The Freest Place in the World
by Netanel Epstein
A small smile stole across my face as the smooth, green plains of agricultural Israel peeped through the grimy bullet-proof windows, rolling by lazily as the bus trundled on in the vague direction of Ashkelon. The ploughed fields, the orange orchards, the cotton fields and the army of vegetables and sunflowers of Israel have always brought a warm familiar smile to my face. My favourite story-books when I was growing up in Nachli'el and Givat Ze'ev, were all about children helping out in the fields in the early years of Israel's development, all having a great time and helping build the Land at the same time. Seeing these plains always takes me back to that magical time, of reading and loving the connection to Israeli soil, fostering the Land, and working with the fruits of Israel's blessing.
The grin widened a little more with the familiarity of entering Gush Katif. Not that I'm very familiar with Chevel Aza (the Gaza Strip) – I visited Neve Dekalim twice last year and that was it – but there's still a warm feeling of welcome that glows somewhere inside, when you know you're coming back to somewhere you know. The rest of my group crowded around the windows, nervously muttering things like, "Er…this is the area of dispute, isn't it?", but I shrugged silently to myself and continued to gaze fondly at the scenery. It's Israel, isn't it? It's just like anywhere else in the country… or so I thought…
A few minutes later, the bus pulled into the dusty drive of Kfar Darom. People kept glancing awkwardly and skeptically out of the windows, eyes narrowed with doubt and fear, as they made towards the door. I wasn't bothered. Just glad to stretch my legs after a two-hour journey from Jerusalem. I hopped lightly off the bus, still smiling slightly, and took in everything around me in one, magical moment…
The purest of Israeli sunlight glowed affectionately on the small houses and gardens of Kfar Darom, bathing everything in a golden sheen I'd never seen before at eleven o'clock in the morning. The cheerful songs of happy Israeli birds flowed beautifully from every treetop, a magnificent symphony of the brightest of songs of nature. Trees rustled contentedly in the fresh sea air…and the breeze… the breeze was everything rolled into one…and more… – it goes whipping through your T-shirt, right into your heart, lifting it, making it lighter, happier, opening it up to the wonders of nature around you, and the gift of the Land of Israel. It soothes the sunlight, so that you're never too hot, but wonderfully warm and refreshed at the same time. It goes washing over you like a river, taking your worries with it, and streaming in faith, strength and happiness. And freedom. The freedom is in the air, you can feel it whistling around you…you're in the freest place in the world. You know it, and you don't know how, but you feel it from all directions.
I just about skipped to the shul basement where we were staying, grinning like the nut I am, and soaking up every detail of the wonders around me. I was in love. I couldn't stay indoors, I had to be outside, in this miracle called Kfar Darom. I strolled around the yishuv, grinning at the happy children running around blissfully in the zillion or so playparks, carefree and joyous, as all children should be. The houses and gardens reminded me of a million different places in Israel, like a collection of all my favourite spots in my homeland. The people were warm, easy-going and good-natured, full of faith and strength, bursting with belief in Hashem, and devoted to our Land. Nothing gets to them, they keep going, despite all the dangers lurking around them in the Arab cities surrounding the yishuv. We were told the story of a woman who bent over her little girl to protect her during a terrorist shooting a few years ago. The daughter was saved, but the woman got a bullet in her spine and is now completely paralyzed. The doctors gave her two options – sinking into a black hole of depression, or getting on with her life. So after a few modifications to their bungalow, she now goes about freely in her wheelchair, attending to her children and living life normally. She recently gave birth (which in itself is a miracle). The boy's name is Amichai Yisrael. The tears in my eyes when I heard that story were full of pride and strength.
My skeptical friends loved Kfar Darom too. My friend Elliot (from London, by the way) grinned at me as we circled the yishuv for the first time, and said "Do you realise how many people want to kill you for being here? Do you realise how many billions of people (think about it…) can't even begin to understand you because of every step you take here?" It's true…and it only made me prouder to be there.
We climbed the army watchtower three times over our stay there, chatting to the soldiers at the top, and gazing over the miles of vegetable planes, the sea, and the arab houses around us. I had long, cheerful conversations with the shopkeeper at the makolet (grocery shop), with whom I found I had a lot in common with (including our name – Netanel). I unofficially walked around the famous Alei Katif vegetable plantation, outside the guided tour we had, and the staff there was patient and welcoming and, like all the other locals, eager to lend a hand, offering us showers and beds for the night. People smiled at me as they walked past, thanking me for coming and strengthening them. I found this ironic – they were the ones giving me the strength and power of Gush Katif…but I was glad to return the favour, even if I wasn't aware of it. I suppose that's what makes it even better. The place inspires you to help people without even knowing it.
Kfar Darom feels right for me. It's a bit like finding a soulmate (not that I'd know…). I look around the yishuv, drinking in its Israeliness and purity, and find it hard to believe anyone ever thought of ripping up these happy homes and throwing them to the Arabs. But then, it took exactly fifty poorly-armed 18-20 year old Kfar Darom residents to scare off the entire Egyptian army in the Independence War. Try as they might, the thousands of Egyptian soldiers couldn't conquer that tiny village. They were scared of Kfar Darom, of the moral strength and Jewish Israeli integrity that blazed in the eyes of the defenders.
We love you, Gush Katif. The freest place in the world.
Write to Netanel at write@ttt.org.il
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