My Word: 'We are all Shai Dromi'

By LIAT COLLINS
JPost
18 July 09

When Myra Dromi left Jerusalem a few years ago to live with her son on his Negev ranch near the Beersheba suburb of Meitar, it was not to live out a dream. Which is fortunate. Because the reality was like the desert itself, beautiful but harsh at the same time.

I spoke to Myra briefly in January 2007 when her son Shai was arrested for shooting a group of four Beduin intruders who broke into his farm in the middle of the night - killing one of them, Khaled el-Atrash, and wounding another.

At that point, she didn't really want to talk to me, neither as a journalist nor as a former colleague.

Last week she was more forthcoming, the relief evident in her voice which seemed to break up not only due to the poor reception on her mobile phone in her isolated home.

"I felt the court understood quite well that he acted out of a feeling of being threatened and they had to find a way to express that," she told me a few hours after Shai had been acquitted of manslaughter on July 15 (although he was found guilty of possessing a weapon without a valid license, a rifle given to him by his late father).

WHEN SHE left Jerusalem for the South it was not out of some kind of idealism or Zionism.

"I did my Zionism 50 or 60 years ago," says Myra, 76, who made aliya from the US in 1950 and lived on a kibbutz and in Beersheba. "Although for my son that was probably part of his decision. My son built up the ranch true to a vision. For him, I think, it was part of his love of the Land."

Another son, Amir, has an organic farm in Judea and is embroiled in a struggle with the Israel Lands Administration which leased him the land.

Does Myra regret her decision to leave the capital? "Definitely not. I still love it here... It's still pastoral. We live simply. We don't have electricity yet although I think we're going to get it soon."

For 20 years, Shai Dromi hasn't been allowed to link up to the national grid, says his mother, which certainly makes life more what she frequently calls "challenging."

"I wasn't surprised [with what I found here] because I knew what I was coming to. In a way, I hoped my presence would help deter the intruders," she says, speaking in the way that mothers have when they wish they could make everything all right for their children.

"I wouldn't say I was surprised but I was challenged. And the intensification of the robberies and attempted robberies brought with it a tension I hadn't expected," admits Myra.

What the court heard, and apparently accepted, was that the tension - after the constant thefts and even having has his first home burned down - mounted until it turned into fear.

"At night you hear a noise and wonder if it's the sound of a branch rubbing against something or a sheep rubbing against something or someone trying to get through the fence....

"After seeing seven dogs dying - and dying in agony - I didn't have any illusions. It's not a person, but seeing a dog die..."

I DON'T know whether her voice has faded because of the poor reception or whether something has distracted her. Perhaps I'm the one whose attention has wandered, drawn to the memory of the death of Myra's daughter a few years before she left Jerusalem.

"It's not great grazing land or farmland but my son has done his best [since he started the farm in 1986]. There's an atmosphere here that some people love and I'm one of them," she says. "There are good things as well as problems that come with living off the beaten track. But I have become friends with my son, appreciate the quiet and the nice neighbors and the people and volunteers who pass through."
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