Hudson to West Bank

H & N in West Bank Day 7

2011-12-17T05:50:00.001-08:00

MECRresource : Message:

Friday Dec 16

We started with a delicious breakfast of Zatar on bread with Laban and tea.

We get into Mohammedís car, which wonít start and needs to be pushed. We are carrying 2X4ís with which to make a ladder to climb to the top of the wall to see where soldiers are and put Palestinian flags on top. We wait in the garden until 11:30, when the Palestinians go to pray near the path to the wall. H & I sit and talk about our plans, once again. H decides to stay back in the compound with the women, who, because they are treated the as brutally as the men by the soldiers, are no longer allowed into the fields during the demos. I decide to go to the demo, but stay at the very back, and decide on an incremental basis, just how close Iíll go. H is very nervous about my safety, as am I, but Iím determined to stand in solidarity with them. There has been absolutely no pressure from anyone to make any particular decision. My mind is racing. Maybe I shouldnít wear a hat so that the Israelis can more easily see Iím an international etc., etc. I know itís just anxiety. Who knows whatís provocative or not. A man had been shot just outside the garden weíre sitting in, just for sitting there.

I go out to where the Palestinians are gathering with 6 Israeli activists that have come from Tel Aviv.† All but one, a woman, has participated before. We wait outside the prayer meeting and talk among ourselves. We share information about our activist work and organizations that we belong to. They are from Anarchists Against The Wall, New Profile, Artists Against The Wall, and JVP (Israeli moved to Arizona). As 75-100 of us walk to the fields, chanting, an ambulance drives in back of us.

The Israeli woman and I stay at the very back. All but a few Palestinians go right to the wall in different places, as do the Israelis.† I see Mohammed climbing the ladder and placing Palestinian flags on top of the wall. A small group sets a tire on fire, and black smoke billows and billows and blackens the wall. Palestinian youth have leather thongs that they use to fling rocks over the wall. We hear live ammunition being shot, but no soldiers are in sight, and one of the organizers comes to tell us that the shots were only fired in the air to frighten people. The Israelis are firing tear gas, and I smell it, but they land far away. I venture closer to the wall, now about 100 yards away and take lots of pictures. Mohammed waves to me and beckons me to join him, as he is still 100 yards from the wall.† As I walk to him I see many, many spent tear gas canisters and rubber projectiles on the ground. I am, at all times, very conscious of where I am and what the best escape route is. The wind has picked up from the west and Mohammed and I walk west so that the tear gas will blow away from us. He points out a sniper in the distance as well as the soldier who shoots the tear gas. He explains that the sniper is only interested in the people near the corner of the wall. I believe him and continue to watch and photograph. I watch as a Palestinian youth stands behind the corner of the wall and flashes his hat to draw the fire of the sniper. The sniper doesnít respond. By this time maybe 50-60 tear gas canisters have been shot over the wall. Everyone is so used to it, that no one is particularly bothered. Mohammed is clearly keeping his eye on me and I express my deep appreciation. ìNo worry, you are welcome.î The soldiers stop fire the tear gas and It becomes quite quiet. Mohammed says that it is a sign of danger and, that, since I am an old man, who cannot run fast through the boulder strewn field, I should head back to the compound. He leads me back to where we entered the fields, and then asks a youth to walk me the rest of the way. He believes that soldiers may come from the east and itíll be hard to escape.

I go back to compound to see H, who has been told Iím okay. I sit down and am spent.† Some tear gas remains in my nose, but no problem. We have tea and bread. While I wasnít aware of feeling afraid in the field, I breathe sighs of relief. Saeed comes to help us figure out how to get to Jerusalem. Itís a Friday, the Sabbath, and most busses arenít supposed to run after 4 pm and itís now almost 2:30. He had tried to arrange a taxi, but the man who had agreed, had his phone turned off and canít be reached. Mohammed figures out a series of different transports that he thinks will work. Of course, we have warm goodbyes and thank yous with everyone. H & I decide to commit to buying another computer for the popular committee. We tell Saeed who is more than appreciative. Just a note to all who read this. Weíll be looking for small donations from many of you.

Mohammed tells us about a museum in Niílin that is about the Holocaust and the history of Niílin and its occupation. The people here clearly make the connection. He says that the Palestinians stand in solidarity with the Jewish people of the Holocaust, but Palestinians shouldnít have to pay for the crimes of the Germans. We are thrilled to hear this. Unfortunately, we donít have time to see it.

We go back to await the service at Mohammedís and pick up our bags. We take the specially called service to Ramallah. An uneventful trip and exhaustion sets in. A very kind man, who we donít know, leads us for ten blocks in Ramallah, and then flags down a bus that is going to Al Quds (Jerusalem). We are alone on the bus until a Palestinian youth, maybe 13, gets on. On leaving Ramallah, the bus is stopped in a long line at a check point.Eventually, itís our turn and the soldiers come on board. They first check the youthís papers. Weíre not sure why, but he is taken off the bus, to we donít know where. Our imaginations run wild. As we were waiting, we concocted a story of where we had been and I change out my memory card for a blank one The soldiers check our passports, cursorily look in our bags, and send the bus on its way. It goes for 5 seconds and turns into a bus transfer station. No one speaks English, but I get lots of head shakes when I say Al Quds. Weíre off again. The bus lets us out only a block from our hotel. We check in, very, very pleased to be here and alone for a change.

1 of 1 File(s)

n & H in West Bank Day 6

2011-12-17T05:46:00.000-08:00

MECRresource : Message: n & H in West Bank Day 6
Thursday Dec 15
No Wednesday diary-H & N sick

Today we are in Niílin, a small village 25 km to the west of Ramallah and located right at the wall. We are very fortunate to have been hooked up with the organizers of the popular committee, who have welcomed us with open arms. It is like this where ever weíve been; people taking care of us, sharing their food and homes, and their stories. They have many needs, but I think the first of which, is for the world to know about their struggle. For it only with the cooperation and support on the international community that will they be able to end the occupation. We leave Beit Ummar by taxi for Ramallah and then get a service (shared taxi) to Niílin.† It takes about 3 hours, even though they drive like crazy and, while there are small check points, we are not stopped at any of them. The service drops us right in front of the house of Saeed, with whom we are staying.

Saeed is a 20 year old man, who has just returned from a 3 month speaking tour of Europe. He was invited by the Sweedish Parliament. He speaks nearly flawless English, self-taught by using Google translator, and is clearly very bright. Before we know it, we are sitting in a small area outside his office (more like a 2 room concrete bunker in back yard) and in deep conversation over the obligatory tea. He has much to share. His father, Ibrahim, is one of the three main leaders (those who have responsibilities) of the Popular Committee of Niílin. The popular committees are in almost all Palestinian towns. They are the non-party affiliated grass roots movement that leads the resistance to the occupation at the local level. These committees cooperate informally with each other, but they make their own decisions. In Niílin there are 15 people on the committee, plus many volunteers. The different community constituencies all send one member to the organizing committee: each political party; each of the five families that live in Niílin; farmers; woman; youth; and the municipal govít. No votes are taken; they decide all issues by informal consensus. They sit around and discuss what forms the resistance should take. They are totally committed to non-violent resistance, even though they are faced with violence on a daily basis.

The resistance in Niílin started with the building of the wall in 2004. The farmers would go to protest in the fields. The Israelis, for unknown reasons, discontinued building until 2008. On May 27, 2008 the building started up again and Niílin had its first organized demonstration. It was put down very quickly, but the popular committee decided to have daily protests for 1 year. Since May of 2009 there has been a weekly Friday demonstration. The demos have met with fierce violence from the Israelis. Since May of 2008, 5 people have been killed,† 50 others shot with .22 caliber bullets that explode in the body in order to cause extra damage, and almost another 500 shot with regular or rubber-coated bullets. This is in addition to the use of steel covered tear gas projectiles like the one that hit Tristan Anderson on 3/15/09, and stink-water (sewerage, chemicals, and feces). The Israelis have also declared curfews, the longest of which was 4 days in July of 2008, put snipers on roofs to keep people indoors, shot at water tanks on top of houses and invaded homes during the day and night. Saeedís home has been invaded 25 times since 2008. They also put gates at the ends of town to limit access and jailed hundreds of people, mainly male youth.

Saeed himself was jailed at the age of 17 for 4 months in 2009 because his father was one of the leaders of the popular committee. During his time in prison, there was a demonstration that started because of the mistreatment and humiliation of prisoners. They shouted and knocked on walls and the nearest enclosing fence. There was no real threat to the prison or the guards because there were 3 sets of fences surrounded by a concrete wall. The guards shot hundreds of rounds of tear gas and hot stink-water into the compound and sent in guard dogs. At the end of the day, 83 prisoners were beaten, 3 eyes were lost and 4 legs were broken. Saeed was sick for 8 days as were many of the others. All prisoners were in solidarity with one another. All prisoners shared equally the resources and food provided by money sent from individual families. Saeed was the youngest in his jail section. His final words on the experience were, ìIím not a kid anymoreî and ìJail is a school. Political prisoners teach a lot.î When prisoners die in prison, their bodies are not released to their families until the completion of the sentence.

His father, Ibrahim, has been arrested twice; the first time in 2008 and the second in 2010. Beyond the punishment of prison, the Israelis took his work permit and now heís unemployed, as is 75% of the population of Niílin. While we were sitting there, his 17 year old brother returned from a 4 hour interrogation at the prison. He was obviously relieved, as interrogations often end with imprisonment. His brother said that he was asked to spy for the Israelis. When he refused they threatened him with serious jail time the next time they caught him. We then go up for lunch to the family house, which is in the middle of a family compound. There are 40 people living here ranging from the 82 year grandfather to the youngest nephew of 1 year. The family had always lived in the old city of Jaffa. In 1948 they were expelled and lived in Jordan in a refugee camp. In 1967 they moved to Niílin, where they are one of five large families. We eat communally with parents, siblings, aunts and cousins. Chicken, rice w/pasta, beans in liquid, couscous-like wheat and onions, and spinach tasting soup which was very bitter. They encourage us to eat a lot, and we, out of politeness, eat more than we want. After lunch we go out into the fields directly behind the compound to see the wall. The family is left with only 6 of its original 600 durams (duram=100 sq. meters) of farm land. The rest has been taken by the settlements or declared under military rule. The Village has only 7000 of its original 57,000. We walk not more than 5 minutes through olive groves when we start to see settlements in three directions. There is a great deal of incongruence in the visuals. We are confronted with high rise apartment buildings and town houses that donít belong in this environment. And of course we see the wall separating the two very different lives that are being lived on this land. This is where the weekly demonstrations take place. This is where the tear gas has been used. This is where people have been shot and brutalized. This is the very spot that weíve come to stand in solidarity with these oppressed people. As we walk back Saeed points out various markers where people have been killed. We are shaken. We are in awe of this peopleís bravery and fortitude. I wonder if Iím brave enough to stand with them. At the moment Iím not sure.

From a high spot he points out Tel Aviv in the distance and mentions that he always wanted to see the sea beyond, Itís only 25 miles, but it is impossible for Palestinians to get to. At least he saw the sea in Sweden and Italy on his trip. He was almost speechless during his first weeks in Sweden, and he cried a lot. He was overwhelmed by the difference between his home and Europe. ìFreedom, it was like heaven. People had respect for me as a human being. When I saw how well animals were treated, I wanted to be a dog in Sweden. Many people offered to have me stay, but I just became more determined to come home and fight for my country. Now I know the taste of freedom. Itís everybodyís duty to stop this occupation. Every day we are dying. There is suppression for everything in life. What about all the generations to come? Itís not impossible. The struggle will continue. Itís our destiny.î We arrive back at the ìofficeî, which houses his computer. He wants to show us the presentation he used in Europe and other videos that can be found on the net at nilin-village.org. Saeed, being the gracious host, asks if we want to rest. Although we are desperate for a break, we soldier on, both because of our need to witness and our feelings that our attention is the least we can give. After a half hour, I am in total overload and gingerly tell him that I need a break for a short while. No problem for him. He will go to the internet cafÈ to check his email (his internet down). Clearly honesty is best. I think we owe him that. We fall into an instant sleep and awake on his return sometime later. His father and 2 other of the older organizers of the popular committee join us. There is a round of introductions, thank yous on both sides and we settle in to watch. Very partial list of what we saw;

Ahmad Mousa, a 10 year old boy is shot in the head and killed on 7/21/08. People cry out for an ambulance, but are denied by soldiers. We see Saeed carrying Mousa in his arms to try to get him to a hospital. Saeed sees Mouasís brains spilling out of his head and faints. Others pick up Mousa, but it is too late. Saeedís cousin, and best friend, Yousef, 17 years old, is shot and killed on 8/4/08.

Agil Srour shot in heart and killed while attempting to rescue another who aws shot on 5/6/08.

Niílin demos in solidarity with the people of Gaza during the 2008/09 massacre of Gaza. Niílin is the only town to have solidarity protests.

2008 demo in which Saeedís father is being dragged from his fields shouting, ìKill me, kill me. I was born here, I want to die here. I want to die now. I want peace. Peace can give us peace-you and usî

Saeed takes us to† Mohammedís house in the village, which is where we will sleep for the night. Israelis have been at Mohammedís only 2 hours earlier looking for a boy that they want to arrest. Weíre with Mohammed and his wife and 4 kids, aged 4-9. This is a very happy family. There is lots of laughter and affection. The younger kids get a horsey horsey ride on their fatherís back and the kids and parents are very physical with each other. Itís a joy to be in their midst. . After the kids go to sleep, Mohammed shows us a bullet wound on the underside of his arm. He was shot with his arms raised in peace. He tells us, ìthere is a connection between your spirit and the land. When you are on your land, you forget your problems.î What a sweet man and a sweet family. 1 of 1 File(s)

Message: H and N in WB

2011-12-13T06:34:00.001-08:00

December 11, 2011

Today was our first day without Zleika as our guide and companion. We have grown very fond of her and happy that she is now treating us as family and not as honored guests. We left her (our) home by the front door to walk down Shahada Street, a Jewish-only street and a short-cut, which is something neither she nor her mother are permitted, as Palestinians, to do.† We easily went through the checkpoint at the end of the street to leave the Old City to meet Yaesr J., who was going to drive us to the Bakaa Valley to meet his brother, Attta J.† Zleika had told us that this experience was going to put into perspective the ethnic cleansing aspect of the occupation.

We drove about 5 miles, turned off onto a steep and rutted uphill dirt road, made it about half way up and then walked the rest of the way. Yaesr introduced us to Atta, who was working in the family garden with his wife & middle daughter. Atta appeared to be a man in his late70s/early 80s, and his wife substantially younger. We sat down, with the obligatory tea and then coffee, served by his very shy daughter, and started to talk.

Atta started by talking about the history of the three religions in Palestine and how he considered all people as brothers, all people entitled to practice their own religion, all people to peacefully co-exist.† Some quotes to give a sense of the man: ìWhen you open your eyes and recognize peopleís humanity, you must stop the suppression of people. Everyone, everywhere.î ìHow much does a bullet cost? How many billions have we wasted on weapons of suppression and oppression? We must take it and spend it on peopleís needs. We need schools and hospitals and doctorsî ìYou canít talk to settlers, theyíll kill you. I wish I could talk to them.î îAre we stones? Do we not have blood. Give me my humanity.î

Attaís extended family, now numbering between 1500 and 2000 people, he wasnít sure, has lived in the Bakaa Valley for 1000 years. They were quite wealthy and by the 1940ís owned the entire valley, which is very fertile. During winters they lived in the old city of Hebron and in the planting-harvesting seasons lived in the valley, first in caves and then houses. During the late 1960ís and early 1970ís, Israeli settlers started to move into the valley with numbers of outposts and by 1971 Keriyat Arba, a full-fledged Settlement, was established on lands owned by Attaís family. Many of Attaís familyís homes were bulldozed and their lands confiscated. And then in 1998 Attaís home was bulldozed and Atta himself was thrown into prison and beaten badly. I believe itís documented in The Washington Report in Sept 1998.† Although he still bears the physical scars on his body, his spirit is not broken. He is a man of great hope for the future. Attaís home has been bulldozed and rebuilt three times with help from the Israeli left (ICAHD) and international organizations. By now all of the Palestinian homes in the valley have been bulldozed at least once. When we first drove into the valley, all we could see were new homes, and we assumed these were all settlersí homes. But now we understand that the Israelis have attempted to remove any and all remnants of Palestinian existence from the valley. Walls are one thing, ethnic cleansing is another.

At some point we moved into the house for the viewing of videos that had been taken on cameras donated by Bítselem for the express purpose of recording settler violence and protecting Palestinians from false claims made by settlers and the IDF. We saw a number of different videos: settlers destroying the plants in Attaís gardens; settlers destroying the pipes that bring water to the fields; armed, young settlers from the USA coming onto the property, right up to Attaís windows and threatening violence. The most disturbing moment was to see his youngest daughter, aged 11, screaming at the settlers out of her window. As we ate lunch, that same daughter got up continuously and went to the window to look out. Now maybe she was looking for friends etc, but we assumed it was the scars of the violence of two months ago that haunt her still today.

And then we all shared a lunch of stuffed grape leaves and salad that his wife had cooked. It was truly a communal meal; forks supplied to all and all ate out of the same bowls and tore off pieces of bread from larger loaves. He continued talking throughout, and we listened, often in horror. His brother played solitaire on the computer and his wife laughed with the kids. We also were shown a video of the younger kids dancing the Debka to the great amusement of all. We always apologize for the actions of our government for which we take responsibility for. Attaís response: ìYou see how much the policy of the US kills us. Itís the government, not the people.î Thatís Atta. By the way, he turns out to be in his mid ñfifties. What a physical toll his life has taken.

We get back into the car, head down the hill and are stopped by a goat herder with his goats, who turns out to be Attaís uncle, Ali. He has just gotten a 10 day confiscation order for his land on which he herds his goats. He asks for our help and, of course, we are helpless. The only thing we can think of is to call Israeli peace activists to ask for a lawyer. It turns out this has already been done and weíre truly helpless. I suppose this is what Palestinians feel on a daily basis, only on a much deeper level. After all, we are going back to the states in 10 days.

We start again to go across the main road to visit Attaís and Yaesrís mother and brother. Their home is at the base of a 40 ft. stone wall that was built on their property by the Israelis to separate Kiryat Arba from any possible Palestinian presence. This was a very different experience. Jawed, the brother, is in his early fifties, and looks it physically. His experiences were similar to Attaís, but he describes his heart as black. He says that he canít find enough love to give to his children. He is very bitter and demoralized. He says that his kids ask him ìwhy did he ever bring them into this world.î H is in tears and Iím close behind. On his site are the original caves that his grandparents and ancestors lived in. He shows us where the Israelis brought in bulldozers to destroy the caves, which he has refortified and now uses as part of his house. . He says ìhow can they destroy caves.î We are unable to respond. There is no response. Who can understand what is in the minds of people who do this? I canít. He asks for us to take a picture of him next to his one remaining olive tree. We are happy to do anything. We would do more if only we could. We promise to let everyone know the horrors he has endured and how this has marked him. It never feels like enough.

We go back to Hebron exhausted, emotionally drained and furious. I canít find a place to be. We pass through the check point and I glare at the soldiers, barely keeping myself in check. We retrace our steps up Shahada Street, passing settlers and soldiers. We shouldnít have listened to Zleika and should have walked the long way through the old city, in solidarity with the Palestinians who could not use that short cut. We will never do that again. She opens the door and we scoot in, happy to be off the Jewish-only street.

At five oíclock we get into a service (shared taxi) and head for Beit Ummar, about 15 miles away. All seats are taken and yet the taxi stops for yet one more passenger. I squish over, the man next to me, who doesnít speak English, in an attempt to gain some room, puts his arm around me on the back of the seat. I put my head on his shoulder and say ìshukrun ((thank you) papa and everyone in the taxi breaks up, even the women who are usually so reserved in public. I canít tell you what a relief it was to laugh after our day. What a release.

Message: H and N in WB Day 2

2011-12-11T20:22:00.001-08:00

Saturday Dec 10

Day started in Zelicka's kindergarten with 30-35 children ranging in age from 3-10.. Normally, Saturdays are an off day, but Zelicka wanted to provide a chance for the kids to get out from their homes for some fun & games. Because of the possibility of settlers and soldiers in the streets of the old city, the younger kids are mainly confined to their homes, except for outings with parents or older siblings. It was quite a scene- very crowded, a little bit uncontrolled even though some adults present. Kids played some variants of Duck, Duck, Goose and Simon Sez, all with peals of laughter, and they wore masks & hats made by the adults.

We then went next door to speak with members of CPT (Christian Peacemaker Teams) who have worked in Hebron since 1995. They stand in solidarity with the Palestinian people, using their non-violent presence to try to decrease the violence. When harassment occurs, they try to intervene, when possible, by placing themselves between Palestinians and their attackers. They accompany people at risk of home demolition and/or land confiscation, do school patrols trying to safeguard children, monitor Israeli soldiers as they search homes, and go on 3 neighbor patrols a day. While they have a paid staff, it's mainly volunteers who pay their own way and usually spend at least a month or two. We had some fantasy about volunteering, but soon let that go after a discussion of the faith based nature of the organization.

After lunch, we went on another tour of the old city. Within two minutes we were stopped by Israeli soldiers who were "safeguarding" a large group of Israeli tourists, The armed soldiers kept Palestinians and internationals at bay as the Israelis walked slowly through the streets. Maybe 20 soldiers blocked our path. It was infuriating-a whole lot more threatening than the NYC police during the Occupy Wall Street crackdowns. We stood and stared, took lots of pictures, and H actually tried to talk to the soldiers about their personal responsibility. Some of the internationals, who had heard of a killing in another part of the West Bank were more confrontational with the soldiers, all to no avail. All words falling on deaf ears. H & I are in some philosophical disagreement on our relationship to soldiers and settlers. H believes that there are some real possibilities for engagement with an open human approach and N sees them as conscious enemies who engage in violent and representable behavior who are beyond the reach of discussion and much like the good Germans who were only doing their duty. Obviously there are more than two possible positions, but in this charged atmosphere that's where we find ourselves. In some sense it replicates the conversation about Roberta's attempt to get the two sides in one room engaged in non-violent conversation even before ending their unequal positions of power. How do conflicts end? Good conversations to have.

We finally were allowed to go on with our tour of the occupation. We climbed streets up in the Hebron Hills where Palestinians live, but where Palestinians are not allowed to drive. And it's quite a hike up those hills. We visited streets contiguous to settlements where Palestinians are no longer allowed to live. We passed through check points where we were asked for identification even though we were going from one Palestinian street to another. We passed by many observation towers manned by armed soldiers that were on Palestinian streets. We were stopped by an Israeli patrol cruiser and asked for identification for no reason. And we visited a family that lives right by a settlement that is not allowed to pick the grapes in their garden because it's too close to the settlement. This family always leaves one adult at home at all times in fear that, if left unoccupied, the settlers will come in and take possession of their house. This family has also experienced the Israeli soldiers forcing their way into their home, putting everyone into one room and then watching a soccer game for a few hours before leaving. It goes on and on and on. Everyone has a story. And, while stories start to become just another story for the listener, the reality of living the stories is overwhelming. We don't know how the Palestinians stand it. But what choice do they have.

We ended the tour looking for and finding some ice cream. It's so soothing. Then dinner- a chicken, vegetable, rice upside down dish that was delicious. Then off to bed in exhaustion.

Message: N and H in WB Day 1

2011-12-11T20:18:00.000-08:00

12/9/11 Friday

What an incredible day. We awoke in Tel Aviv in the home of a 75 year old American- Israeli woman, Marcy G., a childhood friend of Jane T, and ended in the Hebron home of a 49 year old Palestinian single woman, Zelaika , who faces the struggles of resisting the occupation on a day by day, minute by minute basis.

Marcy G, opened her apartment to us, in fact left her key under the doormat, as she was out teaching English to Israeli children until 7ish, and we arrived at 5ish from the airport after a long day of flying and Helaine being delayed by Israeli customs officers for a somewhat nervous ¬Ω hour, while they did whatever background checking they seem to do on a somewhat random basis. Marcy came to Israel in the early 1970s with her American Zionist husband, now divorced, and had 3 daughters, 2 of whom (twins) still live in Tel Aviv. She is part of the Israeli left, worked with Palestinians in Sheik Jarrer, and would be one us if she lived in the states. We had lots of time to talk, with conversations ranging from the hopelessness of the Israeli left, to her work, to her grandchildren. All in all, a very easy entry into our trip.

Friday morning we made our way to Hebron by taxi, service (shared taxi), and another taxi in an uneventful way, as no checkpoints needed to be crossed. We sat next to a young Polish couple and spent a pleasant hour travelling to Jerusalem trading info about their work and ours- both political and personal.

We arrived in Hebron, at the beginning of the old city, which looks much like the ancient Arab souks that I saw in Marrekesh. This part of Hebron was established in 1700 BC. The buildings, we were told, were probably only a thousand years old, having been torn down and rebuilt a number of times. We were met by Zelaika, a Palestinian woman, wearing a hijab, and speaking English as if it were her first language. We immediately were aware that we were in the presence of a person of first rate intelligence. She walked us to her home, only some 5-10 minutes into the old city, making small talk about food etc, where we faced the outpouring of a flood of males, who clogged the streets to such a degree that we couldn't pass for 10-15 minutes, as they left the mosques after the noon day prayers. We wound our way down unmarked streets until we made it to her apartment, up a flight of steps, at the end of street that ended in a fence. Once inside her apartment, she introduced us to her mother who spoke no English. She showed us around the apartment, which we would be sharing for two nights. The tour ended on her very narrow balcony, which was totally screened in, top to bottom, with metal, cage- like wire, that she used as protection from rocks and stones that are thrown by Israeli settlers as they walk on the Jews-only street that runs by her front door, that she is not permitted to use, and separates her from the cemetery where her grandparents are buried, just steps from her house. To visit the graves, she must take a circuitous route, leaving the old city, and wending her way for ¬Ω hour, until she can reach the back side of the cemetery. We stood there together, almost speechless, almost in tears, feeling as though we had been punched in the stomach by the reality of the occupation, in an up front and personal way, as we watched the Israeli children walk by, not noticing us, as though we were invisible, as they went from school in one part of the settlement to home in another part of the settlement, which houses maybe 200 Israelis, along a street that had been the main thoroughfare of Hebron. We stood there, overwhelmed by our feelings, for quite a while.

She then took us up to her roof, where we had a 360-degree view of her immediate neighborhood, and , where, not more than 20 yards across the street, on a neighbors roof, we were faced by an Israeli lookout tower, manned by an armed Israeli soldier, which was only one of an innumerable string of manned and camera-laden lookouts, that had control of her entire neighborhood. I attempted to take a photo, but was told by the soldier, in no uncertain terms, that photographs were illegal and that I should stop and desist. I asked why, but there was no explanation forthcoming. Zelaika pointed out various landmarks, some of which had been taken over by the settlers. Only a few blocks away was a Palestinian school that had been converted into a Yeshiva. There was also an area where the main bus station had been torn down and the area converted into an Israeli army barracks that was necessary to protect the 200 settlers that had forced their way into the old city that still has 4000 Palestinians living under the immediate control of the army. We had a view of the entire city that is built on a series of hills and is quite beautiful.

The city is comprised of two sectors, H1 and H2. While H1 is totally Palestinian, there are still manned lookout towers to control the population. H2 has the Israeli settlements, totaling no more than 500 settlers, and is more closely controlled, with the sting of lookout towers as well as with the streets being patrolled by armed soldiers and with check points that are opened or closed at the whim of the military and restrict the movement of Palestinians within their own streets. The entire city has 160,000 Palestinian inhabitants, who are controlled by the presence of 500 Israelis and the 4-5000 soldiers protecting them.

We had some lunch and then Zelaika walked us through part of the old city. There were very few people on the streets, as this was Friday, which is the first day of the weekend. Most people were in their homes or visiting with families. Zelaika seems to know everyone, as she has lived here her entire life, and runs a nursery school as well as is very active in community life in various organizations. She is a very powerful person who practices resistance to the occupation and encourages others to do so. While walking past a checkpoint, we saw children talking to and acting friendly to Israeli soldiers. She immediately called out to them in Arabic to stop that behavior and explained why, which the children did. I don‚Äôt know whether or not they will go back tomorrow and be friendly, but this is something she does in an ongoing way. ‚ÄúThey are the oppressors and we should not encourage them in any way that makes their life easier‚Äù. We walked through part of the old city and saw that the Palestinians had constructed the same metal wire covering the narrow streets to protect them from rocks and garbage thrown from the settlement rising above them. We stopped at a store where the vendor showed us beautiful scarves that had been ruined by the settlers throwing eggs from above. He kept the scarves on display to inform all of the reality of everyday violence visited on the city. He also told us stories of pre 1929 Hebron where Palestinians and Jews had lived in harmony and in fact were ‚Äùmilk brothers and sisters. This was before bottled milk and lactating mothers would feed their kids and neighbor‚Äôs kids, who might be Palestinians or Jews, from their breasts and these kids then kept up special close relationships during their lives. We also visited a number of homes and walked up to roofs to see more of the restricted areas now off limit to Palestinians, but formerly the major fruit market of Hebron or the central bus station, or the houses that were once the contiguous community and now are not allowed to be occupied because of proximity to the settlements. We then walked through a double sided check point manned by armed soldiers that led to the largest mosque in Hebron, which was the site of the massacre of Palestinians in 1994 by Baruch Goldstein that left 60 dead and 400 wounded. Today this mosque has been split in to two parts, half for the Muslims and half a synagogue for the Jews. The Palestinians must pass three checkpoints, again manned, before entering and, of course, the Jews freely entering their illegally appropriated half. These check points are all outfitted with metal detectors and one must empty their pockets or take off belts, etc etc before being allowed through. And, of course, the soldiers can deny entry with no basis at any time on any whim. This is only the smallest synecdoche of the entire occupation of the west bank.

Back at Zelaika's apartment for a late dinner and conversation about what we had experienced as well as a long explanation of the tribal nature of Palestinian life. She belongs to a clan/tribe of almost 5000 people, of which she probably only knows 1000. There are also clans with upwards of 15,000. Tribal law mainly rules, and supplants PA rule in many respects. Murders and disputes are mostly settled by a complex set of tribal customs that governs inter-tribal affairs, with the patriarchs of each tribe passing judgment and figuring restitutions etc. Tribes share physical as well as characterological similarities. She can always tell unknown members of her clan on sight. Her tribe, the Muhtaseb, is known for their intelligence, emphasis on education and generous nature. They donated some of their land for parks and a hospital.

PART IV: THE "SUMUD AND THE WALL" CONFERENCE

2010-06-15T19:31:00.000-07:00

Al-Masara Demonstration 4-30-10

Children's Film Projected on Wall

Mazin, Jessie, and "Other Troublemaker"

Wall Art - Bethlehem

Posted by Harriet Malinowitz

June 15, 2010

Many apologies for the long lapse between my last blog posting and this one. Like many others, I was preoccupied with the aftermath of the flotilla massacre. Now it’s well over a month since the Sumud and the Wall conference—the raison d’etre for my trip to Palestine—and I will at last recount some of the salient moments of my time at it, many of which are still quite vivid in my mind.

First of all, some background: the conference, which took place at Bethlehem University (sorry to be superficial, but what lovely architecture and views that university has!), was organized by a consortium of institutions, of which the Arab Educational Institute (AEI-Open Windows—an NGO that operates in Bethlehem—see http://www.aeicenter.org/ -- and also click on their link for the conference) was the local host. Co-sponsors were Oxford Brookes University (UK) and Paris-Est University (France), in cooperation with Al-Quds Open University, Bethlehem University (Department of Humanities) and Utrecht University (Center for Conflict Studies).

My heart was, of course, warmed by the emphasis—both in promotional materials and in the welcoming remarks at the conference itself—on this being an academic conference, aiming “to promote a free and lively flow of ideas across academic disciplines.” It was not, of course, an occasion for detached discussion of abstruse ideas; rather, it was a chance to engage in collective inquiry, prompted by urgency, and to establish new channels of communication and thought across international and interdisciplinary lines. The majority of participants were Palestinian (primarily faculty and students from Bethlehem University and Al-Quds/Jericho), with a smattering of Europeans/UKers, perhaps a few dual-nationals, Jane Toby and myself among just a tiny handful of Americans (without other nationalities attached to them) that I was aware of, and one (as I discovered in a workshop at the end) Japanese. (There may well have been others whose provenance I was unaware of. My apologies for errors.)

Sumud means “steadfastness” or “resilience”; Toine van Teeffelen, one of the chief organizers, explained that it came into popular use in the 1970s. The conference honored the amazing tenacity of that quality among Palestinians who have endured decades of expulsion, brutal repression, and occupation, while also attempting to create a new field of “Wall Studies.” The “Apartheid Wall” was, of course, the central focus and guiding image; presentations focused on its impact on children’s education, the Bethlehem business community, social relations within families, tourism, etc., as well as forms of resistance to its construction, from demonstrations to graffiti to the arts. Yet the discussion also considered other sorts of walls (part of what you might call a “Wall Continuum”): conceptual walls of public opinion, checkpoints and roadblocks, the walls encountered in mass media and communications that interrupt the Palestinian narrative from being more clearly and directly transmitted to the rest of the world, the walls that featured in the “troubles” in Northern Ireland. (Jane, some of you will be interested to know, read aloud MECR’s mission statement.)

One talk that I found really interesting was by historian Adnan Ayash, and traced the history of “wall” language in Zionist discourse, employing quotations from writers and leaders starting with Herzl and continuing, with innumerable examples, from Vladimir Jabotinsky to Abba Eban, Meir Kahane, Yitzhak Rabin, Ariel Sharon, Ehud Barak, and many more. (I thought this was great because the sheer consistency and continuity of “wall” metaphors in Zionist speech—leading inexorably up to the current Wall which is certainly not just a metaphor—had not occurred to me before. I do hope to see this presentation in print some time so as to be able to think it all through and track some of the references more closely.)

The conference ended with a breakdown of participants (there were 150—meaning that most of the time, we could all be in the same lecture hall, engaging in the same conversation) into four workshop groups. The purpose of the workshops was to brainstorm about “follow-up activities in research and advocacy.” Report-backs upon regrouping revealed numerous great ideas, including cultural and media projects, publications, practical initiatives, educational programs, networking with grassroots and other academic groups locally and internationally, addressing legal and governmental issues, etc. (While I haven’t heard from the organizing committee since then, I hope and trust that these ideas, and the international ties forged, will be duly built upon.)

One of the unexpected effects the conference had on me was making me feel much more motivated than I ever have in the past to experiment with technology. At Long Island University in Brooklyn, where I work, we are constantly encouraged to use all sorts of cutting-edge technologies in our teaching—yet I have learned, through long, bitter experience, that the majority of the time, things don’t work. That is, just when I have made the leap of faith and am totally dependent on the technology for instruction, it turns out that the equipment is not functioning, the software is not functioning, the IT “support” people are not functioning, the logic of the whole IT system there is not functioning—and as a result, neither I nor my class is functioning. But at the Sumud and the Wall conference, it was totally different. All the proceedings were simultaneously translated between English and Arabic; everybody had a wireless headset, so if you didn’t understand the language someone was speaking in at the moment (and this could get pretty complicated during Q & As!), a man in a booth in the back spoke comprehensibly into your ears. It worked! One session featured presenters from Gaza, via videoconference. It worked! We saw and heard them, and they saw and heard us! Afterward, I commented to someone overseeing the use of technical equipment there that at my university in Brooklyn, technology frequently seems to go awry, but here in occupied Palestine, technology seemed to work perfectly. “Yes, because we need it to survive,” she said.

This seemed to be a major realization that emerged in the workshops, too—that technology afforded all sorts of hitherto impossible ways of breaking through “walls.” (Since then, a video card smuggled off the Mavi Marmara and viewed all over the world on the internet has further driven home the point.) I know that to many, this would seem obvious; but to those of us who are middle-aged, born of typewriters and pathetically dependent upon the young and the swift to guide us through the labyrinthine paths of postmodern technology, it comes with the force of sudden inspiration. The next intifada will indeed be a very, very electronic one.

A couple of remarks about people: There were some wonderful ones there! A true highlight for me was finally meeting, and getting to spend some time with, Mazin Qumsiyeh, whose work I have so very much admired for years—his terrific book, Sharing the Land of Canaan, as well as his fabulously copious emailed blogs, his voluminous and uber-linked website, his sheer energy and intelligence, his sumud. He is someone who—along with Amy Goodman and Noam Chomsky—always makes the word “indefatigable” spring to my mind. (I must say that though I totally venerate Goodman and Chomsky, Mazin is a lot more fun to hang out with.) In between conference sessions, he runs to demonstrations, prepares molecular biology lectures, writes his blog, and has visitors drop into his little Bethlehem University office.

It has been very frustrating to me that, more than once, I’ve missed him when he’s spoken right here at home in the Hudson Valley—so surmounting that particular wall at last was a great pleasure. He gave a terrific presentation on popular resistance; was an active attendee as well as presenter; and during the lunch break he and his wife, Jessie (who was also great!—I especially loved our conversation about how much we both hate to chant—so renewing for the activist soul!) took me to the weekly Friday demonstration in the nearby village of Al-Masara—where the Wall is, among other things, cutting the people off from their stone quarry and their agricultural lands.

At the demonstration, I saw Mazin not only attempting to engage reasonably with the Israeli soldiers clutching their guns (good luck), but also handing his card out to young people milling about. (When I queried him on this latter activity, he said he was encouraging them to come to the conference. That touched me. By the way, he’s been arrested at non-violent demonstrations more than once since then; his reputation as an anti-Wall activist is growing and this brings increased scrutiny and repression. And while the IDF in Al-Masara stayed calm on that day, Mazin’s blog a few weeks later had this, which I’d encourage all readers of this blog to click on: “The attacks from the Israeli soldiers at the peaceful demonstration in Al-Masara 21 May 2010 (here no Palestinian security are allowed in the area): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fJvQM7VRbvk.”)

On the way to Al-Masara and back, Mazin was a great tour guide, though I am quite spatially challenged and kept finding it hard to keep the big picture straight in my head—I mean, literally/geographically, making sense of the relative positioning of Jewish settlements, refugee camps, bypass roads, smaller (slower) roads, abruptly ended (courtesy of the IDF) roads, desecrated olive groves, etc. we drove past and along. It was a lot to process all at once.

One serendipitous thing that happened at the demonstration: there in front of me, yelling at the soldiers in Hebrew, was a young Israeli military refuser, Haggai Matar, who I recognized from the time some years back when I’d heard him speak at a church in Brooklyn. (He’d been 18 at the time—a very impressive, radical, articulate, homeschooled prodigy who went to jail upon his return home.) I tapped him on the shoulder, and said, “I heard you speak in Park Slope in 2002! You were fantastic and I’ve actually quoted you in my writing since then.” He said, “Yes, I was in my prime then. I’ve been in decline ever since.” (It didn’t seem that way to me.) There were a smattering of other young Israelis and internationals there, though I think most of the people at the demo were from the village. (I’m bad at numbers; maybe about 50 in all?)

On Friday evening, after the day’s conference events ended, the organizers took us all on a bus to view various spots along the Wall (lots of amazing artwork as well as a wide spectrum of interesting graffiti; we saw one house that was, astonishingly, engulfed on three sides by the Wall—which turned out to be the house where Jane was living, and where Claire, from whom MECR has purchased some handicrafts, both lives and has her shop on the ground floor). Following that, they had arranged for us to partake of some cultural events at a house near Rachel’s Tomb—including singing by a women’s choir, animated films about children/youth and the Wall (projected against the Wall—made me think there should be a Wall Film Festival, beamed up by satellite to sites around the world), testimonials by local women affected by the Wall, and, of course, food.

At lunch the second day, I talked with a funny guy named Mohammed who had spent several years in an Israeli prison. (His crime was being a member of the Communist Party.) “How was it?” I asked goofily. “Great!” he said. “Swimming every day in the Olympic pool, free internet…..” “Desserts like this?” I asked, pointing to the one perched on his plate. “Oh, much, much bigger!” On a more serious note, he said that being in an Israeli prison isn’t as bad as being in a Palestinian prison, “because at least you’re there because you love your country”—while being imprisoned by the PA is just totally demoralizing.

One last little human interest anecdote: on the first day, a conference attendee from Scotland named Bill plopped down next to me at lunch and began to regale me with some pretty annoying observations—the liberal/”rational” “both sides” and “cycle of violence” sorts of remarks that one generally hears on NPR. He was a grad student in a Peace and Conflict Studies program, and seemed like a sponge for all the worst elements of “academic” thinking—that is, he was full of tenets and mantras about conflict and its resolution, but short on perception of the specific circumstances he was actually in and trying to apply them to at the moment. He sounded a bit like a self-help book for countries: “Here are 200 non-violent methods that work!” When he realized that I was unimpressed with his insights (I’m none too subtle when it comes to these things), he seized on my identity as a post-9/11 New Yorker: “Wasn’t there some human part of you that wanted those people bombed in retribution?” he asked, assuming that the answer would be “Yes” and thus illustrate the essentially “human nature” always at work in conflicts—a starting point for an analogy about Israelis and Palestinians. “No,” I said uncooperatively. It is both shocking and frustrating for people who don’t question their premises when you don’t automatically accept them; he looked at me in amazement, and finally taking a social cue, got up and left. I was glad to reflect that the next day he’d be giving his own presentation, and others would respond as well; I’d feel less alone in my ire.

The next day, he gave his talk on “Effective Non-Violent Action,” full of formulas he’d gleaned in grad school and oblivious of some basic realities of the Wall. (Among other things, he regurgitated some common Israeli propaganda—the sort I’d heard at my cousins’ house in West Jerusalem—such as that the Wall had dramatically reduced suicide bombings, which of course angered those who were better informed and who more logically reasoned that, among other things, a partially completed wall leaves plenty of ways to get through if one wants to.) Just as I’d anticipated, there was a good deal of indignant reaction to his talk; he responded defensively, averring that he “wasn’t biased,” and didn’t seem to take it in. (Mazin, on the same panel, gave up after trying to get through to him, finally resorting to shaking his head helplessly from the dais.)

That night, while I was doing email in my hotel lobby, a couple of other conference attendees came over to chat, and then, suddenly, Bill appeared. “How are you?” we asked him—and not altogether without concern, because there really was something of the nice, if befuddled, guy about him. “Well, it’s been quite a day,” he said. He explained that after his talk, some men in the audience, members of a local resistance organization, had come over and said they wanted to give him his own personal tour of the West Bank. They took him to villages, refugee camps, demolished olive groves, settlements—and in the end, he got “chased by a settler with a gun.” “Did it change your perspective?” we asked him. “Definitely,” he said, and seemed to mean it.

Postscript: the next morning, as a few of us were having breakfast, he again appeared—this time looking wan. He explained that he was sick and patted his stomach: “I guess I ate some bad shrimp last night,” he said, and planned to spend the morning inert in his room. We wished him well, and after he disappeared, one of the conference organizers commented, “Lesson #2 about the Occupation: You may be very near the sea, but seafood sits for hours at checkpoints in the hot sun.”

I do hope to catch some future paper of his.

TO BE CONTINUED………

PART III: THIS BLOG HAS BEEN PRE-EMPTED DUE TO A MASSACRE: SOCIOPATHY AND EVERYDAY LIFE

2010-06-01T13:27:00.000-07:00

Posted by Harriet Malinowitz
June 1, 2010

I was planning to spend yesterday—Memorial Day—writing Part III of this blog—about the conference that was the main purpose of my visit to the West Bank—but the Gaza Flotilla Massacre happened and I went down to the city for the demonstration instead.

Then last night, for reasons unrelated to Israel/Palestine/Gaza, I happened to be googling around for definitions of various psychological conditions and syndromes. I was particularly interested in seeing how a “sociopath” might be defined. While no website that I found seemed authoritative (and the “experts” seemed neither more nor less intellectually solid, overall, than the laypeople), there were a number of characteristics that were cited time and again—leading me to think that to the best of anyone’s knowledge, they were roughly descriptive of what contemporary society considers to be a “sociopath” (though the current preferred term is “antisocial personality disorder”; same thing). Here’s a good representative example:
____________________________________________

http://www.mcafee.cc/Bin/sb.html

Profile of the Sociopath

This website summarizes some of the common features of descriptions of the behavior of sociopaths.

• Glibness and Superficial Charm

• Manipulative and Conning
They never recognize the rights of others and see their self-serving behaviors as permissible. They appear to be charming, yet are covertly hostile and domineering, seeing their victim as merely an instrument to be used. They may dominate and humiliate their victims.

• Grandiose Sense of Self
Feels entitled to certain things as "their right."

• Pathological Lying
Has no problem lying coolly and easily and it is almost impossible for them to be truthful on a consistent basis. Can create, and get caught up in, a complex belief about their own powers and abilities. Extremely convincing and even able to pass lie detector tests.

• Lack of Remorse, Shame or Guilt
A deep seated rage, which is split off and repressed, is at their core. Does not see others around them as people, but only as targets and opportunities. Instead of friends, they have victims and accomplices who end up as victims. The end always justifies the means and they let nothing stand in their way.

• Shallow Emotions
When they show what seems to be warmth, joy, love and compassion it is more feigned than experienced and serves an ulterior motive. Outraged by insignificant matters, yet remaining unmoved and cold by what would upset a normal person. Since they are not genuine, neither are their promises.

• Incapacity for Love

• Need for Stimulation
Living on the edge. Verbal outbursts and physical punishments are normal. Promiscuity and gambling are common.

• Callousness/Lack of Empathy
Unable to empathize with the pain of their victims, having only contempt for others' feelings of distress and readily taking advantage of them.

• Poor Behavioral Controls/Impulsive Nature
Rage and abuse, alternating with small expressions of love and approval produce an addictive cycle for abuser and abused, as well as creating hopelessness in the victim. Believe they are all-powerful, all-knowing, entitled to every wish, no sense of personal boundaries, no concern for their impact on others.

• Early Behavior Problems/Juvenile Delinquency
Usually has a history of behavioral and academic difficulties, yet "gets by" by conning others. Problems in making and keeping friends; aberrant behaviors such as cruelty to people or animals, stealing, etc.

• Irresponsibility/Unreliability
Not concerned about wrecking others' lives and dreams. Oblivious or indifferent to the devastation they cause. Does not accept blame themselves, but blames others, even for acts they obviously committed.

• Promiscuous Sexual Behavior/Infidelity
Promiscuity, child sexual abuse, rape and sexual acting out of all sorts.

• Lack of Realistic Life Plan/Parasitic Lifestyle
Tends to move around a lot or makes all encompassing promises for the future, poor work ethic but exploits others effectively.

• Criminal or Entrepreneurial Versatility
Changes their image as needed to avoid prosecution. Changes life story readily.

Other Related Qualities:
1. Contemptuous of those who seek to understand them
2. Does not perceive that anything is wrong with them
3. Authoritarian
4. Secretive
5. Paranoid
6. Only rarely in difficulty with the law, but seeks out situations where their tyrannical behavior will be tolerated, condoned, or admired
7. Conventional appearance
8. Goal of enslavement of their victim(s)
9. Exercises despotic control over every aspect of the victim's life
10. Has an emotional need to justify their crimes and therefore needs their victim's affirmation (respect, gratitude and love)
11. Ultimate goal is the creation of a willing victim
12. Incapable of real human attachment to another
13. Unable to feel remorse or guilt
14. Extreme narcissism and grandiose
15. May state readily that their goal is to rule the world

(The above traits are based on the psychopathy checklists of H. Cleckley and R. Hare.)

NOTE: In the 1830's this disorder was called "moral insanity." By 1900 it was changed to "psychopathic personality." More recently it has been termed "antisocial personality disorder" in the DSM-III and DSM-IV. Some critics have complained that, in the attempt to rely only on 'objective' criteria, the DSM has broadened the concept to include too many individuals. The APD category includes people who commit illegal, immoral or self-serving acts for a variety of reasons and are not necessarily psychopaths.
____________________________________

Sound familiar? Promiscuity and gambling notwithstanding, there are innumerable ways in which Israel seems to fit the description of a “sociopath.”

What to make of this? There are many things one could possibly make of it. The main association that springs to my mind is Hannah Arendt and her famous study—first in The New Yorker magazine and later in her book Eichmann in Jerusalem—of the sheer ordinariness and “normality” of what may be taken—through a more distanced, or objective, or pathologizing, or perhaps anthropological lens—as “evil.” I’m sure most people reading this have heard of the expression, made famous by that study, “the banality of evil.” Though I think it is a nugget that encapsulates her thesis well, it has itself become banalized from overuse.

I say this because many people who are familiar with the term and the phenomenon it represents seem to see all sorts of things that some—even they themselves, in other circumstances—might consider “evil” to be fairly humdrum. For instance, in recent times, a new term has been coined—“PEPS” (“Progressive Except for Palestine”)—designating those who see not only the holocaust, but the U.S.’s (and others’) actions and policies over the years in Vietnam, Iran, Chile, Nicaragua, Guatemala, East Timor, Iraq, Afghanistan, etc. etc. as “evil,” yet who routinely abdicate their own fine brains when it comes to Israel. (I have heard some of my own highly educated, putatively lefty relatives explaining why the “disproportionate use of force” may actually be “proportionate”—when you look at it a certain way…..)

As many reading this may recall, ethnic studies professor Ward Churchill was vilified after 9/11 for referring to yuppies in the World Trade Center running the machinery of globalization and world finance—impoverishing and destructive to many—as “little Eichmanns.” The fury, of course, came from the suggestion that these ordinary Americans, just doing their job, were as depraved as Nazis—though the point, I believe, was that Nazis, too, just perceived themselves to be ordinary folks, doing their jobs—and that these are just two different lenses through which one might see and interpret precisely the same thing.

It is one thing to truly be a “little Eichmann”—to be a clueless schmuck caught up in the machinery and obfuscations of your own society, to the point where you are not only willing to do harm to others (not seeing it, after all, as harm—seeing it perhaps, even, as good), but even to become cannon fodder yourself. It is another thing to calculatedly capitalize upon the entrenched blurring of those boundaries—that is, to know how easily brutal and inhumane actions can be cast as understandable human phenomena such as “self-defense,” “claiming a homeland,” etc.—and to employ spin doctors, political connections, channels of influence, media monopolies, emotional blackmail, bankrupt institutions (such as the U.N. Security Council), and the good faith of well-meaning, beguiled people in order to effect a deliberate deception and perform self-serving, remorseless deeds.

We are all familiar with the Zionist argument that it is anti-semitic to single Israel out from others in the world who behave in ways that are not entirely dissimilar. In fact, I think that many of us would agree that Israel is hardly the only sociopathic collective entity in this world. The U.S. would meet the diagnostic criteria; so would big pharma (that lets people die of AIDS if there’s no profit incentive otherwise), the big banks (who have plunged us into global financial crisis), tobacco and oil companies, and the other governments involved in some of the U.S.’s exploits mentioned above. Which is to say that yes, sociopathy is a stunningly ordinary condition in this world, and yes, there are many sociopaths out there.

But for some of us—I am thinking of American Jews in particular—Israel is OUR sociopath. At least, that’s how I think of it. Not, I would like to make clear, because I love Israel and want it to turn out all right; not that I think it needs some “tough love” and discipline from its family to steer it back on course. As it happens, I don’t love Israel at all, and I don’t think it was ever on a rightful course to begin with. But because Israel itself has, throughout my lifetime, maintained so insistently that I am it and it is me—and because so many people who have surrounded me since birth have maintained this—and because so much of the world, and so many U.S. politicians, see it this way—I see an opportunity to affect the course of events that I don’t see myself having with B.P., Exxon-Mobil, or even the Pentagon.

That’s why I’m ending this blog entry right now to head out to another demonstration (this time in Woodstock): because, through an accident of birth and myriad environmental influences, Israel is MY sociopath, and its sickness is unbearable.

PART II: THE RELATIVES

2010-05-27T09:59:00.000-07:00

Posted by Harriet Malinowitz

May 27, 2010

I arrived at my cousin Yehudit’s house (I’m changing all the family names) late, but not too late for everyone to sit down to one of those Israeli evening meals featuring salad chopped up into tiny little pieces and a staggering array of dairy products. (Will Israel ultimately self-destruct on its own clogged arteries?)

A little background on Yehudit: though we’re technically fairly distant cousins (at least third—we never figured it out, exactly, because there were too many others and too many “removed” in the way), there has been a close connection between our families for over two generations. Her mother, Miriam, came to New York as a refugee from Austria and became integrated into my mother’s family in the Bronx before ultimately moving to Jerusalem. My maternal aunt, Libby, lived in Israel for a number of years in the 1960s, when Yehudit was a child, and stayed frequently with Miriam (then widowed) and Yehudit in their Talbia apartment. (Libby tried to set up a pen-pal relationship between Yehudit—who is just a year older than me—and myself, which I was very excited about, but Yehudit never responded to my enthusiastic missive.) Later, when I was a young and vacuous sojourner in Israel—picking grapefruit on kibbutzim and hitchhiking around the Golan Heights, all in an exuberant, oblivious daze—I, too, stayed frequently at Miriam’s apartment, while Yehudit, living in the U.S. for several years, moved in for a while with my mother (then widowed) in Queens and became very much a part of my whole family. When I returned to the U.S., Yehudit and I became good friends; when I visited Israel again in the summers of 1982 (yes, invasion of Lebanon) and 1984, I stayed at her apartment in Gilo, which I was told was a “new neighborhood” of Jerusalem (they were laying the Jerusalem stone for new buildings even as I visited) and which I had no idea, till someone mentioned it to me my last night there, was on occupied territory. (I was beginning to ask questions and visited a friend at the relatively progressive Keren Shalom kibbutz, located at the Gaza border, where my Gilo bubble was burst.)

Yehudit and I are very different. She’s always wanted a much more conventional life than I have, and she got it. She now has a husband, Yigal, who doesn’t speak much English (“He doesn’t speak much in any language” Yehudit assured me), and two daughters who are fairly fluent in English—Rahel, age 17 (primed to go into the army next year) and Esty, age 15. They live in a fairly new neighborhood (I think this one really is a “neighborhood,” though I wouldn’t swear to anything anymore) of Jerusalem, in an apartment built into a cliff with a huge, flower-filled balcony looking out over gorgeous hills and valleys and the non-defined border between “Israel” and the “West Bank.” (I put these in quotes because the very lack of specified borders renders them both quasi-fictional—at least from the vantage point of that balcony.) It also looks down over the Biblical Zoo—so-called because, apparently, it was created to house only animals that were mentioned in the bible (great fodder for my propaganda studies)—and so, over morning coffee, you can see giraffes and rhinoceroses walking around in the sun.

Yehudit describes herself as “an educated person who reads Haaretz.” This is accurate. She is highly intelligent, has a high-level job in a publishing house, loves art and classical music, and is one of the very few Israelis trained as a China scholar. (Years ago, she translated Chinese revolutionary poetry into Hebrew.) She has always been a Labor Party supporter, has grieved at the rightward electoral trends in the country from Begin in 1977 to Netanyahu now, disapproves of the Occupation, and believes in a “two-state solution.” In other words, she is in that category of Israelis, which I find hard to comprehend, that is “liberal” economically and socially (to a point) yet adheres to unfathomable segregationist positions, recites the old histories of Zionism as if they had never been refuted (or even challenged), and sees plans such as Barak’s “generous offer” at Camp David as a tenable solution to the conflict. (“They could have a state if they wanted it!” she says.)

Spending time with Yehudit interests me for several reasons. First, I care about her—yet this has become an increasingly schizophrenic experience for me as Palestine has loomed larger and larger in my life over the past decade. I have always felt forgiving of genuine ignorance—that state when one believes something because one has truly never been confronted with material that would prompt one to question it. In other words, I don’t think the words “I didn’t know” are necessarily hypocritical (though they can certainly be used that way), and I am happy to give people the benefit of the doubt when they say them—providing that they are clearly trying to know and desirous of knowing. It’s “I don’t want to know” that drives me crazy. And this is what’s so puzzling about “educated people who read Haaretz.” How can you read Amira Hass and Gideon Levy and real reportage of events that wouldn’t have a chance of appearing in The New York Times—how can you admire Tom Segev and have worked on publishing a book by Ilan Pappe—and not question the old narratives? How can you be a “compassionate,” “civilized” person and parrot the ludicrous justifications from Hasbara Central about last year’s massacres in Gaza? How can you stand on a balcony, pointing out various sites—“That’s the Cremisan winery outside Bethlehem—that’s theirs; that’s Gilo—that’s ours” –and not even concede that the latter is up for debate?

I don’t get it. But I believe there are explanations, and that’s one reason I’m so interested in the study of propaganda—which I see as hovering at the border between rhetoric (my field) and social psychology. (In fact, they blend together—like “Israel” and the “West Bank,” I don’t really know where the border is, or if I believe it exists.) And that’s why, though I visit Yehudit and her family because I do care about them—that really is the only reason I do go—I can’t help but capitalize on the opportunity to be a participant-observer in a fascinating anthropological setting. And fascinating it was—though it worked well only as long as I didn’t lose my cool—and I regret to say that there were indeed a few moments when I lost it.

I certainly found that the most useful thing to do was to ask questions and to listen. I’ve mentioned before to some of you reading this that last October, I had lunch with Yehudit and Esty in New York. Esty is a brilliant student who attends what I’ve been told is the top high school in Jerusalem and has already studied three years of Arabic. She is very thoughtful, inquisitive, and sensitive, and if she doesn’t start to see things differently some years down the line when she is exposed to more than her insular environment—I feel, perhaps naively, confident that she will—I think I’ll lose all hope in the human brain. But last October, in a coffee shop in lower Manhattan, when I asked her what they teach in her school about the occupation, she looked puzzled. “What’s the occupation?” she asked. Yehudit laughed, explaining to me that 1967 was so long before Esty’s birth that she couldn’t even comprehend it as reality. But, of course, the occupation very much continues now—a point which Yehudit somehow made irrelevant in the discussion. Nonetheless, when I returned from a visit to the rest room, Esty was questioning her mother intensely. I will definitely give Yehudit credit for this: she never—not last October, not this April—tried to shut me up when I said things to her daughters that seemed to represent otherwise unheard-of perspectives. In other words, she didn’t try to stop the conversation from taking turns that made her uncomfortable, and even helpfully translated words I used in English that her daughters didn’t understand. I really did appreciate that, and know that this is not the case with every “educated person who reads Haaretz.”

But another interesting dimension of “not wanting to know” emerged. When the subject of the academic and cultural boycott of Israel came up, Yehudit spoke derisively of it as a way to “punish people just because they happen to be born Israeli.” Not so, I said; the call for boycott is actually much more thoughtful and complex than that. Have you read it? It’s online. “No,” she admitted. Another time, I explained to Rahel and Esty about the New Historians—accompanied by a little discussion of the difference between primary and secondary documents and the ways history gets told. I told them that when the 30-year rule enshrouding documents from the 1948 era in secrecy had elapsed, and Israeli historians went into numerous official archives, they found documents—“primary sources”—high-ranking Zionists’ memos, letters, minutes of meetings, diaries, etc.—that directly contradicted the “secondary sources” found in Israeli textbooks, media, and myriad other vehicles of cultural narrative. (The “secondary sources” were all derived from the tales told by Israel’s Founding Fathers, the 1948 generation—hardly the perspectives of impartial researchers.) I explained that the “primary documents”—to the shock of the New Historians—validated what had always been dismissed as the “Arab version” of events. “How do you know this?” they asked. I mentioned Benny Morris’s The Birth of the Palestine Refugee Problem, 1947-49 as a gold mine of direct quotations from these documents. “Oh, Benny Morris!” Yehudit sneered. “Have you read it?” I asked. “No,” she said.

They also asked me about the conference I had come to attend in Bethlehem, called Sumud and the Wall. (Sumud means “resilience” or “steadfastness” in Arabic.) Why did they think the Wall was being built? I asked. “For security” replied Rahel promptly. “We need it to stop terrorist attacks.” Unexpectedly, Yehudit disagreed. “I don’t think so,” she said. Rahel, surprised, asked her what she thought. “I don’t like this Wall,” said Yehudit. First, she found it to be an eyesore—something really ugly. (Apparently, many Israelis think that. My first day there, there was a local demonstration against projected plans to build the Wall near Yehudit’s house by nature preservationists.) Besides that, she said, “There’s something inhuman about it. I don’t like walls.” A Jerusalem cab driver I spoke with—who called himself “Mr. English,” though I think that rather overstated the case—had a similar objection. “It’s rude!” he said vehemently. So, based on my extremely limited sample—which included inquiries of both these sources about how they thought other Israelis saw it—I very provisionally concluded that the Wall is not the most popular Zionist initiative going these days. (Interesting, though, that the Wall is “inhuman” and “rude”—but massacring Gazan civilians is not?) Nonetheless, they persist in crediting it with the dramatic reduction in terrorist attacks—despite all logic, as the Wall is not completely built (among the substantial remaining gaps is all that undefined space spread out beneath Yehudit’s balcony)—anyone who really wanted to could still cross over—and as Palestinian organizations have played a significant part in discouraging such attacks as counter-productive.

“Would you ever want to visit the West Bank?” I asked Rahel. “No. It’s much too dangerous,” she said. “What makes you think so?” I asked. She wasn’t sure—probably because virtually everything in her world made her think so, so that it was hard to isolate anything in particular. (It’s kind of like asking an American, “So, what makes you think America is so free?”—it’s just seamless, free-floating common knowledge.) I told her that I would report back on how dangerous it seemed to me after my four-day visit. “Anyway, Jewish Israelis aren’t allowed to go,” said Yehudit. This was news to me, but it turned out to be technically—though not practically—true. Yes, the Israeli government does ban Israeli Jewish travel to the West Bank—ostensibly for their own protection, but, it seems clear to me, as yet another way of keeping the mystique of the “dangerous” Palestinian alive in the Israeli imagination. At the same time, those Jewish Israelis who want to get through—for a demonstration, a conference, a house-building, an olive harvest, a visit to friends—do so whenever they wish, and can tell you where nobody’s checking. (Besides, remember those bypass roads for settlers and their guests?)
Yehudit had argued against my wish to stay in Bethlehem the night before the conference, which was to begin at 9am the next day. “It’s just fifteen minutes from here! You can go in the morning! I’ll drive you to the border!” she said. I, on the other hand, had heard enough about checkpoints to worry about being late. She admitted that she had never been past the checkpoint and really didn’t know how things would be from that point onwards. So she and Yigal dropped me on the Israeli side of the “Gilo” checkpoint—quite anxiously, I might add, requesting that I call them as soon as I arrived safely at my hotel in Bethlehem. (And yes, signs and soldiers at that checkpoint did explicitly intercept Israeli traffic.)

Now, I had always imagined these checkpoints as backed-up affairs, teeming with people waiting to get through. But clearly, my image was derived from checkpoints during working hours—as well as from the Palestinian experience of passing through. It was now about 10pm, and I was, eerily, the only person passing through this mammoth chamber. On the Israeli side there was a soldier—a woman—preoccupied with talking on the phone in a booth. She asked to see my passport, but barely glanced at it—she didn’t even touch it, once she saw it was American, and waved me through. I made my way through the maze—which reminded me a bit of the dank, echoey, prison-like stairwells of the junior high school I attended, and also of those creepy late-night subway stations where you scuttle through long underground corridors to get to another platform that is really not so far away, as the crow flies. I found the signage to be lacking, as when I finally emerged in a parking lot it turned out I was still on the Israeli side—and needed to go back through a particular pedestrian tunnel. Finally, I came to another booth with another Israeli woman soldier engrossed in talking on the phone (perhaps they were talking to each other?), who didn’t even look at my passport. (I’m sure security cameras watched me throughout, but they weren’t much company.) I went outside, looked up, and found that I was, at last, on the other side of the Wall.
I looked up at the West Bank side of the Wall for the first time, taking in the graffiti that I’d heard so much about and marveling that I was at last meeting it in person. A gaggle of cabdrivers vied for my business. I called Elias, one of the organizers of the conference who’d said he’d pick me up when I came through; as it was late, I told him to just get some sleep, and took a cab to the hotel. Every mundane activity—the cab ride, talking with the driver, looking out at the Bethlehem streets, checking into the hotel—felt, absurdly, like a source of excitement. What can I say? I’d obsessed about Palestine for so long—read so much, written so much, talked and argued so much, listserved so much, injected it into my professional life so much, attended so many meetings and demonstrations, engaged in so many ad hoc projects, froze at so many vigils—that actually being there felt as impossibly amazing as meeting the Beatles.

TO BE CONTINUED……

PART I: GETTING THERE

2010-05-24T09:47:00.000-07:00

Posted by Harriet Malinowitz
May 23, 2010

I am writing this way after the fact; my trip to Palestine was April 27-May 6, but I had no time then (nor have I had any time since, flying back into the intensity of end-of-semester work) to sit down and write about it in any way that would feel meaningful to me. Hopefully, the most salient thoughts and memories will remain with me. And to facilitate matters, I’m going to do this in several installments.

First: the main purpose of my trip was to attend the Sumud and the Wall conference at Bethlehem University, April 30-May 2, where I was to give a paper. (More on that in due course, in a future installment.) It was a crazy time for me to be going: the end of the semester is chaotic, and because I’d have to be back for grading, meetings, etc., I couldn’t take more than a week. Even that was stretching it, especially because as of this year I have administrative responsibilities directing the Writing Center as well. But less than a week seemed insane, and I felt a huge need to go. Nobody at work has complained—not even the Provost who generously funded my flight. She’s great. Always has been. And a bunch of six wonderful Writing Center tutors—grad students in English—who I’ve been training all semester to lead student writing groups valiantly led my final classes. Praise be to all of them.

As always, given the far-flung nature of people in my life that I’m emotionally close to despite their utter lack of geographical proximity, I tried to creatively construct this trip to incorporate meetings with some old human relations. First, I flew Turkish Airlines, which promised to give me a seven-hour layover in Istanbul, where I could meet one of my all-time most beloved ex-grad students, Handan, for a brief visit between flights. We planned this carefully, but alas, my flight was delayed three hours. Nonetheless, Handan and her brother, Farooq, stayed informed and were there to whisk me into the Old City for a whirlwind visit to the Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sofia before whisking me back for my connecting flight. The best part, of course, was just getting to talk to them in the car. I hadn’t seen Handan in four years, since she’d left LIU to go back to Istanbul, though we’ve emailed lots and lots over those years. (The worst part was looking out the window at the lovely shops we passed with gorgeous Turkish rugs and ceramics, and not being able to browse through them. Heartbreak!)

I have to take a detour from the main purpose of this blog to say something about Handan and one important thing she’s taught me. She is a very spiritual Muslim—albeit in her own special way, which includes having lots of gay friends, a love of American literature (especially Paul Auster), a penchant for attending NYC poetry slams, and a tendency to include some rather profane language in her own fabulous writing. She also has terrific politics and a very complicated, sometimes tormented way of looking at things, so that, even though I am quite blatantly an American Jewish lesbian atheist, it has always seemed quite natural to relate to each other as kindred spirits. (She is now 30, and is totally the daughter I would have wanted if I’d ever wanted to have kids. Unfortunately, you can’t have them fully grown, or it would be delightful.)

But back to that thing I learned from her: as some of the readers of this blog may know, though others may not, Turkey is not only a secular country, but is in many ways one that is rather coercively, repressively so. (This despite the election of the Muslim government that supposedly spelled doom for “Western values” and “freedom” there last year.) Handan—who bursts with far-ranging intellectual curiosity as well as literary acumen and creative passion—after getting her M.F.A. in creative writing at LIU in Brooklyn, hoped to go on for a Ph.D. But back in Turkey, in order to enter a university or get many sorts of jobs—especially interesting ones—one is required to remove one’s headscarf. This she refused to do. This is, sadly, also the state of affairs for many other bright, motivated, ambitious young women there. (Turkey is almost as bad as France at this juncture. The fact that much of this is justified in the name of “feminism” is especially infuriating. Of course, it’s considered perfectly fine to leave non-Western, non-Judeo-Christian feminists unconsulted on the matter—which makes sense, since many consider “Muslim feminist” to be an oxymoron, though it most definitely is not. But as with so many things in this world, ignorance tends to triumph over rationality, rationalizations over genuine explanations, and the pseudo-progressive over the carefully thought-out, reflected-upon progressive.)

Ironically—or perhaps not—Handan experienced her two years in New York as liberating, a hiatus from anti-headscarf and anti-religious discrimination. I do remember her telling me, with some amusement, when she lived here, that she was aware that, for many people, she functioned as a metaphor for conservatism. I’m sure that was true (though, knowing her, I also found it rather hilarious). At the same time, she is one of those people I think of as a true New Yorker—that is, that very intense sort that doesn’t really fit in anywhere else, and that revels in the sheer multiplicity of ways of being that exist, and are accepted in, and often manage to crazily meld together in, New York. She’s written some gorgeous stuff since then about NYC, and the ways that it is so radically different from the rest of the US—“a republic of its own.” (I totally agree. This is why I always feel that New York City is my “homeland.”) Still, there were family pressures to return to Istanbul, as well as an attachment to the familiarity of “home,” however much one may feel alienated from many of its elements. So back she went, back into the contradictions of life there. (There were, of course, contradictions to life here, too: NYC may be wonderful, but it is also very easy to feel lonely and unanchored and invisible in it). I think many of my expat NY people who have moved on to other places experience a visit with me as a fleeting interlude of New Yorkiness—the New Yorkiness that is always inside them, too, but that they have to keep mostly on the back burner as they live their lives in places like northern Michigan, southern California, Bogota—at least, that’s sort of what they convey.

Anyway, we did talk about this as we dashed into town and back. Farooq was also interested in my imminent trip to Palestine, and my views about the realities there. Handan wrote to me afterward that he was very surprised to hear an American espouse such ideas; he too, apparently, has strong feelings about Palestine. I think he was also a little startled at my carrying on—in my loudmouthed, New York Jewish way—about the stupidity of the headscarf laws, and the ways they completely misinterpret and skew the notion of “separation of church (or whatever) and state”—especially considering my rather flagrantly atheistic identity. But Handan seemed to feel it was good for him, since he’s not much of a traveler, and needs more direct contact with people beyond the Bosphorus. And she said he smiled more than he usually does, so that’s good.

Back at the airport, security was nothing special until I got to the gate for the flight to Tel Aviv. It seemed to be a specially outfitted gate, with its own rites of passage. That was where I first got the questions about the purpose of my trip (“To visit relatives in Israel!” I said perkily), how long I’d been in Istanbul (“Two hours!”), whether I’d been in Israel before (“Oh, yes!”), etc. As with all security gates, you had to empty your water bottle before going through, but unlike most security gates, there was no water on the other side to be had during your wait to board. Apparently, keeping the passengers thirsty is a worthwhile trade-off when weighed against the dangers of the anti-Israel potions one might concoct using the Turkish water supply.

Entering Israel, I found that all my well-rehearsed explanations for things were unneeded; I was just waved right through. I had emailed to myself my conference paper and all conference materials—as the conference organizers had advised against taking any of this through immigration and customs at Ben Gurion Airport, and against letting it be known in any way that I’d be visiting the West Bank—though they also acknowledged that “tourism” was a lame explanation for why one would fly there for just a few days—and I’d bought a concise guide to Hebrew to accompany my concise guide to Arabic (I’d slacked off with the latter and wanted to be able to practice on the flight over). However, I did have a bag bulging with children’s clothes that Noura (some of you know Noura, who teaches Arabic and lives in Kingston) had asked me to bring to East Jerusalem or the West Bank (this had been slashed by security back in NY, and arrived taped-up), and a planned story about how my US Jewish relatives had left this stuff for years in my attic at home, and now wanted me to bring it for the littlest relatives in Israel…..I even thought about what the little Israelis might be named, in case anybody asked, and had made inquiries about relatives I hadn’t seen in decades but now had under-five grandchildren. But thankfully, nobody asked me anything, as I’m not good at that sort of thing.

I was greeted quite rudely by the group taxi driver at the airport—I think you’re supposed to find this rudeness part of the Sabra charm—and after the taxi filled up, we drove to West Jerusalem (all the stops were in West Jerusalem) over roads that I found unrecognizable. (I’d last been there in 1984.) Despite all the well-worn truisms about globalization, it’s still always a shock to see how much of the world looks just like the place you’ve left. Once in Jerusalem, it did look more Jerusalemy—the white, chiseled limestone buildings, the hills—and finally, I was dropped at my cousin’s house.

TO BE CONTINUED....

Occupied Thoughts

2010-05-14T07:28:00.001-07:00

Occupied Thoughts

Swooping, soaring, darting, diving;

Swallows in the bright blue Hebron sky,

Celebrating being, celebrating being free.

Swooping above the gates, bars and guard booths,

Soaring above the Israeli soldiers and their checkpoints.

The contrast ever so vivid this morning, as three heavily armed Israeli soldiers surround a young boy on his way to school and rummage through his back-pack.

When will it end? When will children and their teachers here be able to walk to school without having to pass through the military checkpoints of the occupying army every day? When will people in the Old City feel secure in their homes, no longer worrying that soldiers will walk uninvited through their homes and across their rooftops?

When will the soldiers turn their eyes toward the morning sky, see the joyful swallows, connect the conscience dots and go back to Tel Aviv?

Paul

Taking History to the Street

2010-04-17T13:43:00.001-07:00

I am walking. 24 of us.100. A thousand. Six million. We are silent. We are lined up like cattle. We are walking to where they will strip us of who we are. We are loaded into cars. We are marched through the city at gunpoint. We are standing against the wall. Our naked bodies are thrown into the ditch. We are carrying the dead on our backs. We are waving flags. We are chanting. We are drumming. We are Jews, Christians, Muslims. We are Palestinians, Israelis. We are walking through history.

The sky is dark. I cannot tell where one history ends and the other begins.

She followed the road leading to Givat Shaul until the memories began flooding back. Standing on the ledge overlooking the Har HaMenuchot cemetery in view of the Jewish Holocaust memorial, Yad Vashem, the tales of her grandmother came to her. "See right there," she pointed. "That was my father's stone quarry, and there's the grain mill, the apple trees….."

In 1949, the Jerusalem neighborhood Givat Shaul Bet was built on Deir Yassin's land, now Har Nof, an Orthodox area. Construction of the Kfar Shaul Mental Health Center began in 1951 using village houses. A Jewish cemetery lies to the north. To the south, a valley and on the other side of the valley, Yad Vashem."

I am walking in a memorial for Deir Yassin. Young boys are following our steps. They are laying stones on our path, blocking our return.

It is the day before Holocaust Memorial Day. I visit Yad Vashem. I copy down the words. I write them in bold so I will never forget.

As I emerge, the land spreads out before me.

A country is not just what it does – it is also what it tolerates.

"They beat on the door. They entered the house. They asked me about my husband. I told them my husband is working. They entered the room and asked 'Who's sleeping here?' I told them "This is my son" and they pushed the covers away and held the gun to his head. He was one year and a half years old."

The higher national committee in support of prisoners said that the occupation forces had detained more than 1400..… 225 of the detainees were children less than 18 years old…the soldiers were increasingly detaining children less than 12 years old……

"They are our misfortune." "The poisoning of the people will not end, as long as they are not removed from our midst."

'Between ourselves, it must be clear that there is no room for both peoples together in this country. We shall not achieve our goal of being an independent people with them in this country.'

April 4, 2010. Plans to evict residents and build a settlement in Sheikh Jarrah advance. Tuesday, Simon the Righteous Estate Company inc. submitted a request to evict two more families from their homes in Sheikh Jarrah. The settlers are demanding in the statement of claim that the Palestinians be removed from the neighborhood because they "bother their Jewish neighbors."

They're assigned segregated living areas.

"Little bit at first, it was hard, a big change. People used to come and go. They could move easily. But now, they don't. Now, it is like a big prison. You walk – the same circle, the same circle, always. Always you feel it. And we are human beings. We are not like a zoo where you put the animals inside."

'The Wall is a symbol of a philosophy that seeks a state as ethnically pure as possible.'

They're treacherous. They are labeled as foreigners and traitors to the nation. They conspire to destroy all of western culture. .

'Racist rhetoric and measures are now part of the mainstream…..'

Everyone here is not allowed to interact with them. They must carry Identity Cards.

"Most of my relatives live outside in other countries. They do not have the document to come back here. If they were not here at the time of the census in 1967, they are not allowed to return."

They are humiliated.

"At the checkpoint, they treat us in a bad way. They look at us. Who are you? As if you're nothing. They don't even think of what you are: a human being."

They were turned overnight into refugees. They left as refugees in terrible distress, trying to reach any possible destination.

"I witnessed the shocking sight of masses of people feeling, a disastrous traffic, walking, fleeing, on foot, with wheelbarrows, fully packed cars."

He could not help but see how the throng of people thickened with every step. People were pouring from the side streets into the main street….. men, women and children, empty-handed or carrying a few small possessions, crying or being floated along in a paralyzed silence in the midst of the clamor and confusion.

"God, what's going on here! Panic. Mass exodus. The city waits fearfully for the anticipated arrival of the troops… A neighbour is telling us that we have to leave. To go where? … To flee… as far as possible from the danger."

History is lost in the shuffle. I am trying to unknot the thread.

Where books are burned, human beings are destined to be burned.

Israeli Textbooks to Drop 'Nakba': The Israeli education ministry is to drop from Arabic language textbooks a term describing the creation of the state as "the catastrophe." "Nakba" has been used with Israeli-Arab pupils since 2007. "Including the term in the official curriculum of the Arab sector was a mistake that will not repeat itself in the new curriculum currently being revised."

March 17, 2010: The Knesset voted yesterday in favor of Israel Beitenu's "Nakba Bill", which authorizes the finance minister to hold funds from institutions or groups who question the nature of Israel as a Jewish and democratic state, or who mark the Palestinian Nakba on Israel's Independence Day. The bill still needs to pass 2 votes in the parliament for it to become a state law.

"Whoever flees from history, history will catch up with him."

History is overtaking me.

Upon their conquest, they terrorized and repressed them.

I watched the soldiers look over the jewelry of the old women and young girls and brutally snatch it from them. I saw the soldier kick an old woman with his foot and how the old woman, her face bleeding, fell on her back. I saw him thrust the barrel of his rifle at her chest. One shot rang out…

They fell into the ditch, their hands and faces sunk in the mud, collapsed in a dense, confused and bloody heap. Blood ran underneath their bodies, combining with the water from the stream flowing towards the south.

They took special measures against them, they intended to isolate them from their surroundings, steal their property…

Mas'ha, the village, was a quiet farming community. But the fence cut the village from its lands. The farmers were promised the gates would open. But this promise was abandoned, and the farmers could not get to their lands, nor the shepherds to their sheep.

They ordered them … They imposed terror, humiliation and abuse

They ordered us to raise our hands in the air and cross them. When one of the soldiers saw that my mother wanted to put me in front of her so her shadow would protect me from the sun, he dragged me from her hands and ordered me to stand on one leg with my arms crossed above my head in the middle of the dusty street.

I have never been so humiliated in my life as when I looked through the gate and saw the happy, smiling faces of passersby laughing at our misfortune.

Through it all the sound of their loud laughter reached my ears….

Despoiling them was an integral part of the policy. Property and possessions of people who had been part of this country's economic and cultural life for 100s of years were plundered.

"What are they going to do now?"

"They're going to blow up the houses."

"Our houses?" "Our houses." "Why?" "Because I…"

"Because of you?" "Because I'm innocent."

He, at one time, had a restaurant. The military demolished it. Then he had chicken coops for several thousand chickens. The army demolished them. .So he started a flower nursery in his garden. The army demolished it while building the fence and wall on his property. Now his family stand to lose all their lands.

With their rise to power, they progressively began banishing them from economic life and established confiscation of their property into law.

Butchers raided by police in Jerusalem. Five Palestinians sustained bruising Sunday morning after Israeli special forces allegedly stormed a butcher shop in the Old City, detaining five employees. A large Israeli police force was reported to have stormed the shop, firing pepper spray, assaulting customers and owners.

They applied these policies of dispossession and theft to the occupied territories.

Israel seizes 16 dunums in Jenin: Israeli occupation authorities issued a decision Saturday to confiscate 16 dunums from Jalma village, north of Jenin, to expand the military checkpoint…

They confiscated all types of property – homes, real estate, factories, businesses, and artistic and cultural treasures … The local population took control of their homes and property.

"You can choose a blue house, a green house, whichever house you want. The people have fled. Which house would you like to live in?" (Asked of a Russian immigrant to Haifa, 1949)

They incarcerated them in severely overcrowded ghettos, behind fences and walls. They cut them off from their surroundings.

"After the Intifada, everything was closed. There is no connection or communication with Israel and we can't go around the West bank either. The Wall is all around our house. Only in the front of the house, we can enter. We are closed from all directions. It's closed economically, the society, everything is closed."

Mass Expulsions.

IDF order will enable mass deportation from the West Bank : A new military order aimed at preventing infiltration will come into force this week, enabling the deportation of tens of thousands of Palestinians from the West Bank, or their indictment on charges carrying prison terms of up to seven years. When the order comes into effect, tens of thousands of Palestinians will automatically become criminal offenders liable to be severely punished.
.

…cut them off from their sources of livelihood, and condemned them to a life of humiliation. It became forbidden to enter… forbidden, forbidden, forbidden. You had to report where you are going…

They stripped them of their civil rights.

The Israeli army attacked a sit-in at the entrance to Beit Ummar Saturday, with organizers saying protesters were beat…..Palestine Solidarity Project spokesman said the "sit-in was organized because of Israel's continued imposing of oppressive procedures on the town, including blocking the entrance and preventing farmers from reaching their lands."

JERUSALEM. Apr. 5 2010. Leaders of some of Israel's most prominent human rights groups say they are working in an increasingly hostile environment and coming under attack for actions their critics say endanger the country. The pressure on these groups has tightened as the country's leaders have battled to defend Israel against accusations of war crimes…...

They were prohibited from entering restaurants, cafes, cinemas, theatres, concert halls, music halls, swimming pools, bathing beaches, museums, libraries, exhibitions, palaces, historical sites, sports events, races, parks, nature recreation camps

"My dream is: I hope my children may see the sea one day."

"I have such shame for my country."

All of us, dying here amidst the icy arctic indifference of the nations, are forgotten by the world and by life.

The committee appealed to international organizations to pressure Israel and to apply the fourth Geneva Convention.

I am walking through history, cutting the wire fence that keeps us apart.

'After the battle, they took elderly men and women and youths, including 4 of my cousins and a nephew. They took them all. Women who had on them gold and money were stripped of their gold. After the men removed their dead and wounded, they took them to the quarry and sprayed them all with bullets. …'

Where were you when your brother's blood cried out to God?

"The law (under which they are being imprisoned) is immoral… And we are obligated to actively resist it."

'They ordered all our family to line up against the wall….'

At the end of the street

"My mother always taught me that God created all of us in the same image…"

at the beginning of silence.

Passages from: Israel Occupation Archive, Dina Elmuti, Deir Yassin's inextinguishable fire; Zochrot, Deir Yassin Remembered; www.maannews.net; Neta Golan againstwall@lists.riseup.net; Haaretz, justjerusalem@gmail; M. Warschawski, Alternative Information Center; Reham Alhelsi, A Voice from Palestine, BBC News; Amira Hass-West Bank, IDF, Israel News; Paltelegraph.com; Isabel Kershner, New York Times.

Italicized passages from Ghassan Kanafani, Returning to Haifa, Paper from Ramleh,

He Was a Child that Day, Sulliman's Friend Learns Many Things.

Passages in quotes from interviews with Bethlehem women, April 2010

In bold: words from Yad Vashem.

Permits, Passes, Passover

2010-04-02T13:02:00.001-07:00

Permits, Passes, Passover

"They kept us locked up for 2 days. It was like a prison cell. It was closed, with metal windows, bunk beds with just a mattress. No cover. I put my sweater over my son to keep him warm. He was 8 years old at the time. My son was born in Germany. My husband and I went to university in Germany and we stayed because in Palestine we couldn't find work. I was carrying our German passports when my son and I were locked up. They said we couldn't pass because I was Palestinian. After 2 days, they sent us back to Germany." (Ben Gurion Airport, Tel Aviv)

"I used to go every Friday with my husband and my son. Every Friday we went and prayed there at noon. Now we can't pray there anymore." (Al Aqsa Mosque, Jerusalem)

"After the construction, we couldn't build, expand or add anything to our home. For anything we wanted to build, we needed a permit and Israel won't grant you a permit as everything you do is a threat to their security." (Route 60 at "Area C")

"I was granted a permit to enter Jerusalem for the Easter holidays. So were my children. But my husband was not. In the morning, my family and I

attended the Greek Orthodox service at the Nativity Church in Bethlehem.

In the afternoon, my children and I stood in line at the Checkpoint to enter Jerusalem so we could join the procession from Mt.Olive. It is very beautiful. But they closed the checkpoint and we were not able to pass." (Palm Sunday, Bethlehem, Checkpoint 300)

"Israel will close off the West Bank from Midnight Sunday until midnight April 6 for the duration of Passover holiday, the Israeli military spokesman announced Sunday morning…..

The closure is in keeping with the Israeli practice of sealing off the West Bank ahead of Jewish festivals, fearing militants might try to launch attacks to disrupt the festivities." Haaretz

We see them:

Palestinians, Israelis and internationals are making their way through an opening in the car gate. They're carrying white flags and Palestinian flags and chanting.

I am standing in line with hundreds of Palestinians waiting to pass through the checkpoint -- people who are granted a permit only once a year, if that. Suddenly, these people are prohibited from passing through the checkpoint. (Palm Sunday, Bethlehem, Checkpoint 300)

We hear that the protestors are met with the military on the Jerusalem side. Palestinians are beaten and many people are hauled off to jail…

I receive an e-m invitation sent out to Activists Against the Wall:

"Are there folks on this list (locals or internationals, Jews or from other religious traditions) who would like to be at a Seder this year but don't have a Seder to go to where they'd feel comfortable?

I'm doing a semi-traditional Seder with my friends focusing on the values of social justice, diversity & inclusion, gender equality, animal rights etc..

Will be happy to have people join. The Seder will take place in North Tel Aviv. Pick-ups can be arranged. Will make an effort to accommodate special needs (dietary, etc.) Esther

Dear Esther, I so much appreciate your invitation to a semi-traditional Passover Seder. I'm a Jewish American and am working in Bethlehem.. Knowing the reality here in the West Bank, it is very difficult for me to allow myself to attend a Passover Seder in Israel - I am more than reluctant to phone relatives I have in Israel-- as I am not supposed to say anything about "Palestinians" to them. However, I also miss being with family back home and the family Seders I've been part of since childhood. I would need to work out details about coming to you from here.....

The next day, we get to Jerusalem by taking Bus 21 from Beit Jala.

That bus has been forbidden for use by internationals; but today, they let us on, probably because Checkpoint 300 is closed.

There are 5 of us in Esther's small apartment: 2 young German guys with whom I work, a Russian couple, myself and Esther.

There is an orange and an olive on the Seder plate.....

The second day of Passover, we walk on the boardwalk by the sea. Performers, balloons, kids on roller blades, bikes, kites flying, families strolling, so many strollers, many pregnant women, the fresh sea air, people at boardwalk cafes, sipping, licking, tasting, laughing... -- all that freedom. (Boardwalk, Tel Aviv, March, 2010)

It washes over me -- like a tidal wave...

"Love and Justice in Times of War Haggadah."

Thank you, Esther, for this bridge allowing passage between two worlds.

Jane

You begin to take it for granted.....

2010-03-25T02:30:00.001-07:00

You begin to take it for granted... that there is an 8-meter high wall next to you, surrounding you. "This is a confined land that we inhabit and that inhabits us. A confined land, not big enough for a short meeting between a prophet and a general…" (Mahmoud Darwish, "A Shameful Land") You begin to take it for granted… that there is an Apartheid Wall snaking through the countryside, carving out destinies. ("A huge metal snake coils around us, swallowing up the little walls that separate our bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and living room. A snake that does not move in a straight line, to avoid resembling us as we look straight on." Mahmoud Darwish, "The wall"). You begin to take it for granted… that your brother is in jail. "He's in prison because he was working illegally in Jerusalem and got caught. But his family speaks to him every day on the phone. It's normal. He'll be out in 7 months." You begin to take it for granted… the head-aches, the anxiety, the depression; you are relieved to talk about your feelings at your lifelong learning class for women in Ethics and Psychology. You begin to take it for granted that you dress up and smile and wear makeup and heels and make light of things that are heavy, that you don't want to hear about heavy things anymore. You begin to take it for granted that people leave … ("My uncle and his family moved to Canada and now they are in the Emirates of Dubai." "I have a sister in Pennsylvania." "My daughter lives with her husband in Germany." "My brother ran away to Greece.") You begin to take it for granted that they can never return. ("My husband's brother and his family live next to us but it is on the other side of the Wall and we need a permit to see them so we never see them.") You begin to take it for granted that no one comes to help you defend your land anymore—because there have been too many "after's," there is always an "after." ("After the Oslo agreement, they began constructing Route 60 from Jerusalem…After, they dynamited… After, you weren't compensated for your land and the damages to your house. After, they put you in Area C where you can't build anything or change anything because you're a threat to their security. After, they won't grant you a permit. After, this road is used by Israeli settlers. After, you are a threat to the soldiers at the checkpoints, to the settlements. "Because we live in a very critical road. This road is used by Israeli settlers–who go to Hebron, Har Gilo… and by the Israeli army who are stationed at the checkpoints..." After, "they closed all the roads to downtown Beit Jala, isolating us completely from our friends and these checkpoints covered all the roads and you could not enter your home for 4 yrs." After, people died in their homes who tried to run away from the shelling. After, the plan for the Wall was to go from Route 60 to reach the border of the houses and confiscate the surrounding land. After, "the Wall would be 5 meters from our home and would confiscate from all 3 sides – so we would be trapped in a box." After, "we weren't notified by the Israeli government or any soldier. If you're lucky you're find this paper telling you that they will be taking the land and you have 2 weeks to file for an appeal…" After, you hear gossip that they will be building a new settlement behind you…..) You begin to take it for granted that it will always be like this. That there are no jobs as there used to be and that you are at your wits end to figure out how to support your family. You begin to take it for granted that you must pass through turnstiles and checkpoints, that you must leave at 6 in the morning to get to Birzeit University or line up at 5 at Checkpoint 300 because you are one of the fortunate ones to get legal work in Jerusalem. You begin to take it for granted that everything that seems normal is not normal. You begin to take it for granted that… "They have special schools for special needs because the children cannot function as they used to – special needs for slow learners and hyperactivity -- They couldn't control their urination –they would become aggressive to other kids." You begin to take it for granted that the land that was once yours has eroded, that it is sealed in concrete, that the life that was once yours has been taken away from you. You begin to take it for granted that to resist seems hopeless. You begin to hope and you try not to take "hope" for granted.

"What will they take next?" Yes, that's the general understanding... "What will they take next?" Yet underneath lies the fear "And how?" "And when?"

So.... they live with it. You live with it.

You begin to take it for granted.

"And he said: 'But indifference is a philosophy

It's one aspect of hope.'" (Mahmoud Dharwish, "The indifferent one")

(from talks with Raneen, Nora, Taha, Christie, Jala, Claire, Rania, Johnny amidst

countless other voices)

Jane

A Play, A Verse, A Stone

2010-03-21T12:36:00.001-07:00

I am watching a play…

First row, theatre in the round: "Confinement" – It is so well choreographed, I hardly need to understand the Arabic. People are closed up in a glass bottle…It becomes harder and harder to breathe… They go through a series of contortions trying desperately to solve their problem. 1

Front Row, Center. We listen to the Beethoven concerto with cello, viola, violin and piano. The pianist swoons over the music. The audience is gallantly dressed. I watch the fingers of the string players deftly touching the strings and bowing their instruments. 2

Hundreds of Palestinian men and boys are bowing to Mecca. How quietly they bow and kneel together on the hard stone pavement. Forbidden to enter, they are praying on the ground. 3

Kids are throwing stones, setting tires on fire under showers of rubber bullets, stun grenades and tear gas. "It is like a war."

The women carry a stone, think about the stone, write about the stone:

'Fawda. "When I see my stone, it brings my memories back to my childhood and to the high hill in Beit Jala where I used to live. On that mountain there were many beautiful stones which my friends and I used to play some games such as hajalae and seven stones:

Nowadays my children's life is not the same….."

Sarah: "I hold my stone and remember that I have to stay in this land with Sumud like the stone despite all the difficulties."

Elaine: "During the first Intifada, children resisted occupation by throwing stones at the military tanks, and they were called children of the stones." 5

Israeli News reports: Some 50 Palestinians throw stones at security forces stationed there. The soldiers returned fire with tear gas. Rabbis for Human Rights claimed that the Palestinians arrived on the spot in order to conduct a quiet protest against the separation fence in the area and sought to plant trees. 6

"March 21

Kol Sana Wa Inti Salmeh. My husband is on the way home from Amman, he & our daughter had to cross the Jordanian & the Israeli boarders by noon. I haven't heard from them yet. I hope they will be here at 4 in the evening.

I think you can come to visit me at 11 am Friday. Then we'll have lunch with my family at 2 pm . I'll be cooking Maklobeh, Up side down dish which is a Palestinian food. We like to have you with us as we prefer to serve the main meal at this time

Looking forward to our getting together,

Love, Jala" 7

"Separation wall to isolate Bethlehem village from Beit Jala"

1 The International Center of Bethlehem, presented by Al-Harah Theater, Beit Jala

2 Concert Hall, Tel Aviv.

3 Outside the Damascus Gate, Jerusalem. Inside stands the Al Aqsa Mosque.

4 Shu'fat Refugee Camp, East Jerusalem

5 Sumud Story House, Rachel’s Tomb Area, Bethlehem

6 Beit Jala, two kilometres from the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem

7 E-mail from Jala in Beit Jala to myself in Bethlehem on the occasion of Mother's Day, March 21

Walking

2010-03-17T15:47:00.001-07:00

Inside the walled city of Bethlehem: Walking. In the Rachel's Tomb area where the Wall looms high ("Rachel is my neighbor but I can't visit her anymore." Antoinette has told me. Rachel's Tomb is walled off to the Palestinians and Netanyahu recently announced that it would be added to the list of Israel's "Heritage sites.") Walking…The Arab Educational Institute Sumud Story House. (A.E.I.'s Sumud Story house works with women and families surrounded by the Wall to foster creative non-violence and "sumud"-- steadfastness.) Walking…. The Paradise Hotel (A cordon of Palestinian Authority soldiers and police abut the sidewalks, guard the streets, leery of a third "intifada"—uprising-- alerted to stop protestors.

The recent closure of the Al Aqsa Mosque to men under 50 and Netanyanhu's announcement to build 1600 new homes in Occupied East Jerusalem have brought thousands of Palestinians to the streets of Jerusalem, crying out; some stone-throwing, burning of tires, and in response, pummeted with tear-gas, stun-grenades and rubber-coated-steel bullets.. Mustafa Barghouti confirms on Al Jazeera that it doesn't matter if the Palestinians protest peacefully or violently—they are treated by the Israeli authorities with violence.) Walking… Bethlehem Bible College. (The recent international conference "Christ at the Checkpoint: Theology in the Service of Peace and Justice" is just letting out.) Al--Azza Refugee Camp (Kids have thrown an old couch into the middle of the Camp's one street and are using it to block the way, playing at "Checkpoint;" waving a stick in the air.) Walking… The Mosque of Salah Al-din. Walking…

Bethlehem University (the highest point of the city. Toine tells me the library holds an excellent collection of Palestinian women's history… Wild lilies are blooming.) Walking… Children Street (Epheta Institute for Audiophonic Rehabilitaton; Hospital of the Holy Family; Church of the Holy Family; Women's Union Club)…Harat Al-Batin (Neighborhood), St. Joseph's Sister's Convent, Madbasfa Street, Salesian Convent and Church. Walking… Terra Sancta Girls' School… Walking… Climbing. The Mosque of Omar, Manger Square, Basilica of the Nativity, Milk Grotto Street. (A group of Italian tourists are visiting the Milk Grotto Chapel and the guide is speaking to them: "La Madonna vi si sarebbe rifugiata durante la fuga in Egitto…..") Further up the street, A.E.I. Youth Center. Walking...

Look over what was once a peaceful terraced countryside. Confront the white skeletal settlement of Har Homa–hovering closer and closer like a death cloud --built where the most beautiful forest used to stand. Two years ago, in Bethlehem, Uri Avnery spoke at a conference against the Apartheid Wall: "I want to apologize to all of you here for the terrible things done to the Palestinian people in the name of our government – even as I speak. I weep when I see Har Homa… I weep for the blockade and the siege of Gaza. This Wall will fall… (Applause) The Occupation will Fall… (Applause) And when I'm in Bethlehem--especially in Bethlehem--I think how beautiful this country could be if we had peace…"

Back to earth: On the Wall across the street from the "Bahamas Fish Restaurant" someone has written the menu: Bahamas Seafood Fish Shrimps Calamari Millet Mussels Beef Filet Scallops Garden Lobster Blue Crabs Desert. And at the edge of the Wall, someone else has scrawled another menu: Freedom Menu: Starters: Hope Faith Joy Knowing God Loving people Willing Hearts. Jesus He Paid for U.

Rest from walking. Hear the Islamic Call to Prayer rising over the city of Bethlehem.

Jane

"Colors for Free!"

2010-03-16T08:32:00.000-07:00

Sunday, March 14. This last evening in Tel Aviv, Marcey and I walk over to the beach. Kick off our sandals. Walk barefoot in the sand. Wade in the water. Rest by the seaside. Watch the tide rolling in.

Monday Morning, March 15. I take a taxi from Ezra ha Sofer to the Jerusalem sherut; get off at the last stop in Jerusalem; taxi to the bus station by the Damascus Gate; board bus number 124 to Bethlehem.

Arrive at Bethlehem Checkpoint 300.

The Wall. Metal turnstile. Walk to paroled Checkpoint. Another metal turnstile. Walk through long steel mesh corridor. Arrive on other side of Wall. See Wall snaking through countryside. Walk down road next to Wall. Walk through alley. Walk by closed shops. Walk by emptied houses in shadow by the Wall. Walk to end. Here's where I am.

"Diamonds, Jewelry, Olive Wood and Mother of Pearl"

"Go to Hell Hearts. I want you my best Love. Carol M. will bring this Wall Down. I don't ask to be Palestinian -- I just got lucky. With Love and Kisses; Nothing Lasts Forever. Democracy Now? Jesus Wept. Where's the USA? Love Conquers All. Love to All; Not Just to Jesus. Atheism: A Brilliant Alternative. Israel: Kiss my Ass. Where There's a Will, There's a Way. I Want my Ball Back! Thanks! Only God Can! Nobody Else Can!

Colors for Free! Colors for Free!

Here is the sea of Bethlehem: a 25 foot high concrete wall stretching as far as the eye can see, snaking through city and valley, blocking the sunlight (See the lemons, how small they are); blocking the houses ( See the houses, how the wall towers over the roofs); blocking sight (Say cheese to the cameras on top of the Wall.)

But, I find it again--in front of Claire's home: Blue sky. Fluffy white cumulous clouds. Calm waters. A yellow sandy shore. Here it is, the sea, the beach, the seashore – graffitied in bright colors on the Wall. So children can see where they can't go anymore.. So everyone who journeys here can see. But few make that pilgrimage anymore.

Saturday, in Jaffa, as a finale to a meeting of Israel's Women in Black, the "Raging Grannies" donned silly aprons and straw hats with huge fake flowers and sang in their uproarious sardonic way (to the tune of "Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho"):

"Is there a Wall in Jericho, Jericho, Jericho? Is there a Wall in Jericho? Jericho? No! There isn't. But, there's a Wall in Mos'ha, in Bi'na, in Bil'in. There's a Wall in Bethlehem, Jerusalem, Tulkarem. There's a Wall in Abu Dis, Jayous, Qalqilya… When will that Wall come tumbling down? So… there's no Wall in Jericho, Jericho, Jericho. There's no Wall in Jericho. -- Not yet!"

Jane

Friday, March 12, Tel Aviv

2010-03-14T04:27:00.001-07:00

Friday evening, March 12

Sunset: I walk south along the beach front and hear the drumming. Ta ta-ta-ta-ta ta ta ta ta. A mass of people—old, young – children bouncing on their father's knees, four hands beating out the rhythm together, young women in the center of the circle flanked by the crowd on one side and drummers on the other, women waving scarves, beads of light, fire, dancing to the beat. Everyone claps, moves to the rhythm. This is Woodstock Green Sunday afternoon to the power of 10, but it is Tel Aviv at the beach Friday night at sunset.

Earlier Friday afternoon on a hill behind the houses at Sheikh Jarrah in East Jerusalem, crowds of people –young and old – gather and begin their drumming – Ta ta-ta-ta-ta ta ta ta. A mass of blue-clad police surround them, ready to encroach, send them away, take the protestors to jail. Israelis and internationals gather here weekly to protest the illegal settler confiscation of homes. Rabbi Arik Ascherman is among them.

Friday afternoon, in Tel Aviv, I follow the map Marcey has drawn for me so I can find my way from Ezra Ha Soffer to Hakovshim up through the Shuk, left to Allenby, cross to Shenken, then over Rothschild Boulevard to Carlebach and the Cinematheque. She says to leave an hour for the walk. I understand why as I thread my way through the packs of people who flock from stall to stall in the marketplace alive with the pungency of fish, herbs, falafel, ripe melons, strawberries, radishes the size of your hand, dark long eggplant, giant bulbs of fennel; and garments, shoes, toys, necklaces —stall after stall, one on top of the other; vendors calling out their wares, one voice louder than the other. A far cry from Price Chopper in the states. Here in the shuk, I am part of the gesticulation of hands, the concaphony of voices, the throng of people with their hand-carts, the rawness of fresh fruits and vegetables -- breathing, container-less. A caloused hand -- not a hand in plastic, not a sterile swipe across a computerized counter nor a polite voice in monotone repeating "Have a nice day."

I feel heady and get lost making my way to the Cinematique. This afternoon at 1, there will be a screening of Simon Bitton's film "Rachel." The film-maker will be present, as will Cindy and Craig Corrie who will speak with the audience after the film.

Standing in front of the Cinemateque, I see a vigil of Women in Black and recognize Israeli women I met at the international gathering of WIB in 2005 in Jerusalem. Now, 5 years afterwards, we remember each other. We've got more wrinkles and grey hair, but we're the same. These Israeli women are strong—they haven't given up standing against the Occupation. They've been standing in vigils throughout Israel since 1988.

The theatre is filled with people I recognize from Israeli's peace movement – among them, Uri Avnery (founder of Gush Shalom, the Israeli Peace Bloc and frequent commentator to the newspaper, Haaretz), Adam Keller (a founder of Gush Shalom, supporter of Yesh Gval, refuser of reserve military duty in the Occupied Territories, author of "The Other Israel" a bi-monthly newsletter of the struggle for Israeli-Palestinian peace) and Rami Elhanan (co-founder of Parents Circle-Family Forum) who tells me-- with a note of disparagement-- that here in the theatre, I'll see all of Tel Aviv's progressives.

The lights dim, the theatre darkens, the film lights up the darkness. It is an explosive film, an intimate recounting in Hebrew and English of Rachel's story, Marcey sits by my side and translates from the Hebrew for me. Here, five years afterwards, are the young internationals who stood with Rachel in 2003 in Gaza, telling her story, reading her diary; here is an interview with a religious Israeli who served in the military; here, an interview with a soldier who drove a caterpillar to demolish homes; here, the professors at Evergreen State College in Olympia Oregon where Rachel was studying; here, a video-clip of Rachel dancing with kids in Rafah, waving a scarf in the air to their music, their rhythms; here is the doctor whose home Rachel was defending…..

There is silence after the film before the audience breaks into applause. As Cindy and Craig Corrie come to the podium, there is a standing ovation for them. Rachel's parents are here in the country at a court proceedings in Haifa against the Israeli government. They have brought their civil action to challenge the military's account of their daughter's death. "We are here to speak for the lives of all young people—all of them—not matter who they are."

Jane

Thursday, March 11, Jerusalem

2010-03-12T14:10:00.001-08:00

Thursday, March 11, Jerusalem.

"Fuckin' Bitch! Fuckin' Cunt!" I cross the street and greet the man who is swearing at us.

"Shalom. Isn't it great that Israel offers freedom of speech!" I say to him. The man retorts: "Go back to East Jerusalem with your friends. Fuckin' Assholes!" Marcey and I have come to Jerusalem today to join people supporting the court case of Rifka Al Kurd, one of 28 Palestinian families in the Sheikh Jarrah neighborhood of occupied East Jerusalem whose homes are being threatened by settler organization take-over.

In front of the Magistrate's Court, a small group of "Anarchists Against the Wall" display signs "Sheikh Jarrah in Danger. Stop Apartheid." Only about 20 people can fit into the Courtroom so others gather outside. A man from Norway tells me about his work with the Ecumenical Accompaniment Program of the World Council of Churches, initiated in 2002 to end the occupation. He's one of four people based in East Jerusalem who monitor checkpoints and support Palestinians suffering from home dispossession and demolitions. He tells me he works with all the Israeli peace groups.

I'm diverted from our conversation as I notice the Palestinian women leaving the courtroom, accompanied by their lawyer Hosmi Abu Hussein (also, by the way, lawyer for Cindy and Craig Corrie), British and French diplomats and Rabbi Arik Asherman, founder and head of Rabbis for Human Rights. Marcey walks over to Rifka, who is leaning on her daughter's arm, and asks if we can interview her. Her daughter lets us know that her mother is tired now and to please come in an hour to their home in Sheikh Jarrah.

The road to Sheikh Jarrah is dusty. As we approach the neighborhood, we see the men of the families sitting on plastic chairs by the rock wall below their homes that have been dispossessed. Israeli flags are floating above one of the houses with a Menorah-like rooftop. The women are sitting further along the wall. Two chairs are brought over for us and we are offered coffee. I ask Rifka to tell us her story and her daughter translates the Arabic to Hebrew, and Marcey translates the Hebrew to English for me. For the next hour, in the intense heat of the afternoon sun, this self-possessed, distinguished 87 year-old woman, in her black "hadil" relates her history and the history of her family..

Rifka Al Kurd's history is one of continual dispossession since 1948, when the three large restaurants she and her husband owned in Haifa were taken from them; her husband and brothers thrown into jail, and Rifka began her long history of seeking a secure home for her family. Her story takes her from Haifa to Jordan to the old city of Jerusalem, to the community of 28 families with a house offered to her and her husband by the Jordanian government and UNRWA. Her story grows in complexity as she petitions to enlarge her house to make more room for her son and his family; the extension is ordered demolished; she fights the litigation and is ordered to pay 100,000 shekels fine; no one is allowed to inhabit the extension; the key is in the possession of the court; enter the settlers and Rifka's family belongings are thrown out into the dusty yard and broken; the latest news is that the Deputy Mayor of Jerusalem intends to turn this part of the house into a municipal office.

I look across the street from where we are sitting, and discern an l-shaped house that lies behind a low wall. I see Israeli flags flying over the l-shaped extension. Rifka, her son, her daughters and their families remain in the other part of the L.

Today's trial was postponed. It was to be about the part of the house not yet lost to her.

As Rifka tells me her history, a settler comes down the stone steps at the end of the rock wall, below the home of the Al Ghawi family which is now in the possession of the settler organization. Women wearing pastel headscarves and carrying babies walk up and down the steps. The man watches us and Rifka tells me not to be afraid.

I want to refer you to Marcey Gayer's two articles, published on the Electronic Intifada, one in July 2009 alerting the public to the take-over of the Hanoun and Al Ghawi families' homes; the other in August 2009 following their forcible eviction. With no alternative residences, the families camped out on the street in front of their homes. Marcey shows me the dusty ground that was their campsight. The tents were finally removed by the authorities.

Tuesday, March 9. Tel Aviv.

2010-03-11T14:13:00.000-08:00

Tuesday, March 9, Tel Aviv. Dusk

Walked with Marcey along the beach by the sea. The beach is filled with young people strolling, couples playing "matkot" -- batting a hard ball back and forth with a wooden paddle—"matkot.. "Matkot." You can almost hear the sound. Groups of kids are hanging out together. Hugging each other. Laughing. Joviality takes over the beach in this early heat wave. Three guys under a bright orange umbrella ask us to pose with them for a photo. They tell us they're from Elat. They throw in a little English with their Hebrew. The landscape abounds in color. Yemenite Jews, Moroccan Jews, Ethiopians, Argentinians; Europeans, Americans, Canadians. Everyone sports light summer clothing. Girls in midriffs, boys in cut-offs. Some kids plunge into the cold water, climb onto a sea wall of rocks, walk out onto the wall as if walking out to the horizon. "Let's rest here awhile," Marcey suggests, so we sit on the sand and feel the warm breeze sweep over us, watch the beach lights flicker across the sand, the lights of the high-rises by the side of the beach. Only a few years earlier wood shacks stood along these Mediterranean sands that stretch from Jaffa and Tel Aviv to Haifa. If we walked north along the beach, we'd reach Haifa and south, Jaffa. We watch the sun set in a sky that seems to go on forever, a limitless horizon.

Jane

Tuesday evening. On returning to Marcey's apartment, I read a note from Claire in Bethlehem.

To come to my place it's easy I will show you how. .When you will enter Bethlehem from the check point 300 it's from the main entrance you need to walk straight follow the wall it needs just 4 or 5 minutes to walk. Then if you walk and see the wall continue to find the house who's surrounded with from three sides with walls. You can call me by any one they will help you.

from Tel Aviv

2010-03-10T13:41:00.001-08:00

Monday night, March 8, evening. Tel Aviv:

I sit with my friend Marcey in Cafe Hakovshim near the sea and listen to the Hebrew, and see the enjoyment of the young people, their laughter, their hugs, their ease. And the skyscrapers of Tel Aviv rise lit up in the background, against this older part of town. This used to be within the city limits of Jaffa, the heart of urban Palestinian civilization -- destroyed in 1948 --the major center of urban Palestinian life. My friend Marcey points out the green-lit minaret of a mosque, now unused. We dip our bread into humus and "ful" in a cafe in the center of Tel Aviv and Jaffa is a pimple on its surface. The large Shuk HaCarmel open-air vegetable and fruit market, vibrant in the daytime, lies across from here. The beach cross the street from Marcey's place is dotted with umbrellas and people. Marcey says there will be a break in the heat tomorrow.

4:30 a.m. I wake up in the early morning and hear roosters in the near distance. Chanting: the call to prayer broadcast electronically to a people no longer there to worship. Otherwise, I hear traffic, cars speeding by on the main drag. Speeding by. The sound of roosters underneath. The old world buried under the new—an old world -- seething. The rush of jets overhead. The cars. The young people. Underneath from some echo of the past—something -- a life -- buried here.

Jane

New Blog Created

2010-02-18T08:50:00.000-08:00

This blog will follow Jane's upcoming trip to the West Bank.

We expect others from the Hudson Valley to follow, providing the Hudson to West Bank blog with a rich history of human rights work done by activists from the Hudson Valley.