The subject of Israel destroying the thriving Jewish communities in Gush Katif in exchange for -- well, no one has quite figured that out yet -- has been on my mind ever since the "plan" was proposed by Mr. Ariel Sharon. I read the "plan" carefully, and all I could see was a series of destructive acts against peaceful Jewish communities, without any up side. It didn't promise peace. It didn't even promise better security. In short, there was no logical reason at all to do it.

I was even present at an interview with Mr. Ehud Olmert, who staunchly backed the plan, and tried his best to defend it. "If it saves even one life..." he said vaguely.

Did he mean it was dangerous for Jews to live surrounded by Arabs? Dangerous for the soldiers who protect them? If that was the argument, then it held true for me as well, living in Jerusalem, surrounded by Arab villages. And it was certainly true of the entire State of Israel, being as it is in the Middle East, surrounded by Egypt, Jordan, Lebanon, Syria, Iran, Iraq, etc.

There was no one to negotiate with, and therefore, we needed to unilaterally set our own boundaries and break off from the dangerous Gaza Strip, the next argument went. When they said "break off", did that mean no more Gazan workers coming into Israel every day? And what, exactly, was going to stop Palestinians from turning the area into a terrorist training camp, even closer to Israel's population centers, once peaceful Jewish homes and businesses were bulldozed? What was going to stop the Kassam rocket launchers from being moved even closer, sending bombs into the bedrooms and nursery schools of Ashdod and Ashkelon?

I didn't get answers to those queries either.

So, when it was announced that a protest was being organized that would create a human chain from Gush Katif to the heart of Jerusalem, I decided to join hands.

It was an amazing sight. Hundreds of people snaking down highways, lining the streets of Jerusalem. Children and teenagers in bright orange, waving flags. Mothers, fathers, grandparents. I saw Benny Elon, the Knesset Member. I saw the legendary Geulah Cohen. I saw my lawyer, and women from my synagogue. Streets had been designated for different neighborhoods, and I found my friends and neighbors standing together. Ushers took great care not to allow roads to be blocked, so as not to create traffic jams. There were no hate signs. No violence.

Later, I heard that David Hatuel, whose wife and four daughters were slaughtered by terrorists, was also there. He told reporters: "Sadly, I came alone, but the connection I felt from everyone here on erev Tisha B'Av is quite amazing. This will broadcast to everyone that we have the will to continue to pursue our lives in all parts of the land of Israel."

As I walked through the streets of downtown Jerusalem, I remembered how only a short time ago, they were deserted, a ghost town, people fleeing the silent reminders of shattered glass and human flesh and blood-soaked pavement. How much we had all lived through! Yet, now there didn't seem to be standing room. There didn't seem to be an iota of fear. These streets had been claimed once again, I thought, the silence banished. It was an act of tremendous courage. These people, these brave, wonderful people, deserve better leaders, I thought; leaders who are worthy of their hope and faith and courage and fortitude.

And as we joined hands at ten to seven, and began singing Israel's national anthem, Hatikvah ("The Hope"), I really did begin to feel hopeful. Perhaps this horrible mistake - pushed forward by a government that has betrayed the democratic process in pursuing useless and harmful policies that were voted down resoundingly by the people who put them in office - could be stopped.

Copyright: Naomi Ragen. All rights reserved.