BostontoPalestine
Boston
support group for the International Solidarity Movement
Home
About
us
News
from Palestine
Contact
Email
Subscribe
Donate
Current Delegation
Summer 2005
Past Delegations
Olive Harvest
2004
Freedom Summer
2004
Past Campaigns
Events
Photos
Videos (ISM)
Rachel Corrie
Links
Speakers
Be a Delegate
Press
faq
Actions!
Our delegate Martin is a long-time Boston area activist who devotes
his time to issues of peace and justice. Martin left on December 31,
2002.Martin R. Federman
Journal 14Monday, Feb. 03, 2003 - Faisal Hostel, Jerusalem
9:44 p.m.,Dear fellow travelers (and some of you have literally felt like you
have been traveling with me),
I¡m anxious to read what I¡ve been writing ¡V it hasn¡t always been
clear who I am writing to, myself, ¡§my journal,¡¨ you to whom these
have been e-mailed. This is likely to be the last entry until I
return home ¡V early tomorrow morning I leave for Tel Aviv. I have
appointments to meet with the folks from Gush Shalom, Physicians for
Human Rights, and a professor at Tel Aviv University who has done an
analysis of the peace movement. And, I will be spending time with
the wonderful kids from Open House in Ramla. When I leave I'll be
leaving this lap-top behind, with a great deal of sadness since this
old thing has been my friend and confident for many weeks. Tonight
I'll do the last transfer to multiple diskettes, clear the memory,
and leave it here to be picked up by folks that can better use it.
I'd like to be able to sum up everything that I've experienced over
the last weeks, and where it has brought me, but that's impossible
right now. When I'm back in Boston I'll re-read everything,
including the couple of dozen pages of type-written notes I have from
my meetings with people and then I'll begin to put it all together
in some, hopefully, meaningful way. Right now I'll just leave you
with a few random thoughts, not planned, in no particular order,
with no specific agenda.-I¡m ready to come home ¡V although in many ways it feels like
I¡ve just begun what I came here to do. Everything I¡ve done,
everyone I¡ve spoken to, has raised more questions, steered me in new
directions, opened more possibilities. I thought I knew when I left
to come here what I was trying to do here, and at least some of what
that would mean for what I would do when I got home. Many of my
expectations were met, even more were not or were very different than
I anticipated, and it will take time to process it all and know what
to do with what I¡ve learned.-I've met -and re-met -some incredible people here, on both
sides of the Green Line, in all parts of Israel and Palestine. I'm
more convinced than ever that most of the people here want pretty
much the same things. For the average person the issues have nothing
to do with percentages of land, where the borders are, or what
the "final status¨ will be. Their real concerns are about making a
living, sending their kids to school (and not worrying about their
safety), getting places without being humiliated or worried if
they'll make it home. Are the circumstances the same in both
communities? Of course not. But how do we quantify the relative
fears and anxieties of each individual? The fact is that there are
two communities in pain, and no one really knows what to do about
it. Those in power, the leaders, haven't a clue, and the visionaries
on both sides have yet to figure out how to make their voices heard,
so that for the foreseeable future we¡re stuck with what we¡ve got.-Having said this, I can't ignore the fact that, as
communities, there simply is no comparison with what life is like in
Israel and in what will someday inevitably be Palestine. Israel is
hurting more and more and, if something doesn't happen quickly, will
be the first modern state to regress to third world status. But
Palestine is already devastated and life for a substantial part of
the community is simply unbearable. Somehow we need to find the key
that will unlock this reality and communicate it to our friends, to
the public at large, to our policy makers. There is a tragedy
unfolding here and a substantial part of the world, in Boston, D.C.,
New York, London, and in Tel Aviv, are simply in a state of denial.
Apologies for triteness: what are we going to tell our children and
grandchildren when we look back and realize what we allowed to happen
here? (And additional apologies for "preaching to the converted¨ I
said these were random thoughts.)-I hate this place. I hate that so much of Jerusalem has
become a kind of Holy Disney World, with Judaicland and Allahland and
Christland and all the other hype. I hate the guys that accost you
at Jaffa Gate and the new entrance plaza leading to the Western Wall,
which actually does look like the entrance to Disney World except
that the ticket booth is a checkpoint and the price of admission is a
thorough search.I hate what it takes to travel through Palestine ¡V and that as horrid
as it is for me, it's unbearable for those who actually live there.
I hate the reality that I can visit the places people call home
even thought they can't. And I hate not knowing what to say to
people I've met when it is time for me to leave.I hate the people who have turned this place into a place to hate.
I hate the settlers in Hebron who have turned the Jewish experience
on its head and proven that abused communities, like individuals, can
become abusers. I hate that they have stolen symbols of our shared
history and made them more vile than even our worst oppressors did.
I don¡t hate the fact that they have been selective in their use of
our shared scriptures ¡V that is the nature of the rabbinic process.
I hate that they deny that this is what they are doing, and I hate
that they have chosen to select only the ugliest parts of who we have
been at our worst.And I hate the terrorists who, in name of armed resistance, give
justification to their oppressors to punish their innocent people. I
hate their blindness to the suffering of Israeli parents whose
innocent children are killed, and I hate their deafness to the cries
of Palestinians who bear the consequences of their actions and
Israel¡s unwarranted reprisals.And, above all, I hate that I hate them.
-I love this place. There really is space here where one can
sense a palpable feeling of holiness, of a history of searching for
spiritual comfort, of the yearning for the conversation with
something in the universe (some call it God or Allah or Lord
or . . .) that connects us all. And, to a large extent those places
were not where one might expect to find them. They are in the hills
outside the Old City of Jerusalem where ancient kings are buried and
Constantine¡s mother arbitrarily chose the spots still considered
authentic by many today. But the sense of the sacred rises out of
the hills, not these super-imposed "holy¨ places. What sanctity
there is calls out in the echoes of those who strove to find it over
the centuries. And it can be felt in time, when the stores begin to
close on Friday afternoon in Jerusalem and each of the five times the
Muezzin's voice calls across a town or village. And it is found
lingering around those who give their time, and energy, and love, to
alleviate what suffering they can.I love the average people of Palestine who remind me of our father
Abraham, and evoke so much of what he and his clan must have been
like. I love the recurrence of that image every time I enter a home
(whether an apartment, a tent, or a corrugated steel lean-to) and am
obligated to eat and drink. And I love how they remind me of what
our shared history once was.I love the Jews who listen to the Torah's real message: "therefore
choose life.¨ Those Jews who choose to select the voice that impels
us to be just, care for the other, to do what increases light in the
world. I love that they are willing to risk so much in a place that
has made justice suspect and Shalom a dirty word.And I love the fact that 5000 years of sporadic hate and discord has
not extinguished the sense of hope that simmers here, regardless of
how many try to stop it.-Both my Judaism and my Jewishness have been challenged here.
Seeing the way in which our tradition is turned upside down and in
and out by people absolutely sure of their truths makes one
immediately want to question those truths. And, interestingly, the
outward signs of connection with the Jewish Community are very
different here in "the Jewish State¨ than they are in galut (the
Diaspora). But this, I think, is a good thing. Religion has never
done well when it goes unchallenged, and spirituality has always been
the first casualty. The reality of this is disconcerting, but I look
forward to struggling with questions that are raised, and the new
insights and awareness that, God-willing, will grow from them.>« I have always struggled with the dilemma presented by
struggle between competing visions in Judaism. There is one vision
of the ideal that is focused on the literal and symbolic image of the
study of Torah. And then there is the tradition of action based on
the responsibility to do justly ¡V not passively, but actively and pro-
actively. I am still drawn by both images, and I believe that, like
everything in our lives, we must strive for some sense of balance.
But I cannot contemplate the yeshivot (religious/rabbinic academies)
that overlook the plaza of the Western Wall, and the reclusive
communities in them, and then see the growing hunger and homelessness
in the ¡§neighborhoods¡¨ of Israel, and the terrible suffering of the
Palestinian people, and not know clearly where, in this world, the
balance must be.More ramblings than I expected, and so much more that could keep
spewing forth. But for now I put this aside. These last weeks have
brought revelation and confusion, hope and despair, laughter and
tears. I thank all of you who have been so supportive, and I look
forward to being with many of you soon. And trust that what I have
learned here, and the struggles that it will inevitably present,
becomes another tool in finding a better me, and I pray that we all
can be instruments in creating Tikkun Olam ¡V a healed, repaired world
that finds a sense of Shalom/Salaam ¡V fullness, completeness, union.Keep me in your thoughts as I travel home.
13) Sunday, Feb. 02, 2003 - Faisal Hostel, Jerusalem
8:15 p.m.,[Can someone tell me if Puxatawney Phil saw his shadow today? I'm
not coming home if winter is going to drag on the weather's too
nice here.]Weather not withstanding, I continue to see things that get me more
and more depressed, but talk to people who give me hope that not
everyone has given up yet. I finally made it to Gaza, but was only
able to do some of what I wanted. I did see a good friend and fellow
traveler whose family lives in Gaza and was able to travel around and
see what's happening there. Things are far worse than when I was
there a year and a half ago. As most of you know, Gaza is basically
a huge prison, broken up into a number of divisions, with only one
way in or out for Palestinians and most others the Erez checkpoint
at the Northern end of Gaza. (The exception, of course, is the
settlers, who travel back and forth between their homes on the
Mediterranean and Israel on lovely super-highway bypass roads, while
Palestinians never know if they can cross the internal checkpoints to
move within their own territory. My friend had tried to arrange a
meeting for me with a physician who is now working in Raffah, but she
apologized because traveling back and forth from their to her home in
Gaza (a dozen kilometers or so) has been taking her four to six hours
each way. She felt quite understandably that she couldn't risk a
day or more away just in traveling. Despite reports that Gaza was
closed, with my magic card (as Palestinians refer to an American
Passport) I went through the "VIP Room" with less difficulty than any
crossing I've had. Once inside, however, things change drastically.
There is no way to compare the relative miseries of communities in
Palestine. There are places I visited in the West Bank that are as
bad or worse than what I saw in Gaza but the cumulative effect of
Gaza's isolation is frightening and I kept being told that I wasn't
seeing the worst of it. The economy, as much as there is one, is
devastated. As we drove through the city we passed someone selling
produce and my friend pointed out that, since the farmers cannot
export their produce, there are times that you can buy a crate of
oranges for two or three shekels. (But, as in America's Great
Depression, no one has two or three shekels to spend on fruit.)
We stopped at the Gaza Center for Rights and Law where we spoke about
what agencies and groups like that can do to help the situation.
They now longer both to even try to do anything through the Israeli
system because they think its futile and a waste of time. They are
putting their efforts into a couple of areas. First, they are
monitoring and documenting civil and human rights violations (by both
Israel and the Palestinian Authority) and keeping and to the extent
possible disseminating information. A real problem is the ability
to file all this information in ways that it can't be destroyed.
Apparently, during the first Intifada the Israelis occupied their
offices and destroyed not only all their hard-copy records, but the
hard drives on all their computers. The other big project is doing
workshops and training for Palestinians including members of the
PA on how to create and utilize democratic mechanisms.One of the advantages of being taken around by someone who grew up
here is that I was able to hear what my friend called "the unseen
stories." As we passed houses he was able to share the things that
are hidden from us. We passed, for instance, a beautiful house that
stands alone on a piece of unused land. This was the "dream house"
built, but never lived in, by a friend and his new bride. They were
to move in and develop the property, but just before they were
married the Israeli army took possession of it because it lies on the
approach to the near-by settlement. So there it sits, once a promise
of the future, now a symbol of an agonizing present.And then, of course, there is Zeitun, the neighborhood, right next to
my friends, that the Israeli's attacked last week. Here the
devastation is not so complete and widespread as, for instance, in
Jenin. But in the short time the F-16's and attack helicopters had,
they did their job well. All through the neighborhood one sees the
remains of houses that were bombed, the empty, charred shells of
metal that were once vehicles, the stores that have only dust and
debris to dispense. It is impossible for me to wrap my mind around
how these people go on after seeing their homes and communities
violated like this.Gaza City, of course, sits right on the Mediterranean Sea and must
have once been quite beautiful. Now, anything that once had to do
with tourism or inter-community commerce, simply does not exist.
Consequently, the hotels and restaurants along the magnificent beach,
with their old-world Mediterranean charm and sophistication, are
substantially closed and those that are open are all but empty. We
had lunch in one hotel restaurant and, were it not for the fact that
we were the only two there, for a little while you could almost make
believe that it was 30 or 40 years ago and we were in a normal, sane
place. But in reality we were just an American and one of the few
privileged Palestinian elites finding a few minutes of refuge in
denial. Standing on the patio of another restaurant later, looking
out over the water, my friend pointed to Ashkelon, which you can see
clearly just up the coast. "We can see each other," he said, "but we
can't talk to one another."I don't know why I hadn't noticed this before, but I realized that
there were no movie theatres in Gaza (which made me realize I had
never seen one on the West Bank). I asked about this, and about what
cultural activities existed there. None, I was told. What kind of
entertainment can people have when they don't have enough to eat or
any way of getting places, or anything to feel good about. Now, as I
reflect on that, I realize how absurd my question was but I also
can't imagine psychological toll this lack of refuge from the
realties of life here must have on the community. Just one more
element to factor into an equation which will be playing itself out
for years, if not generations.As in every Palestinian village, town, and city I have been in,
donkey carts are everywhere. I commented to my friend that whenever
us "Westerners" think about the Middle East we think about camels
and every shop everywhere sells camels of every kind (olive wood
being number one). I pointed out, however, that in the more than a
month that I have been here, I have not seen a single real, live
camel but donkeys? You bet! "Donkeys?" he replied, "Yes, we have
plenty of donkeys. Donkeys are the only thing that still work here."
Finally, the fear here is palpable. You are constantly aware of the
presence of the soldiers, and the certainty that, although you might
not know when, the planes, helicopters, and tanks will be back and
more people will be homeless, and more shops will be out of business,
and more family members will be dead. But beyond this there are
other layers of fear. My friend is reluctant to have me take
photographs at some of the places I most want to document so I can
show people when I get home. These are the places that the soldiers
patrol and, if they see me, and stop us, they will want to see my
press credentials and in their absence will want to know why I'm
taking photos. This could have ramifications not only for me, but
for him and his family. Get on the wrong list and . . .And it gets worse. The fears of collaboration are enormous and
effect people from all sides. My friend, with an incredible sense of
embarrassment and shame, asked me when we spoke on the phone before
my going, about my yamulka (which, in fact, I frequently do not wear
when in Palestinian areas). While I would like to send a message to
the Palestinians I meet that, just as we (Jews, Americans, etc.)
should not be stereotyping them, they should know that not all kippah-
wearing Jews are the enemy. But, going back to my last trip, I
realized that there is a real danger attached to this, not only for
me, but for those I'm with. I did not, however, connect with my
friend's other fear: that being seen with someone who, by virtue of
looks, beard, and yamulka, would be identified as an Israeli, or more
likely, an Israeli settler, could identify him as a potential
collaborator. Thereis simply no end to these crazinesses here.
I never made it all the way to Raffah to link up with ISM'ers there.
A while back the Israelis destroyed two wells that supplied more than
half the water to the area. (No, I really don't know why.) ISM'ers
are now sleeping in tents near one of the other wells to keep the
army from destroying that one. (My apologies for the snide remark,
but I'm told that, thank heavens, this has not effected the water in
the pools at the near-by settlements.) Water flows for only a couple
of hours a day now, and people, I was told, have taken to drinking
water from irrigation ditches. I wanted to participate in this
action and, again, bring back photos and first-hand accounts, but
found out that all the checkpoints (I think I would have had to pass
three) were closed. I probably could have gotten through eventually,
but you learn here that you have to weigh everything with only a
few days left, and many people I still wanted to see, I couldn't
justify the time for such a brief stay.The other place I had really wanted to get to but only got close and
was not permitted to enter was Hebron, which right now is probably
about the worst place to be. I had taken out an article by Gideon
Levy from last week's Ha'aretz weekend magazine about life in
Hebron. I never got to read it until I was eating lunch today and
it's really a marvelous, if frightening and depressing, article.
When I get to the internet to send this I'll see if it's on line and,
if so, attach it. If not, I'll reproduce it when I get home. The
awful point is that the Palestinian population in Hebron is now in
virtually perpetual lock-down, without access to food or medical
attention, much less any respite from their steel-shuttered homes (to
protect them from the rocks that are constantly thrown at their
windows by settlers, and the periodic gun fire from soldiers.A last word: I mentioned above that I have been meeting with people
who represent glimmers of hope. As I reflect on how much of what
I've written over the last weeks is negative and depressing, I want
you all to know about some of the things some people are talking
about and doing. I've been keeping notes of my meetings and, when I
get home, I'll try to put some of that material together. At the
same time I have to say that many, if not most, of the issues that
are confronting us in our work in the U.S. and elsewhere, are the
same issues that people are struggling with here issue of
resources, burn-out, access, coordination, turf, egos, conflicting
ideologies, etc., etc., etc. Seeing this has reinforced my sense
that we need to force ourselves to do some serious strategizing
within and between our groups and communities without getting so
caught up in "process" that we become paralyzed. I know that finding
that balance is incredibly difficult especially when the needs are
so pressing. But we have to consider whether we want to work
extraordinarily hard for the possibility of a string of small
victories, or if we really want to significantly effect what is
happening here.
12) Friday, Jan. 31, 2003 - Faisal Hostel, Jerusalem
5:00 p.m.,
Can't believe I was supposed to leave today. I have another week,
and it still seems too little time to do everything I should be doing.
As always, much happening. Have been meeting with people around
Jerusalem, including Cathy Nichols at Sabeel and Rana Bishara (wife
of the Palestinian Israeli who had to fight to run for the Knesset)
who works with Grassroots International Protection for the
Palestinian People [GIPP] and the Palestinian Environmental Non-
Governmental Organization Network (PENGON). I've learned a great
deal in the last week or so about what's going on here, and there is
more of it than I knew. I'll be reporting separately about that.
What I want to say here is that our scope in the "peace movement"
has got to be broader than it appeared to me a month ago. A big part
of the task facing us both here and back in the U.S. (and Europe, for
that matter) is somehow coordinating the efforts and energies of
those who are trying to find a peaceful, non-violent resolution to
what's going on here. It doesn't mean that various groups don't have
specific parts of the equation that they should be responsible for
but if we don't forge meaningful alliances in which we are all
mutually supportive and share our resources (especially human
resources) we are going to dissipate our potential and, ultimately,
remain ineffective. We need to be focused on what our real goals
are not delaying the bulldozers, or raising money, or protesting,
or getting lots of speakers, or, or, or. Our goals need to be an end
to the occupation, the creation of a viable Palestinian state, and an
end to the unbelievable suffering that is going on here. All the
rest are simply (or not so simply) the mechanisms that will help us
reach our goals, and we need to be invested in them only in so far as
they move us towards the goals, not for their own sake or our self-
gratification.
End of the Sermon on the Monitor.
In the midst of all of this I accompanied Jeremy Milgrom (Rabbis for
Human Rights) and two students living here, to the Jehalin Bedouin
camp which sits in between the two main sections of Maale Adumim, the
biggest settlement complex, not far from Jerusalem. Jeremy has been
working with these people for a while, and the students have been
coming out once a week to teach English and help in a variety of ways.
The story of these people (and the Bedouins in general) is just one
more usually over-looked tragic consequence of the situation here,
one which has layers of complexity. The Bedouins have a history of
nomadic existence going back hundreds of generations, with a social
and economic structure that has been based on raising livestock and
being able to move according to climate and grazing conditions. This
particular group traces its pre-1948 history to the Beer Sheva area,
from which they were forced to move. Over time they were re-settled
outside of Jerusalem and forced to give up their nomadic lifestyle.
Given the lack of support they have been deprived of both the
cultural and economic foundations of their community. Most recently,
as Maale Adumim expanded, they were forced to move again to this hill
which sits squeezed between a Palestinian village and a way off, the
sections of the settlement. Just to make things perfect, the piece
of land they are relegated to sits adjacent to a huge garbage dump.
On our way to the "village" I was told a bit of the recent history of
this community. It seems that when they were informed that they were
being moved to this location the community split into two groups,
each fighting the order with separate lawyers. One group signed an
agreement with the Israeli government accepting the move and, in
return, was given some limited support and title to the land. The
other group refused to accede to what they believed was an
unwarranted and illegal forced move and were moved anyway, without
any compensation or support. Apparently the hostility between the
two groups lingers and contributes just one more negative element to
the situation.
It is difficult to describe the circumstances in which the Bedouin
live, or the level of poverty they endure. At one time they received
some support from some agencies that made it possible to begin the
building of some houses. They now stand in various levels of
incompletion, like empty concrete monuments to the neglect which has
been the government's "policy" towards them. There is only one
structure that can reasonably be called a house as we know it, which
is occupied by the Mukhtar, the head of the clan, who lives there
with his two wives and 21 children. The rest of the community lives
in tiny structures fashioned from sheets of corrugated steel and
recycled wood. Many of these structures could not be classified as
much more than lean-tos. (Jeremy made a telling and depressing
obervation: things for the Jehelin were awful when they were
neglected but when they are being abused, as they are now, they
look back on the neglect with nostalgia!)
But the devastation goes even deeper than the physical circumstances
and searing poverty. This is a proud people who have been stripped
of everything that has historically defined them, without any attempt
to help acclimate them to either their new environment or a
completely unfamiliar lifestyle, and the ramifications can be seen
and felt everywhere. A final warped twist to this story is the
complex relationship between the Jehelin and the volunteers helping
them. We brought bags of used clothes that people had donated and
clearly the family to whom they were given were appreciative. At the
same time they, quite logically, see us as part of the privileged
society in the midst of which they are now forced to live, and which
has put them into this situation. So, while they have clearly bonded
with Jeremy and the students and welcome them fully into their
families with all the legendary hospitality that is so much part of
their being at the same time they have expectations of what we can
provide them which are not realistic. It was clear that one of the
students has become significantly conflicted over this issue, being
so committed to helping, unable to do everything that they expect of
her, and feeling at least uncomfortable, and probably more than a bit
angry at having been put in this situation. There is simply no end
to the convolutions of these situations.
One more pleasant image: We separated for a while so that Jeremy and
I could talk, and when we made our way to the Abu Said family's
house, one of the students was doing an English lesson with a group
of six or seven children. After years of teaching American kids the
names of body parts in Hebrew by playing "Shimshon Omare" it was
strange to climb the steep hill to the enclosure that serves as
something of a porch, to find a nice Jewish boy from Florida teaching
a group of Arabic speaking Bedouin children the English words for
those same body parts by playing Simon Says.A security story, or: Mirror, mirror on the consulate wall, Who in
the world is most paranoid of all.?
Had an interesting experience at the American consulate in East
Jerusalem yesterday morning. Given the impending American attack of
Iraq, a few of you have been urging me to register at the consulate
in order to get travel alerts if the need arises. Given the fact
that I'll be leaving in a week, and it now seems that the war won't
come at least until mid-February, that seemed unnecessary. As it
turned out, however, I met with Rana Behara very early in the morning
in the lobby of the elegant, old-world East Jerusalem YMCA. which
is next door to the consulate. Morning hours are reserved for
American citizens who want to register, and there was a relatively
short line outside, so I decided, what the heck, let me just do it.
The line to get a number which entitled you to wait on another line
to get in, in order to wait to see someone at window 2 actually moved
pretty much in time with how long it took to fill out the
registration form. When my turn came I was motioned towards a heavy
glass door on the other side of which there was someone whom I could
not see who buzzed me in. I found myself in front of a large table
with a security person who emptied the entire contents of my
backpack, keeping my digital camera battery charger, and a small book-
light. He next asked me to turn off my cell phone and give it to
him, and to remove my waist pack (with cameras). As he uncapped
every pen and highlighter I had, checking the tips of each, I was
sent through a radar scanner, which beeped so I had to go back and
remove my change, a pen that I had forgotten, and the one key I am
carrying here. After going back and forth successfully through the
scanner I was given my pens and key, and a numbered receipt for the
things that they were keeping.
I then went through the small courtyard that I was directed to, and
came to another heavy, glass, locked door through which I could see
someone sitting in a small room watching me on a t.v. screen. I
suppose I was OK because after a few moments another buzzer announced
that I could enter. In this double locked inner sanctum (protected
by the photographic images of George Bush, Dick Cheney, and Colin
Powell) was a small conveyer belted x-ray machine through which I now
had to send my just-inspected backpack, while I was motioned through
another walk-through scanner that required my once-again having to
divest myself of pens, change and key. When I had finally passed
through successfully the x-ray observer asked me if I had a knife in
my backpack. I was startled by the question and assured him that I
did not. He pursued the issue, inquiring as to whether I was sure
that I didn't have a knife or some similar sharp object. Then it
occurred to me: Since I have been dressing the bottom of my bruised
foot each day I have needed something to cut appropriate lengths of
elastic bandage so I have been carrying the scissors from a tiny
sewing kit I brought with me, the pair with the deadly one inch
blades. This was dutifully confiscated, I and my possessions were
searched and x-rayed one last time, I was buzzed through to the
waiting area where the 60 second process of showing my passport and
turning in my form was completed. I followed the signs directing me
to the exit (the way I came in was completely inaccessible and there
was no one to tell me where I was to claim my belongings. The signs
led me out of the building, some meters down the street from where I
had gone in. I returned there, where a security guard saw me holding
my claim slip, grunted, took if from me, disappeared into the
building, and returned with my things. End of story.
Not on your life! The consulate sits on Nablus road, next, as I
said, to the lovely YMCA, and across from a small, picturesque
pottery factory, with some lovely trees and shrubs along the street.
It was a lovely day (which has not been the usual case lately) and I
took out my camera and took a long shot of the scene. As I began
walking away I heard a voice behind me yelling for me to stop. A
security guard (most of them are Israelis but employees of the U.S.
Consulate) asked me why I was taking pictures of the consulate. I
explained that, while the consulate may have been in the picture, I
was actually taking a picture of the street. What was I doing around
here, he wanted to know. I told him I had just registered at the
consulate He "asked" me to go with him and he escorted me around the
corner to an Israeli military sentry booth, where I was reported as
having taken unauthorized pictures of the consulate. Interestingly,
the soldier was quite reasonable and suggested that I just be told
not to take any other pictures and sent on my way. The security
guard totally rejected this option and demanded my passport. After
looking at it he told me that he was taking my passport and I should
wait with the soldiers. I told him that I wasn't going to be
separated from my passport, and when he insisted I explained that my
consulate and the state department instructs people not to let anyone
take their passport away. "I'm your consulate," he said in such a
disarming way that, when the soldier assured me I had nothing to
worry about, I just shrugged, let him go, and waited. About 10
minutes later he returned and assured me that I had, in fact,just
registered, gave me my passport, and told me I was free to go. I
thought that no one could be more security conscious than the
Israelis, but God bless us, we Americans are the best at everything!Stood with Women in Black this afternoon (they have been in Paris
Square every Friday noon for years, and spoke with Gila Svirsky for a
while afterwards. I also met Lynn Gottlieb, one of the first women
rabbis, who now lives here and has a congregation that is committed
to working on peace here. I hope to be getting more information
about this.
Need to go I'm getting together shortly with Jeff Halper of the
Israeli Committee on Housing Demolitions (ICAHD) fame.
11) Sunday, Jan. 26, 2003 - Faisel Hostel, Jerusalem
9:00 p.m.By Martin R. Federman
(I'm sure that most of you have heard that there was a massive
Israeli incursion into Gaza City last night the deepest the
Israelis have gone into Gaza. This was in retaliation for mortar
shelling from Gaza into Israel. Twelve Palestinians were killed and
about 50 wounded, all civilians as far as we know right now. Some of
you probably also know that Samer Abu Ghazeleh's family lives in Gaza
City and he and Mariam have been visiting there. I spoke to Samer
earlier today and they are all safe, although the attack was in the
neighborhood right next to theirs and they are quite shaken. I'm
planning to see them later this week. Meanwhile, please keep them in
your thoughts and prayers.)Let's call this installment . . .
The View from the Other Side of the Green Line
Over the last few days I've been mostly moving about Jerusalem with a
quick stop in Tel Aviv (and a couple of appointments in the area
where the LAW offices are a strange place that is Jerusalem on one
side of the street and the West Bank on the other, and absolutely
absurd everywhere).
Let me say up front that there is a definite sense of siege, fear,
and vulnerability throughout the country. Soldiers are visible
everywhere, both on duty and traveling to and from their units in
uniform with their weapons. Wherever you go there are soldiers or
private security people checking bags and backpacks, cyber-frisking
everyone with hand-held scanners. This includes all public buildings
and gathering places like bus stations, as well as many shops and
restaurants. For the most part people seem to take these
inconveniences in stride, although you need to be assertive when
there are a lot of people since Israelis, while privately hospitable
and giving, are not particularly known for their public patience or
courtesy.
I have also found that you can be stopped at any time and questioned
about actions that, in the past, you would never have even thought
about. When I arrived at the airport this week to change my flights,
I took a couple of photos of the airport. I was stopped by an armed
security guard and asked why I was taking pictures. I told him that
when I was here a year and a half ago, and again this time, I'd only
been at the airport in the middle of the night. This was the first
day it hadn't rained for a while, it was quite beautiful out, and the
tourist part of me simply wanted a couple of shots. He then asked
for my passport, and wanted to know what I was doing at the airport,
when I was leaving, where I had been traveling, and why I was staying
longer than I had planned. He then searched my backpack, waist pack,
and pockets. Finally he told me that I wasn't to take any other
pictures (in or outside), wished me a good day, and sent me on my way.
What's interesting is that, despite all of this, life goes on
significantly unchanged. I've been in a number of neighborhoods in
and around Jerusalem, and walked for many hours in neighborhoods of
Tel Aviv away from the center, and people are gong about their
business, not as if nothing is going on, but, at the same time, not
letting the situation get in the way of normal life. Which is not to
say that you don't regularly hear about people making arrangements so
their children don't have to go places alone, or limiting some of
where its OK for them to go, and when. But life has by no means
stopped or appreciably slowed down.
There are two exceptions to this. One, which I've only seen a little
of, but hear a great deal about, is what is happening at the lower
end of the socio-economic ladder. As the economy has tumbled the
people with the greatest needs are, not surprisingly, suffering the
most. Unemployment is the highest it's ever been, and the "safety
nets" that Israel was once so proud of are full of holes. There is
an almost universal expectation that things are going to get
appreciably worse before they get better, and they aren't going to
get better for a long time. Amazingly, the economy has gotten
virtually no play in the election campaign. Labor talked about
talking about it, but basically decided that there was nothing to be
gained. As far as I can see from reading the English Press (Ha'aretz
and the Jerusalem Post), only Meretz has even raised the idea that
the billions spent on building, supporting, and defending the
settlements could be invested in needs within the Green Line. Some
communities especially groups like the Mizrachi (so-called
Sephardi, Northern African, Middle Eastern), the elderly, Ethiopians,
etc. are really beginning to suffer, but most Israelis still cling
to what is identified here as either "tribal" or sectoral loyalties
which often go against what would seem to be their self-interest.
The other exception, which I've seen clearly (and noted before), is
the almost complete disappearance of anything to do with tourism,
once one of Israel's top sources of income. I walked down the beach
in Tel Aviv and there is almost no activity in the hotels, many are
simply closed, and everywhere I've been shops that normally cater to
tourists are empty. As I observed in an earlier piece, Israeli
merchants have taken to a form of sales pitch that parallels what is
happening in the Arab shuks and casbahs playing on people's
sympathy because business is so bad. An article last week in the
Jerusalem Post touted a boost for tourism because one of the American
youth movements had committed itself to bringing more kids here. The
fact that this negligible "boost" was news is itself an indication of
how bad things are. And the roll-over effect to related industries,
of course, is significant.
And the problem, obviously, is much wider as investments in Israeli
industry, technology, and business has dropped precipitously, making
the prognosis extremely poor well into the future. One of the
interesting issues that keeps surfacing in the totally convoluted
conjecturing about what kind of coalition Sharon will be able to put
together if, as expected, he is asked to form a government, is that
if, as seems more and more likely, he has to put together a narrow
coalition of right-wing and religious parties, this might undercut
Israel's ability to get an additional $12 billion dollars it expects
in military aid ($4 billion) and loan guarantees ($8 billion) from
the U.S. While, in a broad sense, some of us might not be unhappy
about this, we can't overlook the reality that things are becoming so
bad, this would be just one more negative impact on the economy, and
more and more people are going to suffer because of it. I have now
read a couple of articles that suggest that Israel long considered
the Western economy of the Middle East, is now showing the beginnings
of all the markers that economists and sociologists use to identify
third world economies.
And, not surprisingly, the communities that fit all the patterns the
least, are the settlements and "neighborhoods." Given a combination
of subsidies, government support, and attitude, the people in these
areas, while most assertively projecting the sense of siege, are also
the people who often feel most in control. Thanks to literal and
psychological bypass roads that take the settlers away from Israel,
and through, but not into, Palestinian areas, they sometimes seem to
be impervious to what supporting them means for both Israelis and
Palestinians and the most ideological of the settlers believe that
this is exactly as it should be.
I should also reiterate something I've said before: the average
Israeli knows nothing about the reality of what is going on inside
the territories. They have no reason to go there, and the separation
between the peoples has little or no effect on life within the Green
Line. The work that was once done by Palestinians is now being done
by foreign workers (substantially from Asia), which is putting
another burden on the future of the economy as well as the society
(this is a new group that lives here without any rights), but which
is currently perpetuating the sense that Israel can get along without
its Arabs. Furthermore, since there has always been a natural
segregation of the communities, I think many Israelis aren't even
aware that the situation has changed anything. I've now spoken to
lots of Israelis at length with friends, casually with people that
I come in contact with and, usually without malice, they are in a
fog about all of this and, consequently, ripe for the kind of
rationales that come out of the Sharon government and right-wing
parties. I say this not as a defense, but as an observation and as
information that needs to inform the discussions about how to break
the cycles we are now trapped in.
That's it for now maybe some more reflections after the election.
The post mortem on that, regardless of the outcome, should be . . .
what? Interesting? To say the least!
[Just a word about Iraq: A couple of people back home have told me
that there are rumblings that, despite the inclinations of the
American people, not to mention the hesitancy of the rest of the
world, the Bush folks are thinking about attacking Iraq in
conjunction with this week's State of the Union Address. I'm also
told that Japan (and by now others?) have instructed their people to
get out of the Middle East. I assure you that I'm keeping my eyes
and ears on this situation and intend to do everything I can to stay
out of harm's way. But from here this doesn't sound like a likely
scenario so I'm staying put for the time being. (Not to mention that
dealing with George Bush, Ariel Sharon, and Saddam Hussein can't be
any worse than dealing with KLM/Northwest and the people at Ben
Gurion Airport so I have no intention of changing my ticket one
more time!)]