June 2001

Views expressed are those of the authors, not necessarily of the AFSC.

Losing Balance: A Report from Palestine

Martin Federman is a Jewish educator in the Boston area. He has directed schools and taught at all levels, including many courses on Israel and the Jewish people's connection with it. He was part of a delegation from the Greater Boston area going to Israel/Palestine in April for the purpose of observing first hand the situation 'on the ground.' The delegation consisted of a diverse group of people with varied backgrounds and interests, all of whom have been involved in various human and civil rights issues. The group included former Massachusetts state representative Mel King, Margaret Burnham, civil rights lawyer and former judge, Dessima Williams, Brandeis University professor and former UN ambassador from Grenada, John Roberts, northeast director of the ACLU, Cathy Hoffman, director of the Cambridge Peace Commission, and others. The group traveled throughout Israel, Gaza, and the West Bank, meeting with Palestinian and Israeli human rights activists, community organizers, health and mental health workers, and Palestinian political leaders. This is his report back, delivered with others at an open and well-attended gathering.

This trip was devastating for me. As a Jew who grew up as a Zionist--my father was a significant fund-raiser for the United Jewish Appeal--it took me a long time to internalize some of the truths about what had become of the Zionist dream. The reality that we saw on this trip, however, went well beyond what I could have imagined. I could have spoken tonight about many things--the children, their fears, their incredible charm; or about their dysfunctional families. Saleem Shawamreh, standing with his children on the empty lot where his three houses once stood, said to us, "This is not about demolished houses, it is about demolished families." And I could have spoken about the humiliation, infantilization, and control perpetrated on proud adults by children in uniforms, trained to dominate, but, in their own way, as much victims as victors. And I could talk about the terrible pathology on both sides of the green line, whose fruit we will not see for many years.

I asked, however, to speak about Hebron, that holy piece of land where Abraham buried his wife Sarah, and where his estranged sons, the brothers Ishmael and Isaac--each betrayed by their father--came together to bury him. I asked to speak about Hebron because, for me as a Jew, there is no place where the tragedy of these brothers' descendants is more apparent. I'd like to read you part of a journal I kept on the trip.

Yom Ha'atzmaut, Israel's Independence Day, called by the Palestinians Al-Nakbah, The Catastrophe

As we enter Hebron, I am overwhelmed by a queasy feeling that I cannot yet identify. Hassan delivers a mixed message: take all the time we need, but not more. It is hard to believe, but we have been delivered to a place that makes even our ever-gracious, supportively deferential driver, who seems so confident and in control, feel unsafe. Sitting in the square, I realize the source of my queasiness: except for two young soldiers near a guard post, the streets of this major town are totally deserted. As we wait for our Christian Peace Team (CPT) contacts, two young women walk by our van, chatting happily. Over time a handful of people, all obviously religious Jews, pass by. I leave the van to photograph the Ibrahami Mosque/Machpelah Synagogue, the divided site of the ancient brothers' reconciliation. Periodically settlers stroll up and down the expanse of steps leading to the holy site. One family, the father carrying the bag that holds his Talit (prayer shawl) and T'fillin, walk to their small station wagon, arrange their blankets, cooler, apparently off to a post-davening, Independence Day picnic. Later we learn that the mosque is closed: no need for a place to pray for a community locked in its homes.

Hebron. Photo: Cathy Hoffman

Rick and Joanne arrive, in their unmistakable red CPT baseball caps, which seem to confer some sense of invincibility on them. They remind us that the Civil Administration has imposed a 24-hour curfew on the Palestinian population. Except for limited hours every few days, no one is allowed out of their houses. If found on the streets, they are subject to arrest and, at best, returned to their homes. We are led through the Twilight Zone-like streets. We cannot ignore the Magen Davids--the Jewish stars--spray-painted on the steel shutters of virtually every house and store. In fact, all the graffiti is of a different nature from what we saw in Gaza. There the message was self-generated, making the streets a continuous billboard of Palestinian anger and defiance. Here we see only revulsion, an imposed message of ownership and hatred that cries out, in large, spray-painted letters.

At the end of one street we come to a store that has been gutted by simple bombs made of kerosene-filled balloons. Rick explains that, after the horrible tragedy of the death of a 10-month-old settler baby, it was initially quiet. Then, some days later, a group of settlers came through this street, destroying everything they could. Calm was restored when the Palestinian community was put under curfew. We are no longer surprised when Rick tells us that, after Baruch Goldstein, an observant Jew, entered the mosque on the Jewish holiday of Purim with an automatic weapon, killed 29 worshipping Palestinians, injured dozens more, and was himself wrestled to the ground and killed, authorities placed a 24-hour curfew on the Arab residents, while settlers were free to go about their business.

Beyond the shuttered stores there is a hill that leads to the settlement. At the foot of the hill is a bizarre sort of welcome station, set up by the settlers to greet visitors and share their views. We pause to talk to the Chicago-born young woman and her Israeli companion, and hear the basis of their claim to this land. Ultimately their entire argument rests on the words of the Torah which relate Abraham's purchase of the Cave of Machpelah as a burial site for his beloved wife Sarah. And, of course, they are quite right. I have taught this passage many times, always emphasizing the Torah's specificity: how Abraham breaks with the eastern practice of bargaining, paying the outrageous price first asked; how the boundaries of the land purchased, as well as the fact that the transaction is carried out before the people of the place, are repeated a number of times in order to emphasize the legal nature of this transaction. This entire passage is, for all intents and purposes, a legal deed, assuring Abraham's descendants ownership of this site in perpetuity. And, as I listen, I wonder how these people can focus on this story without acknowledging the other truths that go with it. It is precisely the fact that this small plot (and the land around it) does not belong to him that Abraham is compelled to buy it. It is his own death that reunites his two heirs, who stand on this spot together to bury him. And, less legalistically, who in our mutual history more exemplified the idea of hospitality than the father of Ishmael and Isaac? Is it comprehensible that Abraham, who even the ancient Rabbis agree, loved both of his sons equally, would have claimed this land for one and not the other? I want to argue all of this, but I stand and listen, heartsick. We walk up to the edge of the settlement where we see the normal-ness of Jewish Hebron, as well as the long narrow steps leading to the road that Palestinians must use to bypass the settlement in order to get from one side of their town to the other. We return to the empty streets of the quarantined Palestinian section.

Hebron, deserted city of 30,000 Palestinians under closure as 200 settlers are free to roam on Israeli Independence Day, 4/26/2001. Photo: Cathy Hoffman

We pass another Israeli guardhouse and are told that we cannot walk any further. Rick gently urges us to go on, and I wonder if this is the beginning of the confrontation I have dreaded. I look back, catching a glimpse of the soldier, who is now yelling at us to stop, coming in our direction, waving his weapon. He is distracted by something as we turn the corner, and come upon a Palestinian couple carrying a baby. After a brief conversation with them, Rick explains that the child is sick, and they are attempting to get to the Palestinian-administered part of the city for medical attention. Rick asks us if we are willing to gather around them and "escort" them to the other side. We have previously discussed the issue of joining in demonstrations or acts of defiance, and have unanimously agreed that, in order to maintain our objectivity as observers and fact-finders, we must avoid this kind of action. Nevertheless, with almost no conversation, we surround this family and proceed, as casually as the situation allows, toward the dividing place.

Across the Barriers

This proves to be the most surreal part of our Hebron experience. As we walk down the street, we approach large cement barriers, close enough together to block vehicular traffic, but allowing pedestrians to cross through. Up to the barriers the street is completely empty, with shuttered buildings on both sides, but, as we walk through the unguarded dividing line, we are greeted by a bustling market scene. The shops on either side are open, street vendors line the way, and further on there is a square packed with merchants selling produce, household goods, street food, and more. We have entered the part of Hebron administered by the Palestinian Authority--we have left Israel and are now in Palestine. After thanking us, the couple hurry off with their sick baby. Rick takes us to a photography shop where I am able to buy film, and Margaret stops in a charming, modern pharmacy to buy eye-drops. We rejoin the group and, as if walking through some ancient time/space warp, we take the single step into the empty streets of Israel's Palestinian Hebron.

There is no more to relate. I find it difficult to walk with, or communicate with my friends. I feel a sense of outrage and despair. I recognize the thoughts and feelings that are emerging, and I want with all my being to suppress them. I have heard the comparisons, made by those furious at the Israelis and their policies, with the Holocaust. I have railed against these comparisons, and I still do. This is not the Holocaust: there is no genocide, there is no mass killing, the situation is qualitatively different, and the comparison does harm to both experiences. But here, in Hebron, I cannot avoid the dark images created by my own people. How can we, who resisted and died in European ghettos, enforce this kind of curfew on a whole people? How can we, who survived the pogroms of Russia, assuage our grief by capriciously attacking an overwhelmingly innocent population? How can we, who saw the ancient symbol of our people painted by oppressors on the windows of our stores and the walls of our synagogues, profane it on the shutters of others? I want desperately for these questions to go away, but I cannot purge them. I need to hold them in order to tell this story, yet I resist them with all my strength. A certain balance in my universe has been shattered here in Hebron. I'm not sure how it can ever be restored.

Women in Black Call for an End to Occupation Territories; Vigils on June 8th
On Friday, June 8 (the anniversary of the 1967 Six-Day War), in over 75 localities worldwide Women (and for this occasion also Men) dressed in Black will call for an end to Israel's 34-year occupation of the West Bank, East Jerusalem, and Gaza and for an international intervention to protect Palestinians who struggle for their independence.   Local vigils: Noon-1:00 P.M., Harvard Square, in front of Holyoke Center, Cambridge and 5:00-6:00 P.M., Park Street T Station, Boston. The call for these solidarity events has been issued by the Coalition of Women for a Just Peace, which includes organizations of Israeli Jewish and Israeli Palestinian women.  For information, Hilda Silverman, 617/661-7490; <hildasil@msn.com>

"Stop the Killing! Stop the Destruction!"

Post cards with this message, addressed to the US President and Secretary of State, ready to be signed and mailed, are available at bulk rates from: Middle East Peace Education, AFSC, 1501 Cherry St., Philadelphia, PA 19102-1479; <kbergen@afsc.org> 215/241-7177

"US-produced military helicopters and other US produced weapons are being used against Palestinian civilians, their homes, and their institutions in the West Bank and Gaza. Palestinians need protection from these weapons and from Israeli settlers and soldiers. Please instruct our Ambassador to the United Nations to support international protection, under the auspices of the UN, for Palestinians in the territories occupied by Israel in 1967."

Endorsers: AFSC, American-Arab Anti-Discrimination Committee,Christian Peacemaker Teams, COPRED, Fellowship of Reconciliation, Institute for Policy Studies

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