Sunset in Israel

The Sun Is Setting…

From: Shifra Shomron, 18, former Neve Dekalim resident, now living in
Nitzan. E-mail: shomron@email.com

Sunset, and I let out the sigh I have been holding in all day.
Sunset. Dull streaks of red, orange and yellow stream across the
western horizon. Quick moving lights flicker as cars dash hither and
thither on the busy road below. A young child whoops gleefully as his
bicycle rides over a balloon bursting it with a loud boom!

I see the dull streams of faded color yet I do not see the
glowing sun. I feel the tired, gentle breeze yet I do not feel the
mind-clearing, hair-blowing rush of fresh cool air. And I do not see
the sea.

Once again I uselessly ask myself: what am I doing here? And,
even if given all the grains of sand and all the hour glasses in the
world, one will always reach the same painful and bewildering answer:
the government of Israel banished me from my home, destroyed it and
gave the land to the worst of my foes.

Alas! Alas for my beautiful Gush Katif that I knew and loved.
At this hour I should be standing in my garden; my feet ankle deep in
the lush dark-green grass, the sun a crimson orb sinking in the blue
blue Mediterranean sea, the sky splashed with deep purples and bright
reds and vivid pinks, my left hand resting on the rough bark of the
sturdy tree beside me while it's many leaves dance merrily over my
head under the summer sky, children cheerfully calling to each other
as they play… a peaceful tranquility as the sun sinks, the stars shine
and a plover trills sharply…

And where I am now, a thick layer of dust covers the closely set,
identical, small pre-fab houses and the sinking sun is hidden by a
ridge of dirt. The lights of the nearby cities to the south and to
the north are cold and numerous; they need to take the place of the stars.

Sunset. A time to reflect upon the day. To reflect upon the
hours of National Service I served at a nearby elementary school and
at a local `club' for children. Instead, unbidden, pictures rise
before me of Neve Dekalim as a sea of hundreds of smashed houses in
the midst of golden sand dunes; of Arabs capering with glee and
brandishing guns and grenades as they burn, demolish and defile the
many synagogues that the Israeli government decided NOT to have the
Israeli Defense Forces destroy; of the Rav at the nearby elementary
school tearing his shirt in mourning ; and of the small plastic bottle
full of golden grains of sand from Neve Dekalim's sand dunes that my
brother and I collected an hour before our exile. That precious
bottle of sand, pictures and mortar pieces are the only tangible
things I have from the Gush. But memories – so vivid that they are
almost tangible – engulf me and threaten to choke me as they are so
sweet and yet so painful. So soothing and yet so frightening. So
personal and yet …so national.

Sunset. The time of reflecting as the day is drawing to its end.
And in the month of reflecting, Elul, as the year is drawing to its
end. And what does the future hold? How long will my family be in
the Nitzan Caravilla site between Ashkelon and Ashdod? How soon till
we find a permanent home where we once again merge ideology and
purpose with our day-to-day life? How soon until the dust rises?

From: Shifra Shomron, 18, former Neve Dekalim resident, now living in
Nitzan. E-mail: shomron@email.com