What is a nice Jewish girl from Waukesha doing in Neve Dekalim, Gush Katif— regional center of Jewish communities in the Gaza Strip?
I am Sara Layah Fruchtman. My husband, New Jersey native Yossi, our seven children and I have been living here the past 11 years.
Neve Dekalim is the largest town in Gush Katif and serves as the regional center. It has 500 families and growing. We are situated high on sand dunes overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. We live in individual inexpensive homes with private front and back yards exposed to gentle sea breezes, clean air, and moderate temperatures.
We have a highly developed system of services including education, mikvas, synagogues, health clinic, pharmacy, dentists, commercial center, bank, post office, government branch offices, industrial park, sports center, beautiful gender separate beaches and a swimming pool.
The streets are clean and safe from intra-community crime; our children walk to school, to the library, to friends’ homes, and to parks by themselves. We don’t lock our doors at night; our youth are completely safe to walk the streets at any hour.
My beautiful frontier town is under siege. During these past three years of “intifada,” we’ve been hit by Arab snipers, mortars, anti-tank missiles, and Kassem rockets. Very few families have left Neve Dekalim; rather, people continue to express interest and move here. In fact, there’s a waiting list to move in.
I never thought I’d have to protect my family from: Arab sniping and shooting (we’ve found bullets in our front yard, my husband with children and dog have been fired on while in the nearby sand dunes); road explosives, mortars (three have landed directly outside our house, quite a number on nearby houses, at the school walkways, town roads, industrial area, and sand dunes — it’s a miracle nobody’s been killed and only a few lightly wounded by shrapnel); anti-tank missiles (two nearby houses recently had major property damage); and Kassem rockets (landed in road and sand dunes) targeting our town.
Privilege and opportunity
These attacks can occur at any time of day or night: They don’t discriminate between soldier and civilian, young and old, man and woman. They disrupt sleep and daily life. The “booms” are loud and scary. We react as a child would to a loud thunderclap.
After a “boom” attack we immediately enter protective areas (a safe room in the house or nearby building) until the “all clear — return to normal activity” announcement. A telephone service tells location of the attack(s).
But now, we think, “If the powers-that-be truly knew it was ‘all clear,’ why couldn’t they tell us to get into protective areas prior to the attack?” Hence we think twice if “now” is a good time to walk the dog, dump the garbage, take a leisurely stroll.
I always have my cell phone on me in case of an attack. My younger children have walkie-talkies they’re supposed to (but, admittedly, don’t always) carry in their backpacks.
All local children, beginning as toddlers know to immediately seek cover and have parents telephoned. I know where my children are at all times.
To help alleviate stress I pray; enjoy my family, dogs, friends and reptiles (in that order); eat a healthy diet; exercise regularly and play my clarinet.
We and our children are resilient. We have a deep faith, a strong sense of purpose, and will persevere. And with this mindset and under abnormal circumstances we continue to go about our daily life with joyous courage.
But of course there is a darker side. Three years ago, at the start of the “intifada,” a bullet-proof bus was attacked. Two teachers were killed and nine others were wounded. Three children from one family each had legs blown off.
During that same period, my eldest daughter used to commute daily to her religious girls’ high school. Though other girls traveled on an unprotected van, I insisted my daughter take the bullet-proof bus, which got her to school after class prayer. Her teacher, who rode in an unprotected car, penalized my daughter for her tardiness.
In the end we transferred her to the local girls’ ulpana, even though she was much happier at the former school and felt the education was superior. I told her that life is more important than the risk of a daily commute. It was a decision that I still stand by and she still regrets.
I seldom travel out of Gush Katif; my needs are mostly met locally. However when the need arises (for orthodontia or visits to medical specialists) I find that I don’t sleep well the night before.
In the morning I awake wiggling my fingers and toes. I feel my arms and legs, grateful that I have them. I wonder if I’ll return home to my family with body intact.
It’s a wretched, nerve-wracking feeling, one I sometimes feel when I walk the dogs in the early morning or evening. At those moments, I’m comforted in the belief that G-d rules and I know that my wonderful community would see to family needs.
Now Prime Minister Ariel Sharon is discussing evacuating Gush Katif. Of course we are passionately opposed. We feel this is a prize for Arab terror and the idea that my home will be given to Arab terrorists breaks my heart and nauseates me.
But we are law-abiding citizens of the State of Israel. If the government declares that we must evacuate, we have no choice but to leave.
I have prepared my children for a possible evacuation. To the point, I have told them that we are thankful to G-d for the privilege and opportunity to live in Gush Katif. Here, there, or elsewhere we are up for life’s challenges and adventures in our G-d given land of Israel.
Sara Layah Fruchtman is a native of Waukesha and has been living in Gush Katif in the Gaza Strip for 11 years.
Loading ...