Neve Dkalim 14-18.8.2005
Let's jump back to Sunday, August 14th. It was the ninth of
Av [1], which I didn't observe this year, so we were asked
to report to base late in the afternoon. Then as always we
were taken overnight to our tent town near the Gaza strip
[2,3]. By midnight the Gaza strip officially turned off
limits to all Israeli citizens, including those still
refusing to leave it. Originally our commanders were
supposed to come in to the Gaza strip settlements to
deliver decrees ordering the settlers to leave until
Tuesday midnight (48 hours), trying to convince them to
leave in peace, while we'd be home or at least sleeping in
our tents. But then some wise guy thought "Hey, what if
some families decide to leave but need help packing? Why
shouldn't we send soldiers to help?". So early Monday
morning we were carried into the Gaza strip, for the first
time in my life, me assigned to the "movers" bus at the end
of the convoy. Other people were assigned the crucial tasks
of escorting the commanders as they enter the houses, or
guarding the wheels of our buses from being punctured. We
were taken to Neve Dkalim (literally "Palm Oasis"), the
largest settlement in the Gaza strip (about 2000
residents). Its gates were blocked by hundreds of
protesters, so we sat all day on the bus or on a sand dune
near it, about 500m away from the gates. Since I brought
one of my cymbals along, and could chat with a pretty
redhead (a community center teacher in ordinary days), it
was good enough. The Gaza strip was more beautiful than I
expected, with plenty of palm trees and other vegetation,
hothouses, sand dunes, Arab and Jewish settlements, and a
clear blue sea in the horizon. There were also
plenty of fortifications, tanks and other armoured vehicles
positioned on the way.
Tuesday we just waited for Wednesday, so my pals were taken
to some shitty theater show while I volunteered to stay in
the tent and "guard" our stuff. Thus I could practice my
cymbal in shorts with two ventilators while they were on
uniform in the heat. Then some stranger brought his guitar
along and we played together for a couple of hours. Then,
alas, a change in plans. It was decided to take us back to
Neve Dkalim, whose gate was welded off overnight, to make a
last minute attempt to convince its residents to leave, as
after midnight they lose up to 30% of their compensations.
At 8PM, timed in by TV cameras, we marched in by our
hundreds. It was weak. Hundreds of settlers were there to
shout on us, insult us, demoralize us and look us in the
eyes. At first they behaved just like in our simulations,
and yet it wasn't easy. One furious youngster was pumping
petrol out of a car into a plastic tank, then got mad at me
for staring at him. As his hand moved into his pocket I was
scared he's gonna pull out a lighter and burn us all up. He
didn't, but it shows you how unfamiliar we were with the
whole situation, expecting anything might happen.
We were given about ten homes to visit that night. Which
means my commander would knock on each door escorted by
some of my pals, while we waited outside and quietly began
speaking with the protesting settlers. My commander was
rather successful in convincing them residents, as most
finally started packing. I carried a backpack for one
family, new immigrants from France. They were so sad and
disoriented. It didn't feel right to do it in the dark.
Later we were sent to create a human chain around one of
the evacuation buses, its front already smeared by paint
balloons. The protesters were clearly mostly outsiders, and
the locals had a hard time convincing them to respect the
decision of some of the residents to leave. Then after
midnight we marched out to Neve Dkalim's industrial zone. I
fell asleep on the floor before the mattresses arrived.
Early Wednesday morning we marched back into Neve Dkalim,
this time to evict, by force if necessary. Each team had to
evacuate two houses per day, so there was time enough for
negotiations. The first family made no packings, wet
laundry still hanged outside. Eventually they said they'd
leave by 11:00, and we continued to the next house. They
wouldn't let us in, and one of their babies became
dehydrated, and it was a whole mess to get a doctor and
convince them to let him in. Eventually the baby was
treated, my commander convinced them to leave, and they
began their mourning rituals. This is roughly when I
entered the house, in case they ask for any assistance.
They put a sad Jewish song in loop in their stereo, made a
tear in their shirts [4], and one woman kept weeping. They
were enraged, betrayed, stressed, you name it, and we were
there to take it all from them.
I don't think you can understand what it feels like to step
into the home of a family in this situation. Imagine
entering a Flemish village in Wallonia, after the Flemish
parliament decides to make Wallonia Flemish-free. Imagine
how would you feel like if your residence in your home was
declared illegal. Sure you experience packing and moving
right now, but no one forced you to do it, nor has anyone
timed your departure. Their anger was mostly directed at
the government and the state that has betrayed them, but we
were sometimes their boxing bags.
One of the sons in this family was roughly my age. He
started throwing stuff from the full fridge to the floor,
telling us to take it to Sderot [5]. One of the common
accusations against the settlements is that they're
generously funded while nearby development towns like
Sderot struggle with unemployment and poverty. This wasn't
entirely correct in the case of the Gaza strip settlements,
as their export of organic vegetables is a considerable
source of income. As this was a family of agronomists,
their illegitimation in the media made them very pissed
off, and they poured it all on us. At one point he even
tried to insert a frozen roll of phyllo to my shirt, and I
took a step back. So much for physical violence in this
evacuation.
Eventually most of the family left and we kept standing in
the kitchen as that son and his brother figured out how to
dismantle the air conditioner. Now that the weeping woman
and the looping song were gone, things somewhat calmed
down. They were already tired of expressing their rage, and
the physical problem of detaching the bloody thing off the
wall was an easy escape. We weren't asked to help, but they
did give in to our sandwiches and drinks.
We had a lunchtime rest in a local playground while the
eviction continued in other homes. I think it was about
then that we heard the chief of staff ordered Neve Dkalim
evacuation should be completed by nighttime. Instead of
evicting two homes per day, we now had to evacuate a house
in 15 minutes. This unrealistic pace was plainly ignored by
our platoon commander, who kept giving things their time.
However it implied evacuation went on for us.
Our next mission was a big villa, its family has already
left but the elder son came back and stayed in with several
friends. We surrounded the place and negotiation began, when
a nearby bus fell into a trap. Some idiots dug a pit in the
sand, covered it with a light board, then the bus drove
over it and its wheel fell in. A human chain was quickly
formed ahead of it, and we had to catch the protesters and
carry them off to another bus. In this incident I had to
carry a stretcher while the others worked. The bus was
quickly towed out and we got on to the next villa (the big
one was now taken care of by another team).
The next family was quite hostile, with a most annoying 11
year old girl who took the whole thing very seriously. As
our commander went in for negotiations, she kept telling
the other officers to get off her garden and the shade of
her tree. So eventually we pulled out to the street by the
shade of some containers and ate snacks, while our
commander kept sweating inside. I think it was then I first
noticed we don't hear any birds singing. There were only
pigeons there, with some occasional swallows. The
ubiquitous sparrows just weren't there.
Three young outsiders accidently passed by us and it was
decided to cease the opportunity and catch them. One of
them identified himself as a reservist IDF officer living
in Neve Dkalim for his whole life. He laid down on the
ground literally bellowing in tears for a couple of minutes
before he let us carry him away. The two others were just
escorted walking to the bus on their feet. I was touched by
his grief, but later it turned out he was really an outsider
infiltrating the Gaza strip, like several thousands of
others. I'm not trying to convince you with any kind of
opinion, just sharing my experiences.
Eventually that family left too. I think we had to carry
the young girl, not sure, anyways she did scream like hell
on her way out. Hysterical screams occasionally recurred
through the evacuation of Neve Dkalim, as well as the next
settlements.
We then proceeded to our last house for the day. It
belonged to a family of American immigrants with plenty of
infants, among which a cute 3 year old blonde boy. The boy
looked quite joyful as he asked us to refuse and go away
etc. I expected trouble, especially as that fanatic father
kept referring to the neighbouring house, where an
Auschwitz survivor lived. The captain escorting our
commander took it quite hard, as he's a funny emotional
person who was very much against this disengagement and
empathic to their pain. Our commander asked some other
captain to take his place, then the father insisted he'd be
allowed to keep working on that captain to make him refuse.
Apparently making us refuse, even just a single one of us,
was one thing many settlers were eagerly trying to achieve,
even through the final moments of their eviction. It had a
clear practical reason, as the refusal of one might lead to
additional refusals, jamming the whole operation. I think it
had a psychological reason as well, as the settlers had
their homes to lose and nothing to gain, and so refusals
were their source of achievement. However no refusals
occurred, to their growing frustration. Many rabbis told
them there will be no disengagement as a miracle will
happen, if only they keep their faith. This only made their
mental crisis worse.
On the contrary to my expectations, the family started
taking its suitcases out pretty quickly. Then it turned out
there are no vacant buses to carry them out. The speeded up
eviction, and especially the settlement reached with the
local yeshiva [6] for their quiet departure, exhausted all
available buses, including those that brought us in. It
wasn't wise to get the little infants of this family on the
same bus with yeshiva students, and so their situation
turned problematic. Now they begged us to get them out
today as they're all packed and not organized to stay
overnight. Eventually they were evacuated, don't remember
how.
With no buses at hand evacuation was halted. We had supper
in a kindergarten and napped waiting for further
instructions. One American woman with impassioned eyes came
to talk us into refusal, and some of my pals still felt like
arguing with her. Then another young woman told us about her
feelings. At this stage one of my pals asked her to leave as
we're fed up with the ongoing preachings lasting all day
long since last night. We really were, I omitted that part
since it recurred so often. Almost any civilian we saw had
something to tell us. She started crying, telling us that's
what hurts her the most. Eventually she left.
After 8PM we heard a remote explosion, that later turned
out to be a suicide bomber's belt caught in a nearby
friendly Bedouin settlement. So I had to call home again,
cumulatively I think I spoke with my family for more than
an hour that day.
I think it was after 10PM when we were suddenly woken up
and hurried to some other place, told to expect heavy
resistance from hundreds of furious protesters. We weren't
really awake as we marched, hearing terrible screams in the
distance. There were hundreds of crazy girls yelling there.
They called us murderers, nazis, you name it. I don't
recall doing anything, maybe because there were no buses, I
wasn't really awake. After a few minutes we pulled back to
our kindergarten, partly shocked and partly just sleeping.
Sometime later we marched back to the industrial zone to
catch some decent sleep.
Then Norah (the jeep woman) sent me an SMS wishing I'm well
and coping. So I called her right back and we talked for the
first time. She turned out to be a new immigrant from Sweden
and sounded real sweet and all, which made me cheerful. Then
I had a quick cold shower with a hose, finally fulfilling
the entire homeless experience by the age of 23 - sleeping
on the street and showering with a hose in the backyard of
a dark industrial building. It was mentally purifying, as
well as a relief for the jock itch [7]. Thus in the end of
a long, terrible day, I was happy.
On Thursday August 18th at about 5AM (I think) we woke up,
got ready and quickly marched to one of the synagogues in
Neve Dkalim. Plenty of outsiders were sleeping inside, and
the idea was to surround them and catch 20-30 of them when
they try to break out, thus making our life easier later
on. It worked. I was carrying the stretcher again. Then we
had breakfast and started another evacuation day. Eggs from
last night's protest were smeared on the sidewalk.
We stayed in the shade as our commanders began
negotiations. All in all this mission mainly fell on their
shoulders, as they had to do all the negotiations, as well
as taking care of us. We began with three adjacent
families, Levi, Schwartz and Kluger. The Levi family [8]
left quietly, not saying anything against the soldiers nor
asking them to refuse. Moreover, when one of the kids (or
maybe a neighbour) asked the soldiers to refuse, the mother
told him he's wrong and the soldiers shouldn't refuse. They
just wept and left, one of the kids filling an empty
waterbottle with sand from their yard, as visible in the
picture. I was called to help carry one of their backpacks.
I'm probably somewhere beyond the right edge of the frame.
Some 3-4 photographers were there to capture their grief,
but they made no shows to the cameras. On the way back I
was touched by the sight of the elder son of this family, a
paramedic, walking and weeping.
Then came the Schwartz family. You see, the army created a
big database with the full data on each and every family in
these settlements. The negotiation teams were trained to
memorize the names and details of all family members,
details that were verified in the days before forced
evacuation begun. However, since we were supposed to
evacuate Neve Dkalim only a week later, the brigade had all
the data of the wrong settlement. The relevant data laid
someplace else, and with all the haste to have it all
finished before the Palestinian fire hits someone, they
kept entering houses not knowing who's in. It worked well
until we reached the Schwartz family.
In the beginning they seemed to be willing to leave
quietly, until they somehow realized we don't know their
names. She then asked we find out their names, saying
they're not numbers and won't be evicted anonymously. It
took fifteen minutes to find out they're Aharon (Aaron) and
Hadassah Schwartz. Meanwhile Aharon got totally pissed off
by us coming to evacuate him without knowing who he is. He
took out his military kitbag, telling them how he crossed
the Suez canal with Ariel Sharon in the Yom-Kippur war, how
he served in the counter-terrorism elite unit, how he was
decorated three times for his bravery. He took out
equipment from his kitbag and threw it away. It was in my
officemate's direction, which scared the shit out of him
considering Aharon's rage. In this stage the villa was
crowded by cameramen rushing in to the sound of Aharon's
cries. I was reading in the shade that whole time, I'm just
telling you what I was told. But I heard some of their cries
alright. As Aharon was a member of Neve Dkalim's town
council, he might have found the media show useful.
Anyways, my regiment commander popped in to a situation
that could have been resolved by my platoon commander had
he known who's inside.
The third family lived upstairs in the same villa. That was
the family of Rabbi Kluger. I heard it was tough going there
too. Wasn't personally involved. So much for Thursday
morning.
As we were having lunch (more sandwiches), the settlers of
a nearby villa systematically demolished it. You could hear
them smashing the windows, then pounding down the walls,
then it was quiet for a while, and then the entire villa
went up in flames. We quickly moved away. You may slap your
forehead, yet it goes to show the levels of distrust and
rage these settlers developed. They didn't trust the
government will really demolish their houses, and they
wouldn't let Arabs settle in their homes or pillage their
goods. As they voted for this prime minister after he said
their settlements' status is the same as Tel Aviv's, only
to wipe them off the map later, they no longer trust a word
he says. Alienation towards the state that turned its back
on them was a motif.
Then things got out of control for another company, and we
were called in to help. A family whose son died as a
fighter has agreed to leave, with his infantry regiment
helping them pack up. Then outsiders torched the opposite
empty villa and negotiations exploded. Hundreds of
protesters gathered around, some teenagers entrenching
themselves on the roof [9-11]. We had to guard the wheels
of a bus while the rest were, erm, supposed to do
something. Which they didn't. I mean, the house was
surrounded, and it was hot like hell, and smoke everywhere,
and hooligans all over, and we're just standing there doing
nothing. The asbestos roof of the burning villa crackled, I
hoped Kleenex was good enough against asbestosis, the
infantry fighters neutrally smoked, photographers kept
taking pictures, and so on.
We trained to first capture whoever roams the streets, then
proceed evacuation house by house. This was never done in
practice, for a good reason. You don't want a kid's last
memory of his old home to be getting caught like a stray
dog at some street corner, then spending all day in a bus
with strangers while his family is worried sick. And since
you couldn't tell an outsider from a local resident (unless
they carry their distinctive big backpacks), we generally
ignored whoever didn't physically interrupt us. Insulting
us doesn't count as interruption. However, when you have to
deal with an entrenchment situation, first thing you do is
isolate the scene in order to contain it. But then again,
the other company was in charge, and their commander is an
asshole. So We were just scarecrows there.
After about an hour of refreshing asbestos inhalation we
were replaced. Then we moved on to the doctor's home. He's
the doctor of the Gaza strip settlements, who personally
saved the lives of hundreds and determined 137 deaths, or
so we were told. Apparently there were some forty girls as
well as plenty of boys, on top of his big family, filling
his big villa to its roof. If all that wasn't enough, a
crew of Channel 2 television was waiting inside to film us
breaking in. A gas balloon laid outside attached to a fake
device. We knew it was fake because we ignored it, and we
surely wouldn't ignore a live explosive device attached to
a gas balloon, or would we? We ignored it, and it ignored
us back, which was good enough. My small group stood by one
of the side exits, with orders to let girls come out but
keep the boys in. I couldn't figure out why (hell, let them
all break out), and anyways they didn't come out. So we had
plenty of time to sit and wait while nearby girls tried to
make us refuse.
Several colonels came to negotiate, including the doctor's
elder son, who was heard by my friends timing our entrance
with the appropriate news edition. Then the girls'
monologue turned into a conversation. The funny captain who
was targeted the day before gave them a demagogic speech
that brought tears to my eyes and silenced them for several
good seconds. He told them how he's a right winger who
opposed the disengagement. How he prefers he'll be doing
this filthy job and not the left wingers (like me :) who
suggested leaving them to the Palestinians. How he doesn't
care to sit in jail but he knows if we refuse then all them
leftists will refuse to keep guarding them. That our hearts
are torn by their insults, that we're not robots like they
call us, etc. etc. It was really a good five minutes speech
which made us feel better, if nothing else. I also enjoyed
clearing my belly on them for a while.
Eventually the front door was crashed open and my company
commander walked in to negotiate. It took hours to convince
them out, the doctor giving back the memento medal he was
given when Neve Dkalim was established. In the meantime my
platoon commander quickly realized some outsiders were
gonna burn down the neighbouring villa, so he sent a team
to catch them and carry them over to the bus. If only there
were such commanders in that other company, I wouldn't be
asbestosisized.
The buses bottleneck lead to the wise decision to allow
settlers to leave with their own private cars. Initially
this was forbidden to ease traffic and contain protesters,
and permitting it made things easier to us all. In
particular, the doctor's family was first lead to the bus,
then went back in to make some more departure arrangements
and farewell ceremonies etc., then left in their private
cars. The youngsters on the roof agreed to go down to the
attic, still self-handcuffed. The handcuffs were cut and
they were safely carried down one at a time. By this time I
was reassigned from guarding the side door to guarding the
front door. We didn't really had to keep anyone specific in
or out, so we just tiredly sat on the porch balustrade
facing the door. Then one of the doctor's daughters, a nice
girl about our age, came to us and angrily asked "Is it
pleasant for you here on our porch? Do you like the breeze?
It's nice, ha? You're accomplices to this crime!". I used
this monologue often hereafter, maybe as a trauma symptom,
probably as a joke.
The doctor's house affair was over sometime after 9PM after
seven long hours. We thought that was it, as columns of
soldiers were marching out. But then there was one more
home to evict. A family who has rented their upper floor to
the national radio broadcasters. By then Neve Dkalim felt
real strange. Almost all the houses were empty, the few
settlers we encountered just kept on walking without
insulting us, it was unnaturally quiet. Negotiation
succeeded and the old couple went on the bus, then back
down for another farewell gesture, and back up. A full moon
rose and I exchanged a romantic SMS with Norah.
Then I was asked to enter the house. The couple's son
wouldn't leave on his feet. He sat passively on a chair in
the kitchen and we had to carry him to the bus right
outside. He didn't resist as I grabbed his left leg and we
lifted him through these 10 meters. He recognized the guys
who carried him with me, they've done officers course
together. That kinda shook me. By then I thought "well,
Neve Dkalim is over and I didn't have to carry anyone". Not
that I have had anything against it in the first place, it's
just that I was relieved that I didn't do it. Then, after I
thought it's all over, I did. I cried for a few minutes,
sharing my feeling with my pals. Then we slept on the grass
where we were, waiting for a clearance to walk back to the
industrial zone.
We nearly spent that night as well in the industrial zone,
but the right mixture of stubbornness and rudeness brought
us first on some other platoon's bus, then on a bus of our
own. We left a dead town that was very much alive when we
first saw it only two nights ago. A town that we have
killed ourselves, with our very hands. On the way out we
saw similar sights in other settlements. I almost cried
again. Then a long, hot shower back at our tent city. "Home
is where you shower" should be the phrase.
Sound asleep by 4AM, I think I woke up by 8AM, not sure. I
saw the familiar outline of a villa in Neve Dkalim, which
woke me up, only to realize it was the nearby tent I was
seeing. So much for an immediate trauma.
We had a summary conversation at the platoon level, then a
summary speech at the company level, then at the regiment
level, then the brigade commander spoke to our regiment,
and by 2PM our buses left towards Tel Aviv for a shortened
weekend. So shortened we had to report back by Saturday
night. But it was Tu Be'Av [12], and I had Norah in mind.
She woke me up at 8PM, I reached her place by nine thirty,
and we talked at her porch for nearly four splendid hours.
Her parents immigrated to Israel from Russia in the early
Seventies, just like mine. She was born on 1979, and on
1981 they left to Sweden, from which she has returned two
years ago. So while her elder brother is a native Hebrew
speaker, we mostly spoke in English. She studied at some
special computer science program in Uppsala, now working at
some hi-tech firm. Has her own lovely flat in the center of
Tel Aviv not far from the beach. A musical person having so
much in common it felt just right. And her mother died when
she was 13, which fits my long history of dating orphans. I
accordingly promised her your Dave Eggers' books. My only
concern was she might be turned off by my age, which
eventually happened. We only talked, a goodbye hug and I'm
gone. In bed by 2AM.
Qatif 21.8.2005
I woke up by 5AM, probably due to the bad seafood I've had
and not because of any trauma. Norah went off to the
Kinneret (sea of Galilee) with her brother. Soon the
weekend was over. Thanks to logistical mess we only went to
sleep by about 3AM, Norah the hot topic to tell my tent. I
think we woke up before 6AM to make it early to Qatif
settlement. Then again, if you sleep in nighttime, how
could you sleep in daytime?
This time I brought my camera along, so you could see for
yourself the checkpoint at the entrance to the Gaza strip,
the electric fence, the tanks and bulldozers on the way,
the bridge over the Palestinian main road, then the
hothouses of the settlements bloc known as Gush Qatif
(Qatif Bloc). Neve Dkalim was its capital, Qatif is just
one of the smaller agricultural settlements there with
ordinarily no more than 60 families.
We got the section of Qatif that was populated by outsiders
- families and youngsters who came to Qatif a few months
earlier, to resist its evacuation. In image 1015 you can
see the hay cubes at the side entrance we've used. They
were saturated with gasoline, and we hurried to get away
from them. However they were never lit. The main entrance
was lit alright, as visible in images 1000-1 and some press
photos [13-15]. When we entered one guy's foot was hit by an
egg, big deal. Except for that Qatif residents were less
noisy than Neve Dkalim's, and when they spoke it sounded
trite.
All through the morning a pal of mine and I had to guard
some empty public shelter, to prevent outsiders from
settling in it. Meanwhile our commanders began
negotiations. It was agreed beforehand all the settlers
would have a joint noontime prayer by 1PM, which should be
over in 15 minutes, and then they'd quietly leave. Of
course that didn't really happen. The negotiation teams
didn't reach all the houses by 1PM, so some were visited
after the prayer.
In the meanwhile I was sent to guard a small empty
clubhouse. It wasn't actually empty, as the previous guard
allowed some kids and their babysitter to enjoy the air
conditioning inside. Some sweet kids came to chat with me.
They told me their families came over a month ago, during
summer vacation. Most families came from various
settlements in the Judea mountains, while others came from
towns in Israel.
There was a televised drama in the evacuation of the main
synagogue of Qatif, but we weren't there. However our
beloved outsiders cooked their own drama. They all gathered
in a local place of Torah study, called their kids inside,
and started praying and crying together. There were no
media around, just their own private cameras to capture
them being carried out. Once again I got the left leg of
one young father, who insisted upon carrying his sweet
infant on his belly as we carried him. It was against
procedures, yet one soldier was assigned to keep the kid
fixed to his dad, and we made it. In between his
protestations he gave us instructions how to get to his
parked Subaru. I couldn't avoid smiling. Once he and his
wife were brought to the car, he went back with his kid to
pack up. Then we carried another young husband to a bus, a
good 200 meters away, this time I got the left hand. He was
from Qiryat Arba [16], a Jewish settlement famous for its
exceptional hostility towards the nearby Arab population in
Hebron. On the way back I took pictures 1025-6. I didn't
feel like taking pictures of people carried, and anyways
there was a ducumentarist in each platoon that was in
charge of filming it all. The couples we evacuated to their
private cars came back to get organized for some twenty
minutes. Their kids seemed happy and relaxed like kids are,
as if they didn't just see their parents carried screaming
and crying.
We were somewhat angry at the parents for their hypocrisy
and the surreal homage they paid to scenes they probably
saw on TV a week earlier. In a certain sense, it felt like
they're abusing the genuine tragedy the real residents were
undergoing. In Neve Dkalim we really felt terrible for the
people we tore away from their homes, while in Qatif it
felt like a farce. Anyways this was surely small change
compared to the abuse of holocaust memories.
We stayed in the shade for a while with several cute kids
who were somehow left over by their parents. Then this
stupid bitch [17], also known as their mom, forced her
company upon us. She kept annoying us for a while, until
our commanders arrived and were just as puzzled by her
presence. She is photographed sharing her majestic wisdom
with my regiment commander before vanishing off our lives.
This was Qatif for us, annoyingly hypocritical. While many
officers wept during the evacuation of Neve Dkalim, I don't
recall anyone crying in Qatif or later in Homesh. Surely
those who had to evacuate the actual residents of Qatif
experienced much worse feelings [18-19].
We left Qatif early enough to enjoy a long free evening.
However we also got a good view of its well designed villas
and the beauty of a settlement we wiped out in less than a
day. This time I photographed sights to the north of the
road leading out of the Gaza strip, while the morning
photos cover its southern side.
Norah called that night after a run along the beach to
Jaffa and back. I still remember her sweet voice, you know
I'm sensitive to such things. [...]
On Monday August 22nd I woke up at about 5AM, way too early
for anything but [...] Captured you some early morning
photos of my tent and some annoying chopper, apparently
about to carry our division commander to the north. Which
was our next destination as well.
Yap, this was our last morning in Reim tent town, near the
Gaza strip. No longer will we cough its crushed sand, as
fine as dusting powder. Our division packed up and moved
outside of the Shomron region [20], where we were about to
evacuate the Homesh settlement. Personally I got a leave at
noontime, to attend Ayelet and Shahaf's wedding that
evening.
[...] Of course the wedding went great. Meeting all the
gang and feasting and drinking and dancing etc.
Homesh 23.8.2005
We drove directly from the wedding to our brigade's
sleeping site. The brigade slept on a monument. The border
police [21] monument, to be exact. Imagine a hill with a
modernist steel monument on top. Imagine a small concrete
amphitheater facing the monument and some asphalt in
between. Now imagine 2000 people sleeping on top. This is
what we saw when we arrived, roughly around 2AM. Of all the
crazy stuff we saw in this disengagement, this was one of
the most surrealist sights. Then again, there were no
showers, so we couldn't call it home.
Departure was accordingly chaotic. Especially once it was
decided we should bring our helmets to Homesh, as tougher
resistance was expected. Imagine 2000 tired people, each
looking for his kitbag, which is stored in some truck.
Amazingly we made it in a finite time, the wonders of a
totalitarian system.
It was the very first time I saw the Shomron region. It was
surprisingly beautiful. Rocky mountains with lushing green
slopes. Some of the Arab villagers on the way make a living
of charcoal production, and the sight of small circular
mounds made of wood chops then covered by earth was most
picturesque. Unfortunately I left my camera at home,
fearing Homesh settlers will be violent as promised. We
passed right through several Arab settlements, their kids
happily waving at us, me waving back.
Homesh is a small settlement situated on the tallest
mountain around, roughly 650m above sea level. On a clear
day you can see much of the coastal region of Israel as
well as much of its north. However we were there on a hazy
day and could only see plenty of Arab settlements all
around us. We're not sure how many distinct fences we saw
surrounding Homesh, but there were about seven. So much for
fertilizing coexistence.
We were told only 6 families of residents still stayed in
Homesh, reinforced by about 700 outsiders. This time there
were no protests in the streets, just plenty of housesroofs
crowded by protesters. Thus we easily marched through,
dividing the settlements into regimental sections, or
something. It was funny to see how they had boys' roofs and
girls' roofs, to preserve their modesty. There was also a
funny graffiti - "we know what you did this summer". Many
roofs were fortified by barbed wires, and two of them were
mounted by youngsters with mirrors to dazzle us.
The first house we dealt with had a family with two
adolescents, a boy and a girl, on its roof. The boy shouted
and threw plastic sandwich bags filled with ketchup at us.
His sister shouted and kept him loaded. We evaded the
ketchup bags while our commander began negotiations with
his dad. Over time two officers failed to get away on time
and were hit by some ketchup. No big deal. He really talked
crap, nothing worth quoting, so I got back to my book. This
time it was an interesting collection of articles about
democracy and disobedience, stuff written by Martin Luther
King, Ghandi, etc. It seemed appropriate, if not ironic,
and it mixed well with the shady cover I found off his
ketchup bags. Within an hour, I found a video camera
pointed at me. The cameraman asked me to keep reading, and
I willingly adjusted my hat and kept reading with a wise
facial expression and a slight smile. Hurrah, my sweet
moments of fame, I thought, expecting tonight's news
edition or something. However I was later told that man was
working on a documentary film about this disengagement.
There will probably be a zillion disengagement docu films,
my slight smile lost forever in the mists of film archives.
Whatever.
The boy proudly announced he stops throwing ketchup only
because he respects his dad's request. He resumed throwing
within ten minutes. Later our company commander came and
gave an order to bring that boy down handcuffed if he keeps
throwing ketchup. A short funny argument ensued between the
boy and our commander, using his megaphone. The boy thus
stopped throwing for another ten minutes or so. I still
wonder how he made it through on the roof in the heat
apparently without drinking for hours.
Eventually our commander convinced that family to pack up
and get their children off the slated roof. It took them
ages to come out, which hindered the evacuation of other
houses, but it spared us the dangers of going up that
bloody roof. Though they only moved to Homesh three months
earlier, they insisted on going through a lengthy mourning,
including making a tear in their shirts, just like the
families in Neve Dkalim. I carried one of their backpacks.
Their son was carried handcuffed earlier.
There was an unusually high number of girls in Homesh.
Female soldiers were generally a precious commodity among
us, and that day they worked harder than ever. Due to this
asymmetry, no one guaranteed beforehand that girls will
only be evacuated by girls. But this was their first demand
in every agreed evacuation. In the Gaza Strip settlements,
such an agreement generally implied those girls will be
escorted to the bus by two female soldiers, or at most be
passively carried by four female soldiers. In Homesh, they
insisted on their "right" to physically resist their
evacuation, and some of them were real fat. We failed to
see how such an agreement differs from plain disagreement.
Sometimes up to eight female soldiers were required to
carry a single struggling girl. We males just watched and
rested. No mud, no bikinis.
The rudeness at Homesh earned our lack of empathy. I didn't
see any soldier crying there, not even in pictures. Sure it
didn't feel good to march out of an empty settlement again,
but we were glad it was finally about to end. It turned out
the army has exaggerated the precariousness of the settlers
in the Shomron settlements, to spur extremist rabbis into
restraining their followers. Thus no one was shot. Except
for one Arab terrorist who tried to infiltrate Homesh
during its evacuation. We only heard of it in the news.
We were given plenty of lemon popsicles on the exit from
Homesh. We spent about 20 minutes joyfully handing out
popsicles to whoever came out or in - soldiers, reporters,
policemen, whoever. Later we even fed some to a couple of
police horses, who liked the stick as well as the ice. We
spent more than an hour waiting for our bus in the chaotic
exodus from Homesh.
Our convoy was several kilometers long. Once again I waved
back to the Arab kids on the way. At one place there was a
demonstration about a kilometer away from the road, with
dozens of Arabs waving yellow Hezbollah flags. The scenery
was still awesome.
We reached our monument after 8PM. Our regiment commander
gave us a quick speech. Then we were told to report to base
in the morning for equipment return, and scattered home by
some buses. Luckily I got a lift home by the same guy with
whom I went to the wedding. Other regiments stayed
overnight at that shithole.
