Determined and exhausted
Anti-pullout rally proves Ofakim got the short end of the stick, again
In Ofakim’s “Sammy Burekas” restaurant the TV is turned on to the soccer game between Israel’s Maccabi Haifa and Sweden’s Malmo. 32 men, only men, sit at the tables outside and watch. Some of them are drinking black coffee in small glasses.
Four orange youngsters are sitting at the table in the front, closest to the screen. At their feet are large, heavy backpacks. The game is approaching its bitter end. Two of the youngsters anxiously pop their pimples, to no avail. Behind them a man wipes his sweat on an orange anti-pullout ribbon.
The game is over, and no one says a word: No curses. No lessons learned. No analysis.
They continue to glare at the TV; perhaps their salvation will come from there.
Used to it all
Ofakim is used to this type of situation: People here have been getting the short end of the stick for years, but all this is new to the youngsters in orange.
They get up, put on their rucksacks, and begin walking slowly from the bad to the worse, from the soccer game to the anti-pullout rally.
Herzl Street, Ofakim’s central traffic artery, is lit with colorful candles, remnants of the Independence Day celebrations back in May. It is already 8:45 p.m., but the local kiosks remained open for the protesters. The mass invasion of the orange-clad pullout objectors of Ofakim is a justified, long-term investment.
Given the choice between orange and blue, Ofakim clearly chooses orange. So do the towns of Netivot and Sderot. It’s the religion. It’s the ethnic and geographical affiliation to the Gush Katif settlers. It‘s the fear of what is regarded as a concession to the Arabs at the expense of the Jews.
Housing projects are dark
With all due respect to the long term, the real destruction of the temple is right around the corner, in less than two weeks time.
Meanwhile, the IDF and police continue to carry out their work, similar to the monster trucks on the extreme sports channel that crush every vehicle in their path.
Until now the march to stop the pullout has succeeded in stopping nothing. The plan was to apply pressure from the ground on the political establishment, wear out the soldiers and police officers and use their helplessness as a tool to defeat the government.
This recipe has always worked, from Hebron, Sebastia and Elon Moreh to Migron and Yitzhar. But this time it is not working, perhaps because the current rival knows all the shticks – some he even invented himself.
The rally is taking place on an empty lot, near the Yitzhak Rabin Community Center. Two weeks ago, in Kfar Maimon, the air was filled with revolutionary fervor.
The Sderot rally last Tuesday was held on a large, friendly, grassy field. In Ofakim there is only sand. The water tanker placed in the middle of the lot formed a big puddle. Two toddlers tried to dry out the swamp – and within minutes the orange turns to brown.
Knesset Member Gila Finkelstein (National Religious Party) slams Prime Minister Ariel Sharon and Knesset Member David Levy (Likud) expressed his bitterness. So much fiery rhetoric. So little interest from the crowd at hand.
Some 2,000 people gathered around the stage to present a deceptive image for the TV cameras; some 5,000 to 7,000 others were picnicking nearby.
Only then did I understand the difference between Ofakim and Tel Aviv. In Tel Aviv you can always hear the roar of the air-conditioners in the background. The blinds are open. The windows are shut. In Ofakim it is hot, open and silent. It is 9:30 p.m. The housing projects are dark. Either people have gone to sleep, or they are saving on electricity.
