An Islamic History Seminar field trip to the Old City of Jerusalem inspired many reflections on the nature of human history. The way empires, kingdoms, dynasties, peoples and the different institutions that humans create pile up one on top of another with little concern for what came before. King Herod, the Romans, the Umayyads, the Mamluks, the Crusaders, the Ottomans, the British, the Israelis, the Palestinians. The intuitive desire to leave a mark, to persist and to survive, all the more so when those efforts are challenged.
I remember my first visit to Israel. The year was 1993, I was 11 and a half years old. Our tour guide, Joe Gilboa, said to us, "Right where you are standing, there is at least 5,000 years of human history, layer after layer, civilization on top of civilization right under your feet."
Fifteen years later, those words have more significance for me than when I heard them standing under the hot Jerusalem sun, somewhere near the Mount of Olives a decade and a half ago.
Unfortunately, so it feels sometimes, I cannot help but get very involved and very emotional about what transpires on the ground here. My identities start arguing with each other and debates in seminars or among friends and colleagues take on very personal dimensions for me. A Jew, an American, a woman, a Catholic-Sicilian family background, a yoga background, seven years in the San Francisco Bay Area, girlfriend of an I.D.F Army Captain, employee of the Palestine-Israel Journal, a human rights activist, a Zionist. Give me a conflict or a situation and my opinion and thoughts and interpretation of the facts will be colored by all of these identities in my life. And I do not always know how to reconcile my conflicting emotions and identities, for example, how I feel when hearing the history of the Temple Mount, its glorious Jewish past and its inaccessibility to me now as a non-Muslim.
I can never simply have an opinion that designates a good and bad side and then formulate a point of view from there. So I live in this limbic state of semi-dread that I will not live to see any resolution to the conflict of peoples and places to which I feel so connected and so hopeful that a breakthrough could actually turn the wheel of human consciousness.
Tens of rockets have fallen on Sderot and Ashkelon since the tahadiyeh (calm) with Hamas ended. There are photographs of mothers and children in these Israeli cities with looks of terror and tears marring their features. There are also images of overflowing cesspools in Gaza, reports of continued fuel and food shortages as well. (Along with reporters such as Israeli Gaza correspondent, Amira Hass, reporting deliveries of pistachios from Tehran and Damascus via tunnels leading from Egypt to Gaza.)
On both sides, there is a palpable sense of defeat, surrender to violence, continued rockets that will be matched by an I.D.F. air and land incursion. I am afraid that a lot of people are about to suffer a lot more when the winter storm that has brought much needed rain upon these lands moves past us and the skies become clear. Perhaps I feel even more downcast because I fear and I am beginning to feel that there is no solution available for Gaza aside from military action. (I could be convinced otherwise with a compelling argument, however.)
My professor of Selected Topics in Modern Middle Eastern History succinctly described the challenge that Hamas poses to a peaceful future in the Middle East. They have an agenda for which they believe time is on their side. A divine-sanctioned mission to reconquer these lands in the name of Islam and 200 years is nothing in comparison to an eternity of paradise under the auspices of Allah. On the other side of the coin, I read in Haaretz this morning that Israeli religious parliament party Shas is calling for the reassembling of settlements in the West Bank that were dismantled concurrently with the disengagement from Gaza. The Shas Party, too, operates on a time scale that synchronizes with this idea of eternity. An attitude and view toward the struggle that bears no concern or compassion for those of us who would prefer to see a better today instead of a questionably, arguably, very subjectively constructed conception of a God-given, messianic future. Today, today, today, I want all of this to end today. And I want to believe and see with my own eyes that it is possible to stop killing each other and hating each other and ruining each other's right to human dignity.
We can have it differently, I just don't understand why we can't take the responsibility upon ourselves to see through the lies and deceit, to stop trusting what the "people in charge" say and do, and instead listen to our gut that it doesn't have to be so hard. But I am beginning to understand that in order to have that, we'd have to create a John Lennon "Imagine" world, with no religion, just start there.
I wonder if we tried...
Friday, December 26, 2008
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Moongazing and Cats that Kill
If you are borderline depressed, have schizophrenia or any other personality disorders in your gene pool, it is best not to move to Israel.
Forget the politics, forget the conflict, forget accusations of apartheid, the reality of occupation or the threat of Iran's pursuit of a cache of nuclear weapons. These are nothing compared to trying to hold onto your sanity while living one week in Tel Aviv.
The highs are followed by such frightening lows, that it's best not to get too attached to those moments of homeostasis, erase the notion of euphoria from your mind.
Last night, on a walk through Kikar Rabin, the site of the assassination of Prime Minister Rabin, the gathering place for demonstrations, national celebrations and various other festivals and fairs throughout the year, four men brought their telescopes to provide a view of the moon to passersby. Telescopes magnifying the wonder that is the moon from the viewpoint of Earth, 95 times. I gazed upon a three-quarter's full moon, a flat silver disc made three dimensional, spherical, pocked by meteors the size of basketballs, leaving craters 200 kilometers in diameter.
Each view of the moon from the four telescopes brought such a sense of joy to my person. I felt a wide smile stretch my face from side to side, like a child presented with a lollipop, a treat to be savored.
The moon, pearly-grey, hardly smooth, yet so very peaceful. For a few seconds of gazing I felt all of my senses drawn into the silence and stillness of the moon. And there was something so humbling about seeing this member of space up close, when it is in actuality so far away. To see the excitement of the amateur astronomers sharing their knowledge of moon and to admire the craftsmanship of the men who built the telescopes, which they brought to share with the community.
Nearly everyone who looked through the sight of the telescope responded in delight, "Eizeh yofi," how pretty, "magniv," and so on. Everyone was impressed with this simple opportunity to see the moon up close.
Eitan and I continued on our walk, we were heading to Blockbuster. A Saturday night movie rental to make for an easy passage into a new week.
Before crossing the street to reach the store, suddenly, a vehicle between a vespa and a motorcycle screeched shortly, turned sideways, throwing the male driver off into the street, leaving the woman rider to fall under the bike. Ten people rushed to help. Fortunately there were no cars coming from the opposite direction and a near catastrophe remained but a minor, yet unsettling accident.
I tried to remember the stillness of the moon but my heart was jumping. I decided to focus upon the fact that so many people came to help the girl out from under the bike and felt back to normal after a couple of blocks.
There are many days, where, if I can avoid it, I leave home as infrequently as possible. It's dangerous out there. Unfortunately, I discovered that even my own home is not impervious to the treacheries of the outside.
Until today, my apartment in Tel Aviv offered refuge from a pretty hectic world. However, as daylight surrendered to dusk, a perhaps semi-crazy, French woman prowled outside my window, desirous of killing the cat, which came with this apartment. My protective bubble burst. I should have known that in Israel, there is no place immune to disorder and disruption.
This year, Rosh HaShanah and Eid al-Fitr (the festival at the end of Ramadan) coincided with one another. The moon calendars aligned on September 29th and thus, for nearly two whole days a majority of the population, both in Israel and the Occupied Territories, were celebrating important and joyous holidays of the calendar of Judaism and Islam, respectively.
Ten days later, Yom Kippur descended upon the land, sending shops, restaurants, cafes and businesses into a state-mandated closure, along with various checkpoints leading to and from the West Bank. A time of reflection, fasting, with only ambulances and police cars patrolling the streets to attend to the yearly bicycle accidents and injuries incurred by stone throwing in certain neighborhoods where cars dare to drive on this holy of holy days.
In fact, on the eve of Yom Kippur, riots broke out in the city of Acre (Acco), incited by Jewish youths throwing stones at an Arab driver, who the Jews alleged had been blasting the radio and smoking a water pipe through the neighborhood as Yom Kippur began. (How one drives and smokes a hookah simultaneously is beyond my comprehension and this particular testimony remains of a dubious nature.)
The driver and passenger were wounded and the repercussions of this encounter are ongoing.
Journalists are comparing this situation to Bosnia, I think of similar conflict, communal violence, in India between Hindus and Muslims. Whatever you call it, it's bad. A theater festival, that many Arab-Israelis rely on for a business boost in Acre, has been canceled. The racial slurs are flying and so are the stones and shattered glass.
In Israel, I feel like the reverberations of all activity throughout find their way to each and every other city and community in the country. Maybe, the tension of these riots contributed to what happened outside of my kitchen window today.
To honor this holiday season and to allow for a graceful move into the fall and winter, during which I imagine I will be spending much time inside (especially because I am hoping and praying for biblical, torrential rain this season to alleviate the frightening drought that is threatening this country), I have been on a mission to clean and beautify the living space that I share with Eitan.
Bathroom, bedroom, living room -- cleaned. I repotted houseplants, vacuumed the corners and removed cobwebs. Finally, when I finished and sat down to write some e-mails, I saw the silhouette of the French woman who lives in the adjacent building, lurking, looming.
She feeds about a dozen cats that linger about the building, mangy creatures that I am convinced are one day going to unite and fight us all out of our apartments and then take over the rest of the city, they are that aggressive.
Anyhow, suddenly she appears at my window, screaming at me.
"My cat, your cat! Your cat, why do you feed that cat! Your cat has killed my cat! I cannot find my cat, why don't you do something about that cat!"
Then she walked away.
I remained seated, somewhat shocked and a little confused as to whether or not she meant to yell at me. In the near distance I hear, "Salot! Putin!!"
Not so nice French words, directed at the cat, which, as previously mentioned, came with the apartment.
The woman came back to my window, yelling at me.
To which I replied, "why are you yelling at me?"
And again the same accusations of this bad cat, "Your cat killed another cat four months ago and now she has killed mine, I cannot find my pet."
I am alone in the apartment and feeling rather uncomfortable, vulnerable, and debated whether or not I should cry, that trigger point of insult and burnt pride when I feel that someone thinks I am a bad person when I didn't even have anything to do with the situation. Maybe if I started to cry she would leave me alone.
She walked away again.
She came back. I explained to her that the cat is here, was here before I was. She kept saying that she was looking for Valerie, the cat's owner. Valerie used to live here, I explained. She is not here anymore, she left the cat behind.
She came at me again, "You kill people in the streets! You kill children!"
"Huh?"
That was my internal reaction, coupled with, "now what the hell am I supposed to do? Is she nuts?"
I called Eitan. I needed someone to be on the phone in the event that suddenly I was assaulted by this woman. For the second time in my stay in this apartment, I appreciated the bars on the window, potential for damage or bodily harm --- minimized.
The woman informed me that I needed to kill the cat and if I will not, she will. To which I responded, "please, be my guest." (Animal lovers forgive me, I felt a little threatened myself, like maybe she was going to fling something at me from outside, or poison my water supply.)
In the midst of this insanity, I received a last-minute babysitting plea from a neighbor up the street, mother-in-law stuck in traffic, could I come for an hour or so? I jumped at the opportunity to get the hell out of dodge. Fortunately, this phone call came during a break in the killer cat episode, which resumed shortly thereafter.
It is very challenging to "keep my cool" here. I yelled back, I didn't know how else to stop this woman from screaming at me. She moved on. Her shrieks of "Salot! Putin!" continuing into the early evening.
Riots in Acre.
Moongazing in Tel Aviv.
Killer cats on Smolanskin.
And it's only Sunday.
Forget the politics, forget the conflict, forget accusations of apartheid, the reality of occupation or the threat of Iran's pursuit of a cache of nuclear weapons. These are nothing compared to trying to hold onto your sanity while living one week in Tel Aviv.
The highs are followed by such frightening lows, that it's best not to get too attached to those moments of homeostasis, erase the notion of euphoria from your mind.
Last night, on a walk through Kikar Rabin, the site of the assassination of Prime Minister Rabin, the gathering place for demonstrations, national celebrations and various other festivals and fairs throughout the year, four men brought their telescopes to provide a view of the moon to passersby. Telescopes magnifying the wonder that is the moon from the viewpoint of Earth, 95 times. I gazed upon a three-quarter's full moon, a flat silver disc made three dimensional, spherical, pocked by meteors the size of basketballs, leaving craters 200 kilometers in diameter.
Each view of the moon from the four telescopes brought such a sense of joy to my person. I felt a wide smile stretch my face from side to side, like a child presented with a lollipop, a treat to be savored.
The moon, pearly-grey, hardly smooth, yet so very peaceful. For a few seconds of gazing I felt all of my senses drawn into the silence and stillness of the moon. And there was something so humbling about seeing this member of space up close, when it is in actuality so far away. To see the excitement of the amateur astronomers sharing their knowledge of moon and to admire the craftsmanship of the men who built the telescopes, which they brought to share with the community.
Nearly everyone who looked through the sight of the telescope responded in delight, "Eizeh yofi," how pretty, "magniv," and so on. Everyone was impressed with this simple opportunity to see the moon up close.
Eitan and I continued on our walk, we were heading to Blockbuster. A Saturday night movie rental to make for an easy passage into a new week.
Before crossing the street to reach the store, suddenly, a vehicle between a vespa and a motorcycle screeched shortly, turned sideways, throwing the male driver off into the street, leaving the woman rider to fall under the bike. Ten people rushed to help. Fortunately there were no cars coming from the opposite direction and a near catastrophe remained but a minor, yet unsettling accident.
I tried to remember the stillness of the moon but my heart was jumping. I decided to focus upon the fact that so many people came to help the girl out from under the bike and felt back to normal after a couple of blocks.
There are many days, where, if I can avoid it, I leave home as infrequently as possible. It's dangerous out there. Unfortunately, I discovered that even my own home is not impervious to the treacheries of the outside.
Until today, my apartment in Tel Aviv offered refuge from a pretty hectic world. However, as daylight surrendered to dusk, a perhaps semi-crazy, French woman prowled outside my window, desirous of killing the cat, which came with this apartment. My protective bubble burst. I should have known that in Israel, there is no place immune to disorder and disruption.
This year, Rosh HaShanah and Eid al-Fitr (the festival at the end of Ramadan) coincided with one another. The moon calendars aligned on September 29th and thus, for nearly two whole days a majority of the population, both in Israel and the Occupied Territories, were celebrating important and joyous holidays of the calendar of Judaism and Islam, respectively.
Ten days later, Yom Kippur descended upon the land, sending shops, restaurants, cafes and businesses into a state-mandated closure, along with various checkpoints leading to and from the West Bank. A time of reflection, fasting, with only ambulances and police cars patrolling the streets to attend to the yearly bicycle accidents and injuries incurred by stone throwing in certain neighborhoods where cars dare to drive on this holy of holy days.
In fact, on the eve of Yom Kippur, riots broke out in the city of Acre (Acco), incited by Jewish youths throwing stones at an Arab driver, who the Jews alleged had been blasting the radio and smoking a water pipe through the neighborhood as Yom Kippur began. (How one drives and smokes a hookah simultaneously is beyond my comprehension and this particular testimony remains of a dubious nature.)
The driver and passenger were wounded and the repercussions of this encounter are ongoing.
Journalists are comparing this situation to Bosnia, I think of similar conflict, communal violence, in India between Hindus and Muslims. Whatever you call it, it's bad. A theater festival, that many Arab-Israelis rely on for a business boost in Acre, has been canceled. The racial slurs are flying and so are the stones and shattered glass.
In Israel, I feel like the reverberations of all activity throughout find their way to each and every other city and community in the country. Maybe, the tension of these riots contributed to what happened outside of my kitchen window today.
To honor this holiday season and to allow for a graceful move into the fall and winter, during which I imagine I will be spending much time inside (especially because I am hoping and praying for biblical, torrential rain this season to alleviate the frightening drought that is threatening this country), I have been on a mission to clean and beautify the living space that I share with Eitan.
Bathroom, bedroom, living room -- cleaned. I repotted houseplants, vacuumed the corners and removed cobwebs. Finally, when I finished and sat down to write some e-mails, I saw the silhouette of the French woman who lives in the adjacent building, lurking, looming.
She feeds about a dozen cats that linger about the building, mangy creatures that I am convinced are one day going to unite and fight us all out of our apartments and then take over the rest of the city, they are that aggressive.
Anyhow, suddenly she appears at my window, screaming at me.
"My cat, your cat! Your cat, why do you feed that cat! Your cat has killed my cat! I cannot find my cat, why don't you do something about that cat!"
Then she walked away.
I remained seated, somewhat shocked and a little confused as to whether or not she meant to yell at me. In the near distance I hear, "Salot! Putin!!"
Not so nice French words, directed at the cat, which, as previously mentioned, came with the apartment.
The woman came back to my window, yelling at me.
To which I replied, "why are you yelling at me?"
And again the same accusations of this bad cat, "Your cat killed another cat four months ago and now she has killed mine, I cannot find my pet."
I am alone in the apartment and feeling rather uncomfortable, vulnerable, and debated whether or not I should cry, that trigger point of insult and burnt pride when I feel that someone thinks I am a bad person when I didn't even have anything to do with the situation. Maybe if I started to cry she would leave me alone.
She walked away again.
She came back. I explained to her that the cat is here, was here before I was. She kept saying that she was looking for Valerie, the cat's owner. Valerie used to live here, I explained. She is not here anymore, she left the cat behind.
She came at me again, "You kill people in the streets! You kill children!"
"Huh?"
That was my internal reaction, coupled with, "now what the hell am I supposed to do? Is she nuts?"
I called Eitan. I needed someone to be on the phone in the event that suddenly I was assaulted by this woman. For the second time in my stay in this apartment, I appreciated the bars on the window, potential for damage or bodily harm --- minimized.
The woman informed me that I needed to kill the cat and if I will not, she will. To which I responded, "please, be my guest." (Animal lovers forgive me, I felt a little threatened myself, like maybe she was going to fling something at me from outside, or poison my water supply.)
In the midst of this insanity, I received a last-minute babysitting plea from a neighbor up the street, mother-in-law stuck in traffic, could I come for an hour or so? I jumped at the opportunity to get the hell out of dodge. Fortunately, this phone call came during a break in the killer cat episode, which resumed shortly thereafter.
It is very challenging to "keep my cool" here. I yelled back, I didn't know how else to stop this woman from screaming at me. She moved on. Her shrieks of "Salot! Putin!" continuing into the early evening.
Riots in Acre.
Moongazing in Tel Aviv.
Killer cats on Smolanskin.
And it's only Sunday.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Middle East News Digest
In the Middle East, there is a lot of talk of peace and war. War is always a possibility, peacemaking is laboriously frustrating. Living in Israel, I live in a semi-state of denial, knowing that catastrophe is always both a minute and an eternity from the present. There is simply no knowing what will be the breaking point or the turning point and for the media, every day is a heyday to rile up the public around one glaring issue or another -- Iran's nuclear tests, Bedouin youth convicted of Al-Qaeda connections, Israeli soldier shoots rubber bullets at blind-folded Palestinian at close range, for example.
Acts of aggression that could lead to escalation in the conflict are public information, always. Acts of reconciliation, however, are hard to find and take up little space in newspapers and mainstream websites, if reported on at all.
The irony in the whole situation is that while the newspapers are plastered with foreboding news of destruction, corruption, deficit and injustice, making it seem as though that is all that goes on around here, I have absolutely no personal encounter with any of these things.
If I were to write my own weekly digest, the headlines would include: "Attended Peace Cafe to Brainstorm Online Facilitated Dialogue Opportunities Between Israelis, Palestinians and Internationals." Another one would read: "Participated in Women Only Yoga Class at the Sulha Peace Gathering."
The content of this digest would be filled with pleasant interactions and exciting connections between myself and other people who are hoping for a better future for the people of Israel and Palestine.
I would include another section, a weekly column: The Office in East Jerusalem. This week's title would read, "Date Juice and Damascus Shawarma, Hummus Next Week."
The inches of this publication's columns would be replete with reports on the myriad peace organizations each vying for dates on calendars to promote demonstrations, lectures, commemorations, movie screenings, how to apply for a visa from the West Bank successfully, and various other opportunities for recognizing the innumerable ways in which alleged enemies already do coexist, and the efforts to draw more and more people into that reality.
Some of the serious issues that I would report include the language barrier, getting Israelis to learn more Arabic and English, and more Palestinians and Arabs to learn more Hebrew or English. Additionally, I would include ongoing abuse at checkpoints, discrimination against Ethiopian Jews in Israeli schools, Holocaust survivors starving and struggling in their old age because the government has broken its promise time and again to provide a stipend to these people. However, at the end of these dismal reports, I would list the MANY organizations advocating for these marginalized groups and individuals, listing how it is that you can help in the efforts to improve the situation. And just for encouragement, I would include a list of goals achieved by each of these organizations.
The thing that I'm getting at is how media, popular, mainstream media really works to make the population hopeless and paralyzed. And if I can't speak for the population, then I can at least speak for myself.
For the past three weeks, I have been receiving the International Herald Tribune and Haaretz (in English) at my doorstep each morning. For the ten minutes I walk to the bus, I read the paper -- trying not to step on steaming piles of dog shit or bump into the elderly couple I pass by each morning, or the street sweeper who has also become familiar. While waiting for my Cafe Aroma, I sit down, in hopes that the sweat will stop rolling of my back and behind my legs and read the paper, I continue this while on the 15 minute bus ride en route to Tel Aviv University. I arrive at Hebrew class, tuck the paper away into my bag, and try to pull myself out of the rage, sadness, disbelief and fear that I voluntary expose myself to during the hour or so morning commute. True, after that hour every morning I am a more informed citizen both internationally and domestically, but I am also a more apathetic citizen who can only shrug her shoulders and make snide remarks about the end of the world and its impending arrival.
Thankfully however, I counterbalance this reading business with a little bit of activism. I practice yoga under the guidance of my newest teacher, the wise and real Ernessa. I learn a little bit of Kabbalah (yes the Madonna kind) and I attend these peace gatherings. At the end of the day, the end of the week, I realize that there is a bigger picture of the world that is painted as catastrophic, myopic, a ticking bomb with a detonator held in the hands of many -- speculators, dictators, typhoons and hurricanes, to name but a few.
But I am beginning to ask myself how I can let that dictated reality be so much stronger that the reality that I experience through touch, taste, smell, sight and hearing every day? How can I feel that the world is coming to an end when I somehow manage to find myself surrounded by people engaged in dialogue, arguing productively, creating art, music, dance and prayer, willing to share with me their personal life stories and struggles, to listen to those of my own? The last thing I would want to do is dishonor or undermine the significance and the progress and the unending dedication to these causes that people self and soulfully give to each other and their efforts. Yet I do that day after day after day.
As a planet full of people, our actions and their repercussions generate so much power, so much energy. We are pulled into our dramas, our successes, our failures, our hopes, our disappointments. Atoms and electricity flying every which way. We create such a hum, buzz and bang with nearly every move we make, each of which emit different qualities and flavors -- creating, destroying, sustaining, to broadly categorize (thank you to Shiva, Brahma and Vishnu for the vocabulary to explain this thought). And then, we have a choice about what to do with these outcomes, these facts on the ground. Sometimes I choose apathy and I feel like I am waiting out the end. Sometimes I choose joy and I radiate light to my friends and loved ones, instilling hope and rejuvenation in my surroundings. Sometimes my vision narrows and I find myself contributing more to the darkness that seems to always loom over the future.
In this moment of clear seeing, I am relieved to recognize these tendencies, to see them for what they are. Unfortunately, I cannot ignore the injustices, the murders, the hatred, the bigotry, the racism, the hunger, the suffering, and I find that these aspects of existence cast a very tall, long and wide shadow over the predominantly beautiful, effortless world that I inhabit day-to-day. But if I cannot make space for recognizing the good as well as the bad and the ugly, then I find that I am not much use to anyone at all. And that would be one of the greatest tragedies ever to befall humankind. I am not exaggerating my own importance, as it is equally shared by every other being on the planet.
As Nelson Mandela shared in his 1994 inaugural speech, words written by author Marianne Williamson, "...as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."
I would like to be liberated from my own fears that the world cannot change, that people cannot recognize their power to light up the darkness in the world. At least for now, and if only for this second and a few after that, my eyes are open to those who know their power and use it for the purpose of bringing light.
Acts of aggression that could lead to escalation in the conflict are public information, always. Acts of reconciliation, however, are hard to find and take up little space in newspapers and mainstream websites, if reported on at all.
The irony in the whole situation is that while the newspapers are plastered with foreboding news of destruction, corruption, deficit and injustice, making it seem as though that is all that goes on around here, I have absolutely no personal encounter with any of these things.
If I were to write my own weekly digest, the headlines would include: "Attended Peace Cafe to Brainstorm Online Facilitated Dialogue Opportunities Between Israelis, Palestinians and Internationals." Another one would read: "Participated in Women Only Yoga Class at the Sulha Peace Gathering."
The content of this digest would be filled with pleasant interactions and exciting connections between myself and other people who are hoping for a better future for the people of Israel and Palestine.
I would include another section, a weekly column: The Office in East Jerusalem. This week's title would read, "Date Juice and Damascus Shawarma, Hummus Next Week."
The inches of this publication's columns would be replete with reports on the myriad peace organizations each vying for dates on calendars to promote demonstrations, lectures, commemorations, movie screenings, how to apply for a visa from the West Bank successfully, and various other opportunities for recognizing the innumerable ways in which alleged enemies already do coexist, and the efforts to draw more and more people into that reality.
Some of the serious issues that I would report include the language barrier, getting Israelis to learn more Arabic and English, and more Palestinians and Arabs to learn more Hebrew or English. Additionally, I would include ongoing abuse at checkpoints, discrimination against Ethiopian Jews in Israeli schools, Holocaust survivors starving and struggling in their old age because the government has broken its promise time and again to provide a stipend to these people. However, at the end of these dismal reports, I would list the MANY organizations advocating for these marginalized groups and individuals, listing how it is that you can help in the efforts to improve the situation. And just for encouragement, I would include a list of goals achieved by each of these organizations.
The thing that I'm getting at is how media, popular, mainstream media really works to make the population hopeless and paralyzed. And if I can't speak for the population, then I can at least speak for myself.
For the past three weeks, I have been receiving the International Herald Tribune and Haaretz (in English) at my doorstep each morning. For the ten minutes I walk to the bus, I read the paper -- trying not to step on steaming piles of dog shit or bump into the elderly couple I pass by each morning, or the street sweeper who has also become familiar. While waiting for my Cafe Aroma, I sit down, in hopes that the sweat will stop rolling of my back and behind my legs and read the paper, I continue this while on the 15 minute bus ride en route to Tel Aviv University. I arrive at Hebrew class, tuck the paper away into my bag, and try to pull myself out of the rage, sadness, disbelief and fear that I voluntary expose myself to during the hour or so morning commute. True, after that hour every morning I am a more informed citizen both internationally and domestically, but I am also a more apathetic citizen who can only shrug her shoulders and make snide remarks about the end of the world and its impending arrival.
Thankfully however, I counterbalance this reading business with a little bit of activism. I practice yoga under the guidance of my newest teacher, the wise and real Ernessa. I learn a little bit of Kabbalah (yes the Madonna kind) and I attend these peace gatherings. At the end of the day, the end of the week, I realize that there is a bigger picture of the world that is painted as catastrophic, myopic, a ticking bomb with a detonator held in the hands of many -- speculators, dictators, typhoons and hurricanes, to name but a few.
But I am beginning to ask myself how I can let that dictated reality be so much stronger that the reality that I experience through touch, taste, smell, sight and hearing every day? How can I feel that the world is coming to an end when I somehow manage to find myself surrounded by people engaged in dialogue, arguing productively, creating art, music, dance and prayer, willing to share with me their personal life stories and struggles, to listen to those of my own? The last thing I would want to do is dishonor or undermine the significance and the progress and the unending dedication to these causes that people self and soulfully give to each other and their efforts. Yet I do that day after day after day.
As a planet full of people, our actions and their repercussions generate so much power, so much energy. We are pulled into our dramas, our successes, our failures, our hopes, our disappointments. Atoms and electricity flying every which way. We create such a hum, buzz and bang with nearly every move we make, each of which emit different qualities and flavors -- creating, destroying, sustaining, to broadly categorize (thank you to Shiva, Brahma and Vishnu for the vocabulary to explain this thought). And then, we have a choice about what to do with these outcomes, these facts on the ground. Sometimes I choose apathy and I feel like I am waiting out the end. Sometimes I choose joy and I radiate light to my friends and loved ones, instilling hope and rejuvenation in my surroundings. Sometimes my vision narrows and I find myself contributing more to the darkness that seems to always loom over the future.
In this moment of clear seeing, I am relieved to recognize these tendencies, to see them for what they are. Unfortunately, I cannot ignore the injustices, the murders, the hatred, the bigotry, the racism, the hunger, the suffering, and I find that these aspects of existence cast a very tall, long and wide shadow over the predominantly beautiful, effortless world that I inhabit day-to-day. But if I cannot make space for recognizing the good as well as the bad and the ugly, then I find that I am not much use to anyone at all. And that would be one of the greatest tragedies ever to befall humankind. I am not exaggerating my own importance, as it is equally shared by every other being on the planet.
As Nelson Mandela shared in his 1994 inaugural speech, words written by author Marianne Williamson, "...as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."
I would like to be liberated from my own fears that the world cannot change, that people cannot recognize their power to light up the darkness in the world. At least for now, and if only for this second and a few after that, my eyes are open to those who know their power and use it for the purpose of bringing light.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
The Frailty of Tolerance for Others
On a sherut, shared taxi van, en route to Jerusalem, I found myself in a situation in which the driver accused me of not having paid the 22 shekel fare, which was given to him via the gentleman sitting in front of me to the right of the ten passenger vehicle. Two men vouched for me, the one recounting that he handled the money and the other who witnessed the transaction. Still, the driver insisted that I had not paid, “Anahnu mehakim la bahura, yihihey zman.” We are waiting for the woman, there will be time, he said, in an accented Hebrew that I assumed was Arabic.
I repeated myself, again, “Shilamti!” – I paid.
I could feel my insides start to rumble and fire up with anger, frustration and insult. How dare this man accuse me of not paying my fare, how dare he continue his indictment despite the testimonies of two men, including the one who took the money from me and gave it to the driver.
Irate, my heart pounding, my eyes making all sorts of signals of disgust and pissed-offness at the people around me for this affront to my person, I had images of walking up to this driver, insisting that he apologize to me and if he refused, as I descended from the shared taxi, in one swoop I would pull the lever that would send all of the coins to the floor, rolling out of the van and onto the street, and thus, feel my good name avenged.
Returning to the world outside of my mind and its satisfying images of retribution, I continued to feel offended, looking up from time to time from my book, titled Interpretation of Cultures, hoping to make eye contact with maliciousness in my stare at the driver.
Between my book, the girl who spoke French and Italian who was sitting behind me and kept switching languages to communicate with her two friends, the man next to me who spoke a mixture of Persian and Hebrew on his cell phone and the thoughts stewing in my mind, I had that sensation that I so often feel here that the actual organ of my brain would explode with too much stimulation if it could. Seemingly involuntarily trying to understand the alternating languages, read and not think about the uncomfortable situation I just couldn't seem to get over, I was feeling rather flustered.
The gentleman who handed him the money earlier looked at me after I continued to make noises and faces with a look of, “what can you do?” and the hand/shoulder shrug gesture skyward, that usually accompanies such a look. I took no comfort from this offering and continued to fume inwardly. Just as luck would have it, an extreme accident blocked the road to Jerusalem, making a sometimes quick 50 minute commute drag out into the infamous hour and a half trek up the Jerusalem hills before finally reaching the center.
As we waited in standstill traffic, the driver turned on the radio. A Russian-language station. He was Russian. Immediately, my mind’s preoccupation with anger, disgust, insult and humiliation turned another corner in my mind to find a memory from Independence Day.
The Tel Aviv Boardwalk, the Tayelet, was filled with thousands of attendees for the 60th anniversary of Israel’s Independence and the Israel Defense Forces’ air show extravaganza to commemorate the occasion. Cafes, restaurants, booths, kiosks and popsicle vendors were overwhelmed by the number of people. No one seemed to be prepared for the onslaught of crowds this event drew to the shores of the Mediterranean between Gordon Beach and the border with Jaffa.
In search of a cup of coffee after a fun-filled night of drinking and celebrating in the streets of Tel Aviv, I found myself at a café/bar where I could get a coffee to go. As with most places in Israel, there was a security guard at the entrance. I discussed with the hostess if I may pass through to the bar to order a cup of coffee “lekahat,” to take. With her consent I proceeded to walk past the entrance of the restaurant when suddenly a sharp pain burst through my right hip bone.
The security guard, oblivious to my discussion with the hostess, barely able to speak Hebrew (a Russian) put up his baton and whacked me in the hip to keep me from going forward. Unable to process the painful sensation and why I was feeling it, all I could do was look at him in horror and then the hostess with pleading eyes. There was no Hebrew in my mind at that moment, I felt helpless and able only to produce wicked stares and feel that, becoming all-too-familiar feeling of cursory hatred, disgust and humility. The hostess explained to this brute (I still feel this way about him) that I was getting a coffee to go. I walked through, ordering and thinking of all the things I would like to say to this incompetent nincompoop who so quickly assumed I intended harm and who was willing to use force -- against ME!!! When all I wanted was a cup of coffee.
Back to the sherut, here I put two stories side by side and found a common villain – the Russian -- accusing me of something I did not do, presuming me guilty without finding out whether or not there were any grounds for such accusations. Suddenly I was a mass of hatred against all the “Russians” in Israel, all the miserable experiences I have endured with Russian clerks at the Ministry of Absorption, I relived all of those feelings in my emotional body in that taxi. My insides felt overflowing with that best described as, oozing black goopy bitterness that swims inside of me when I feel like I have found a scapegoat for my problem(s), decide to completely castigate an entire people for all of my time on this earth, and having done so, allow myself the darkest, most inhuman, undignified thoughts of which a human being is capable. (Confessional: I deal with bouts of this on a weekly basis, sad to say. At least I’m not discriminating – I feel this for Israelis, Arabs, Hasidic Jews and a few other “groups” on an alternating basis.)
Then my better senses returned. We arrived in Jerusalem. I stepped off the sherut, refused to thank the driver for the safe arrival, and began to wonder what was THAT all about? Then it came to me.
Last Saturday, Eitan and I saw a movie by the name of Ma asalama, Jamil. A film about honor killings between Shiite and Sunni Muslims in Denmark, although the film could have taken place anywhere in the world. Leaving the theater I asked Eitan, “what is this thing about honor? How could you kill someone for honor?”
I couldn’t understand, this concept of honor being offended, the repercussions of perceived “disrespect,” so prevalent in Pakistani, Afghani, Pashtun, Sicilian, Albanian and many other cultures of which I am not aware, that require such drastic measures, to be regained.
While this incident on the sherut did not involve murder of a loved one who needed to be avenged, I felt as though something had been taken from me that I had not given permission to be removed from my possession, and I was ANGRY. I acknowledged, perhaps for the first time in my life, how I feel and what my mind says and imagines doing when my honor is offended.
In that moment of powerlessness, humiliation, misunderstanding and shock, my mind dispelled all of its practice of tolerance, of not stereotyping, not categorizing, not demonizing and not clumping together “other.” This suspension of higher consciousness paved the way to making generalizations, condemnations of another, distinctively different from myself, so that I could eventually feel better, feel that I had reclaimed something taken from me.
Over such a simple, silly, stupid thing as 22 shekels for a ride to Jerusalem.
The driver miscounted, which he realized after the man who gave him my money told him, “hee shilmah, lispor et ha kesef,” – she paid, count the money.
I claim to want to peace, to work for peace, to understand how to come to peace. But every day that I am here, my experiences only prove that this endeavor is interminably challenging. Having peace within myself and the ability to keep composure in the face of ridiculous, meaningless accusations and interactions in which I feel offended by other people, proves to me that before I have any applicable strategies, I have quite a lot of work to do inside of myself.
I begin to understand how people can act "irrationally." If the conditions are right, meaning tense enough, and the person does not have the capability to get some perspective, the range of behaviors that humans exhibit and act upon in order to satiate that anger, or merely to resume that sense of homeostasis, temporary as it apparently can be, are, in some cases, frighteningly dramatic.
I repeated myself, again, “Shilamti!” – I paid.
I could feel my insides start to rumble and fire up with anger, frustration and insult. How dare this man accuse me of not paying my fare, how dare he continue his indictment despite the testimonies of two men, including the one who took the money from me and gave it to the driver.
Irate, my heart pounding, my eyes making all sorts of signals of disgust and pissed-offness at the people around me for this affront to my person, I had images of walking up to this driver, insisting that he apologize to me and if he refused, as I descended from the shared taxi, in one swoop I would pull the lever that would send all of the coins to the floor, rolling out of the van and onto the street, and thus, feel my good name avenged.
Returning to the world outside of my mind and its satisfying images of retribution, I continued to feel offended, looking up from time to time from my book, titled Interpretation of Cultures, hoping to make eye contact with maliciousness in my stare at the driver.
Between my book, the girl who spoke French and Italian who was sitting behind me and kept switching languages to communicate with her two friends, the man next to me who spoke a mixture of Persian and Hebrew on his cell phone and the thoughts stewing in my mind, I had that sensation that I so often feel here that the actual organ of my brain would explode with too much stimulation if it could. Seemingly involuntarily trying to understand the alternating languages, read and not think about the uncomfortable situation I just couldn't seem to get over, I was feeling rather flustered.
The gentleman who handed him the money earlier looked at me after I continued to make noises and faces with a look of, “what can you do?” and the hand/shoulder shrug gesture skyward, that usually accompanies such a look. I took no comfort from this offering and continued to fume inwardly. Just as luck would have it, an extreme accident blocked the road to Jerusalem, making a sometimes quick 50 minute commute drag out into the infamous hour and a half trek up the Jerusalem hills before finally reaching the center.
As we waited in standstill traffic, the driver turned on the radio. A Russian-language station. He was Russian. Immediately, my mind’s preoccupation with anger, disgust, insult and humiliation turned another corner in my mind to find a memory from Independence Day.
The Tel Aviv Boardwalk, the Tayelet, was filled with thousands of attendees for the 60th anniversary of Israel’s Independence and the Israel Defense Forces’ air show extravaganza to commemorate the occasion. Cafes, restaurants, booths, kiosks and popsicle vendors were overwhelmed by the number of people. No one seemed to be prepared for the onslaught of crowds this event drew to the shores of the Mediterranean between Gordon Beach and the border with Jaffa.
In search of a cup of coffee after a fun-filled night of drinking and celebrating in the streets of Tel Aviv, I found myself at a café/bar where I could get a coffee to go. As with most places in Israel, there was a security guard at the entrance. I discussed with the hostess if I may pass through to the bar to order a cup of coffee “lekahat,” to take. With her consent I proceeded to walk past the entrance of the restaurant when suddenly a sharp pain burst through my right hip bone.
The security guard, oblivious to my discussion with the hostess, barely able to speak Hebrew (a Russian) put up his baton and whacked me in the hip to keep me from going forward. Unable to process the painful sensation and why I was feeling it, all I could do was look at him in horror and then the hostess with pleading eyes. There was no Hebrew in my mind at that moment, I felt helpless and able only to produce wicked stares and feel that, becoming all-too-familiar feeling of cursory hatred, disgust and humility. The hostess explained to this brute (I still feel this way about him) that I was getting a coffee to go. I walked through, ordering and thinking of all the things I would like to say to this incompetent nincompoop who so quickly assumed I intended harm and who was willing to use force -- against ME!!! When all I wanted was a cup of coffee.
Back to the sherut, here I put two stories side by side and found a common villain – the Russian -- accusing me of something I did not do, presuming me guilty without finding out whether or not there were any grounds for such accusations. Suddenly I was a mass of hatred against all the “Russians” in Israel, all the miserable experiences I have endured with Russian clerks at the Ministry of Absorption, I relived all of those feelings in my emotional body in that taxi. My insides felt overflowing with that best described as, oozing black goopy bitterness that swims inside of me when I feel like I have found a scapegoat for my problem(s), decide to completely castigate an entire people for all of my time on this earth, and having done so, allow myself the darkest, most inhuman, undignified thoughts of which a human being is capable. (Confessional: I deal with bouts of this on a weekly basis, sad to say. At least I’m not discriminating – I feel this for Israelis, Arabs, Hasidic Jews and a few other “groups” on an alternating basis.)
Then my better senses returned. We arrived in Jerusalem. I stepped off the sherut, refused to thank the driver for the safe arrival, and began to wonder what was THAT all about? Then it came to me.
Last Saturday, Eitan and I saw a movie by the name of Ma asalama, Jamil. A film about honor killings between Shiite and Sunni Muslims in Denmark, although the film could have taken place anywhere in the world. Leaving the theater I asked Eitan, “what is this thing about honor? How could you kill someone for honor?”
I couldn’t understand, this concept of honor being offended, the repercussions of perceived “disrespect,” so prevalent in Pakistani, Afghani, Pashtun, Sicilian, Albanian and many other cultures of which I am not aware, that require such drastic measures, to be regained.
While this incident on the sherut did not involve murder of a loved one who needed to be avenged, I felt as though something had been taken from me that I had not given permission to be removed from my possession, and I was ANGRY. I acknowledged, perhaps for the first time in my life, how I feel and what my mind says and imagines doing when my honor is offended.
In that moment of powerlessness, humiliation, misunderstanding and shock, my mind dispelled all of its practice of tolerance, of not stereotyping, not categorizing, not demonizing and not clumping together “other.” This suspension of higher consciousness paved the way to making generalizations, condemnations of another, distinctively different from myself, so that I could eventually feel better, feel that I had reclaimed something taken from me.
Over such a simple, silly, stupid thing as 22 shekels for a ride to Jerusalem.
The driver miscounted, which he realized after the man who gave him my money told him, “hee shilmah, lispor et ha kesef,” – she paid, count the money.
I claim to want to peace, to work for peace, to understand how to come to peace. But every day that I am here, my experiences only prove that this endeavor is interminably challenging. Having peace within myself and the ability to keep composure in the face of ridiculous, meaningless accusations and interactions in which I feel offended by other people, proves to me that before I have any applicable strategies, I have quite a lot of work to do inside of myself.
I begin to understand how people can act "irrationally." If the conditions are right, meaning tense enough, and the person does not have the capability to get some perspective, the range of behaviors that humans exhibit and act upon in order to satiate that anger, or merely to resume that sense of homeostasis, temporary as it apparently can be, are, in some cases, frighteningly dramatic.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Better Late Than Never
Most importantly, thank you to everyone who responded and took the time to think with me on the last entry having to do with Israel’s independence and the Palestinian Nakba. I have looked forward to responding to your thoughts for weeks and I regret the long delay.
Yesterday I finally had the opportunity and felt in the frame of mind to sit down and respond to the comments that I received both on the blog and personally, for which I am quite grateful. However, an unforeseen obstacle arose to my Thursday morning departure to the States, which rendered me useless to do anything but worry incessantly until this morning.
In the afternoon on Sunday, I discovered that unless I have in my possession a "Teudat Maavar" to present at border control at Ben Gurion Airport along with my U.S. passport, I will be unable to leave Israel to go to my own country because I am now also an Israeli citizen; and regardless of whether or not I have a valid U.S. passport, the Israeli government determines whether or not I can leave this country, so they say. I have my suspicions that I would have no problem leaving the country but getting back in may be cumbersome.
So as to avoid any possibility of going through the infamous, grueling, interrogation sessions at the airport, I rushed myself to the Misrad Hapnim (Ministry of the Interior) this morning ready with fifteen sob stories revolving around family emergencies that would win the sensitive hearts, hidden beneath the gruff and cruel exterior, of the clerks at the Ministry of the Interior, so that I may have the Teudat Maavar sooner than the standard seven business days for processing. And, as I've discovered, as with most things in Israel, everything is up for negotiation. I will have the damn temporary travel document at 8am Tuesday morning, less than 48 hours before my plane is scheduled to depart.
The point of sharing this story is that while my intention was to finally revisit the topic of Jews commemorating the Nakba yesterday afternoon, I was hardly in a mood to ponder and pontificate and felt like, in fact, every Israeli and Palestinian and their problems could "shove it," because my small life and the important plans in it were about to be affected in a tremendous way. How quickly my activism is thrown out the window when my freedoms are impinged upon...(The next obstacle is to get Eitan through immigration at LAX. Did anyone read that New York Times article about the Italian-citizen lawyer who came to visit his girlfriend in Virginia and was detained for ten days without access to counsel only to be deported back to Italy??!!!)
But, now that I have had my citizen’s right to international movement, as conferred upon me by my holding of a current and valid U.S. passport, restored -- I am ready to discuss.
In the weeks since Israel's Independence Day celebrations and Nakba commemorations, much has happened. President Bush visited to celebrate 60 years of Israel and expressed his vision that when Israel celebrates 120 years of Independence it will do so with a Palestinian state next to it. Also, a conference of presidents and world leaders convened in Jerusalem to discuss Israel's role and capabilities in many important global issues -- technology, industry, the environment and economics. Gorbachev even showed up, which excited many Russians in Israel, which I know because I overheard conversations in the w.c. at ulpan and in the streets of Tel Aviv.
On May 21, just on the other side of the separation wall six miles south of Jerusalem, the Palestine Investment Conference took place in Bethlehem with nearly 1,000 businesspeople from the United States, Europe, the UK, Russia, several Arab countries, Israel and 100 businessmen from Gaza received special permits to travel to the West Bank with over $1billion worth of contracts up for grabs. For more information and some criticism on this conference, please visit: http://www.alternativenews.org/news/english/palestine-investment-conference-opens-in-bethlehem-20080522.html and
http://www.economy.ae/English/AboutUs/NewsAndEvents/Pages/economy23.aspx.
Since then, business is as usual in Israel. Rocket attacks on Sderot and Ashkelon, daily military incursions into Gaza with casualties suffered by men, women, children and militants, and a disturbing Israeli police-incited riot at a nonviolent Palestinian Nakba commemoration demonstration in which Israeli Jews and Israeli Arabs came together to protest the forced expulsions and denial of these acts during and in the aftermath of Israel's War of Independence in 1948. Please read: http://www.jpost.com/servlet/Satellite?cid=1210668678396&pagename=JPost%2FJPArticle%2FShowFull.
All of which, in addition to the comments themselves, have contributed to the following thoughts.
As far as this blog goes, I use this public forum as a way to process and filter what I read, see and hear in this country. It is overwhelming most of the time. I cannot contain everything I observe without inflicting psychological damage upon myself unless I write. Therefore, this is not an officially published/sponsored writing forum. It is of my own doing, independent of any news source and so on. That being said, I could be writing 24 hours every day and still not feel that my sentiments and reactions are properly dealt with, or adequately disseminated to readers, for the sake of having witnesses to my experiences and the information that I come across and choose to share.
In truth, none of these incidents matter in and of themselves. One letter signed off on by a group of U.K. Jews and U.S. Jews who are against Israel's military occupation of the Palestinian people in the West Bank and Gaza, that decries Israel for its crimes against humanity and calls for worldwide boycotts of the Jewish State, as mentioned by a few commentators, does not make a noticeable impact or difference in decision making regarding Israel. I do believe it influences public discourse on the topic to a certain extent, but only among some circles while others may ignore such a petition, or may never even come across it.
In fact, this letter doesn't change anything at all in the immediate sense of time. AIPAC still has millions and millions more dollars than J-Street, the new Jewish political action committee, to "educate" voters, indirectly influencing campaigns and candidates about U.S. relations with Israel. Thus, AIPAC’s role in the U.S. government won't be challenged any time soon. As long as AIPAC-produced policy is adopted by the United States, nothing much at all will change on the ground in Israel or in the Palestinian Occupied Territories.
However, when I received the e-mail asking me to sign this letter and another petition written in a similar vein, it mattered to me to understand why I didn't believe that what the signees were calling for provided any constructive solutions to the tension and the situation here in Israel. And, I felt, that if those words represented the progressive Jewish political public of the Diaspora, then there isn't much hope for the Jewish international community to work within Jewish communities to convey to Jews who support Israel blindly, that Israel cannot sustain its existence as it is -- surviving -- in a hostile environment that requires the dehumanization of an indigenous population that has been largely displaced; that continues to seek international aide to improve its plight by defaming Israel as well as highlighting breaches of international law and international humanitarian law; that has factions that consort with Iran to resist occupation; that is allegedly the key to normalized relations with the 22 nations of the Arab League, as outlined in the revised 2007 Arab Peace Initiative. Quite simply, I felt bummed out, big time.
I'm looking for solutions and perhaps stubbornly clinging to the naiveté that they exist.
I think the solutions are going to be found when there is good, honest, open communication about the problems. Something like Conflict Resolution 101. However, as of right now, a universal language to discuss Israel, and therefore Palestine, does not exist. Different populations require different vocabulary. It is such a heated, loaded subject. Israel bears the weight of thousands of years of Jewish persecution and ongoing anti-Semitism. Israel and the threat to its existence is one catalyst in the spreading of Islamophobia. Also, in the Muslim and Arab world, Israel’s existence is the fundamentalists’ linchpin that sustains anti-Western sentiment and acts of violence, also known as terrorism. These are the favorite topics of the media today and what a confusing, bungling, endless body of information we the public receive every day!
The letter doesn't really affect me. Neither did the rocket that fell on the Supersal grocery store in Sderot two days after I went shopping there for challah, orange juice, yogurt and hummus. But I worry about the day that these things do affect me. Maybe they will always be just worries. I don't really know.
I would like to think, however, than in the thousands of words I will have written over the course of my life, at some point, I'll figure out something to do that will affect me and the people around me to live differently, to find that common language even in the midst of purportedly intractable conflict. Obstinately, something tells me it's possible and if not, then I'll just keep working towards it. I don't really know what there is that is better for me to fill my days with instead.
I need to create an example of what I want to accomplish, to paraphrase another commentator. The problem is that I still don't know exactly what kind of example I want to set. Maybe one day, I’ll just come to peace with war, with humankind’s proclivity for self-destruction. As of now, I am still collecting information.
Yesterday I finally had the opportunity and felt in the frame of mind to sit down and respond to the comments that I received both on the blog and personally, for which I am quite grateful. However, an unforeseen obstacle arose to my Thursday morning departure to the States, which rendered me useless to do anything but worry incessantly until this morning.
In the afternoon on Sunday, I discovered that unless I have in my possession a "Teudat Maavar" to present at border control at Ben Gurion Airport along with my U.S. passport, I will be unable to leave Israel to go to my own country because I am now also an Israeli citizen; and regardless of whether or not I have a valid U.S. passport, the Israeli government determines whether or not I can leave this country, so they say. I have my suspicions that I would have no problem leaving the country but getting back in may be cumbersome.
So as to avoid any possibility of going through the infamous, grueling, interrogation sessions at the airport, I rushed myself to the Misrad Hapnim (Ministry of the Interior) this morning ready with fifteen sob stories revolving around family emergencies that would win the sensitive hearts, hidden beneath the gruff and cruel exterior, of the clerks at the Ministry of the Interior, so that I may have the Teudat Maavar sooner than the standard seven business days for processing. And, as I've discovered, as with most things in Israel, everything is up for negotiation. I will have the damn temporary travel document at 8am Tuesday morning, less than 48 hours before my plane is scheduled to depart.
The point of sharing this story is that while my intention was to finally revisit the topic of Jews commemorating the Nakba yesterday afternoon, I was hardly in a mood to ponder and pontificate and felt like, in fact, every Israeli and Palestinian and their problems could "shove it," because my small life and the important plans in it were about to be affected in a tremendous way. How quickly my activism is thrown out the window when my freedoms are impinged upon...(The next obstacle is to get Eitan through immigration at LAX. Did anyone read that New York Times article about the Italian-citizen lawyer who came to visit his girlfriend in Virginia and was detained for ten days without access to counsel only to be deported back to Italy??!!!)
But, now that I have had my citizen’s right to international movement, as conferred upon me by my holding of a current and valid U.S. passport, restored -- I am ready to discuss.
In the weeks since Israel's Independence Day celebrations and Nakba commemorations, much has happened. President Bush visited to celebrate 60 years of Israel and expressed his vision that when Israel celebrates 120 years of Independence it will do so with a Palestinian state next to it. Also, a conference of presidents and world leaders convened in Jerusalem to discuss Israel's role and capabilities in many important global issues -- technology, industry, the environment and economics. Gorbachev even showed up, which excited many Russians in Israel, which I know because I overheard conversations in the w.c. at ulpan and in the streets of Tel Aviv.
On May 21, just on the other side of the separation wall six miles south of Jerusalem, the Palestine Investment Conference took place in Bethlehem with nearly 1,000 businesspeople from the United States, Europe, the UK, Russia, several Arab countries, Israel and 100 businessmen from Gaza received special permits to travel to the West Bank with over $1billion worth of contracts up for grabs. For more information and some criticism on this conference, please visit: http://www.alternativenews.org/news/english/palestine-investment-conference-opens-in-bethlehem-20080522.html and
http://www.economy.ae/English/AboutUs/NewsAndEvents/Pages/economy23.aspx.
Since then, business is as usual in Israel. Rocket attacks on Sderot and Ashkelon, daily military incursions into Gaza with casualties suffered by men, women, children and militants, and a disturbing Israeli police-incited riot at a nonviolent Palestinian Nakba commemoration demonstration in which Israeli Jews and Israeli Arabs came together to protest the forced expulsions and denial of these acts during and in the aftermath of Israel's War of Independence in 1948. Please read: http://www.jpost.com/servlet/Satellite?cid=1210668678396&pagename=JPost%2FJPArticle%2FShowFull.
All of which, in addition to the comments themselves, have contributed to the following thoughts.
As far as this blog goes, I use this public forum as a way to process and filter what I read, see and hear in this country. It is overwhelming most of the time. I cannot contain everything I observe without inflicting psychological damage upon myself unless I write. Therefore, this is not an officially published/sponsored writing forum. It is of my own doing, independent of any news source and so on. That being said, I could be writing 24 hours every day and still not feel that my sentiments and reactions are properly dealt with, or adequately disseminated to readers, for the sake of having witnesses to my experiences and the information that I come across and choose to share.
In truth, none of these incidents matter in and of themselves. One letter signed off on by a group of U.K. Jews and U.S. Jews who are against Israel's military occupation of the Palestinian people in the West Bank and Gaza, that decries Israel for its crimes against humanity and calls for worldwide boycotts of the Jewish State, as mentioned by a few commentators, does not make a noticeable impact or difference in decision making regarding Israel. I do believe it influences public discourse on the topic to a certain extent, but only among some circles while others may ignore such a petition, or may never even come across it.
In fact, this letter doesn't change anything at all in the immediate sense of time. AIPAC still has millions and millions more dollars than J-Street, the new Jewish political action committee, to "educate" voters, indirectly influencing campaigns and candidates about U.S. relations with Israel. Thus, AIPAC’s role in the U.S. government won't be challenged any time soon. As long as AIPAC-produced policy is adopted by the United States, nothing much at all will change on the ground in Israel or in the Palestinian Occupied Territories.
However, when I received the e-mail asking me to sign this letter and another petition written in a similar vein, it mattered to me to understand why I didn't believe that what the signees were calling for provided any constructive solutions to the tension and the situation here in Israel. And, I felt, that if those words represented the progressive Jewish political public of the Diaspora, then there isn't much hope for the Jewish international community to work within Jewish communities to convey to Jews who support Israel blindly, that Israel cannot sustain its existence as it is -- surviving -- in a hostile environment that requires the dehumanization of an indigenous population that has been largely displaced; that continues to seek international aide to improve its plight by defaming Israel as well as highlighting breaches of international law and international humanitarian law; that has factions that consort with Iran to resist occupation; that is allegedly the key to normalized relations with the 22 nations of the Arab League, as outlined in the revised 2007 Arab Peace Initiative. Quite simply, I felt bummed out, big time.
I'm looking for solutions and perhaps stubbornly clinging to the naiveté that they exist.
I think the solutions are going to be found when there is good, honest, open communication about the problems. Something like Conflict Resolution 101. However, as of right now, a universal language to discuss Israel, and therefore Palestine, does not exist. Different populations require different vocabulary. It is such a heated, loaded subject. Israel bears the weight of thousands of years of Jewish persecution and ongoing anti-Semitism. Israel and the threat to its existence is one catalyst in the spreading of Islamophobia. Also, in the Muslim and Arab world, Israel’s existence is the fundamentalists’ linchpin that sustains anti-Western sentiment and acts of violence, also known as terrorism. These are the favorite topics of the media today and what a confusing, bungling, endless body of information we the public receive every day!
The letter doesn't really affect me. Neither did the rocket that fell on the Supersal grocery store in Sderot two days after I went shopping there for challah, orange juice, yogurt and hummus. But I worry about the day that these things do affect me. Maybe they will always be just worries. I don't really know.
I would like to think, however, than in the thousands of words I will have written over the course of my life, at some point, I'll figure out something to do that will affect me and the people around me to live differently, to find that common language even in the midst of purportedly intractable conflict. Obstinately, something tells me it's possible and if not, then I'll just keep working towards it. I don't really know what there is that is better for me to fill my days with instead.
I need to create an example of what I want to accomplish, to paraphrase another commentator. The problem is that I still don't know exactly what kind of example I want to set. Maybe one day, I’ll just come to peace with war, with humankind’s proclivity for self-destruction. As of now, I am still collecting information.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Diaspora Jews Commemorating the Nakba
Certainly, choosing not to celebrate Israel's 60th anniversary of independence is a personal choice. In fact, many Israelis have criticized the Israeli government for spending too much money on 60th anniversary celebrations and not enough on education and elder care, which, in fact, forced the government to reallocate a proportion of the millions of shekels originally earmarked for Independence Day to improving schools and public spaces such as parks.
However, I have some issue with the group of diaspora Jews who published a letter on April 30, 2008, in the UK’s Guardian about not celebrating Israel’s Independence Day because it is also the anniversary Nakba, or the catastrophe, which is what the Palestinians call the eve of Israel’s independence and the ensuing war: http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2008/apr/30/israelandthepalestinians.
And additionally, with those Diaspora Jews in the United States who are now sending around a letter to be published in the Jewish Advocate, The Nation, and The New York Review of Books come Thursday, Israel’s Independence Day. Below are the statements with which the signatories of this letter agree to assist, support and encourage, some of which I strongly disagree. After listing them, I will explain why or why not.
Taken from the letter:
“…we refuse to celebrate ‘Israel 60.’ We will take action to make our shared position clear and visible. In cities across the U.S. and Canada this year, we pledge to participate in or to support:
- Refusal to participate in Israeli Independence Day activities;
- Peaceful disruption of these events;
- Nakba commemoration events and actions organized by Palestinians and the Palestine solidarity movement;
- Incorporation of Nakba remembrance into our Passover seders;
- The movement for boycotts, divestment, and sanctions of Israel;
- Other efforts to challenge the perceived Zionist consensus among American Jews through education of Jewish and broader communities about the Nakba, about the colonial nature of Zionism, and about the history of Jewish dissent and Palestinian resistance.”
http://notimetocelebrate.wordpress.com/
As mentioned in the beginning of this article, choosing not to participate in Israeli Independence Day activities is not something with which I have a problem. This is a personal choice and not even necessary to list as there is no mandate that all Jews must rejoice on this occasion.
Peaceful disruption of these events – I wholeheartedly believe in the right to freedom of speech, thought and assembly. I too support the right to disrupt Israeli Indepenence Day events on the basis of the right to dissent and opinion. My only hope is that these disruptions are constructive, informative and awareness-building and approach the situation as an opportunity to spark dialogue, not to cause further polarization and alienation between pro-Israel and pro-Palestinian camps. My wish is that disruption of these events is in the name of promoting a pro-peace platform that envisions a win-win outcome for both sides, which is what the peace movements in Israeli and Palestinian societies are promoting and hoping for.
Nakba commemoration events and actions organized by Palestinians and the Palestine solidarity movement- I support this statement as well. It is important that history include all narratives of all peoples. In every war there is a winner and a loser, this is the miserable nature of battle and its outcome. Customarily it is the victor that tells the story and it is a wonderful human development that increasingly oral history and general efforts to document the history of the “other” are becoming more and more popular and funded in academia and in the non-governmental organizations of the world. It is especially necessary for Diasporic Jews to be aware of the fact that in 1948, not every indigenous Arab of Palestine attacked the Jewish population. Hundreds of Palestinian villages were razed to the ground, people were forcibly transferred to the far reaches of the West Bank and Gaza, never to return to their homes, and if they did, to find that new residents had taken up the space and called it home.
It is necessary to educate about the Nakba to understand the humiliation that every day Palestinians have endured and continue to endure under the brutality of a military occupation that assumes all are guilty or have potential to be guilty of wishing harm against the Israeli people and the State of Israel. Then, to further understand the damage this does to a society of people, and how it perpetuates a self-fulfilling prophecy of ill-will, hatred and violence.
Incorporation of Nakba remembrance into our Passover seders- I believe in this statement merely because as far as I have been taught, on Passover we remember and acknowledge the continued suffering of all people. And perhaps most importantly the Nakba because as long as the Paelstinians continue to suffer without reprieve, Israel will suffer and the stakes only grow higher every year this oppression continues.
The movement for boycotts, divestment, and sanctions of Israel- This is where I begin to part ways with this letter. Boycotts, divestment, sanctions of Israel, whether or not they ever happen, simply as a message from the outside Jewish community to the inside Israeli society creates an incredible chasm between those criticizing and those being criticized. If the criticizers want to be taken seriously and contribute to bettering the State of Israel, another approach would be more constructive and therefore actually useful.
Telling the Israeli people we support your financial ruin for the sake of the Palestinians creates a “who needs you anyway” attitude that allows Israelis to become further spiteful toward the outside world, and even more supportive of a sustained existence based on military might and NOT diplomacy, negotiation or coexistence, let alone creating foundations of trust necessary to establish a Palestinian state side-by-side with Israel.
For Jews in the Diaspora to promote divestment projects and boycotts of Israel, but not to call attention or for divestment and boycotts of the United States and the U.S. government in the same letter (especially since President Bush is flying here for the celebration) for its lack of real action when Israel makes a breach of its own policy, for example, continued settlement expansion, is ridiculous and a mistake in approach to this situation, by the Jews in the Diaspora.
Other efforts to challenge the perceived Zionist consensus among American Jews through education of Jewish and broader communities about the Nakba, about the colonial nature of Zionism, and about the history of Jewish dissent and Palestinian resistance- Challenging the “perceived Zionist consensus” about the State of Israel among American Jews strikes me as off-target for managing and ameliorating a rather uncomfortable, desperate and time-bomb ticking world issue as that which is the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. It ignores the fact that Israel isn’t simply the Jewish State, it is Israel, a nation-state in the global community. It ignores the fact that there are generations of Israelis who live here, who identify as Israeli first, and as Jewish second. This is their only home.
Zionism as colonialism? All nations are guilty of this transgression. It is no excuse, but it is hardly something to dwell on when those who are turning Zionism into a bad word by calling it colonialism are members of previous or current colonializing societies and therefore direct beneficiaries of colonialism over other nations whether in the form of traditional colonialism, or more modern forms of colonialism like globalization, its best friend outsourcing and outsourcing’s progeny—sweatshops and democracies supporting dictator-regimes to keep oil flowing.
If anything, today colonialism and the struggle to decolonize serve to catalyze independence movements, giving fuel to a people’s call for their own nation-state so that they do not have to live under another people’s self-serving, discriminating rule. (They can then create their own self-serving rule that will eventually discriminate against another people and the cycle will continue until once again we are a world of tribes and clans as opposed to nations, perhaps organized into confederations.)
When the United Nations created the partition of the British Mandate of Palestine, two states were created: Israel and Palestine. When the War of Independence and the initial phases of the Nakba were finished, did the West Bank and Gaza become a split state of Palestine as did Pakistan and East Pakistan, but with their independence intact no less? No. The West Bank and East Jerusalem fell under martial law of TransJordan, and Gaza belonged to Egypt.
I wonder if the State of Israel hadn’t survived, how do we know that the Palestinian statehood movement would have formed and persisted? Would Egypt and Jordan have duked it out over the “Holy Land” if the Zionist dream had never come true?
What example of successful democratic struggle do we have in the Middle East? Jordan- a kingdom, Egypt- practically a dictatorship, Lebanon- overwhelmed by Syria, Syria- practically a dictatorship, Morocco- a kingdom, Libya- a dictatorship, not so many examples of democratically-elected governments representing the will of the people.
The point is, with Israel it’s complicated. It’s not apartheid South Africa and it’s not Communist China. To illustrate this point it is worthwhile mentioning the more than 5,000 African refugees in Israel right now, who have fled Eritrea, the Ivory Coast, Burkina Faso and of course Darfur. These people have come to Israel in search of a better life, which they hear is possible even for them. And, because the Israeli people are making a big and welcomed-stink about the plight of these bonafide refugees, more and more receive work visas because Israeli individuals are demanding action from the Israeli government, and because Israelis, tourists and international volunteers are coming together to organize shelters and education and work opportunities for refugees (illegal and at the risk of being fined by government authorities) and language classes, these refugees have a chance at regaining -- and in some cases for the first time -- creating a life with dignity.
This is not a Jewish community thing protecting these refugees, this is an Israeli thing -- Israeli people and other international residents of Israel accepting Muslim, Arabic speaking African refugees. Is it frustrating that this same recognition of shared humanity cannot be extended to the Palestinians, indubitably, YES! And so, it does not make up for racist and dehumanizing behavior toward Palestinians, but before writing off the entire country to boycott, sanctions and divestment, try looking into the situation a little more deeply and seeing how there needs to be another answer to end the injustice.
Personally, I will celebrate Israel’s Independence. I will celebrate it in part in memory of the six million Jews who perished in the hell of Nazi Europe and also the nearly seven million others who were slaughtered by Hitler's forces for not fitting into the Aryan race, who did not have a safe haven to which they could flee.
I will celebrate Israel’s Independence Day as a reminder of the realization of a dream come true, a dream that all oppressed peoples of the world wish and fight and die for, at this very second as I write this sentence.
I will celebrate Israel’s Independence as a symbol of hope and possibility that because of the Palestinian Nakba, one day there will be a free Palestine and it will exist in independent imperfection, side-by-side to its equally imperfect neighbor, Israel.
However, I have some issue with the group of diaspora Jews who published a letter on April 30, 2008, in the UK’s Guardian about not celebrating Israel’s Independence Day because it is also the anniversary Nakba, or the catastrophe, which is what the Palestinians call the eve of Israel’s independence and the ensuing war: http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2008/apr/30/israelandthepalestinians.
And additionally, with those Diaspora Jews in the United States who are now sending around a letter to be published in the Jewish Advocate, The Nation, and The New York Review of Books come Thursday, Israel’s Independence Day. Below are the statements with which the signatories of this letter agree to assist, support and encourage, some of which I strongly disagree. After listing them, I will explain why or why not.
Taken from the letter:
“…we refuse to celebrate ‘Israel 60.’ We will take action to make our shared position clear and visible. In cities across the U.S. and Canada this year, we pledge to participate in or to support:
- Refusal to participate in Israeli Independence Day activities;
- Peaceful disruption of these events;
- Nakba commemoration events and actions organized by Palestinians and the Palestine solidarity movement;
- Incorporation of Nakba remembrance into our Passover seders;
- The movement for boycotts, divestment, and sanctions of Israel;
- Other efforts to challenge the perceived Zionist consensus among American Jews through education of Jewish and broader communities about the Nakba, about the colonial nature of Zionism, and about the history of Jewish dissent and Palestinian resistance.”
http://notimetocelebrate.wordpress.com/
As mentioned in the beginning of this article, choosing not to participate in Israeli Independence Day activities is not something with which I have a problem. This is a personal choice and not even necessary to list as there is no mandate that all Jews must rejoice on this occasion.
Peaceful disruption of these events – I wholeheartedly believe in the right to freedom of speech, thought and assembly. I too support the right to disrupt Israeli Indepenence Day events on the basis of the right to dissent and opinion. My only hope is that these disruptions are constructive, informative and awareness-building and approach the situation as an opportunity to spark dialogue, not to cause further polarization and alienation between pro-Israel and pro-Palestinian camps. My wish is that disruption of these events is in the name of promoting a pro-peace platform that envisions a win-win outcome for both sides, which is what the peace movements in Israeli and Palestinian societies are promoting and hoping for.
Nakba commemoration events and actions organized by Palestinians and the Palestine solidarity movement- I support this statement as well. It is important that history include all narratives of all peoples. In every war there is a winner and a loser, this is the miserable nature of battle and its outcome. Customarily it is the victor that tells the story and it is a wonderful human development that increasingly oral history and general efforts to document the history of the “other” are becoming more and more popular and funded in academia and in the non-governmental organizations of the world. It is especially necessary for Diasporic Jews to be aware of the fact that in 1948, not every indigenous Arab of Palestine attacked the Jewish population. Hundreds of Palestinian villages were razed to the ground, people were forcibly transferred to the far reaches of the West Bank and Gaza, never to return to their homes, and if they did, to find that new residents had taken up the space and called it home.
It is necessary to educate about the Nakba to understand the humiliation that every day Palestinians have endured and continue to endure under the brutality of a military occupation that assumes all are guilty or have potential to be guilty of wishing harm against the Israeli people and the State of Israel. Then, to further understand the damage this does to a society of people, and how it perpetuates a self-fulfilling prophecy of ill-will, hatred and violence.
Incorporation of Nakba remembrance into our Passover seders- I believe in this statement merely because as far as I have been taught, on Passover we remember and acknowledge the continued suffering of all people. And perhaps most importantly the Nakba because as long as the Paelstinians continue to suffer without reprieve, Israel will suffer and the stakes only grow higher every year this oppression continues.
The movement for boycotts, divestment, and sanctions of Israel- This is where I begin to part ways with this letter. Boycotts, divestment, sanctions of Israel, whether or not they ever happen, simply as a message from the outside Jewish community to the inside Israeli society creates an incredible chasm between those criticizing and those being criticized. If the criticizers want to be taken seriously and contribute to bettering the State of Israel, another approach would be more constructive and therefore actually useful.
Telling the Israeli people we support your financial ruin for the sake of the Palestinians creates a “who needs you anyway” attitude that allows Israelis to become further spiteful toward the outside world, and even more supportive of a sustained existence based on military might and NOT diplomacy, negotiation or coexistence, let alone creating foundations of trust necessary to establish a Palestinian state side-by-side with Israel.
For Jews in the Diaspora to promote divestment projects and boycotts of Israel, but not to call attention or for divestment and boycotts of the United States and the U.S. government in the same letter (especially since President Bush is flying here for the celebration) for its lack of real action when Israel makes a breach of its own policy, for example, continued settlement expansion, is ridiculous and a mistake in approach to this situation, by the Jews in the Diaspora.
Other efforts to challenge the perceived Zionist consensus among American Jews through education of Jewish and broader communities about the Nakba, about the colonial nature of Zionism, and about the history of Jewish dissent and Palestinian resistance- Challenging the “perceived Zionist consensus” about the State of Israel among American Jews strikes me as off-target for managing and ameliorating a rather uncomfortable, desperate and time-bomb ticking world issue as that which is the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. It ignores the fact that Israel isn’t simply the Jewish State, it is Israel, a nation-state in the global community. It ignores the fact that there are generations of Israelis who live here, who identify as Israeli first, and as Jewish second. This is their only home.
Zionism as colonialism? All nations are guilty of this transgression. It is no excuse, but it is hardly something to dwell on when those who are turning Zionism into a bad word by calling it colonialism are members of previous or current colonializing societies and therefore direct beneficiaries of colonialism over other nations whether in the form of traditional colonialism, or more modern forms of colonialism like globalization, its best friend outsourcing and outsourcing’s progeny—sweatshops and democracies supporting dictator-regimes to keep oil flowing.
If anything, today colonialism and the struggle to decolonize serve to catalyze independence movements, giving fuel to a people’s call for their own nation-state so that they do not have to live under another people’s self-serving, discriminating rule. (They can then create their own self-serving rule that will eventually discriminate against another people and the cycle will continue until once again we are a world of tribes and clans as opposed to nations, perhaps organized into confederations.)
When the United Nations created the partition of the British Mandate of Palestine, two states were created: Israel and Palestine. When the War of Independence and the initial phases of the Nakba were finished, did the West Bank and Gaza become a split state of Palestine as did Pakistan and East Pakistan, but with their independence intact no less? No. The West Bank and East Jerusalem fell under martial law of TransJordan, and Gaza belonged to Egypt.
I wonder if the State of Israel hadn’t survived, how do we know that the Palestinian statehood movement would have formed and persisted? Would Egypt and Jordan have duked it out over the “Holy Land” if the Zionist dream had never come true?
What example of successful democratic struggle do we have in the Middle East? Jordan- a kingdom, Egypt- practically a dictatorship, Lebanon- overwhelmed by Syria, Syria- practically a dictatorship, Morocco- a kingdom, Libya- a dictatorship, not so many examples of democratically-elected governments representing the will of the people.
The point is, with Israel it’s complicated. It’s not apartheid South Africa and it’s not Communist China. To illustrate this point it is worthwhile mentioning the more than 5,000 African refugees in Israel right now, who have fled Eritrea, the Ivory Coast, Burkina Faso and of course Darfur. These people have come to Israel in search of a better life, which they hear is possible even for them. And, because the Israeli people are making a big and welcomed-stink about the plight of these bonafide refugees, more and more receive work visas because Israeli individuals are demanding action from the Israeli government, and because Israelis, tourists and international volunteers are coming together to organize shelters and education and work opportunities for refugees (illegal and at the risk of being fined by government authorities) and language classes, these refugees have a chance at regaining -- and in some cases for the first time -- creating a life with dignity.
This is not a Jewish community thing protecting these refugees, this is an Israeli thing -- Israeli people and other international residents of Israel accepting Muslim, Arabic speaking African refugees. Is it frustrating that this same recognition of shared humanity cannot be extended to the Palestinians, indubitably, YES! And so, it does not make up for racist and dehumanizing behavior toward Palestinians, but before writing off the entire country to boycott, sanctions and divestment, try looking into the situation a little more deeply and seeing how there needs to be another answer to end the injustice.
Personally, I will celebrate Israel’s Independence. I will celebrate it in part in memory of the six million Jews who perished in the hell of Nazi Europe and also the nearly seven million others who were slaughtered by Hitler's forces for not fitting into the Aryan race, who did not have a safe haven to which they could flee.
I will celebrate Israel’s Independence Day as a reminder of the realization of a dream come true, a dream that all oppressed peoples of the world wish and fight and die for, at this very second as I write this sentence.
I will celebrate Israel’s Independence as a symbol of hope and possibility that because of the Palestinian Nakba, one day there will be a free Palestine and it will exist in independent imperfection, side-by-side to its equally imperfect neighbor, Israel.
Friday Shopping in Sderot
In the car ride south from Tel Aviv toward Sderot, the neighboring Israeli city to Gaza which is one of the populated places that the rocket launchers in Gaza have determined they can hit with unsophisticated Kassam rockets, each week, launched from the Strip, I started to make a list of things I wouldn't do if I lived in Sderot. Get my eyebrows waxed, go to a movie, go to a yoga class, make a dentist appointment or get a cavity filled, be in a crowded place, sleep.
When the red alert sounds throughout the streets of the relatively small City of Sderot, the people have approximately 15 seconds to take cover before the rocket explodes upon impact to the ground. So, I thought, I'd never want to be in a situation where I didn't have freedom of movement or to be in a situation where my mind would be less than alert, in the event that I would be in a spot where a rocket would land bringing indescribable pain to my life, or an end to it, for that matter.
A few miles before our first stop, the driver turned down the radio and Eitan recited the Tefillat HaDerech, the prayer of the traveler. We were, after all, about to enter some shady territory. Afterward, the radio was turned up and we continued to hum along to Neil Young's, "Harvest Moon."
Then, at Yad Morecai, a few kilometers outside of Sderot, we pulled to what may be the only gas station/rest stop/cafe/sundries store still open for business down that way, to use the toilet and apparently to join a convoy of other cars headed to Sderot to show solidarity with the people there, and to do our Friday shopping. About 30 other cars were in the parking lot of this rest station, a couple of news cameras filming people attaching Israeli flags to car antennas, bumpers, rear windows and side mirrors. Some were Israeli, a few tour buses with American and British Jews were also milling about the parking lot waiting for the convoy to head to Sderot.
The driver of the car I was in also connected a flag to his rear window with Eitan's assistance.
I thought to myself, "we are moving targets, maybe I should have brought a extra pair of underwear, a tooth brush, a sweater, more water??"
Soon enough, we headed out onto the highway toward Sderot, took our place in the line of cars, and began to drive. To my right there were signs for Erez Crossing, Nahal Oz-- the "front lines," as Eitan's friend explained to me, of the border between Israel and Gaza.
After a few miles of slow, parade-style cruising, we arrived at the sign welcoming us to Sderot. What struck me about the entrance to the city were the two get-your-teeth-cleaned billboards advertising dentist services. Snickering to myself, I thought how certainly teeth cleaning is one of the main concerns for the residents of Sderot.
Along with the rest of the cars, the driver of the vehicle in which I rode, joined the honking of horns in excitement and encouragement that we were among the few Israelis who have not forgotten the people of Sderot, and that we were willing to show our support for them with our cars and grocery monies. Meanwhile, I was in the back seat breaking out in a cold sweat because the radio was too loud and I have read that people in Sderot don't ride with loud radios for fear of missing the red alert. Also, I was advised to remove my seatbelt in the event that we had to evacuate the car quickly.
I then added to my list of things that I wouldn't want to do in Sderot: be sitting in the backseat of a small, two-door sports car, moving slowly, through traffic, with a loud radio blasting.
On the driving tour through the center, I noticed the combination bus stop/bomb shelters that serve to provide shade and also shelter from falling rockets. I also observed groups of old men sitting on benches with sun hats and canes upon which old hands rested, smiling and waving at us as we slowly drove by. Store vendors had their wares out on the street and outside a candy and alcohol store, a dj was (loudly) spinning his music. Children were collecting wood for the upcoming holiday Lag B'Omer in which big bonfires are made throughout the country and children compete to collect the most wood for the biggest fire.
In fact, it felt like a city-wide block party. Finally, our driver determined we'd done enough parading and committed to a parking spot. We went in search of food and decided on a shawarma spot with big bowls of pickled vegetables and fried eggplant, which are what sold me on the place. After which we did our shopping for things like hummus, challah, orange juice, lemons and yogurt.
While walking around Sderot, we received many smiles and "kol hakavod lahem" -- which translates literally as all the respect/honor to you. People were pleased that we joined them on this Friday, in some ways risking our lives to prove the point, for Eitan-- we shouldn't be afraid to go anywhere in Israel, for his friend -- I want to show the people that I care about them, and for the rest of the convoy -- as a demonstration against the government's inactivity for the ongoing situation befalling Sderot.
I had a few things going through my mind to which I attach no final say or judgment, just thoughts. First, orginially Sderot was something along the lines of desert wasteland where the Israeli government sent Arab-Jewish immigrants from North AFrica, where they lived in tents for a time until they were able to build a more permanent residence. Later, the Russians and the Georgians were sent there. Common thread among the Sderot populations, in Israel, "Israelis" discriminated against these new immigrants and didn't want to see, let absorb and take care of them in the more established parts of the State like the Center -- the surrounds of Tel Aviv. Second, if it weren't for the rockets and protest of the situation, why would anyone go to Sderot in the first place? Like many other towns and cities, that's just what it is, another town in Israel and thus, how nice for the businesses here to enjoy some extra traffic in this time of undeclared war. Third, war always succeeds in creating opportunity for ingenuity in money-making. The "I love Sderot" t-shirts and magnets are some examples of the war being good for economy theory. Fourth, not so many miles away, the streets of cities in Gaza were and are overflowing with sewage, and diarrhea epidemics are predicted to break out amongst the old and the young. Fifth, the people of Sderot live in constant anxiety and possiblity of terror and destruction, and sometimes the anxiety is reality. The Gazans, they live in terror and destruction constantly.
I wouldn't want to live in either situation.
When the red alert sounds throughout the streets of the relatively small City of Sderot, the people have approximately 15 seconds to take cover before the rocket explodes upon impact to the ground. So, I thought, I'd never want to be in a situation where I didn't have freedom of movement or to be in a situation where my mind would be less than alert, in the event that I would be in a spot where a rocket would land bringing indescribable pain to my life, or an end to it, for that matter.
A few miles before our first stop, the driver turned down the radio and Eitan recited the Tefillat HaDerech, the prayer of the traveler. We were, after all, about to enter some shady territory. Afterward, the radio was turned up and we continued to hum along to Neil Young's, "Harvest Moon."
Then, at Yad Morecai, a few kilometers outside of Sderot, we pulled to what may be the only gas station/rest stop/cafe/sundries store still open for business down that way, to use the toilet and apparently to join a convoy of other cars headed to Sderot to show solidarity with the people there, and to do our Friday shopping. About 30 other cars were in the parking lot of this rest station, a couple of news cameras filming people attaching Israeli flags to car antennas, bumpers, rear windows and side mirrors. Some were Israeli, a few tour buses with American and British Jews were also milling about the parking lot waiting for the convoy to head to Sderot.
The driver of the car I was in also connected a flag to his rear window with Eitan's assistance.
I thought to myself, "we are moving targets, maybe I should have brought a extra pair of underwear, a tooth brush, a sweater, more water??"
Soon enough, we headed out onto the highway toward Sderot, took our place in the line of cars, and began to drive. To my right there were signs for Erez Crossing, Nahal Oz-- the "front lines," as Eitan's friend explained to me, of the border between Israel and Gaza.
After a few miles of slow, parade-style cruising, we arrived at the sign welcoming us to Sderot. What struck me about the entrance to the city were the two get-your-teeth-cleaned billboards advertising dentist services. Snickering to myself, I thought how certainly teeth cleaning is one of the main concerns for the residents of Sderot.
Along with the rest of the cars, the driver of the vehicle in which I rode, joined the honking of horns in excitement and encouragement that we were among the few Israelis who have not forgotten the people of Sderot, and that we were willing to show our support for them with our cars and grocery monies. Meanwhile, I was in the back seat breaking out in a cold sweat because the radio was too loud and I have read that people in Sderot don't ride with loud radios for fear of missing the red alert. Also, I was advised to remove my seatbelt in the event that we had to evacuate the car quickly.
I then added to my list of things that I wouldn't want to do in Sderot: be sitting in the backseat of a small, two-door sports car, moving slowly, through traffic, with a loud radio blasting.
On the driving tour through the center, I noticed the combination bus stop/bomb shelters that serve to provide shade and also shelter from falling rockets. I also observed groups of old men sitting on benches with sun hats and canes upon which old hands rested, smiling and waving at us as we slowly drove by. Store vendors had their wares out on the street and outside a candy and alcohol store, a dj was (loudly) spinning his music. Children were collecting wood for the upcoming holiday Lag B'Omer in which big bonfires are made throughout the country and children compete to collect the most wood for the biggest fire.
In fact, it felt like a city-wide block party. Finally, our driver determined we'd done enough parading and committed to a parking spot. We went in search of food and decided on a shawarma spot with big bowls of pickled vegetables and fried eggplant, which are what sold me on the place. After which we did our shopping for things like hummus, challah, orange juice, lemons and yogurt.
While walking around Sderot, we received many smiles and "kol hakavod lahem" -- which translates literally as all the respect/honor to you. People were pleased that we joined them on this Friday, in some ways risking our lives to prove the point, for Eitan-- we shouldn't be afraid to go anywhere in Israel, for his friend -- I want to show the people that I care about them, and for the rest of the convoy -- as a demonstration against the government's inactivity for the ongoing situation befalling Sderot.
I had a few things going through my mind to which I attach no final say or judgment, just thoughts. First, orginially Sderot was something along the lines of desert wasteland where the Israeli government sent Arab-Jewish immigrants from North AFrica, where they lived in tents for a time until they were able to build a more permanent residence. Later, the Russians and the Georgians were sent there. Common thread among the Sderot populations, in Israel, "Israelis" discriminated against these new immigrants and didn't want to see, let absorb and take care of them in the more established parts of the State like the Center -- the surrounds of Tel Aviv. Second, if it weren't for the rockets and protest of the situation, why would anyone go to Sderot in the first place? Like many other towns and cities, that's just what it is, another town in Israel and thus, how nice for the businesses here to enjoy some extra traffic in this time of undeclared war. Third, war always succeeds in creating opportunity for ingenuity in money-making. The "I love Sderot" t-shirts and magnets are some examples of the war being good for economy theory. Fourth, not so many miles away, the streets of cities in Gaza were and are overflowing with sewage, and diarrhea epidemics are predicted to break out amongst the old and the young. Fifth, the people of Sderot live in constant anxiety and possiblity of terror and destruction, and sometimes the anxiety is reality. The Gazans, they live in terror and destruction constantly.
I wouldn't want to live in either situation.
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