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Published: November 5th 2009
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Pause in the storm
No one is at the beach restaurant in Herzliyah. Winter made its presence known this week; it rained hard for four or five days and I pulled out my sweaters and coat. I spent Shabbat with my friend Tamar and her family north of Tel Aviv and in between downpours we walked along the beach so I could stock up on fresh salty air and the sound and surge of the waves. We even made it down to Jaffa, a charming, ancient port city where Jews and Palestinians live together relatively harmoniously.
Which brings me to my main theme for the day. But first, my disclaimer: There are obviously as many opinions about the Middle East as there are people interested in the region. My goal here is to tell you about my experience, not necessarily to extrapolate policy. Of course, if anyone would like to discuss their opinions with me, I would be very happy to do so.
So:
Living As you may remember, my neighborhood, like Jaffa, is also a mix of Jews, Palestinian and others (including lots of journalists and UN folks). Half of Abu Tor was Israeli territory after the War of Independence in 1948 and half of it
Welcoming in Shabbat
Ah, the Mediterranean! was Jordanian. After the Six Day War in 1967, the entire neighborhood was integrated into Jerusalem proper. The border between '48 and '67 was just to the east of my building (my building being on the Israel side). The way I know that (other than looking on Google maps) is two-fold: One is that the eruv, the wire that defines a Jewish area for the purposes of Shabbat observance, runs just east of my building. Also, Palestinian houses from the pre-67 period have black water tanks on top of their houses and they don't tend to have solar water heaters. My apartment and the one next to it have the solar water heaters, and after that, all the houses have black water tanks.
In Hebrew this odd line is called the "tefer," the seam. It's an optimistic metaphor of bringing together two separate pieces of material to make one cloth. From talking to my neighbors, the seam in Abu Tor used to be a smoother one. Before the second intifada, people shopped in each other's stores and met in the evenings in a coffee shop/jazz bar down the hill a little. That doesn't happen much any more; communities
A-Shuhada Street, Hebron
When I was in Hebron 22 years ago, this was a bustling market. Now it is closed until further notice - even pedestrian traffic is forbidden. stick to their own kind and the coffee shop is closed. I try to catch the eye of Palestinian women as we walk down the road together but more often than not, I am not successful. It doesn't feel hostile, just wary.
Today I went with some of the Mandel Fellows to Hebron. That was completely different. We went with an organization called Shovrim Shetikah (Breaking the Silence). This is a group of Israel veterans from across the political spectrum (not just the left) who want to share with the Israeli public what they experienced during their service in the "Occupied Territories." (Even what you call the land that Israel conquered in 1967 is a political issue. Is it the "territories?" Then you're probably from the Israeli left. "Judah and Samaria?" Then you're probably from the right.) We went to look around; we didn't have the opportunity to talk to people. But even just seeing was shocking enough.
I was in Hebron once before in 1987, actually just a few weeks before the first intifada began. I remember it as a bustling city, home, of course, of the Machpela Cave, the burial site of Abraham, Sarah,
Caged balconies
Three families are left on this block; the others have all left. They can't open their front doors or walk down the street. Isaac, Rebecca, Jacob and Leah, holy to Jews, Muslims and Christians alike. Today the heart of the city, which used to be shops selling ceramics and glass and produce, is largely abandoned. In order to prevent "friction" between the Palestinian community (over 100,000 people) and the Jewish community (between 500-1,000 people), the main market areas, which were near the Machpela Cave, have been completely shut down. The shops are all locked, some of them even sealed shut from the outside. Certain streets near the Jewish settlements, some of the main arteries of the city, are off limits for Palestinian traffic. Some are even off-limits to Palestinian pedestrian traffic. We saw one woman on her balcony on the second floor. Her front door is nailed shut because the street in front of her house is off-limits to Palestinian pedestrians. Even the balcony was a kind of cage to prevent stones from being thrown at the house.
Many people refuse to live like this. They have abandoned their homes and moved to other parts of the city or elsewhere all together. We saw a whole neighborhood in the old city that has been completely abandoned.
Needless to say,
Graffiti
The Hebrew says, "Die, insh'allah!" (Insh'allah is Arabic for "Gd willing.) This is spray-painted on a Palestinian's door. this is completely different than my neighborhood. In Hebron, wariness has been transformed not just to hostility but to out-right hatred. We saw hideous graffiti written in Hebrew and hundreds-of-year-old olive trees that have been burned down. We also saw memorials to a Jewish family and a Jewish infant, who were killed by suicide bomber or sniper fire. The anger and the hatred are palpable. It's difficult to use the metaphor of a seam in this city, although there is a de facto membrane around the tiny Jewish community. But there is no single cloth here, no attempt to bring two pieces together.
It was painful to me to witness the transformation of this city, holy to three traditions. My love for Israel, my love for humanity, my hopes for peace, my abhorrence of violence, my commitment to truth, my tribal loyalties all come colliding into each other. It is also difficult to write about these things, even in this superficial way. I decided not to include any of the statistics that I heard; I just wanted to share what I saw with my own eyes. But if you're interested, I can tell you what I heard as
well. I also have lots more photos, details, and stories, for anyone who wants to know more.
Of course, if it were easy, we would have solved it already. But that is cold comfort.
Next week I will tell you about Vygotsky and the proximal zone of development (which is a lot more interesting than you might think from the name). I will also get to spend Shabbat with UJF's Women's Division Mission participants! I am looking forward to seeing familiar faces from home.
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Nina Brodsky
non-member comment
Ma asitah?
Shalom, I love reading your blog entries. Your studies and experiences are facinating, and it looks like you are maximizing the experience in every way. This blog gets to the heart of the conflict. How do two people, who have become enemies, share the same small plot of land in relative harmony and peacefulness? Can we still believe in peaceful solutions? How can trust be rebuilt so that seams can mend the ravaged fabric? Hebron sounds like the symbol of what has been lost, and your neighborhood could be the symbol of what is possible. I would love to hear more about this topic. Politically, I know, I am becoming more "right-wing" in my thinking because of the undeniable history of the Arabs living in the former Palestine. Now, that is a political statement! I read just about everything I can from various sources on the internet, but your first hand observations and comments are just as important to the understanding. Who burned the olive trees? I shudder to think who did it! Thank you for sharing all of this with us! nina