The yellow man lives in the yellow house, so who lives in the red house? (The red man.) And who lives in the blue house? (The blue man.) We waited for the punch line: Who lives in the white house? (The president, as the joke goes.)
But my son, Tom, spun the joke his own way: “Who lives in the orange house?” he asked with a smile, showing us that he’s paid attention to Israel’s “color war,” where orange has been the color of opposition to the disengagement from Gaza and parts of the West Bank.
Two weeks ago, while in Israel with my family, we were late to a bar mitzvah party in Herzliya. We blamed our lateness on the traffic jams at Givat-Shmuel that were caused by anti-disengagement protestors. But partly we were late because, like many other Israelis, we were glued to the TV watching the evacuation of Kfar Darom.
One of my first impressions after landing in Israel was the fact that one could hardly see any impact of the anti-disengagement struggle in the streets.
What we experienced that Thursday evening was very different from what we had seen before. Yes, we followed the preparations for the pullback. We followed the early stages of the forced evacuation from the settlements and the resistance of many of the settlers.
But it was all happening in Gush Katif, not in the streets of Tel Aviv or Jerusalem, as it had a few weeks earlier. No doubt that the demonstration of 200,000 in Rabin square was impressive but it drew only those who were opposed all along.
The silent majority in Israel was still in favor of the pullback and supportive of the Knesset and government decisions. Most, however, only experienced it through the overwhelming news coverage.
But don’t be mistaken. This has been one of the most difficult weeks in the short history of the state of Israel and a very emotional one for us and many other Israelis and Jews around the world.
We watched as Jewish settlers gripped onto the last moments of their lives in Gaza. We were fascinated, saddened and, at times, repulsed.
Israelis swung between compassion and anger. We felt sympathy for the families who have been torn from their homes and their dreams. We’ve been drawn to the emotional scenes of settlers opposing, confronting and then embracing the soldiers.
And we felt anger about the violent language and symbols that were used in this struggle.
What we witnessed in Kfar Darom, where settlers attacked soldiers and police officers with acid, paint thinner and other dangerous materials, was the shameful act of a small group of extremists. That violence was a disgrace to them and to the synagogue on which they stood.
The right to protest should be reserved for all. Under outstanding circumstances there should be even more room for understanding. In this case, however, the line was crossed. I’m glad that the Israeli authorities were tolerant enough to allow those who oppose the disengagement to express their pain and resistance.
However, with all of our sorrow and pain, anger and disapproval, all sides handled themselves mostly with impressive restraint and respect.
Sunbathers and swimmers
For my family, this time in Israel was about our national drama but it was also our chance for us to be home. While staying with our family in Kibbutz Tzuba, near Jerusalem, our children played in the kibbutz pool and amusement park.
We visited a cave in the kibbutz apricot orchards that was discovered by a kibbutz member and is considered an important finding. Undergoing excavations by major archeologists, the cave’s engravings provide the first strong evidence of the story of John the Baptist.
We saw Israeli life continue as always — sunbathers and swimmers filled the beaches.
We strolled through the colorful and lively Nahalat Binyamin, where artists and craftspeople showed their wares.
We cheered for our favorite young performers on Kochav Nolad (“Rising Star”), the Israeli version of the popular television show, “American Idol.”
We learned about kibbutz members from around the country rising early in the morning to help Gush Katif farmers pack their greenhouses. Beyond the bounds of politics, farmers helped farmers.
I spoke to former colleague Ina Morav from Nisanit. She and her family accepted the Knesset decision to leave Gaza. They left with tears but are working to build their future in Kibbutz Yad Hana, in Israel’s center.
On a trip to my home in Modi’in, I met my tenant, Ilan. He and his wife were very active in the struggle to stop the disengagement and, as the forced evacuation got underway, they were in a state of shock and fury at Prime Minister Ariel Sharon and his government.
A week after we saw those first disturbing images of settlers being carried out of their homes, we returned to our home in Milwaukee. And our hearts still ache.
Now after the pullback is over we can see it was not the “civil war” we feared. Rather we are witnessing the fragile seams of Israeli society open more and more as rifts deepen. A group within our society is drifting away from the mainstream and rejecting social conventions.
After all the wounds heal, with scars still apparent, reuniting will be Israeli society’s main challenge.
In his song “Ein Li Eretz Acheret,” (I Don’t Have Another Land”) Ehud Manor wrote “b’guf co’ev, b’lev ohev, kan hoo baiti,” (“with an aching body, with a loving heart, here is my home.”)
His words speak strongly to me: We have no other land, we have no other country but we have each other and we must find the way to live as one.
Alon Galron is Milwaukee’s shaliach, Israel emissary, and is director of the Milwaukee Jewish Federation’s Israel Center.
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