A sad birthday
After Thursday's events, it won't be such a happy birthday in Gush Katif
I woke up at 4:30 a.m. Wednesday expecting to have a great time, but I had no idea I’d want to come home so quickly. I didn’t know so many things would change in just two days.
Almost as soon as we left, the fighting started between the guys at Maoz Hayam and some Arabs from the Maosi neighborhood, and continued with rockets and mortars that hit Gush Katif. It was terrible to hear my friends having a barbeque with bombs falling in the background, praying their house wouldn’t get hit.
It was even harder to listen to the army, the mythical Israel Defense Force, fail to react, fail to protect us, to just throw us to the wind. As evening broke, we heard rumors they wanted to clear out the Maoz Hayam, to close off Gaza, and we were immediately faced with a dilemma: what to do? Do we go home, or continue our outing?
The trip was great. Friends from outside Gaza were very interested to know what was going on, and said they wanted to organize a trip to visit Gush Katif if need be.
We decided to leave the decision for the morning, when we could get clear and accurate information. The organizers had arranged a bus to take us back to Gush Katif at any time, but when we woke up on Thursday, everything remained a bit foggy. It was only about lunch time we got the news they had stormed the hotel and closed off the Gush.
I called my friends, and they told me it was just terrible. Everyone was closed off in his or her own settlement, no one was allowed to leave. It was just like a ghetto.
But of course, our teenagers don’t give up so easily, and the gang managed to get out.
At the same time, I sat on the bus in the north, and I can’t describe the feelings of helplessness when things like this are happening to your friends and families, when you can’t do anything to help and can’t experience it with them.
Going home
I waited for a second to get on the bus home. The army had cleared the hotel, and the air was heavy on the bus. Instead of being happy and exhausted, as we usually are after a holiday, we were just antsy to get home.
We set out for Gaza. As we neared the entrance to the Strip, reality struck me, and hard. There were tons of police and roadblocks.
The bus was stopped at each one and we were asked if we all lived in Gush Katif. We answered by yelling at the cops that Jews don’t expel Jews.
The closer we got to the Gush the more the tension rose. I was thrilled to see the Kissufim Crossing, so close to home, but my happiness vanished in an instant.
We got of the bus to an appalling sight: a row of soldiers stood opposite, physically preventing us from going any further. Blocking our way home.
We wanted to protest, not to make a big disturbance, just to sing, “We won’t leave this land, Gush Katif is our home, we won’t give it away…”
But when we started to sing, a policeman threatened us, screaming at us he had an “agreement” with our advisors.”
“If you sing songs, I won’t let you get home,” he shouted.
When I heard this, I couldn’t stop the tears, and simply burst out crying. Why was he shouting at me? What did we do? All we did was stood on the side of the road and sang. We didn’t carry on, didn’t cause any damage. Why were his eyes so full of hate for us? Why wouldn’t they let me go home?
It was tough for me to see the roadblocks, the soldiers, the camps being prepared for us, the generators, the fuel.
It was tough to see all this and to maintain my faith that the expulsion will not come to be.
But thank God, they didn’t break me. I still believe, and I hope it won’t happen.
When I finally got home, my mom told me that if the army didn’t lift the closure, my brothers would probably not be able to get home to celebrate my birthday with me. Why the hell not? This is their home, the only one they’ve ever known.
Thank God, the order was lifted, and my brothers will make it home. But it’s hard to celebrate. The hate I saw in that cops eyes, the way he screamed at us, is still with me. We are meant to be a united people Things like this are not meant to happen.
Tonight, I will celebrate my 18th birthday. It’s an age symbolizing freedom and independence, but for some reason I don’t feel any freedom or any independence. I can’t even celebrate my birthday because I am so sad.
It pains me to see the country force soldiers, my brothers, to stand against me. It hurts to pass through five road blocks, just to come home.
