Last week, on the last night of Chanukah, as Mordechai, Chana, and I watched the dancing flames of our Chanukah menorah I thought about the weeks before and the weeks that would follow. At approximately 7:30 in the evening, three weeks ago, several terrorists shot at a group of four cars driving on the main road leading to the Gush Katif communities, as well as at an ambulance which was driving to the site several minutes later. A passenger of one of the cars, Chana Barat, mother of 7, from our community was wounded by a bullet in her spinal chord. Her two year old daughter was scraped by a bullet in her shoulder. Another woman, Ettie Pachima (HYD), from Netzer Chazani, mother of 5, was murdered. Ettie was the stronghold of her family when several year ago her husband was almost stabbed to death by his Arab workers. That night after word spread of the horrific terror attack, people congregated in synagogues around Gush Katif to read psalms and cry out in union “enough is enough.” We anxiously waited around the phone to hear of the latest update about Chana’s condition.
While waiting Mordechai and I brainstormed about what we could do to ensure the security of those driving to and from Gush Katif. Our answer came in another phone call the next day. The called asked if we would be willing to move out to a new community that was being set up on a piece of land right next to the main intersection, near where the terrorists had been. Without hesitation I said “Sure, happily. When do you need us?” Surprised he suggested that I discuss the plan with my husband first. I assured him Mordechai would agree to it. The man then eagerly told me to have our things packed by nighttime. In addition he put me in charge of recruiting other families to join our new community.
That night we watched as two caravans (portable homes) were placed next to Intersection 49, on the crossroad between Kfar Darom and the rest of Gush Katif’s communities. People came from all over to shake our hands, and bring us treats. Those driving past beeped their horns. All were thanking us for having established a new stronghold where one was much needed. We, another family whom we had contacted from Samaria, and students from nearby Torah institutions, move in together. Our electricity came from a generator until we were hooked up to the main electricity line. While waiting to be connected to the main water line we used portable toilets and drank from a small water-tank. Our synagogue was situated in a sukah, which had the beautiful sound of bible study arising from it day and night.
Exactly one week after establishing our community, after having discussed what we would name it, after planting scores of trees, after having planned to buy ducks for the small pond near our caravans we got an emergency phone call that cranes and police vehicles were on their way to uproot our community. Bending to American pressure, Prime Minister Sharon, who had visited Gush Katif that morning, waited till the Pachima family had finished their seven days of mourning to order the destruction of our community and continue the construction of the unsafe bridge which could G-d forbid cause the deaths of many. The police closed off all roads leading to the intersection so that we would not be able to put up much of a fight to save our homes. Many young people ran several kilometers by foot, dodging police, in order to stand unified with us. Even so, the police eventually succeeded in removing us and our caravans. On our way back to Kfar Darom, we witnessed army bulldozers upturning the earth along with our trees to ensure that no rememberance of our community would be left behind, as well as no hope for return. However, we all promised ourselves that we would not give up, and one day where now there is desolation and ruin will one day, with G-d’s help stand a beautiful community.
After that traumatic experience our spirits were lifted when on the second night of Chanukah we attended Orit Cohen’s thirteenth birthday party in Kfar Darom. Orit was not able to celebrate her Bat Mitzvah last year. At the time not long after the devasting terror attack on Kfar Darom’s school bus, she was undergoing operation after operation to try and save as much of her foot as possible. This Chanukah she danced with help of her protheses, with all of her guests. Likewise, her sister Tehilla and brother Yisrael danced using their prosthesies. On each night of Chanukah in Kfar Darom the party hall was filled with people, music and delicious jelly donuts. One night, students from a yeshiva in Jerusalem came and danced in some of the community’s homes. Ours, a total mess from having moved, was one of them. While enjoying watching them dance I forgot about the mess.
When Chanukah was over, I busily began preparing for Chana’s and my trip to visit my family in the U.S.A. Now we are here and although it is great to see family and friends, I miss home dearly. I miss the sweet smell lingering in the air after a good rain. I miss the reddish brown dirt and bright flowers. Even so, I know Chana and I will return shortly, and hopefully we will not return alone. Hopefully we will merit being a speck in the sea of faces as our nation returns to our beloved land. Amen.
This entry was posted
on Monday, December 31st, 2001 and is filed under series.