We sit in our plasterboard caravilla in Nitzan, the largest of the refugee camps for those expelled from Gush Katif. Nitzan lies between the coastal cities of Ashdod and Ashkelon. Last week, Ashkelon was hit by two Kassam rockets launched from the former communities of northern Gush Katif. One landed in a schoolyard, the other in an open space. Ashkelon is in turmoil. The southern city of Sderot has been bombed repeatedly. The kibbutzes and moshavs bordering Gaza are hit incessantly.



Having tunneled under the much-touted protective walls, Gazan terrorists killed two IDF soldiers and kidnapped Cpl. Gilad Shalit. The government, pressured by public protest over the kidnapping and the bombings, finally allowed the IDF to react.



We hear the bombing runs of our jets, the whirring of helicopters over our caravillas. The thumping sound of artillery and tank fire is constant. Our windows rattle from the echo of Kassam fire from the other side.



We lived with these sounds for five years when we were the victims of endless mortar and rocket fire. Now, the rockets are larger, have greater range and are more deadly. We pleaded with the government to act to end these attacks. But we were "settlers" and the government allowed the army only a symbolic response. We warned the country that if the IDF left Gaza, the attacks would become more deadly. We were evicted; and the enemy's appetite increased.



Today, our homes are made from plasterboard and will not stand up to any attack when the Arabs start to use the longer-range rockets they are known to be stockpiling. Our flimsy caravillas will simply disintegrate.



This past week, a woman selling clothes designed for religious women came to Nitzan. We are the perfect customers for her wares. Her cell phone rang repeatedly. "I'll be home soon," she said over and over again. She looked at me and finally broke down.



"I'm from Sderot," she sighed. "That's my son calling. He is thirteen and alone in the house. My husband is away; my daughter is at summer camp. They've taken some of the children to the north of the country for respite. My son is terrified of being alone. He's wetting his bed. He's afraid to go to sleep. People are packing and renting homes in the center of the country. Soon Sderot will be a ghost town. What has happened to this country? Why won't we fight back?"



Moshavs and kibbutzes in the western Negev are emptying out. The members of kibbutzes close to the Gaza border, who spent their Friday afternoons carrying signs saying "End the occupation. End Gush Katif" are running away or cowering in terror as their homes and fields are blasted. Their dream has come true. The "occupation" has ended. Gush Katif is no more. Now, their grateful Gazan neighbors are thanking them in the traditional manner. Do they finally realize that we, the "Gush Katif occupiers", had protected them with our lives?



Yes, we, the people of Gush Katif, were pulled out to placate a cruel enemy, but the deadly attempts to destroy Israel continue. I am constantly amazed at the naivete, or wishful thinking, of our leaders. Or is it their simple disregard for the safety of Israel's citizens?



Meanwhile, the sounds of war are outside our home.