I am a senior at UCLA. I was in Israel during the disengagement from the disputed territories in the summer of 2005. I am not speaking in favor of any philosophy; I am writing on behalf of the 8000 people who were taken away from everything they had. We cannot forget them.

One thousand men, women and children arrived on twenty buses in the vicinity of the Old City of Jerusalem on August 18 between 8 and 10 PM. They represented one of some dozen-odd towns in the disputed territories of Israel which have now been demolished.

There are no precise numbers, but approximately 2000 people came to help and welcome the evacuees. Yeshivat Hakotel, the largest structure in the Jewish Quarter and already home to over 100 evicted students, had been accepting food and bedding all day with the help of a group of teenagers visiting from the United States.

When word arrived that the first bus was coming, a horde of volunteers rushed to the rendezvous spot. As the crowd stood there waiting, they began to debate methods of welcome. Some wanted to give a quiet welcome and start showing people to their rooms. However, when the bus door opened, a single man started to sing "Am Yisrael Chai" (the people of Israel lives), and the night's mood was set.

No words will describe the emotional spectrum felt that night by refugees and helpers alike. At one extreme, there was a feeling of intense joy. One observer claimed it was a statement of "we lost the battle, but we'll win the war."

The next few groups asked to be brought to the Kotel. Volunteers became celebrants; the suitcases under those buses, containing all these people's worldly possessions, were put to the side as the same people who had just been torn from the only life they knew danced and sang.

In the midst of this, one family stood out. As I passed them, I saw red, wet eyes with such a look of despair that their souls seemed to have left. The image of that father will forever be etched in my mind.

Another woman sat and cried, all alone, for hours. When someone came to console her, she began yelling, "How can they dance with the Israeli flag? They should be burning it with a picture of Sharon."

At about 2 in the morning, the community's main Torah arrived. For the next two hours, they danced at the Kotel with a crowd so large it spilled into the courtyard and up the stairs.

At 4, volunteers starting serving donated meals to any who wanted. Somehow, those 1000 homeless people found accomodation to sleep some few hours that morning.

By noon, all the refugees were gone- more buses had come to take them elsewhere for Shabbat. Residents of the Old City complained at their utter helplessness. One woman remarked, "Thye lost everything, and all we could give them was a bed for the night. We were so happy when they asked for toilet paper and we could give them all that we had."

I awoke in a building empty of people. Extra meals rotting in the dining hall, stacks of bedding never used. The generosity of the community that night was unbelievable. I can only hope it continued into the future. I still think of those refugees as the signs that night did: "The Heroes of Gush Katif."