I have just returned from a demonstration on the roadside close to the army base near N'vei Dekalim. I was with my tenth grade Ulpana students, holding signs and shouting:



"No more shooting!"



"No more mortars!"



"We demand security!"



The commander at the base would not meet with us. Our demonstration was declared illegal. The media did not come or care. We are fair game - non-persons, settlers...



Yesterday, three Kassam rockets fell in the industrial area of our town. I was a few meters away, going to my car, when the explosions occurred. I didn't even bother telling my husband about this non-event. Another miracle of Gush Katif.



I live with the miracles of Gush Katif and I depend on them, because otherwise I could not live here.



Chanukah is a time of miracles. It is the story of the battle between a few ill-equipped Jews and the vast Greek army. It is the story of the small vial of oil that shed light in the holy Temple for eight days.



And I see the miracles here in Gush Katif on a daily basis. You can call it good luck, but we who live here know otherwise. Our lives literally depend on these miracles.



Here are some of our stories:



While the Namirs were eating their Sabbath meal, they heard the sound of a mortar shell smash through their roof. Going upstairs, they found the shell on the floor near the crib of their sleeping baby - unexploded.



Our main synagogue complex is a target of the mortars. One hit the courtyard, but the others have skimmed over the holy site and have blown up in a nearby neighborhood. No one was ever hurt.



Miriam and Yaakov came home from their evening walk. As Miriam approached the stairs to her second floor bathroom to shower, she stopped to read a letter slipped under her door. "May your donation to our yeshiva merit you a long and healthy life." Just then, a mortar blew up her upstairs bathroom.



A mortar blew out the windows of Avi's bedroom, scattering shards of glass on his bed. That night, he had decided to sleep at a friend's house - something he had never done before.



Irit was hanging laundry. Hearing the phone ring she went inside to answer it. A mortar shell landed in her laundry basket. No one was on the phone.



The girls at the Ulpana were at a commemorative ceremony for their teacher. The musician kept on singing way past his allotted time. During his extra set, a rocket blew up in the schoolyard.



"Our cars were smashed, but no house was hit," said Einat, after a barrage of mortars exploded near her home.



No, Jews living in Eretz Yisrael should not be living in a war zone. There is barely an army response, because the shooters are often surrounded by children used as shields. They know that Israeli soldiers will not shoot into a crowd of youngsters. Yet Jewish kinderlach are at constant risk.



And so, we do not depend on Ariel Sharon, not on the IDF, not on the commander who will not see 10th grade girls asking for minimal protection by a Jewish government.



It was the death of Tifferet Tratner by a direct mortar explosion that brought our story to the world.



But we see the Almighty's miracles. Without his miracles, we could not live here.



Happy Chanukah.