August 24, 2005

Alison on Aliyah:  A Country Relieved

            I took the two orange ribbons off the side mirrors of my car today.  I had noticed, already a week ago, the striking absence of orange in the country these days.  As covered in ribbons and posters and bumper stickers as most of Israel had been for the past few months, it has all just as quickly and conspicuously and completely vanished from every surface.  There have been times this week when I have wondered whether the disengagement has vanished just as completely from our collective consciousness.

For the ten days or so of the major disengagement activities, I had been walking around in a stupor, wondering why I was feeling so depressed.  It took me a while to realize that sitting in front of the television all day long, watching scenes of settlers sobbing, soldiers hugging them, and houses being destroyed might potentially have an effect on me.  The truth is that it had an effect on all of us.  Jerusalem felt palpably heavy with tension and sadness, and everyone I talked to throughout the couple of weeks seemed subdued at best, and near tears at worst.  Regardless of what side any of us is or was on in the “disengagement debate,” it was clear that the immediate events at hand were difficult and saddening for all.

            Throughout those days, I continually found myself wondering which footage was making it into the international news circuit and onto American television sets.  Was it the shots of soldiers praying and weeping alongside the settlers, or was it the pictures of settlers being dragged out by a group of soldiers, one assigned to each limb, as the settlers struggled and screamed?  Was it the lines of cars leaving quietly and in an orderly fashion, with their belongings piled high on trailers behind them, or was it the family of ten marching out of their house with orange Stars of David pinned to their chests, reminiscent of the Holocaust?  What got the most press attention:  a unit of soldiers being air-lifted in a shipping container to the rooftop of a synagogue in Kfar Darom, in order to evacuate in an orderly and painless way the extremists who had barricaded themselves up there, or other groups of extremists who set fire to houses, tires, garbage cans, and Israeli flags?

            I don’t know how it appeared to all of you, but I can say that even with all the heart-wrenching scenes we all watched from here, many Israelis have expressed a great deal of relief that everything seemed to go as smoothly as it did.  There is no question that, as devastating as the disengagement was for many settlers as well as soldiers, it could have been much, much worse.  The Israeli army showed its power and impeccable prowess, with orders carried out with efficiency, skill, and empathy.  The settlers, as well, for the most part were able to show their opposition in a civil and equally empathic way.

Most nights these days, there is still a throng of weary demonstrators congregated at the entrance to Jerusalem, waving their weathered orange flags and continuing their desperate, and slightly pathetic, protest.  Families of settlers are safely tucked away into three-star hotels in Be’er Sheva and Jerusalem, out of sight and, I wonder, out of mind?  They don’t know where they will be living in a week, or a month, or a year.  Their hotel bills are being graciously and involuntarily paid out of the compensation package they have received from the government, and no one high up enough to do something about it seems to care what happens to them from now on.  Individual citizens have been visiting the hotels in droves, dropping off diapers and clothes and food, but beyond that our hands are tied.

The huge majority of the country has wholeheartedly accepted what took place here over the past month, for better or for worse.  We now wait to see what the consequences will be, on both sides of the spectrum.  I still don’t know where I stand on whether or not this was the right decision for our people and our country, but I nonetheless find myself feeling very sad about what we have seen and what we have done here.  I feel great sadness for the tent cities filled with displaced settlers that have sprung up in many of the city centers, and for the trailer parks filled with families who have no home and children who don’t know where they will attend school next week.  Most of all, I am terribly sad that there seems to be so much relief pervading the country these days: relief that it is over, relief that things didn’t reach the “worst case scenario,” relief that “we” don’t have to deal with this anymore.

Life seems to be going on for most of the country.  I suppose the question is how much longer it will remain this way.