I said, if my living my home will even save one life of a Jew, I'll go, but it won't.

And we said it time after time, and unfortunately, nobody was listening.

We were sure the situation in Gaza will be a lot worse.

And we said it all along the time.

If you're going out, we'll have Hiramistan.

Hey, listeners, it's Mishi.

So as you know, during these incredibly difficult days,

we're trying to bring you voices we're hearing among and around us.

These aren't stories, they're just quick conversations, or postcards really, that try to

capture slivers of life right now.

In the summer of 2005, the government of Israel unilaterally withdrew from Gaza. The roughly 8,000 residents of the

21 Jewish settlements within the Gaza Strip were forced to leave their homes and their communities,

communities which, for decades, the government had actually encouraged and incentivized them to inhabit.

The evacuation, or disengagement, or expulsion, all depends on your political point of

view, brought the country to the brink of a civil war. This was especially palpable in the

tense relations between the residents of Gush Katif,

as the main block of Gaza settlements was known, and their neighbors from the other side of

the fence, the largely left-leaning residents of the kibbutzim of Otif-Aza, all the same

kibuzim that, 18 years later, suffered most in the Hamas attack of October 7th.

Now, former residents of the Gaza settlements, many of whom never stopped dreaming of

returning to the sand dunes of the strip, feel at least partially vindicated.

Had their communities not been dismantled back in 2005,

...