EFRAT, West Bank -- The United States is pushing a "road map" to peace between Israelis and Palestinians in what Washington believes is a changed political landscape in the region after the Iraq war.

Don't bother, say Ephraim and Batya Ben-Zeev.

For these former Atlantans, nothing in the Middle East has changed. They say the hatred of Arabs for Jews and their state is unaltered, and "confidence-building" steps are delusions.

"We've been there, done that, and what we have to show for it is many dead and maimed. We wish there would be peace. We wish we could drive a car and not worry about being shot at," Batya said. "But Arabs want to destroy us. They would be just as happy if we disappeared."

Seated at their home in Efrat, a 15-minute drive south of Jerusalem, Ephraim and Batya recall Atlanta fondly.

They were known as Frederick and Elizabeth Cowen then, and during the 10 years they lived in the city, first on Cedar Canyon Drive and last on Houston Mill Road, they realized the American dream. They were professionally successful -- he as a physician, she as a social worker. They had three children. They lived in neighborhoods and attended Congregation Beth Jacob, which they loved.

But nearly 19 years ago, at the age of 38 and with their children in tow, they left to pursue another dream: religious fulfillment and a secure homeland for Jews. They reverted to the Jewish names given to them at their birth. They brought their professional skills to their new land. Their two sons served in the Israeli army.

"It's the difference of practicing Judaism, as in the United States, and living Judaism," Batya said after completing the "havdala," the simple ceremony of wine, scented oil and candles that marks the end of the Sabbath.

But while the Ben-Zeevs say they have lived their Orthodox Jewish faith in a way they never thought possible, their dream of a safe home for Jews has not been realized. Indeed, they are at the hub of what many Israelis and Palestinians regard as one of the biggest obstacles to a durable peace: the Jewish settlements.

In an interview published Tuesday in the Jerusalem Post, Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon dismissed as "not on the horizon" any change of Israel's settlement policy, setting the stage for what may be contentious talks with President Bush at an Oval Office meeting set for next week.

That conflicts with Sharon's recent statement that he would be willing to make "painful concessions" for peace, which had been widely understood to mean evacuation of some of the 145 Israeli settlements in the West Bank and Gaza Strip.

The ambiguity leaves the 200,000 Jews living among 3 million Palestinians in what the United States, the United Nations and most of the world call the "occupied territories" wondering about their fate.

Batya and Ephraim wince when the term "settler" is used. It is a word they take satisfaction in and were once proud of, but it is now perceived as pejorative by many.

"When we moved to Efrat in 1986, we were viewed as protectors of Jerusalem, forward defense for the holiest city in our faith. But suddenly under [Prime Minister Yitzhak] Rabin, we became obstacles to peace," Batya said. "We take pride in the term, but it's awkward for us."

If the peace process proceeds, it soon could become even more so.

Efrat is a village of 7,000 people and cookie cutter condominiums with red-tiled roofs that straddle the tops and slopes of at least four hills. Teenagers with backpacks wrestle at a bus stop. Pink, white and red roses sprout from neat flower beds lining unmarred asphalt streets.

The village, home to five former Atlanta families, could be mistaken for a Southern California suburb if it weren't for blue and white Israeli flags flying from every lamppost, a holdover from Israel's Independence Day celebrations.

From the rim of Efrat's highest hill on its north side, a visitor can see the rooftops of Bethlehem and beyond, shrouded in an early summer haze, Jerusalem's skyline.

There are also signs that security is ephemeral.

At the south and north ends of the village, armed guards monitor checkpoints. On the east, there are hedges of concertina wire, sections of concrete wall, a watchtower and a padlocked gate leading to an Arab village just a quarter-mile away. To the west is a valley dotted with groves of olive trees and grapevines, bordered by a road patrolled by Israeli soldiers.

Ephraim carries a gun to protect himself against attacks by Palestinians. But Batya says her husband would never take up arms against the Israeli government even if it tried to remove the Ben-Zeevs from Efrat to fulfill Israel's side of a peace accord.

With an "absolute guarantee of peace," the Ben-Zeevs say, they might even be willing to vacate Efrat. But they also say that the enmity of Arabs for Jews makes that notion purely hypothetical. Besides, Batya says, the land belongs to Jews by "divine right."

"Washington should lay off. They shouldn't push us to do anything because there's no solution. Asking people to give up the heartland of the Jews? God gave the land to Abraham -- God gave us the land. And the fact is, they [the Palestinians] don't want a state as much as they want to get rid of ours."