharon. To no avail all the protests and cries and pleadings, all the wasted dead and wounded. None of this would change the direction of Sharon, determined to bulldoze his way onto the people. He will build a casino where Avi’s home existed, so that he and his corrupt and evil friends can line their greedy pockets at the expense of the lives of so many good Jews.

I said my mental farewells to all these places and people we had come to know and love so much and continued on to Jerusalem. At the Malon Shalom I discovered that the family of five had been assigned to one room. I explained that that was impossible. The management insisted that was all that was available. The children were young, 8, 5 and 2, and had to be housed in the same room as the parents. Resigning myself to the fact that Dror would have to fight this battle himself, I unloaded the car, parked it, and left.

I didn’t know what time Dror and his family would arrive with the bus load of people from Nevei Dekalim, but I knew it would be a long, slow process. We heard that the Netzer Hazani refugees would be at the Kotel that evening because they didn’t even have hotel rooms to go to. We went there, hoping to greet them as heroes, but they never arrived. They actually did get to the Kotel on Thursday evening, after midnight, and thousands of people were there to greet them. They had been invited to stay at the Hispin guest house in the Golan, but once there, they were told that they would have to leave to make room for paying guests. A nearby yeshiva proved to be their new temporary home.

Thursday morning, August 18, I walked to the Kotel. The scene at the Kotel on a Monday or Thursday morning is amazing. Hundreds of Bar Mitzvahs are taking place simultaneously, with family members walking around dressed up for the occasion. This time there was even a small group of musicians that performed in celebration of one Bar Mitzvah boy. The experience seemed surreal. Here there were photographers snapping pictures of so many happy scenes, instead of photographers seeking scenes of confrontation between “settlers” and soldiers. There was light and sunshine and festivity. I had left behind 21 communities in the process of being ethnically cleansed of the 1700 families, 9000 Jews. The TV pictures showed the last stand at Kfar Darom and the beginning of the bulldozing of the houses. Talk about trying to move the synagogues fell apart since they were deemed too hard to move. Will they be bombed to dust, or bulldozed? All the work, time, money and loving care that went into the construction of the synagogues would evaporate in the swift action of the destroyers.

In the afternoon, I visited the Shalom hotel, looking for Dror, Keren, the children, and other residents of Nevei Dekalim who had been sent there. I found Keren in the lobby, along with hundreds of others who were milling around. There was a food station, an information area and a legal advice table to help people with forms they might need to sign - or not sign. A traveling magician set up a little stage in the lobby to put on a show for the children. They were all engrossed in the entertainment when screams were heard and another bus load of people were unloaded at the hotel. Everything stopped as people rushed to help the newcomers.

Then word came out that the Netzer Hazani people were arriving at 6 PM. and would be at the Kotel. I parted from the Vanunus, assuring them we would look for them at the Kotel. I started making phone calls to alert people to the fact that they should go to the Kotel to be part of the welcoming committee. Judy Balint was in touch with Rabbi Avi Weiss, who had entered Netzer Hazani on the previous Friday with MK Effie Eitam, a resident of the community. He told her the buses were still in Netzer Hazani at 6 PM, so they would obviously be late in arriving. Judy and I then decided to visit the other hotels where refugees were housed. We went to Gates of Jerusalem, saw the people milling around, listened to some shell-shocked stories, and visited the SELA center. That is the “Disengagement Authority” and nothing was happening there, although rooms had been designated as areas to go for help and advice.

At the Jerusalem of Gold hotel we visited Moshe and Rachel Saperstein who had one small room to themselves. Rachel was sitting up in bed, her foot in a cast. A small bone in her foot, which had broken while she was in Nevei Dekalim, had gone untended because the clinic had been closed. In Jerusalem she had it x-rayed and treated. She was on the mend, still giving interviews, and blaming herself for not having done enough to save her community, even though she had been tireless in giving of her time and energy.

We walked outside through the streets of Jerusalem. People with orange t-shirts, torn deliberately as a sign of mourning, filled the streets. Everywhere there was a sense of refugees wandering aimlessly, not knowing where they were, or why it happened, and where they would be going next. I was back in the ‘Garden of the Exiles’, where I had begun my trip on Tuesday, August 9. The feeling of the need to escape that environment was the same feeling I was experiencing at the end of my stay in Israel. I wanted to escape that country and all the evil I had witnessed being thrust upon the people by a leader who shamelessly destroys people’s lives, and then assures them he will not abandon them, even while they are abandoned, unbalanced, tempest-tossed on the seas of uncertainty and displacement, with the unknown looming ahead of them indefinitely.

There are now overwhelming questions as to the nature of the Jewish state - its existence as such, and where the people fit into the picture. As American Jews who care deeply about the Jewish people and a Jewish state, we must examine ourselves in determining where we go from here. Will we silently sit by, watching events unfold, feeling helpless, or will we redouble our efforts to change the system of government in Israel so that the voice of the people will be heard in the land and the corrupt spoilers will be defeated? The answer seems apparent. We have no other choice but to keep working.

This entry was posted on Thursday, August 25th, 2005 and is filed under opinion. You can leave a response.