Yom Ha’atzmaut
After 60 Comes Zero by Bryna Hilburg
T
he year was 1979. My husband, Sammy and I had been living in Kiryat Arba with our three children, Meir, Yochanan and Channa. The town was close to Sammy’s army base, and after years of tranquility on a kibbutz, we chose the Kirya in search of a more challenging life. Sammy began working for the Border Police and I worked as a speech therapist. Little did we know what was ahead. Life in the Kirya was wonderful; the aura of Hebron was special. My father was right: Israel was the only place for Jews. When we first got married, we lived our dream. We joined a group going to Kibbutz Alumim, a religious kibbutz in the South. We were floating on clouds. Though my father had passed away by then, he was always known as a die-hard Zionist and would have been proud. After living in Kiryat Arba for a few years, our neighbor told us about a moshav (community) in the Gaza Strip and I jumped. She told me that it was awful: sand and Arabs. I went home and told Sammy that this sounded like the place for us since the Border Police was beginning to pale.
We jumped into our car and went to see Netzer Hazzani, a neighborhood in Gush Katif. It was wonderful. We became tomato farmers. We integrated nicely, and did what everybody did: we got up, sent our kids to school and went to work. Sammy worked in the hot houses and I as a speech therapist. We had two hot houses, grew vegetables and flowers. The kids went to Bnei Akiva high schools and then served in the army or national service. Our son, Yochanan was in a special naval unit called Sheytet. Israel was deeply entrenched in Lebanon and our boys were there. It was on Friday morning, September 5, 1997, that we received a knock on the door, and some soldiers walked in. One of them gave us the horrible news: “Your son Yochanan was killed last night in Lebanon.” We buried our 22 year-old son that day in the sands of Gush Katif. Still, somehow, life went on. Everything around us was so stable. Our neighbors were very supportive. We went back to being a productive family. Years later, in 2003, the government announced the unilateral pull out of the Gaza Strip. Everything seemed so permanent— our homes, schools, clinics, regional council, and hot houses. Our cemetery…. There would be no more Jewish presence in Gush Katif— not even the presence of the deceased. The Jews of Gush Katif had no choice, but to take the dead with them. There were 48 graves.
drew thousands. We made a human chain which went from the Gush to the Western Wall in Jerusalem. We spoke to newspapers, television, and radio around the world. We fought hard for our homes, but we lost the war. On August 18, 2005, Jewish soldiers removed us all from their homes. On August 30th, Yochanan’s grave was dug up by Jewish soldiers and reburied in Nitzan. Yochanan died for his country and his country turned its back on him. We have not raised a flag on Independence Day since, and will not do so this year either. What do I wish for my country in its 60th year? I wish it [the country] to remember where we have come from and to know where we are going. To be proud of being Jews and to walk with our heads held high. I want the government to be responsible for its citizens and not to forget them. Most of all I want the government to learn from mistakes and never ever remove its citizens from their homes. ° Originally from New York, Bryna and Sammy Hilburg came on Aliyah in 1972. Bryna is trained as a speech therapist and is mother to six children. She lived in Netzer Chazzani for 26 years and temporarily lives in a caravilla in Ein Zurim.
We condemned the whole idea. We held demonstrations that
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| May 2008