| July 2006 Delegation
Report Three: “Pain is not exclusive, and I don’t believe forgiveness is either” Wednesday, July 19: The Young Men of Beit Sahour Beit Sahour is a splendid West Bank city of homes, small factories, shops, fine churches and stately mosques, spilling up and down the sides of a valley in the hill country south of Jerusalem and east of Bethlehem. Running along the far eastern edge of the valley where once a wooded hillside graced the highest ridge is Har Homah, an illegal Israeli settlement. Visually it is an obscenity in the landscape, an eyesore. The “Jerusalem Road,” a highway restricted to the use of Jewish settlers, and which, if even crossed by foot, subjects Palestinians to fines and other punishments, marks the boundary of free movement for the residents of the region. The people of Beit Sahour—prisoners in their own land, wonderful, patient, people—sit. Our delegation spent the night as recipients of the hospitality of a number of Beit Sahour’s families. When I arrived at my host’s home, I was greeted by Najwa, a warm, gracious woman of about my age, widowed three years ago. The sadness rests in her eyes. She has a love of life, harvesting the olive grove and herb garden on the plot of land surrounding her home overlooking the city. “This is your home,” she says as she greets us. Awad is her 21-year old son, who reminds me of my son—brown curly hair, wide, deep, dark, passionate eyes, a tall frame, powerful hands. He is completing a degree in accounting, and when he graduates there is virtually no chance for a job. Where will he go? He does not want to leave his family or his beloved city. “I have no future here,” he says. That night, his friend George visits, also 21, a handsome bright young man, still full of fire and humor. But his mood changes when I ask him what he does. George is a gifted computer programmer. When he was still in high school, he moved freely from the West Bank into Israel to apprentice with Israeli software companies. He was accepted, appreciated, and on his way. After the outbreak of the Intifada in 2000, it all changed. Suddenly, the Israelis cut him off—no work, no more welcome into their offices. “They treated me as if I were a terrorist. They looked as me as if I had explosives strapped to my chest!” The pain in his eyes is bottomless. He is hurt, deeply, and stalled. He’s going to school to become an accountant, but the enthusiasm is gone, and—who knows what else? I am deeply upset by my conversations with Awad and George. At dinner with Najwa, her two children, and my fellow delegate Nicole, I turn to Najwa and say, the Israelis are scared of you. They don’t know you, and they don’t want to. She is silent, her eyes sad, acknowledging my naming of the truth. Later I call my aunt in West Jerusalem—I had to talk to her: Oh God, Toby, I said, we are killing them! We are putting up walls to make them invisible. We are stifling their growth for fear they will grow too big. We are thwarting their young men, and we are not caring what we are doing to them. It’s horrible, horrible, horrible. The telephone connection from the West Bank to West Jerusalem, fragile at best, cuts off as these words leave my lips, and as my tears, surprising and unbidden, spill down my face. But who is this “we?” I am not an Israeli—but as a Jew I feel I am responsible for the actions of this state. Certainly, I am responsible for any continued inaction on my part now that I have seen what I have seen, know what I know, and feel what I feel. --Mark Braverman
Thursday, July 20: A Lone Student from Hebrew University Originally, 15 Hebrew University students had planed to meet us Thursday evening and join our conversation about peace activism. But because of the events that have taking place over the last week, some of the students refused to come because they were afraid to enter East Jerusalem. And the other students that were to join us decided that “a time of war was not an appropriate time to discuss peace.” So the young man who did come to speak with us came alone. We praised him and told him that we felt that he was very courageous. It was clear to me that he was grappling with the issues in the best way that he could. He seemed conflicted. For example, he said that he knew that the wall that separated Israelis from Palestinians is wrong and that it should be dismantled, yet he also felt that the wall that snakes around larges sections of the region has, in fact, provided the Israeli people with an extra measure of security. --Dianne Ford Jones Friday, July 21: Machsom Watch Friday morning began with our joining Machson Watch, a group of Israeli women who have organized themselves to be a critical presence at Israeli military checkpoints throughout the West Bank. If you recall, checkpoints are security barriers that Palestinians must cross to get permission to gain entry into one section of the country from another. There are also “flying checkpoints,” where at any time, in any given location, the Israeli army sets up a spontaneous road block and that functions like the permanent checkpoints do, by checking all Palestinians attempting to pass. We traveled to the first checkpoint on Highway 90 which runs north and south along the Jordan River. Tragically, this highway only allows traffic to flow to the surrounding settlements in the West Bank, entirely bypassing numerous Palestinian cities and townships that along the path of the highway. Not only are there no off exits to get to the passing Palestinian villages, there aren’t even signs that acknowledge that they are there in the first place. The highway only travels through checkpoints to and from Israeli occupied places and only Israeli Jews may travel on it with few exceptions. It is as if there are no Palestinians at all. We stood at two checkpoints, one bordering the West bank, the other in Jerusalem. There we stood very near the Israeli soldiers in an effort to protect the Palestinians from physical harm and to protect their civil rights. Some of the teenaged Palestinian boys who walked by us raised their voices to us and enthusiastically said “Hatta An-nassar!” which means “To the victory!” And I raised my fist and smiled at them to signal my solidarity in the quest for peace with justice! Other Palestinian drivers and passengers nodded, smiled and winked at us, careful to do so unobtrusively. The atmosphere is tense across the country today. In fact, it quickly became clear to us that the nation is on lock-down. Evidently the Army has been conducting raids in areas where they believe there are “pockets of resistance.” So everyone is fearful and edgy. Muslims are being denied entry into the mosques—on Friday, the main day of prayer. At lunch time we ate near the Damascus Gate, a main entry into the Old City of Jerusalem. In front of us were Palestinian Muslims there that were trying to get inside the Old City for prayer but they were met with Israeli soldiers on horseback. The soldiers chased one man into a nearby store and cornered him while a crowed gathered. It was peacefully dispersed. Still the entire event reminded me of Selma in the 1960’s. Next we joined an organization comprised of Israeli women called Women in Black. They have met each Friday for the past 18 years in the urban center of West Jerusalem (on a popular street corner) to protest the occupation, promote peace, and to support the implementation of a viable two state agreement. We wore black and carried protest signs that certainly got the attention of passers by—an understatement, to be sure. Our protest took place during a time when passions run particularly high. It felt as if we were at Central Square the week after 9/11 calling for the US to resist her impulse to attack Afghanistan. After the protest we walked to a nearby park to talk with one of the organizations founding members, Gila Svirsky. Gila said that just one week ago (according to polls) 80% of both Israelis and Palestinians were poised for a peace but hopes for that evaporated after Hezbollah invaded Israel and abducted two Israeli solders. Now all bets are off. She also spoke at length about what she envisions Israeli and Palestinian states being like. But her vision didn’t include any form of mutual forgiveness, nor did it provide for any type of integration. I was disappointed. I asked questions about who, if anyone, was willing to use post civil rights era Black/White relations in the US, or the South African peace and reconciliation commission model to create a new reality in the Israel/Palestine. But there seems to be a lack of imagination here along these lines…or perhaps they can see the possibilities but have chosen to reject them. And until the law changes to implement a new way of being, I doubt that hate and segregation here will come to an end. This evening we attended Shabbat service in a conservative Synagogue. The young Rabbi made quite a point of saying that Judaism is not pacifist, but urges discretion in determining when violence is or is not permissible. He drew a distinction between killing and murder. And he left it up to his West Jerusalem congregation, composed mostly of visiting US Jewish youth and young adults, to make up their own minds about which was which. And that’s all that he did! With that our day came to a close. --Dianne Ford Jones
This evening, I attended my
first Shabbat service at Congregation Moreshat Yisrael in Jerusalem.
I appreciate the opportunity to learn about Judaism in such a direct
way, and appreciate the Jewish community welcoming our interfaith
group. During the service, Rabbi Adam Frank spoke of the ideology behind war. He writes in tonight’s program: “During the days following the assassination of Yitzchak Rabin, I watched a U.S. News program entitled “Thou Shall Not Kill” which dealt with the issue of the late prime minister’s death at the hands of a fellow Jew. I was immediately angered at the program’s incorrect definition of the commandment, [which states] “you shall not murder.” Judaism is not a religion of pacifism, rather, it is a religion steeped in the practice of moderation and sensibility…Judaism does not forbid the use of might against another, rather, it limits the context and defines the parameters in which might is appropriate.” He clarified his point when
he said that to murder is forbidden, but to kill is not,since one
has a reason to kill.He asked for everyone to think about what this
means to them in the current situation with their Arab brothers
and sisters.
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