A.B. Yehoshua
Photo: Tzvika Tishler
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Atzmona settlers with orange patch
Photo: Aya Ben Amos
Evacuee
Photo: Yaron Brenner
The children's eyes
Celebrated Israeli author tried turning off the TV and relaxing to some classical music. The eyes of the little Gush Katif children kept haunting him
Till now, we've sighed in relief at the evacuation's progress without bloodshed, without impossible riots, without paralyzing the country. We've praised the police and the military for their restraint and efficiency, their sensitivity and decisiveness. We secretly thanked – yes, thanked - the settlers for not crossing the line of using violence. We can say that the evacuation was successful.
Yet, the children keep haunting me.
The infants in their mothers' arms, in the darkness of the Kfar Darom synagogue, held on to their mothers quietly. Every once in while looking at the police officers and the cameras – stroking their faces and broadcasting their pain and amazement straight to me - the ideologically-determined enemy of their parents and rabbis.
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Yes, those faces still break my heart and I don't know what to do with this emotion.
Also, the older children sitting in living rooms about to be evacuated as their parents rain fire and brimstone at the police and military, begging, threatening. The children watch, torn between their love and loyalty to their parents and the quiet, determined, authoritative police officers and soldiers.
The children's pain and tears troubles me, even though I disagree with the causes.
Little girl
I think about the little girl whose father tried to give her to the soldiers. What was going through her mind? How does she feel today?
I hope she's there, at the hotel in Jerusalem or Beer Sheva, her father hugging her; promising he was not going to give her away. Vowing he will never give her away to anyone. I hope someone's playing with her, consoling her for the humiliation she suffered.
Yes, I too memorized all of the justified accusations of manipulation, of emotionally abusing the children, yet, today I don't want to deal with blame. I might do that in the future; today, I just want to hold theses children and toddlers in my arms for a few minutes. To hug them like the soldiers and police officers have and tell them that even though I support the disengagement whole heartedly, I am not their enemy.
Nor am I their parents' enemy though I have objected to every settlement built after the 1967 war.
Now that they are back within Israel, I would like to be involved in raising them; even though I don't know how, and I don't know if their parents will let me near them.
I ask – I pray – that these children are consoled, their hopes restored. That their parents and relatives will, for a few days, let go their anger and frustrations and shower the children with love and warmth, comfort and hope. From the other side of the barricade, I love them too.
A.B. Yehoshua is best known as a novelist and playwright. He has received several literary prizes, including the Israel and Bialik Prizes, and is one of the best internationally known Israeli authors
