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Rachel Saperstein is a teacher at the Neve Dekalim ulpana and a spokeswoman for the Katif Regional Council.
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By Rachel Saperstein
March 13, 2006
The sands of evil are blowing
The air is thick with sand. It goes into my nostrils. I feel as if I am choking. Israel suffers from Spring sandstorms, and living in Nitzan close to the beaches and sand dunes reminds me that Pessach is not far behind. In Israel we bow before God's decree as we re-clean the house after having put the final touches to our Pessach cleaning. A sandstorm dirties the sparkling windows, spreads yellow sand on our polished furniture and turns terraces into mini dunes.
"Lord", I have asked many times, "why do you do this to your Jewish people? We are preparing our homes to recreate Your great miracle of redemption. You made us, a simple people, into a nation and yet you blind us with sandstorms."
I am here in Nitzan, another step in our search for a home. I am blinded. This is indeed a refugee camp. Each 'caravilla' is exactly like the one near me, behind me, and in front of me. I have asked our gardener from Neve Dekalim to put in a garden. A few flowering plants, vines and bright pink geraniums have made this sameness a bit more bearable. I hang my pictures, paintings and our diplomas on the bare walls. The walls come alive. Books are in new cupboards as our wooden shelves on metal rods cannot be hung on the plasterboard walls. Simple, inexpensive light fixtures replace the dangling light bulbs. One fixture has already fallen from the ceiling.
They will not turn me into a refugee. Their sand has been slapped, poured and blown into my face but they will not make me cower.
It is the Purim season. We have invited our children and grandchildren for the Purim feast. The grandchildren will sit on the floor. We have no room for a longer table. Imaginatively I have called their sitting area a 'Persian Party'. They will all perch on pillows like princelings. This is our first family gathering since our expulsion.
A tent has been erected across the street for the communal Purim party tonight. We are each preparing two gift baskets. Sending out dozens of 'mishloach manot' is too expensive.
Friends come to visit. The curious come to visit. We greet the people. We tell our story. The Jews from abroad are incredulous. This actually happened to you? But you seem so ordinary. You're like we are. You could be a Jew from Boston or Los Angeles or Toronto. Why are you in this refugee camp?
Purim is a time of fun remembering an evil edict that didn't happen. A time of reversal of a mad decision by a mad prime minister. We of Gush Katif were also the victims of a mad decision by a mad prime minister. Our edict of expulsion was not reversed. We are two ordinary Jews who came to live in God's promised land, and became refugees. Today we look on in horror as the government of Israel, ruled by a political party that no one ever voted for, ruled by an acting prime minister no one ever elected, promises that the uprooting of Jews and the surrender of Jewish land will continue and continue.
How can we celebrate Purim with joy in our hearts as these evil edicts are promulgated by Jews against Jews? Surely the Purim miracle must happen again. We desperately need Purim. The sands of evil are blowing.
Views expressed by the author do not
necessarily reflect those of israelinsider.
 
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