By Karen M. Schapiro
“Do not fear them, for the Lord is with you.”
I heard those words last July in Gaza. Sitting in the auditorium of Torah v’Ha’aretz museum in the settlement of Kfar Darom in Gush Katif, I listened to the musical score of a video about life in the Gush Katif settlements and there it was: the message to stay strong in spite of it all.
I had arrived moments earlier with several classmates from Ulpan Akiva in Netanya, where I studied Hebrew for a month. We ditched the ulpan for the day so we could tour to an enclave within one of the world’s most notorious places: the Gaza Strip.
A place from which over thousands of mortar shells and Kassam rockets have been launched over the past few years. A place where battles regularly go on between Palestinians and the Israel Defense Force. This was the land of the Philistines. It is now a flashpoint for terrorism and a focus of world attention.
Located in the southern third of the Gaza Strip, Gush Katif borders the Mediterranean Sea on the west. It consists of 21 Jewish settlements, which have names that evoke images of tranquility: Gan Or (Garden of Light), Katif (Harvest), Shalev (Peaceful).
But life is all but serene. Each community is surrounded by barbed wire and a watchtower. This is a place where sirens regularly warn residents to seek shelter, where children go to sleep to the noise of hurtling shells. About 7,500 Jews, mostly religious, live in Gush Katif settlements. They are surrounded by 1.3 million Palestinian Arabs.
A trip into Gush Katif requires careful planning. It requires crossing into the Gaza Strip through an army post at the Kissufim checkpoint. From there one travels 6.6 kilometers along a two-lane road that cuts through a patchwork of Arab villages.
We ride in a bulletproof van. It reminds me of an airport transfer shuttle, except for the windows; there are few and they are tiny. At the Kissufim checkpoint we meet our guide, Gershom. A New York native, he said that life was good until the Oslo Accords of 1993.
Flashing in my head is the image of the pregnant mother and her four young daughters, aged 2 to 11, murdered on this very road by terrorists just months earlier. I can’t imagine that anyone would travel this road without military escort.
We pull up outside the gate to Kfar Darom, our first stop inside Gush Katif.
Most people think the communities of Gush Katif came into existence after 1967. In fact, Jews have lived in Gaza for centuries. Kfar Darom itself dates back to talmudic times. It was reestablished in 1946 to become the only Jewish community in Gaza.
Residents of Kfar Darom valiantly fought against the Egyptians in the 1948 War of Independence. (They lobbed tefillin bags filled with TNT, after running out of grenades.) After a bitter hard-fought battle, the city fell. A small group of Nachal soldiers returned to rebuild the community after the Six Day War.
With a high cement wall, the entrance to Kfar Darom is not hospitable. Once inside, however, everything looks peaceful, even normal. Mothers push baby strollers and kids bounce balls and ride bikes.
But reminders of the surrounding reality are all around.
We visit the Torah v’Ha’aretz Museum and its exhibits about the Jewish people and the land. A section of the museum is cordoned-off with thick ropes. Behind the ropes there is a large black and white print of a child with eyes wide open. It’s a photograph from the Shoah. Pitted by shrapnel, the picture’s damaged state bearing witness to the mortar shell that fell on the museum just months ago.
Our docent ushers us into an auditorium and turns on the video about Jewish life in Gush Katif. Ofir and Noga Cohen speak glowingly about their life in the Gush. The video then bursts into scenes in the aftermath of a missile attack on a school bus. The Cohen children were riding on that bus and each lost legs or parts of legs.
The musical accompaniment repeats: “Do not fear them, for the Lord is with you.”
The video ends and the docent thanks us for visiting and collects donations.
Back on the van, I crane my neck to peer out the diminutive windows. I stare out at palm and date trees. Houses with well-kept lawns dot the landscape. Hanging from many front doors are banners in red, white and blue with the printed message, “Lo zazim mi chan,” “We’re not moving from here.”
Except for Israel Independence Day, I’ve never seen so many Israeli flags flying high from rooftops. Putting politics aside, one can’t help to admire the passion of these settlers for their country.
Famous hothouses
We slow down to stop at the settlement of Shirat HaYam (Song of the Sea). The settlement is scenically located, flanked by sand dunes on one side and the shimmering Mediterranean on the other. I momentarily forget that I’m in Gaza.
A single row of cottages lines the beach. Before 1967 Egyptian military officers vacationed here. The cottages are now home to approximately 60 Jewish families.
We meet with one young resident who just moved to the small settlement. He and his wife are expecting their first child. I can’t get the song out of my mind: “Do not fear them, for the Lord is with you.”
Strolling along the shoreline, I inhale the salty air, taking a long last breath, before retreating to our van. As we drive away I glance at the young IDF soldier in the watchtower.
He’s alone and looks bored. I suspect he has a mother who worries about him. Although I have no reason to know, I figure that she is among the majority of Israelis who believe that Gaza is a security burden, a violence-ridden liability from which Israel needs to disengage.
Gershom, however, sees it differently. His attachment to the Gush is deep and spiritual. He believes that there is no better place to raise his children. They run around freely within their barbed-wire community. Gershom’s kids know no other home.
We are running late, but don’t want to miss the hothouses.
Gush Katif is famous for its hothouses. There are hundreds of them, extending over 3.5 million square meters of land. Grown inside are cucumbers, sweet peppers, tomatoes, household plants and herbs. Many of the vegetables are grown organically. In accordance with the strictest laws of kashrut, the vegetables are produced “bug free” (by using “enemy” bugs that eat the plant and vegetable eating bugs).
Our guide boasts of the Gush’s yield, accounting for 50 percent of the cherry tomatoes and 30 percent of the peppers that Israel exports. I think about the fate of this thriving agricultural industry upon the evacuation of Gaza. Will the hothouses be leveled to the ground?
The same query goes for Gershom’s home. He takes us there. Gershom is a passionate gardener and it’s evident from his yard. It’s picture-postcard pretty.
Gershom recounts the story of a tree: he has a sister who lives in Kansas, who lost her son several years ago. Gerhsom planted a fruit tree in his nephew’s memory. His sister is soon to visit to celebrate the Bar Mitzvah of Gershom’s son. This will be her first trip to Gershom’s home, hallowed for trees. Will it be her last?
We bid farewell. As I board the van I ask Gerhsom of his future plans, assuming he’ll have to leave his home. His response is not surprising: “Fear them not, for the Lord is with you.”
Withered from the heat, we AWOL students head to the beach before embarking on the trip back to Netanya. The fine white sand is anchored by date and palm trees. The shoreline is clean and romantic; it’s a delightful contrast to the beach next to our ulpan, which seems to double as garbage dump.
The waves lap at the shore. I wade into the ocean, allowing myself to flop about in the water, doubtful that I’ll ever be here again.
Karen Schapiro is an environmental lawyer in the Milwaukee office of DeWitt, Ross & Stevens, S.C.
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