An eyewitness account of disengagement in the West Bank in 2005

By Limor Sonn Har-Melech, April 18, 2008
I remember the attack vividly, though I would much prefer to forget it. I remember five terrorists standing on the road firing at us. I remember them shouting, remember what they were wearing. I remember the pain of the bullets hitting us and Shuli losing control of the car. He was already dead. Three hours later, I gave birth to our daughter, Sarah. She was born three-and-a-half months premature, and some of the doctors began preparing me for another loss, but I felt very secure inside myself. Some people found this connection between death and birth on the same day very terrible, but I found it a source of great strength. I was also capable of finding solace in strengthening Homesh. All Shuli’s work was to ensure its future. Seeing what he built gave us comfort. When they banished us from Homesh, I felt another death, as if they had taken Shuli and buried him even deeper. It was in a way worse than his murder, because this time it was being done by Jews, not Arabs, and we could not understand how they were doing this to us. How no-one stopped and said, this just can’t go on. But we also felt, at the same time, a great sense of strength that thousands of Jews decided that they were not going to give up and that Homesh would be rebuilt. And over the last year, our organisation, Homesh First, has managed to re-establish a permanent presence there. The government tried to prevent it — they even tried to stop us with roadblocks from having the brit milah of my son there — but we have prevailed. And now, despite the fact that we have not been allowed to rebuild some of the homes, there are yeshiva students studying there permanently and the army is not stopping them. I am convinced that our return to Homesh is not far off.
Last updated: 1:32pm, September 16 2008