Israel Hayom..
16 July '13..
There is no sadder annual reunion (aside from memorial ceremonies for terror attacks and wars) than the anniversary of the uprooting of Gush Katif and northern Samaria. To see Avner Shimoni, the last head of the Gaza Coast Regional Council, who suffered a stroke about a year after the disengagement and can no longer speak or to see the Cohen family, three of whose children lost their legs in the November 2000 school bus bombing is an experience virtually unparalleled in its somberness.
To see all those dear people who have sprouted white hairs and look old and tired; with their eyes closed, they will forever be able to reconstruct every last drawer in the houses they left, every pathway in their destroyed communities.
Last week in Jerusalem, a gathering was held to launch the visual documentation project of the Katif Center. This is one of the more fascinating projects of recent years. Eight hundred and twenty two of the people uprooted from Gush Katif sat opposite the cameras and unburdened themselves over 3,600 hours of video. This is a moving collection that documents the human story of Gush Katif: the founding of the communities, the development of agriculture, daily life, contending with terrorism, taking final leave of their homes. The painful evacuation and burning of the synagogues are almost the only images that the Israeli public has seen. But before the storm, there was a full and vibrant life there. Dreams, pain, love and hope.
Benny Yefet, a farmer who lived in Gush Katif for 28 years and lost his son in a shooting attack, remembers the smell of sage and dill. Tamar Polet from Alei Sinai describes the winding path to her house, the most beautiful sunsets and the lifeguards who knew all the swimmers by name. Aharon Farjoun, a driving instructor, described how a home has a soul of its own. Miriam Bublil, a grocery store owner, remembers how she tried to grow corn, melons, mulukhiyah (Corchorus) and, in the end, specialized in lettuce.
Former MK Zvi Hendel, now hunched over, deflated and hoarse, talks about the people who were killed in terror attacks, saying, "I remember every one of them. Every one." Tal Turgeman, who grew up in Gush Katif ("I planned to raise my children in Neve Dekalim") remembers how she carved letters into the wall of her house and filled them with ketchup. "We were evicted. We will return." Ami Shaked, the security officer of the regional council, says he will never forget the attack on the Hatuel family (the May 2004 shooting attack in which Tali Hatuel, a pregnant woman, was killed along with her four daughters aged 2 to 10). "When I saw their bodies I knew that I would never be the same person. I begged on my communications device that nobody approach."
If you happened to drive through the northern Negev a few weeks after the uprooting, there would have been no trace of the thriving communities that had existed there. Road signs were switched with lightning speed.
This documentation project is exactly the opposite. Big signs that say, "We were here." There is not a single word of politics. Just human scars that rend your heart.
Link: http://www.israelhayom.com/site/newsletter_opinion.php?id=5001
Learn more by visiting http://www.gushkatifmuseum.org/
Updates throughout the day at http://calevbenyefuneh.
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Whenever I hear the words "Gush Katif", my blood pressure soars. I'm a Catholic, but I'm also a lifelong Zionist for Eretz Yisrael. The loss of the Harvest Bloc in the foolish belief that ceding land would bring peace, should be seared on every Jew's brain when thinking about things such as going back to '67 lines. Think forward, never backward.
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