This visit to Homesh took place before Rosh HaShanah 5767 (2007). Now, as we approach Passover, thousands of Jews are returning to Homesh, to reclaim our land and our pride.


Driving in northern Samaria with my oldest daughter, Tova, we came to the familiar turn off to Homesh, located just outside Shavei Shomron. My family and I had visited the area last year, before its destruction. My youngest daughter did her national service here for months until the Jews were expelled from this

Tova explained her need to re-visit: "It's an attempt to perceive something that's impossible to grasp."

beautiful, scenic and greatly strategic location. She had sent daily messages informing us of her many activities with the children, of the wonderful families and their beautiful homes.


Then, she and all those who offered passive resistance were brutally removed by the army and the black-clad special police force. Shortly after, the large villas, flourishing gardens and communal buildings were demolished.


Tova explained her need to re-visit the scene of the historical crime: "It's an attempt to perceive something that's impossible to grasp." My thoughts raced to those who set out on pilgrimages to the disappearing vestiges of European ghettos and camps. They would be witnesses to other historic crimes.


Homesh, together with Gush Katif and the other communities in northern Samaria, has become a part of our vocabulary and a component of our lives that we refuse to ignore. Together with Amona, these modern sites of expulsions of Jews cannot be allowed to fade from memory.
What the "orange camp" understood then, the whole country should now know. The withdrawal from these areas of Eretz Yisrael directly led to the war in Lebanon, with the kidnapping of our soldiers. It invited the massive build up of military might in Gaza, due to our withdrawal from along Egypt's border.


I called my son to let him know our plans just as we turned into a traffic jam of green-licensed Palestinian Authority cars. Outside the walls of Shavei Shomron, the winding road appeared not to have been damaged. Passing another army jeep, a few Arab cars, tractors and donkey-drawn carts, we gaped at the unobstructed, magnificent view of the major cities at the center of Israel.


We turned in where the Homesh gates had once stood. Passing a group of Arab men picnicking, we continued driving with a heightened sense of caution. As we stopped in an area that had so recently been occupied, an aching sense of emptiness surfaced.


This once-vibrant community was a ghost town. Remaining stairs - led nowhere. Paths could be followed - to no place. The beautiful homes and community center were gone. It seemed that, other than some trees and withering plants, life had evaporated. Even the ruins of the buildings seemed to have turned to dust. If a place can be alive, then this place had died. My daughter would later compare it to a mass grave bespeaking inconceivable horrors, with grass covering it, as if to camouflage the disappearance of life.


There was nothing to replace what had existed here. An army base had not occupied these strategic heights. Arabs had not moved in. Nothing had been gained, while a beautiful Jewish community had been shattered. Was it destroyed, then, just to ensure that yet another area in the Jewish homeland would be forbidden to Jews?


We took some pictures, but mostly needed to make some sense of what we were witnessing. It was as though time had slipped back 30 years, before all the sacrifice, the building, the sights and sounds of a vibrant Jewish community's life. An image of annihilated Jewish villages and cities of Europe or Russia came to mind.

Was it destroyed just to ensure that yet another area would be forbidden to Jews?



About 15 minutes later, an army jeep pulled up to us. The commander jumped out yelling, "What are you doing here? This is a closed military zone. You don't want me to touch you, right? So just get in your car." Without hesitating to catch his breath, or to allow us to catch ours, he threatened, "If you don't want to get hit, get into the car."


We started moving slowly to the car with the uneasy sense that threatening empty-handed, passive Jewish women rolled off his lips too easily. Having been present at Gush Katif's expulsion and having participated in the passive resistance that resulted in unwarranted violence in Amona, I knew that his intimidation might be real.


Later, my daughter and I shared that, as the scenario was playing itself out, we weren't afraid of the soldiers or of the Arabs. We were angry that Israel's Jewish defense forces could condone raising a finger against its citizens. And the reason that Homesh had been destroyed, that the community was dispersed, that it was considered perilous for us to be there, was precisely because the IDF, following political policy, had lifted its hands against the people instead of combating the nation's enemies.


The police repeated what the soldiers had told us. Jews were forbidden to enter. "Then why," we asked, "had the army jeeps had not stopped us and why was there no sign to that affect?" In Samaria, we often drive near or through unfriendly Arab villages. Some roads are marked with signs reading "Israelis (read: Jews) are prohibited from traveling/entering here." There was no regulation posted near Homesh at all. The Israeli Arab police officer who arrived to question our presence suggested that we fill out the deposition on the spot, rather that at the local police station, where it would take hours. We did so and left shortly after.


The political elite ordered the Israel Defense Force to destroy Jewish homes, creating a refugee population of 10,000 Jews. That government policy allowed our southern border, as far north as Ashkelon, to be attacked daily with no serious military response. These signals of weakness and vulnerability emboldened our enemies to launch a war that damaged Jewish communities in the north, creating a staggering 1,000,000 refugees.


The expulsion also distorted military values. An army must have a soul. It must know deeply why it goes out to fight the enemy. A military entity needs to clearly distinguish adversary from the compatriots they are sworn to defend. The Israeli elite and media proponents now labeled as "enemy" the heroically patriotic "salt of the earth" citizens of Gush Katif, the religious, idealistic youth, the settlers and all those whose love of Zion remains strong.


A military entity needs to clearly distinguish adversary from compatriot.



Perhaps you're thinking it was foolish of us to go to Homesh.


I'm thinking that if the Jewish People, and our loyal supporters, doesn't awaken to fight the enemy, first within and then without, by every means possible - repentance, prayer, acts of lovingkindness, education, settling the land and all manner of heroic acts - we will all be feeling worse than idiotic. Perhaps we just didn't expect or believe that the government of Israel would open the gates to our worst enemies. But it has come to pass.


Will Jews again stand silent and afraid as, this time around, Israel's leadership enables Muslim terrorism to continue Hitler's objective?


Some of us would rather look foolish.