Gush Katif I’m sitting in my son’s house in Neve Dekalim. It is Erev Shabbat, perhaps the last “normal” Shabbat in this very cozy Yishuv of 750 families, the ‘capital’ of Gush Katif. Outside, the wind is kicking the sand around, as if it has nothing else to do, perhaps in despair. In front of the house, a couple of children of the Bnei Menashe community are figuring out how to climb into a tree house overlooking this mild, back street on the edges of this amazing settlement. Strewed over the table at which I am sitting in this small but very inviting home (with the aroma of the cholent signaling the approach of Shabbat) are papers distributed over the last few weeks by this and that source. They call on the residents to stand firm in their resolve: “In the next three weeks be sure to stock up with the following supplies…” “Thank you for your sterling efforts to rouse the spirits of Israel during these hard times…” “Our aim is to strengthen Emunah in HaKadosh Baruch Hu…” Among the various instructions, is found a clue as to what awaits these unbelievable people, staunch in their faith in Hashem, their love for Eretz Yisrael, and overall concern for Am Yisrael. For example: “Photograph the police so that your grandchildren will know who threw them out of their homes!” My wife and I traveled to Gush Katif to join our son Avi, his wife Shira and their daughter Emunah, together with our married daughter Michal’s family – and to meet up again with our 17-year old daughter Dina who had already spent several days in Neve Dekalim with hundreds of other youth. The goal: to show our identification with the cause, with an eye to helping out wherever possible. In all, we were told, some 5000 people swelled the ranks of the 8000 residents of the Gush. Who knows how they all got in! We had an ishur, permission to spend Shabbat with our children. (Just think!) Consequently, we passed through the three check posts on the way with little trouble. Suddenly, to our right Gaza loomed, the hundreds of squalid buildings on the horizon reminding us of the bigger picture and to whom all of this abandoned area is to be transferred. I shuddered. Across the bridge into the Gush an Israeli tank kicked up dust as if to offer up a last few moments of darkness to confuse the incoming visitors. We make it first to Shirat HaYam where my niece’s son (described in the Jerusalem Post as ‘langly 16-year old Ilan’) picks up the CARE package sent by his grandmother in Jerusalem. “I’ve been volunteering in the vegetable packing”, he says, with a bravado look on his straggly face, representative of the scores of kids roaming around this barb-wired haven on the shores of the Mediterranean. The girl-soldier at the gate seems not to notice as she tirelessly lets in the incoming cars, as if the Queen of England invited everyone to a Gala Ball. Finally, we enter the gates of Neve Dekalim. Who could believe that the Gush is about to undergo a siege? People are going about their business, to and fro; cars are weaving in and out to avoid the throngs. But there were those who went in the other direction. For only that morning, Avi’s neighbors left in the early light, without even the whisper of farewell. Only a half-hour later, the first squatter settled in the abandoned house. He recognized me when we arrived: “Menachem!” he exclaimed, “Do you remember that I was one of the founders of the army volunteer program Sar’el? Now, I look at their cynical use of the soldiers. I’m shattered.” Meanwhile, there is a fight over another desolate apartment that I have been designated to clean up in anticipation of my daughter’s arrival. I’m clearing up the debris, feel like I’m prying into someone else’s life. Among the broken toys, broken AC unit and food remains that I’m sweeping, I discover that the tenants had been out of work. For, in my hands, I’m holding their record cards at the unemployment office in Gush Katif. Now: no job; no home. Even these cards have been discarded. Another family has turned up. “We were promised this house,” they exclaim. Soon a compromise is reached. In days like this it doesn’t pay to argue. “You sleep here; we’ll sleep there.” Now, the electricity has to be connected to the next house and the one water tap that works checked out. And a lot of patience is summoned for the ten children about to trip over one another. It is Shabbat. We are in shul. So are thousands of others packed into the main sanctuary, the annex, the courtyard outside, and the Sefardi shul. What a sight! What power! The Rav stands up to talk. Words of inspiration flow: “Who could have believed the degree of spiritual awakening among the people, the transformation that has overcome both young and old in the country in the last few weeks. We must not forget that whatever the outcome, there is but one King that we serve…” We sit around the Shabbat dinner table marveling at what is going on. How, in the face of such anguish, can a community hold itself so high? Look at the people of Israel. We looked back to Erev Shabbat when two girls from Bnei Akiva brought in cakes for Shabbat, and others brought some beautifully illustrated children's books of animals in Gush Katif to raise money for the cause, and another offered flowers with a message of hope… Non-stop was the outpouring of love, concern, and brother- hood, from all directions. It is now Shabbat morning. We read the fraught words of the prophet in the Haftara and cannot but dwell on the meaning of Shabbat Chazon at this time and place. Soon, however, after the Tefila, the somber tones dissipate as we join in the celebration of a Brit Mila in the Bet Knesset Merkazi. When the father of the baby boy cries out Shema Yisrael, the response of the Tzibur is thunderous. Are you sure this is not Yom Kippur? - I ask myself. As the crowds tumbled out of shul, every- one gravitated to the communal kiddush for long-time residents and visitors alike. In shuls around the country kiddushim were held in honor of Gush Katif. No less than 150 full-sized kugels had been donated, just a fraction of the many gifts that found their way to Gush Katif that Shabbat. Chief Rabbi Meir Yisrael Lau was among the guests. He spoke about the significance of the baby’s new name Levanon Menachem, alluding to the Bet HaMikdash and the Mashiach (may they come speedily in our days). The shadows are falling on Neve Dekalim. I escort my son-in-law to Ma’ariv at my son’s yeshiva, Torat HaChayim. Now it is time for Eicha. Now we hear the voice of Rav Tal, the Rosh Yeshiva, like the Shevarim sound of the Shofar – broken. It takes forever to hear the lines of the Eicha dirge, as one by one they come alive. The Rav is weeping; Jerusalem mourns her glory. Soon the talmidim are crying and real tears splash on the floor of the yeshiva. There is a break in the rendition as all one hears are the moans and sighs. Is this real? So this is what Tish'a b’Av is really meant to be? Or are we also crying for Gush Katif, for our lost pride, for all that we could have done but fell short? Somehow, it is over. No one says a word. We have just experienced something too authentic to be talked about lightly. Silently, we return home. We sit around on the floor – a precious family moment. As we awake from the reverie, we recall that there will be a town-hall meeting of all the residents of Gush Katif this Motzei Shabbat, the night of Tish'a b’Av, 5765. It is the last opportunity for all the residents of Gush Katif to assemble as one. I pick my way among the thousands who have come to listen. The date does not lose its impression on me. Hashem chose this day to get even with us for the sin of the Spies: Were we not diligent enough in our love for the Land, for each other, for G-d? One by one the speakers deliver their message about the righteousness of the cause, about the Kiddush Hashem attached to the campaign, about our respect for those who felt they had to leave, about the need to be firm in the face of psychological and physical abuse. Most of all, steadfastness must not be accompanied with violence of any kind: the soldiers and police are not the enemy. I am amazed. No one is shouting, no one is catcalling. Everyone should work together (easier, of course, said than done, given the variegated composition of the thousands of ‘visitors’.) Everyone duly claps as the righteousness of the cause is espoused. But most impressive was the realization that even when it is all over (it shouldn’t happen!), the struggle must continue. The way ahead will be difficult; everyone will have his station; every family will ultimately do what it has to do. And mean- while, the officials in each yishuv will organize life, will delegate tasks and the “home front” will cooperate in complicating the evacuation process. In many ways, the leaders of
the struggle are correct when they claim that “we have won”. A lot has been
achieved. Now we are finally attending to some of the important questions
regarding the meaning of a Jewish state and what our role and
responsibilities are to the wider K’lal. Now, more of the Israeli public
understand what the struggle means. Our car rolls over the bridge
once again, this time on the way to the Kisufim crossing. Suddenly, a
sentence jumps at me from our Tachanun prayer: “Spare your people, Hashem,
and do not let your inheritance be for a reproach so that the nations should
rule over them.” I let out a sigh and we continue on our way. On the one hand, no one here is living in a "fool's paradise". People are serious, not superficial. If there were ever any illusions here, they are long dead and buried. Everyone is braced for whatever may happen next (this) week: the calm before the storm. Indeed, this may be my last report, since, by this time next week, the electricity may be shut off and the telephones may be dead. Yet, on the other hand, life here continues. With dogged resilience, people maintain their routines. This includes the gamut of small city life - working, playing, shopping, raising children, cooking, cleaning, gardening, coming, and going. In addition, it includes everything that contributes to the uniqueness of the society here, among the most beautiful I have ever seen. The dozens of magnificent, ornately decorated shuls (their presumed fate in the government's hands, G-d forbid, not withstanding) become only more crowded for regular daily services, as more "guests" arrive to stay. (Current estimates place the number of recent arrivals beyond 10,000.) Yeshivot are filled with growing rosters of students, still engrossed in study. The list of Torah classes offered for adults continues to expand. Moreover, in how many cities do the children ride their bicycles to the shuls for daily services and stand them on the side of the large town square, unlocked, as throngs of people file past? Where else nowadays do people leave their homes unattended and unlocked, even at night, advising newcomers simply to "let themselves inside"? Where else is hospitality so much a way of life that families invite strangers to fill their homes with twice or three times the number of family members - indefinitely? (Our hosts, a retired couple living alone, have eleven people representing five different families living under their roof, with more on the way.) Particularly moving, the communities here, which have always been characterized by chesed, overflow with it today. E.g., in the town center of Neve Dekalim and elsewhere, large signs advertise private tutoring "for all ages, in all subjects, on all levels" for all the local children - offered entirely "for free, with love", by the students of a large yeshiva recently relocated to Gush Katif for the duration. Teenage boys we know are occupied daily with construction jobs - building the proliferating tent cities and refurbishing derelict Egyptian army buildings to accommodate the multitudes of new arrivals - and fix-it jobs, offering quality repairs for residents' homes, all provided gratis. Altogether, a surprisingly sympathetic article in the left-leaning newspaper Ma'ariv reported that the thousands of people who have descended upon Gush Katif over the past month cheerfully fill their days not on the beaches or in the parks but in volunteer work, offering their services for the most menial tasks. These include baby-sitting, cleaning, construction, gardening, home repairs, and running errands on behalf of harried locals. And the latter reciprocate with their extraordinary hospitality and warmth. Homes and hearts are wide open. A special aspect of this chesed pertains to the farmers, the vast majority of whom, as I observed in a previous report, are preparing now for next year's planting. Their extraordinary faith in the future notwithstanding, this might have presented a logistical impossibility, with the predictable shortage of foreign workers who are still manning the hothouses. Yet, the planting is proceeding apace, with hundreds of young people volunteering, in their stead, to toil in the steamy hothouses for free. The only logistical problem now is trying to accommodate all the volunteers and good will. The farmers were also forced to contend with the banks, which this year refused to extend to them the usual loans for planting, considering the prospects for a harvest next year - and pursuant repayment of their loans - remote. In response, as you may know, a group of eminent rabbis founded "Keren Ma'amin VeZorea", to provide matching financing, as interest-free loans, for the sums outlaid by every farmer cultivating crops. A couple of days ago, I spoke with the fund's administrator in his office in the regional council building. He apprised me that they have thus far received over 10.5 million shekalim in contributions. Perhaps most impressive, almost all the money came from well over 10,000small private donors, from here and abroad, giving all they could. In the end, despite tendentious government and media reports, we can testify to the careful tending of nearly all the hothouses, readying them for the upcoming growing season - with "Keren Ma'amin V'Zore'a" assistance and hundreds of dedicated young volunteers'back-breaking work. II. The Paradox I remember a relevant insight I first heard in my youth from our community's rabbi, Rabbi Solomon E. Drillman. As I recall, he conveyed it in the name of Rabbi Israel Jacob Lubtsansky, the mashgiach of Baranowicze, the yeshiva at which our rabbi studied in pre-War Europe. His comment pertained to the first representatives of our nation to come to this land - the Biblical land of Gerar (see B'reishit 20) - the first progenitors of our nation, Abraham and Sara. Specifically, coming to the Land of Israel, they are described as bringing "the souls they acquired [lit. made] in Haran" (ibid. 12:5). Our tradition (Targumim, loc. cit., Sanhedrin 99b, and Avoda Zara 9a) understands this as a reference to proselytes, who joined the household of Abraham and Sara after the latter converted them to monotheism. Although a later passage (B'reishit 14:14) may allude to their status and prodigious number, the rabbi noted with dismay the lack of any further reference to these neophytes: When Jacob descended to Egypt (ibid. 46:8-27), only his descendants accompanied him. In addition, the rabbi questioned why the mission of spreading G-d's message was undertaken by Abraham and Sara and not by any of their righteous predecessors - whom we do not reckon among our "patriarchs" - like Shem and Eber. His reply to his first comment was that these erstwhile proselytes evidently eventually backslid into idolatry and oblivion; hence, we read no more about them. Regarding the second question, he proposed that Shem and Eber and the other righteous ancestors of Abraham and Sara anticipated this very degeneration; therefore, they refrained from investing efforts in an apparently doomed endeavor. In contrast, Abraham and Sara also foresaw that their converts would return to their old ways - but that did not dissuade them. They plowed ahead and simply did what needed to be done. For that reason, they - and not their forebears - are considered the first Patriarch and Matriarch of the nation of Israel: Because Israel's historic mission is to advance the causes of justice, goodness, righteousness, and truth, without any regard for expediency or provisional success. Doing what is right remains right, irrespective of its popularity or immediate consequences. This lesson is not merely historical. We still believe earnestly that the Director of the drama of human history remains resoundingly in control, and, just as these lands were liberated in the miracles of the Six Day War, they may yet be sustained miraculously in the coming weeks. But whatever takes place will not affect either our trust in Divine providence or our conviction that we must unflaggingly do what is right, here and now, oblivious of the observable outcome. On the one hand, we affirm, like Rabbi Akiva, that "everything G-d does is for the good" (B'rachot 60b). We thereby confront the prodigious challenge posed by the Talmud to accept bad tidings, like good ones, "with happiness" (ibid.). They, too, present an opportunity for dialogue and intimacy with G-d, as affirmed by our uttering a blessing - thus, forging a new metaphysical bond with G-d - over them both (see Mishna B'rachot 9:5). Yet, on the other hand, this conviction can never excuse complacency or inaction, much less fatalism. Thus, while Joab, commander of the army of Israel, surrounded by Ammon and Aram, affirms that "G-d will do what is good in His eyes" (Samuel II 10:12 and Chronicles I 19:13), he devises his best strategy to prevail, urging, "Be strong and let us be strengthened on behalf of our people and the cities of our G-d" (ibid.). After all, by acting "on behalf of our people and the cities of our G-d," we make ourselves part of the Divine plan unfolding through our efforts - even as we remain perforce ignorant of the plan's ultimate conclusion. Likewise, Rabbi Tarfon instructed, "It is not upon you to finish the task; however, you are not free to neglect it" (Avot 2:16). Together with maintaining our faith that the task will eventually be completed, our operative mandate is most of all to do our best to affirm and advance what is right. Indeed, our confidence in a divinely ordained future, however inscrutable, rein-forces our commitment to do everything that we can in the present, regardless. Furthermore, the definitions of right and wrong do not depend on our dubious ability to predict that outcome. Indeed, when even well-intentioned people attempt to determine the best course to embrace by "second-guessing" G-d, ignoring divinely ordained standards of morality and ethical behavior, the results are invariably tragic. In Talmudic idiom, "In the hidden pathways of G-d, what is [it] your [business]? What you are commanded, you must do; and what is pleasing before the Holy One Blessed be He will be done" (B'rachot 10a). Moreover, in a deeper sense, we believe that whatever laudable deeds we do, will advance the final goal. The determinant of the actions' ultimate significance lies in their immutable uprightness, not their temporal success. In that vein, we pray daily that G-d "will open our hearts in His Torah and place in our hearts love and awe of Him and doing His will and serving Him wholeheartedly, so that we shall not toil for emptiness nor beget for consternation" ("Kedusha DeSidra," Morning Service). I submit that we understand not toiling for emptiness as not merely a divine bestowal, rewarding our love and awe and service of G-d, but a direct consequence: If we act properly, we are assured that we shall never have toiled in vain. Our deeds will inexorably bear fruit, irrespective of our own limited capacity to discern their abiding effect. III. The Bottom Line The opposition takes many forms. For those who are here in Gush Katif, it entails tenaciously upholding our routine, regardless. Undoubtedly, it also comprises our utmost efforts not to relinquish the Land of Israel: maintaining and repairing the homes and farms, working the land, and sowing next year's crop - and, above all, like virtually everyone here, not leaving. It certainly also includes the awesome outpouring of chesed throughout the Gush, out of genuine concern to help one another. The Talmud concludes that the Second Temple was destroyed "because there was in it gratuitous hatred" (Yoma 9b). Any student of Jewish history can corroborate this assessment; warring factions in besieged Jerusalem made peace with one another only weeks before they were all overrun by the Romans. Similar hatred is again being foisted upon us, by a government manifestly hell-bent on precipitating yet another calamitous destruction, to advance its self-serving, nefarious goals. We pray that the free dispensation of love that permeates Gush Katif may serve as its antidote. Finally, for those who are not here and lack the means or the fortitude to come, opposing evil means incessantly opposing the government in every way. On the most direct plane, it demands of us striving indefatigably to convince the soldiers and police, whom the government has summoned as its henchmen, to refuse to assist it even indirectly in perpetrating its crimes. More generally, opposition involves increasing pressure on the government, both here and abroad, through all means available, to shame it into submission or to disrupt its functions sufficiently to bring it to its knees. Again, however, I stress that our prospects for success do not enter this equation; we do what is right solely because it is right and simultaneously pray that G-d will send His blessings. In this vein, we may best understand an enigmatic prediction in the Talmud - that the Messiah will come when we do not think of him (see Sanhedrin 97a). For years, I fretted over this condition's ostensible impossibility, given that we pray for Messianic deliverance every day and are instructed elsewhere in the Talmud to anticipate salvation always (see Shabbat 31a). Eventually, I realized that the distraction to which the Talmud refers must be not conceptual but practical. On a practical plane, we are to struggle to do our best to perfect the world and actualize the Messiah's objectives, without thinking about his arrival. If we thereby "ignore" him, we are assured that he will come to crown all our efforts with success. Conversely, if we merely sit back, striving to repair neither ourselves nor the world, passively awaiting deliverance, he will not come, and both the world and we will remain unredeemed. Appreciate, then, that in this
world "man is born to toil" (Job 5:7); there is so much left to do. As long
as we live, we are bidden always to go "toward peace" rather than "in peace"
(Berachot 64a and Mo'ed Katan 29a). The latter implies stagnation, "resting
in peace"; the former ensures relentless dynamism, never giving up our
efforts or our hopes. Gush Katif, all of Israel, and the entire world are
waiting for us to act. Our last chance may be right now! Will you answer
their summons? My second criticism might be considered by some a question of interpretation. Chaim wrote about the settlers in Gush Katif that "these people have already buried, in the young and unnaturally expanded cemetery of Gush Katif, their parents and grandparents and siblings and spouses and children - victims of Arab terror and government indifference." What is meant by the words "government indifference?" Is Chaim implying that the Israeli government did nothing to protect these victims of Arab terror? I find this statement to be an insult to the memory of every Israeli soldier who was killed and to those who were wounded while protecting the lives of the people living in Gaza. My former neighbors, the Fischers from Mitzpe Hoshaya in the Galil, sacrificed their oldest son doing his duty in Gaza as a member of the IDF. Last Succot, Gilad was shot and killed while on guard duty at the southern end of the strip. In the encounter, he personally returned the fire that terminated the lives of the two terrorists who were on their way to attack one of the settlements in Gush Katif. Tell me Chaim, do you think that Gilad's attitude was one of "indifference" towards the settlers whose lives he had saved? Or maybe it was the Fischers who were indifferent to the settlers' plight. Gilad gave his life for the State of Israel and it was the "government" that sent him to Gaza. Chaim, please don't insult our martyrs to make a point. Don't make their sacrifices seem so trite. You should honor them as we all do. Howie Kahn, Jerusalem [The
Parshat Va'etchanan Homepage]
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