Something I have loved about my Yahel experience is how it has
made me view aspects of Israeli society in a totally different way than what I
have grown up with. As I have mentioned numerous times on this blog, my
experiences working in Lod and meeting Israel's diverse populations has allowed
me to gain multiple perspectives on what it is like to live here.
One of my most meaningful experiences came
around the time of Yom Haatzmaut, Israel's Independence Day. While growing up
in a traditional Jewish and pro-Israel community, I always viewed this day with
a very joyful and celebratory attitude. When I lived in Jerusalem for a
semester two years ago, this attitude persisted as I was surrounded by Zionist
Jews who discussed with me the significance of the day, and as I attended
gigantic parties during the holiday to acknowledge its momentous meaning for
the State of Israel.
This year, while celebrating Yom Haatzmaut in
Lod, my holiday celebration was very different. True, I was still surrounded by
Jewish Israelis, and there many big parties including a giant concert near the
center of the city that held tons of people. However, the day still felt very
different because Lod is different from Jerusalem. In Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, and
most other cities, it is easy to find yourself surrounded by a Jewish
population that celebrates your holidays and shares a collective Jewish
culture. Lod, however, is a mixed city, and wherever you find Jews you can also
find many Arabs. In this regard, the Arab population of Lod played a large role
in my understanding of Yom Haatzmaut this year, and this completely changed my
perception of the day's overall meaning.
I knew that working with Arab kids at this
time of year would mean being exposed to opinions and perceptions of Israeli
society that were drastically different than what I was accustomed to. I did
not expect, however, to be so profoundly impacted by these different outlooks.
One moment that particularly shocked me was hearing the two-minute long
memorial siren on Yom Hazikaron, Israel's Memorial Day for soldiers and terror
victims. The siren sounded during the school day, just as I was beginning one
of my small group lessons. It was right after the bell rang, so it was hard to
hear, but I was awaiting it and took notice as soon as I heard it. I went to
the window of my classroom in order to hear the siren better, and I asked my
students to be quiet so I could pay attention. At first, my kids got confused,
and some even thought that the siren was from a rocket that was fired. I then
explained that this day was a sad day in Israel and the siren was meant to help
us remember fallen soldiers and other people who were killed.
I could tell that my kids were reluctant to
discuss the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, but I took this moment as one that
could teach me a lot about how Israeli Arabs view Israeli society, and I
started pushing more for a response. Eventually, some of the fourth graders I had
during the siren felt comfortable sharing that they do not like Israeli
soldiers and they do not feel they should be remembered in a positive way. They
also carry this feeling of disdain to other Israeli officials in uniform,
especially policemen, because they feel like they cannot trust these officials
to treat them fairly or see them as anything but criminals.
The responses I got from my fifth graders the
same day were much more surprising. This group of fifth graders is very bright
with great knowledge of both English and Hebrew, so I thought they would feel more
positively toward Israel than some of my other groups of students. The response
I received, however, when asking about Yom Haatzmaut in particular was not the
response I hoped to receive. When asked how they felt about Yom Haatzmaut, one
of my kids, Hassan, said he hates the holiday because it marks the beginning of
the occupation and oppression of the Palestinian people. He also said that he
hates Israel, he hates Jews, and he would prefer to live in Palestine. This is
the type of response I would have expected in the beginning of my time in Lod,
but after eight months of getting to know the Arabs in this mixed city, I was
flabbergasted by this extent of negativity. I was especially surprised when
Hassan said he hates Jews, because I have perceived my role as a Jew working
with Arabs to be a bridge between the cultures and a way to show the Arabs I
work with that not all Jews are bad. I followed up to this statement by asking
Hassan if he hates me since I'm Jewish, to which he responded that I am good
but all other Jews are bad.
Though this response left me confused and a
bit discouraged about my impact on building bridges between Jews and Arabs, it
was also very telling for me about how many Israeli Arabs view their roles in
Israeli society. Though many Israeli Arabs gather in public spaces and make use
of all their society has to offer, especially in Lod, on the inside many feel
great animosity toward the events of 1948 when the State of Israel was
established, and the ongoing occupation of Palestinian land. While the exact
events are 1948 are contested between the different sides, it is understood by
Israeli Arabs that when Israel won the territory for its state it also
conquered Arab lands and violently drove out the Arab populations living there.
This is why even if I see Arabs at the beach or the movie theatre enjoying the
same space as me, in many cases they cannot help but resent Israel for its
destructive acts toward the Palestinian people. Due to this, these Arabs cannot
feel fully Israeli and take part in Israel's independence celebration. I did
see multiple Arabs enjoying themselves at the Yom Haatzmaut concert I attended,
so I am sure this does not speak for the whole population. However, from the
responses I received from my kids, it is clear that many Israeli Arabs hold
hard feelings toward this holiday in particular, in large part due to the
detrimental impact it had on their history and identity.
You would think receiving feedback like this
would create a negative, pessimistic perception of Israel's future conditions
regarding relations between Jews and Arabs. However, one thing my Yahel
experience has taught me is in Israel, nothing is as clear as it initially
seems, and there are always efforts underway to make the impossible possible. When
efforts like this are occurring and multiple sides can have their stories told,
I have found that multiple opportunities can arise for dialogue and
understanding. My fellow Yahelnikim and I were lucky enough to be exposed to
multiple examples of such efforts during a recent five-day seminar in Jerusalem
and the West Bank.
The first example of such an effort came when
we traveled inside an Israeli controlled section of the West Bank near the Gush
Etzion Junction, which has been the site of multiple terror attacks recently.
There, we visited the compound of Roots, an organization that
brings Israelis and Palestinians together to engage in dialogue and learn about
the other while developing a mindset of empathy and nonviolence. While at
Roots, we spoke to the founder Ali Abu Awwad, who told us much about his
fascinating life story and how it motivated him to become active with
nonviolence. As you can see here in a TED Talk he
presented, Ali grew up in a political Palestinian family and was taught from a
young age to hate Israel and rebel against it at any cost. This is why he
participated in the First and Second Intifadas, which led to his subsequent
arrests by the Israeli police. Ali's animosity toward Israel intensified in
November 2000, when his brother was murdered by an Israeli soldier. This event
made Ali bent on revenge, thinking an Israeli's brother should be killed so an
Israeli can feel the pain he felt.
Ali's thinking fundamentally changed a year
later, when he received a phone call saying bereaved Jewish parents wanted to
come to his home and help him grieve for his brother. Up until this point, Ali
had never heard of Israelis wanting to come to his house, and he never thought
it was possible for Jews to cry and grieve just like Palestinians. This is when
Ali started to realize that Israelis and Palestinians have much in common and
both have much suffering, and instead of acting out through revenge it is
possible to end both sides' suffering through nonviolence and dialogue.
Through his work with Roots, Ali has truly
been able to make the impossible possible. Not only has he eliminated his own
prejudice, which reached an extreme level during his involvement in the First
and Second Intifadas, but Ali has also been able to reach out to multiple
groups on both sides in order to incorporate many sides of the conflict and
achieve a compromise between these different perspectives. For example, Roots
recently began including Jewish settlers from the Gush Etzion area in its
dialogue sessions, and Ali is confident that these settlers will begin to see
Palestinians differently as people with rights and will "add [his] truth
to their truth." Another inspiring story Ali told us was one when he was
at a security checkpoint and the Israeli soldier present was giving him an
unusually hard time while passing through. Ali could have responded with anger
and frustration, and spoken out against his unjust treatment. He, however,
chose to respond by saying that he acknowledged the soldier has suffered just
as much as he has. The soldier, in shock, replied, "This is the first time
a Palestinian has recognized my suffering." I am inspired by this story
because it shows how it is possible to cross divides that seem so rigid and join
together for the sake of a mutual interest in peace. I admire Ali so much for
his courage and commitment to nonviolence, and I am hopeful that through people
like him peace can occur.
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| Ali Abu Awwad speaking to us at Roots |
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| Group picture at the Roots compound, near Gush Etzion |
I also witnessed this sense of open-mindedness
and compromise through the efforts of an organization called the Middle East Religious Peace Initiative,
spearheaded by the efforts of Rabbi Michael Melchior. Like Roots, this
organization attempts to reach across the political spectrum to engage
different groups in dialogue that can encourage greater understanding and
recognition of the other. However, what distinguishes Rav Melchior's work is
his unconventionality and his willingness to make drastic and risky moves in
order to move closer to peace. Throughout his career as a peace activist and
social change maker, Rav Melchior has met with representatives from every
Israeli and Palestinian group imaginable, including the Haredi (Ultra Orthodox)
community, West Bank settlers, Hamas, and Islamic Jihad. Rav Melchior adamantly
believes that in order to create a sustainable peace, each party needs to be
actively involved, especially the skeptics.
Just like with Ali, I was inspired by Rav
Melchior's motivation to make the impossible possible. Never before had I
contemplated sitting with members of Hamas or Islamic Jihad to talk about
Israeli-Palestinian peace, let alone having right and left wing Israelis
sitting around the same table. However, Rav Melchior's vision of having open
dialogues and incorporating all perspectives into a final solution has opened
the door to this inclusive, open-minded type of thinking. Rav Melchior has
developed many strategies in order to gain the cooperation of all these
parties, and I admire how skilled he is at playing to each group's interests in
order to motivate them to contribute to his mission (in other words, he is the
master at sucking up). One of his techniques that I found particularly
interesting was how he utilizes Jewish values without relying strictly on halacha (Jewish law). Since Rav Melchior
is an Orthodox rabbi, I expected him to have a much more rigid interpretation
of how a Jew should act. However, he mentioned that from his perspective, halacha is not the sole source that
guides one to live according to Jewish values, and it should not be the
dominant influence on Israeli legislation. Rav Melchior explained that in his
mind, having a Jewish state means more so grappling with Jewish texts when
contemplating government decisions like taxation and foreign policy, and not preemptively
imposing religious will on all citizens. This inclusive discourse allows for
more representation and equality among citizens under the law, which has
translated into an increased willingness for Jews and non Jews in Israel to
collaborate with other groups under Rav Melchior's guidance. In this sense, I
believe Rav Melchior has a profound vision that has great potential to foster a
durable peace between Israelis and Palestinians.
At the same time, the things I witnessed
during my time in Jerusalem and the West Bank also fostered messages of
separation and exclusivity. A primary example came from my visit to Susya, a
Jewish settlement situated south of Hebron. Our visit to this town began in the
ancient Jewish settlement of Susya, which is believed to date back to 1600
years ago (around the 4th century CE). While walking around the historic ruins
including a large, beautifully constructed synagogue, I was impressed by how
well preserved the structures are and how deep the Jewish connection is to this
area I had hardly heard about. While talking to Rav Ariel Rokach, a Susya
resident who runs a yeshiva in Rishon L'Zion that Yahel works with, and
watching a video describing Susya's ancient artifacts and importance as a
sizable population center during the Talmudic era, I got even more intrigued
by the town's relevance to Jewish history and how this land had been inhabited
by Jews so far back in history. However, I have been taught by my experiences
with Yahel to always consider different narratives, and at the same time as
looking at these ruins I knew that this strong Jewish narrative was
overshadowing a Palestinian narrative to this land that needed to be explored.
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| Ancient Susya |
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| Susya's ancient synagogue |
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| Listening to Rav Kokach in the new synagogue of Susya |
Though I did not know much about Susya prior
to my visit, I had been exposed to an article in
Haaretz that discussed a pending demolition of a Palestinian village called Khirbat
Susya located adjacent to the Jewish settlement. The Israeli government
intended to demolish the village because it was built without a permit in Area
C, the area of the West Bank that is under full Israeli control. The
international community was in uproar about this decision, with many foreign
governments putting pressure on Israel to rethink its decision. The rationale
against Israel's intention to demolish was just as there is a historical Jewish
connection to the area, the Palestinians living there also have historical
ties. This claim was legitimized last year when a document
was found describing Ottoman land ownership in the Susya area dating back to
the year 1881.
It is always hard to contemplate competing
narratives to the same land, but when thinking about both the Jewish and
Palestinian connections to Susya, it was especially challenging to grapple with
how this point of contention can be resolved. There has been a lot of talk of
Israel giving away certain parts of the West Bank as part of a peace agreement,
but how can Israel give away land that has such a deep historical connection
for Jews? At the same time, how can Palestinians accept relinquishing their
claim to land they also have a strong historical connection to? This dilemma
became even more problematic for me when my group went to Rav Rokach's home and
spoke to him and his wife. Throughout the conversation, they were both adamant
about Samaria being the land where the Bible took place and a place where Jews
have a "rooted connection" that compels them to live in their
historical land. They also consistently mentioned their desire to have Jews
"be sure in [their] way" and unapologetically recognize their right
and religious duty to live in this land.
Something that was sorely missing throughout
this conversation was the notion that not everyone has the same "way"
as Rav Kokach, especially Palestinians, and those people should not be expected
to follow his way. While listening to Rav Kokach amd his wife speak, I was
looking for a willingness to be open-minded and compromise that was present in
my conversations with Ali Abu Awwad and Rav Melchior. I found, however, that the
residents of Susya feel more compelled to stick to their own community than
branch out and collaborate with their Palestinian neighbors. Rav Kokach's wife
explained that she remembers having "friendly relations" with her
Arab neighbors until hostilities during the Second Intifada increased tensions.
She also mentioned that when settlers first came to Susya, it was important for
them to get the land legally and "not ignore the people who were living
[there]", in order to prevent one from saying that they took other
peoples' land.
From this statement, I could infer that Susya
residents have good intentions toward their Palestinian neighbors and do not
want to provoke hostility against them. However, the ways Rav Kokach and his
wife spoke about Palestinians as the conversation progressed presented a very
different tone that contradicted their seemingly friendly and receptive
demeanor. Having witnessed Palestinian villages and towns in Area C prior to
our visit to Susya and seeing their lack of infrastucture and resources
compared to neighboring Israeli settlements, our group was very interested in the
reasoning for this disparity and how Jews in the West Bank think about this
issue. This seemed especially relevant concerning Susya, which has a developed
system of roads, holds a large and beautiful synagogue, and supports dozens of
religious families with children. In response to our questions about this
issue, Rav Kokach said that the Israeli government has tried to provide more
water and infrastructure for the Palestinians and they simply do not want it. One
of my fellow Yahelniks, Devon, followed up to his response by proposing the
idea of a communal swimming pool in Susya that both the Jews and Palestinians there
could benefit from, which could also allow Israel to help improve the
Palestinians' quality of life. Nevertheless, Rav Kokach replied to this by
saying it is pointless to attempt such a collaboration with the Palestinians
because they "do not want help" and would resist any effort by Israelis
to provide them with services. From this message, our group gathered that Rav
Kokach and other Susya residents are unwilling to take initiative and help
create more sustainable lifestyles for their Palestinian neighbors who lack
basic resources.
The situation I observed in Susya, with the
residents unwilling to approach their Palestinian neighbors with an open-minded
attitude, seemed very discouraging regarding the prospects for
Israeli-Palestinian peace. Just like my student on Yom Haatzmaut, these people
were presenting a very one-sided narrative that ignored the possibility that
other perspectives could also be valid. With this in mind, it is easy to
consider that there is no way to negotiate a sustainable peace when so many
refuse to be open to other people's narratives. However, my meetings with
individuals like Ali Abu Awwad and Rav Michael Melchior have allowed me to
think otherwise. From these meetings, I have learned that even when another
group's narrative is perceivably in total opposition to your own, it is
entirely possible to listen to what that group has to say and arrive at a
common goal that both groups can work toward. If Ali, after everything he went
through, was able to find a way to trust and engage in dialogue with Israelis, other
Palestinians and Israelis should be able to find a way to come together and
develop a mutual respect that can lead to a lasting peace. True, there will
continue to be tensions, and these challenges will encourage people to say that
peace is not possible. However, my experiences on Yahel have showed me that
there are initiatives in place that are successfully engaging groups in dialogue
and understanding, and I am confident that if these initiatives continue to
spread there will be a very bright outcome in the near future.
