Many flyers were handed out today. One advertised a handholding chain from Gaza to Jerusalem. Another advertised a communal prayer in the evening. Another flyer informed residents of the siege that would befall the settlements next week, when transportation between settlements will be forbidden and power and water possibly cut. The community called on us to stock up on canned foods, water, flashlights, toilet paper and many other amenities for at least two weeks. An official flyer from a senior IDF General, casually handed out to residents at Netzarim, Morag, and maybe some other settlements, expressed to the residents the government’s “deep understanding” of their pain but that nevertheless, starting Monday they have two days to leave voluntarily and receive the full compensation package and the luxury of having the army move most of their stuff. If not, it went on, the government will relinquish any serious responsibility for providing for them thereafter. The flyer acknowledged that Tisha B’Av, the day the siege begins, is the saddest day of the Jewish people, but that sometimes growth spawns from sorrow. Some residents burned the flyer. Then there were many national “flyers” that didn’t mention anything about these other flyers. The front page headline of Maariv read (and I kid you not): “Danger in Antalya.” Obviously, more Israelis are in danger in Turkey then they are in Israel itself. The other headlines read (paraphrased): “Veteran Israeli Actor Accused of Rape” and “One […]

Yesterday, for the first time in nine years, I davened (recited) Shakharit, the traditional morning prayer. It wasn’t the result of any religious revelation or desire to return to Orthodoxy. Some student supporters had simply decided to go to shul, and I joined them. I recited the summer prayer that God let the dew fall. After Shakharit, a small CNN crew landed in Morag to film the place. No one really welcomed them except me. No one really likes to talk to the press unless it’s for a live broadcast. In the editing room reporters manage to turn things around and preserve only those remarks that bear well for the disengagement and present the settlers in a negative light. Noticing my friendliness, CNN decided to interview me as secular supporter of the Gush and probably also to fish for some information about Morag’s resistance activities, which I wasn’t about to offer. Here are some non-verbatim snippets of the conversation should the important parts be cut or should my interview remain on the shelves: CNN: Until when are you here? Orit: Until the thanksgiving celebration. CNN: What are the settlers planning to do the day of? Orit: There are some who are packing, but I just spoke to a family who didn’t pack a thing. My sense is that they don’t want a violent confrontation. Their weapon is love — love for their family, love for their homes, love for Israel.

A new week in the Gush — and I have a feeling it will bear a different tone than last week, which was filled with euphoria. This week will be filled with more solemnity, as we are counting the nine days leading to the destruction of the second temple — and the planned destruction of Jewish communities in Gush Katif. Everyday at Gush Katif brings something new — a new friend, a new experience, a new idea, or a new understanding. I heard that a group of students against the expulsion, the “Orange Cell,” had landed in the Gush, illegally of course, and I thought I would become acquainted with them. They were roughly my age, some of them were secular, and the leader was pretty cute and charismatic. He flirted with me too, although I later realized that he flirted with almost every female. They invited me to join them at Morag, the southernmost settlement and the most precarious. It’s surrounded by three Arab villages, which make them a popular target for mortar attacks. Morag is slated as one of the first to go. A 50+ year-old man with a grey beard, a teacher, welcomed us into his home to get acquainted. He explained that there were 40 families in Morag and that they were split regarding their dedication to refusing the pull-out, but he believed that the media exaggerated the percentage of families who would leave willingly. He

The last time I spent Shabbat in Gush Katif, the topic of Disengagement was a self-imposed taboo; this time it was all the families could talk about. Mothers, fathers, children were all venting their anger, upset, humiliation, suffering, pain, and most of all — incredulity — incredulity that the Israeli government could be so cruel and heartless by putting them through such a traumatic ordeal. I entered the home of the family hosting me for the Friday night meal — it was not a house — but a home. The home was filled with hundred of plants and paintings and sculptures created by the artistic mother — and with warmth, generosity, and love. The table was set immaculately for their four children and five guests, and ten different kinds of salads added color to the table. “Doesn’t your mother get a kiss for Shabbat?” the lady of the house asked her handsome, lean 22 year-old son as he walked in from shul. He looked more like her brother. He immediately obliged. As we sat down, the conversation easily turned to the subject of the Disengagement — no, it’s not a “Disengagement” the mother reminded us, it’s an “Expulsion” — and the father simply declared the unofficial Israeli anthem, trying to emanate strength: “It will all be okay.” But we all knew it wouldn’t be. The couple came to the Gush 30 years ago, when the area consisted only of sand

My first “Disengagement Diary” entry published in Israel Insider.