Addicted to the News

I've been meaning to write to you about the Gaza pullout, but I can never seem to pull myself away from the news for more than a few seconds. I don't think I've even been such a media-addict in my life. I try to go about my daily life of school, shopping, socializing. But then I rush home from school and turn on my computer to see what I've missed. I turn on the television when I come home from the market before putting my groceries away. I spend hours on end going through news articles, photographs, editorials, blogs, or just glued to the TV set. I memorize the locations of the various settlements, the number of residents versus infiltrators, and the various slated dates for evacuations.

On the first day of the disengagement, before the evacuations even began, I pulled out my shiny new road map. I'd purchased the map two weeks previous and it's a beautiful, Hebrew, spiral-bound road map of the country. I'd already used it a few times and this time I just wanted to verify where a few of the checkpoints were located. As I flipped to the correct page I had two quick revelations. In the first I suddenly saw myself in a position I'd witnessed in books and movies, but had never experienced. Here I was, sitting at home, tracking the progress of an army from one location to another, marking off bases, strategies, locations of villages. It was straight out of World War II Home Front propaganda, and I was living it. The second revelation was even more stirring. The map I was looking at, with a glossy cover proclaiming "New for 2005!" would be outdated within the week. By the end of the week the settlements would be gone, evacuated, bulldozed. By the end of the week the page of the map would be useless as anything other than a history reference. I was watching history being made with my own eyes.

It's history, but it's also gut wrenching. I've been saving pictures from websites on my computer. Pictures of soldiers crying with settlers, children clutching stuffed animals, men in green uniforms carrying babies in orange t-shirts, and so, so many tears. Then I see the pictures of the celebration rallies in the refugee camps with masked men carrying shoulder-launched missiles and small boys proudly grinning behind their machine guns and I wonder. Is this the right thing? Tearing people from their homes? Opening Israel up to more attacks? I still believe it's necessary, and yet I worry.

And I'm not just worrying about the security of southern Israel, the fate of those newly evacuated, or the poverty remaining in Gaza. I'm also worried about the soldiers who are still hospitalized from the attacks by settlers. I'm worried about the children who witnessed their parents torn away from their homes by soldiers or forced to dress up in Nazi-reminiscent clothing by parents determined to play to the media. I'm worried about a generation of urban teenagers who spent summer vacation protesting in Gaza while in two years they themselves will be drafted into the army.

And two West Bank settlements are slated for evacuation tomorrow.

In peace,
Sarah....

Orange and Blue

This is an email that I've been avoiding writing for some time. Please bear with me.

A few months ago, if you had asked me the significance of the colors orange and blue I have answered immediately, "Gators!" Orange and blue are the school colors of the University of Florida and so obviously that's the first things I thought of when I saw those colors up until a few months ago. Then I cam to Israel, specifically Jerusalem, and I was bowled over by orange ribbons with some occasional blue ones thrown in.

In case you haven't been following the news at all, Israel is planning on evacuating the Jewish settlements of Gaza and some parts of the northern West Bank in the coming days. In three days in fact. Like in Ukraine, orange has been adopted as the color of the opponents. Those against the disengagement wear orange ribbons on their backpacks, belts, handbags, and cellphones. Orange ribbons dangle from car antennas, while orange bracelets and shirts reading "A Jew does not expel a Jew," can be found on every block. A majority of these orange-wearers are what would be called Modern Orthodox in America, though there are certainly numerous secular or traditional orange-wearers and some ultra-Orthodox ones, too. The proliferation of orange among religious Jews has prompted some pro-disengagement religious Jews to begin wearing t-shirts that proclaim "Ani dati v'lo ktom," (I'm religious but not orange).

Blue, then, became the color designating those who favor the government's decision to pull out of the Gaza Strip. However, blue is far and away in the minority in Jerusalem. I have been asked on multiple occasions if my hair color (blue) is meant to be a political statement. The short answer is no. The longer answer is that, although blue has always been my favorite color as well as my favorite color for my hair, I'm somewhat grateful that blue is the pro-disengagement color. If, instead, my hair had been orange, I would have probably changed it so I did not appear to agree with those protesting the upcoming disengagement. So as it stands now, I have blue hair because I have blue hair, but I don't completely mind when people assume things about my political opinion based on my hair color. But I don't wear any ribbons.

As the date for the intended pull-out creeps closer, tensions continue to build throughout the country. Early this week Bibi Netanyahu, Israel's Finance Minister, resigned from office because of his disagreements with the government's coming actions in Gaza. Along with multiple small and medium sized rallies throughout the country, there have been a number of significantly large ones. Three weeks ago, 25,000 protesters gathered in a sea of orange at Kfar Maimon to protest against the disengagement. For three days the tens of thousands of protesters remained in the small Southern town in the desert heat in peaceful protest. Two days ago, tens of thousands gathered at the Western Wall in Jerusalem in a prayer rally, praying for a miracle, redemption, the stopping of the disengagement and the coming of the Messiah. I wasn't there myself, though numerous friends of mine were. The papers say that between 50,000 and 250,000 people gathered that evening in prayer. Just yesterday, 100,000 people gathered in Tel Aviv in another anti-disengagement rally. And the clock keeps ticking.

Tonight begins Shabbat. Tomorrow night begins the observance of Tisha b'Av. The next day begins the disengagement. Tisha b'Av is a day of mourning signifying many things, but mainly the destruction of the First and Second Temples in Jerusalem. According to many rabbinic traditions, the cause of the destruction of the Temples was sinat chinam, senseless hatred. In these days that theme seems overwhelmingly, painfully relevant. In Jerusalem right now you're either orange or you're blue. For the disengagement or against it. No matter what your neighbor says or does, how he acts or how he prays, if the ribbon on his backpack is different from the one on yours, there is an immediate rift, a coldness between the two of you. We're taught that the messianic age can't come until there's love between neighbors, yet looking at these warring colors on the streets of Jerusalem it seems like a hopeless pipe dream. And on that note, Jews around the world will fast and mourn on Sunday for Tisha b'Av, remembering the destruction of the Temples due to hatred between brothers.

And what will happen when the disengagement begins? No one knows. Will the protesters from around the country succeed in blocking the check point at the entrance to the settlements, in hopes of preventing the forced removal of the settlers? Will soldiers obey their commanders' orders? What about the religious soldiers whose rabbis have commanded them otherwise? What of the Jewish residents of Gaza who have made it clear that they will not leave? Will they be hurt when the soldiers come to take them from their homes? Will they turn violent? And where will all these people live? It's three days away and housing has not been found for all of those being evacuated. How will parents explain to their children what is going on when soldiers in uniform with guns come to take them away from the only home they've ever known? And in the slightly more distant future, what will happen to the abandoned homes? Will they be left for the Arab residents of Gaza or bulldozed as the settlers leave. What sort of a Gaza Strip will be created when the most densely populated area in the world is left alone while being heavily guarded and locked in on all its borders by the Israeli government? What will happen to that tiny strip of land when there's no governmental infrastructure to take over when Israel leaves?

No one has answers to these question. I can only hope that the next week will remain nonviolent as the disengagement goes forward. Please keep this tiny part of the world in your thoughts and prayers this week as many of us here and around the world hope for a nonviolent disengagement that will help bring peace to the State of Israel and her neighbors.

B'Shalom,
Sarah

Looking Backward and Forward

This past week has been pretty intense for me. I don't normally write much about my thoughts and feelings in this somewhat public forum, but I've decided that something that has been so significant to me, personally, deserves to be shared with all of you as well. I apologize for the excessive length.

On Shabbat afternoon, July 30th, I went and visited an old friend of mine. We'd met when I was in ulpan for the first time, three years ago at Hebrew U. We'd stayed in touch through the years while she has settled in Israel, and we are currently neighbors in Jerusalem. Another reason that I went to her home to visit was that a mutual friend of ours was in town. She is visiting from Australia and neither of us had seen her in the intervening three years so it was exciting to get together and catch up on the past. As the conversation turned to the summer we had spent together an uncomfortable silence filled the room when remembered our last days together. On the last day of classes, July 31st, 2002 a bomb exploded in the cafeteria at Hebrew U. Nine people were killed and over 85 injured. Each of us knew people in both groups.

I'm not sure if my other friends from ulpan three years ago have been remembering those events this past week, but I certainly have and they colored both the activities I've been engaged in and my thoughts along the way these past few days.

Three years ago, the bomb exploded on the last day of classes. The day that was supposed to be filled with exams concluding the summer session was instead packed with tears and embraces. This year, the last day of classes passed by uneventfully and the following day I sat for my level exam. But this time it was different. As soon as I left the testing room I met with a friend who volunteers with the Israeli Committee Against House Demolitions. We hopped a bus from campus and within half an hour were walking the streets of Anata, a Palestinian village bordering East Jerusalem. I spent the afternoon in a world completely foreign to the Israel I was used to.

ICAHD has been helping the Hamdan family rebuild their home after it had been demolished for improper permits. They sponsored a summer work camp of international volunteers who have spent the past two weeks living and working in Anata, rebuilding their home from the rubble on which it lies. That afternoon was the second to last day of the work camp so most of the work had already been completed. With other volunteers we cleared construction debris from within the new house and prepared the floors for a final washing. We also cleared rubble from the surrounding land and began filling it in with soil to make a vegetable garden adjacent to the new home.

I felt that it was a fitting way to spend the day, seeing as I'd found myself increasingly nervous among Arabs as the anniversary of the bombing approached. It felt like the beginning of bringing things full circle. This poor family of seven, struggling daily to make ends meet, lives in poverty yet tries to make the most of each day and is at the same time engaged in the peace movement between Israelis and Palestinians. If they can be willing to work hand-in-hand with the "enemy" towards a common goal of peace, then so could I. I was beginning to fully understand, beyond a purely intellectual level, what it meant to work together, even in circumstances that might otherwise make me uncomfortable. If I couldn't, as a Jew, feel comfortable helping an Arab family rebuild their home, how could they ever be expected to feel comfortable working side-by-side with their Israeli neighbors? If we could show this one family and their curious on-looking neighbors that Jews are willing to help rebuild with Arabs, then perhaps we could prevent another disenfranchised Palestinian from confusing Jews with enemies, instead seeing human beings and not targets.

Friday evening, walking home from the Arab section of the Old City where I'd prayed the Jewish service that welcomes in Shabbat with some of my friends, I was surrounded by Arabic. I realized that, along with the majority of Jewish Israelis, I have no way of communicating with my Arabic-speaking neighbors. At that moment I decided, no matter how hard languages are for me, I have no choice but begin to learn the very beginnings of spoken Arabic. I began learning with a book and some friends on Sunday.

Sunday. Sunday was July 31st, 2005 - exactly three years after a bomb ripped apart the cafeteria at Hebrew U. I knew I wanted to do something to mark the occasion, but I didn't have any ideas what to do other than attending the memorial ceremony held at the university. Luckily, a much better option soon became apparent. A friend of a friend is the director of an organization called BUSTAN which is a partnership of Jews and Arabs promoting social and environmental justice and the fair allocation of resources in Israel and Palestine. On Sunday morning we drove down to the unrecognized village of Abu Tlul in the Northern Negev to visit a public Bedouin school, serving the Israeli Bedouin children who live in the surrounding unrecognized villages southeast of Be'er Sheva. The field workers met with the school principal and a number of the teachers regarding their BUSTAN project, a two and a half acre learning site dedicated to the education of desert agriculture and Bedouin heritage. Other than a minor suggestion, I didn't really participate in the meeting. However, I was able translate everything (the meeting was conducted in Hebrew) for my friend who I had gone down with. She had been teaching me some Arabic that morning, and later in the afternoon, so it was great to be able to help her understand the discussion between BUSTAN and the Abu Tlul school.

The meeting also gave me hope for the future. It demonstrated how well and seemingly naturally Jews and Arabs can work together on a common project despite mounting obstacles. From joking around to haggling over dollars on the projected budget, the brief meeting stretched on for over four hours while struggling to establish all the intricate details of their admirable goal. The park that the students, parents, and local community members are creating to demonstrate sustainable agriculture as well as highlighting traditional Bedouin culture will be an asset to those who help create it as well as the 1600 students it plans on serving. The Southern half of Israel is made up of desert and projects like this one which serve to teach the population how the land can be effectively used may be the key to a sustainable future in the desert region of Israel. Watching Jews and Arabs work together on planning this project was the perfect end to my contemplative week.

Although I started out this week still harboring a grudge against whoever planted the bomb in our cafeteria three years ago, I have come, through my various encounters, to have some hope for the future in this small region of the world. Don't get me wrong, peace still seems incredibly far off if not impossible, but I have begun to witness all the amazing coexistence work that people on both sides are striving towards to make a livable future for the next generations.

That and my Arabic vocabulary has already grown tenfold.

Interesting and relevant links:
Israeli Committee Against House Demolitions - http://www.icahd.org/eng/
ICAHD Building Camp 2005 - http://www.icahd.org/eng/news.asp?menu=5&submenu=1
BUSTAN - http://www.bustan.org/
The Abu Tlul Learning Site - http://www.bustan.org/projectbustan/
The Hebrew University Bombing - http://www.mfa.gov.il/MFA/MFAArchive/2000_2009/2002/7/Terrorist%20bombing%20at%20Hebrew%20University%20cafeteria%20-