Israel Day 9 – Tuesday – Galilee

Tuesday was election day, which meant that our favorite guide Jared had to return home to vote, and as a result we heard from Yisrael, a different voice about Israel with a focus on security measures.  It was a day spent with the sacred waters of Israel, and deep reflection, with an oddly militaristic bent.

We had pulled into the city of Tiberius in the dark, but we awoke to a beautiful sunrise over the Kinneret (known to us as the Sea of Galilee) from our hotel.  The Sea of Galilee is neither a sea, nor is it in Galilee technically. Galil in Hebrew means ‘rolling waves’, like the rolling waves of mountains and hills that we would see later in the day.  The ‘Sea of Galilee’ is actually in the Jordan River Valley.  It is, however, the lowest freshwater body on earth (the Dead Sea is the lowest non-freshwater body), and situated near a fissure in the techtonic plates.  There are 17 hot springs surrounding the Western side of the Kinneret, with water as hot as 140 degrees F and several types of minerals present.  The area has been used for healing baths for centuries, and some posit that this is why Jesus centered his ministry in this area - where there were the most sick people in need of healing.   

Kim and Nilsa testing the hot spring

We visited Hamat Tiberius, the location of one of the oldest synagogues in Israel and now a national park.  (Hamat means ‘hot’ in Hebrew).  The synagogue was discovered in 1921 during road construction.  There were several synagogues built over the centuries in the same place, but the second one is notable because the mosaic floor features both the symbols of Judaism - the Holy Ark, the Shofar, and 2 Menorahs - and a circular image of the Greek God Helios with the astrological signs encircling it.  Four women adorn the corners representative of the seasons. The idolatrous symbols trespass Jewish law in a synagogue, which leads one to think that the rules may have been relaxed in a time of coexistence with the Hellenistic populations of the time.  There is Hebrew labeling the names of the astrological symbols, but some are misspelled or upside-down, perhaps indicating the Jewish population having some fun with the Roman belief system.

Below the statue it reads, "Feed My Sheep"

I overheard our professors telling the guide that with our particular group and religious focus, that a visit to the Sea of Galilee is more meaningful than most of the holy sites we saw in Jerusalem, and I couldn’t agree more.  The ideology of the kibbutz - the sacredness inherent in growing your own food and working ‘holy’ land - echoed in my head as we arrived at the Galilean shore.  Here is where Jesus fed people.  Here is where he multiplied the bread and fishes to feed 5000 (Matthew 14). The road to Emmaus, where Jesus appeared after crucifixion to two strangers but only became recognizable after breaking bread with them, is near Tiberias (Luke 24).  It’s on the Sea of Tiberias (another name for the Kinneret) where Jesus appears for the third time to seven disciples and has them cast a net that overflows with fish, and joins them for breakfast (John 21).  Over and over again, we see that it was only in eating together that the disciples recognized Jesus.   

We visited the water at the Church of Primacy, where the Franciscans planted a church in the 4th Century to commemorate the spot where Jesus reinstated Peter chief of the Apostles (a central theme is Apostolic succession of the Pope). And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter [Greek, Petros], and upon this rock [Greek, petra] I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. (Matthew 16:18).  Regardless of my feelings on Apostolic succession, the current Church of the Primacy (built c. 1933) was a place of subdued beauty and peacefulness for our meditation at the Sea of Galilee.  Also in the 4th Century, Byzantine Christians planted a church on the site of the Sermon on the Mount, now known as the Church of the Beatitudes.  It is a gorgeous structure situated overlooking the sea.  The church is octagaonal, symbolizing the 8 beatitudes, which are referenced in latin within the sanctuary.  Many people pilgrimage there for deep prayer, as the nuns on the microphone continually reminded us to ‘be quiet!’  

After lunch we drove through the Golan Heights to the Tel Dan Reserve. The Golan Heights provides beautiful sights, but we did not stop at any point because the area is riddled with landmines.  There are signs all along the roadway announcing in three languages for people to keep out. The Golan Heights borders Israel, Lebanon, Syria and Jordan (technically it is still recognized as Syria under international law).  When the border was drawn after the 1948, the Syrian Golan Heights overlooked the valley below, that was part of Israel.  Throughout the 20 years between the 1948 and 67 war, the ceasefire line was a sight of violent exchanges from both sides, but Syria had the topographical advantage of firing from the heights into the valley.  In the 1967 war (the 6-day war) which involved alliances of the surrounding Arab nations, Israel first repelled the Egyptian forces and captured the Sinai desert in the first few days. As a secondary initiative, they launched forces up the mountains in the Golan in order to take the highlands and secure the safety of the villages below (at least, this is how our Isreali guide told it), and it was secured in only 48 hours.  In the 1973 Yom Kippur war, Syrians entered the country through the Golan and it was a major fighting front.  Some of the landmines were planted during the fighting by both sides; many more were placed by Israel in 1974-75 to prevent another border crossing from Syria. 


A quick internet search reveals claims that landmines are not only planted in security areas but around civilian (Arab) homes and villages, and casualties from these landmines are still occurring.  Some of the landmines are old, corroded, and occasionally wash up to the surface during the rainy season.  An Israeli politician launched an initiative for landmine removal in 2010, but another source said additional landmines are being placed as of 2011.  

We stop at a public park overlook because we are so close that we can see the border with Syria. Yisrael directs our attention to the peak of Mt. Hermon, another strategic point occupied by Israel, and the road to Damascus (site of Pauls' ephiphany?) apparent from the post. UN guards are patrolling the site, and Yisrael comments that the UN is only effective in border patrol when both countries want peace. Later, in the Tel Dan, we’ll be able to see the border with Lebanon. Yisrael, our guide, points out the military outposts at the top of each peak, as well as the army barracks along the route. In lessons learned from the 1973 Yom Kippur war, Israel does not intend allow itself to be caught unawares by an invasion through the Golan, since it would take 2-3 days to call up the national guard and transport them to the front.  Instead, it holds onto the highlands with constant surveillance and a military population at the ready. This was echoed in our last event of the night, a visit with Channa Manne, a social worker to deals with PTSD in the Israeli population of the villages in the valley below the Golan Heights.  Channa said that when people had reached their limit with the conflict, they would move to a location out of reach of the rockets.  But recent conflicts have proven that there is no place out of reach of the warfare of bordering Arab countries.  Which led me to ask, Is there peace potential in knowing there’s no place that’s out of range of rocketfire?  Does that increase the incentive for more justice and peace on the part of Israeli citizens?  Or is it too late?  When does hopefulness become naivete?


Reflection: Power

We spent time on the Mount in group discussion about ‘Blessed are the peacemakers’ - and what it means to create peace.  We had been advised to pay close attention to the word ‘peace’ while in Israel and the different meanings behind it depending on the speaker. (Is it just the status quo with no violence, or does it involve justice for the Palestinian people?) Then Dr. Thistlethwaite brought up Dietrich Bonhoeffer and posed a question about the cost of discipleship. (Bonhoeffer was a German Lutheran pastor from Nazi Germany. He looked to the church to oppose the policy of the Nazis, specifically the seminaries, but found compliance.  So he founded a dissenting church, the Confessing Church. He also traveled to the US during this era, but felt he must return to Germany to do his part against the Third Reich. Ultimately, he orchestrated a failed assassination attempt on Hitler, and was executed.)  

In view of the grand church built with support from the Italian Government under Benedito Mussolini from 1936-38, we contemplated what should be the ideal of tolerance, and what do we have the power to oppose? As liberals, we aspire for a society of tolerance, but how far does that tolerance go?  What is our responsibility to stand up to evil or interrupt injustice?  I’d like to believe that, had I been alive in the rise of the Third Reich, I would have taken a stand against the anti-semitism as much as I try to use my power to be in solidarity with other oppressed people like immigrants in the US or Palestinians in Israel. But the truth is, I’m not sure any of us know what we would have done in the face of such evil. During our layover in Amsterdam, I visited the Hollandsche Schouwberg, a theater located in the heart of the Jewish Quarter. Initially a popular location for shows, it became restricted to Jewish performers and attendees only under Nazi occupation, and eventually became a place where Jews reported for deportation. The museum of course displayed pictures and items from the nearly 100,000 Dutch Jews that perished in the Holocaust. They also documented some of the underground initiatives working against the regime, including the creation of false documents, an underground newspaper, and the kindergarten across the street that smuggled Jewish children out of Holland while hosting a school.  

I asked the curator, with a point of Dutch pride (my ancestry), why it seems like there was greater resistance to the Nazis in the Netherlands than anywhere else.  (After all, I’ve heard the story of Anne Frank, hidden by the Dutch, since I was a child).  She frowned at my naivete, and said while there were 4 groups of resistance in Holland during the Nazi occupation, there were plenty who did nothing, and others who collaborated with the Nazis for profit. (The award in Holland for turning in a Jew was seven guilder). The thing unique to Holland was the sheer number of Jews living there - over 100,000 - a number equaled only in the Eastern bloc countries.  And unfortunately, the Dutch tendency to be extremely orderly and organized meant that the Jewish population was documented on file before the Nazis ever arrived, making deportation easier in Holland than other locales. Again, it’s a case of which narrative is chosen and promoted.  History is written by the victors, those who end up with power. The Dutch have chosen to portray themselves as a people of tolerance and integrity, but it’s only part of the story. I have the incredible urge to ask my parents about everything they ever heard from their parents about the Holocaust.

In this current conflict, Israel has the ability to broadcast their narrative about the Palestinian intransigence much more so than the underdeveloped, un-Western Palestinian nation can broadcast their abuses. Shared culture, technology, language, and religious heritage all makes Western countries more receptive to listening to the narrative from the Israel perspective. The Palestinians feel that the world has forgotten about them, or doesn’t care. Our (conservative) narratives about Arab cultural differences, muslim jihad, and ‘their’ indifference to violence further buffets the power of the Israel-as-victim narrative. And the Palestinians are stuck with very little power.

Israel Day 8 - Monday - The Kibbutz

Monday morning, we head for a farm, otherwise known as a kibbutz.  Given our progressive crowd of ‘food justice’ people into the community gardening movement at home, I thought it was to be about food.  And indeed, our first stop was at an organic kibbutz that is one of the most eco-friendly and least-privatized farms still in operation today (out of 270 still operating). But I had no idea how integral kibbutzim were in Israel’s development or identity.

The first and second aliyahs (wave of Jewish immigration; 1881-1903 and 1904-1914, respectively) were mainly Russian/Eastern European Jews (coinciding with the Russian pograms) who wanted to be farmers.  In most of Europe, Jews had been forbidden to own land, which factored into why they became successful merchants and bankers. (Unfortunately, these professions also factored into how they were scapegoated during the anti-Semitism of the 1930’s).  But where the first aliyah consisted of smaller groups with religious motives, the second aliyah had an ideological zeal around a collective method of farming. To give the ideology roots, Jared read to us a section from A.D. Gordon, a Zionist immigrant to Palestine in 1904 and the ‘spiritual force behind Labor Zionism’.  Gordon valued the dignity of labor and felt that return to the soil would transform the Jewish people and allow its rejuvenation.

Olive Grove

“The Jewish people has been completely cut off from nature and imprisoned within city walls for two thousand years. We have been accustomed to every form of life, except a life of labor- of labor done at our behalf and for its own sake. It will require the greatest effort of will for such a people to become normal again. We lack the principal ingredient for national life. We lack the habit of labor… for it is labor which binds a people to its soil and to its national culture, which in its turn is an outgrowth of the people's toil and the people's labor. …

“…I think that everyone of us ought to retreat for a moment into his innermost self, free himself from all outside influences - both from those of the gentile world and even from the influence of our own Jewish past - and then ask himself with the utmost simplicity, seriousness, and honesty: What, essentially, is the purpose of our national movement? What do we expect to find in Palestine that no other place can give us? Why should we segregate ourselves from the nations among whom we have lived our lives? Why leave the lands of our birth, which have fashioned our personalities and so largely influenced our spirits? Why should we not share full and unreservedly with those nations in their great work for the progress of mankind? In other words, why should we not completely assimilate ourselves among those nations? What stops us?

Benny showing us how to squeeze a fresh olive

 “Surely it is not religion. In our day it is quite possible to live without any religion at all...the answer is that there is a force within every one of us which is fighting for its own life - which seeks its own realization…

“Jewish life in the Diaspora lacks this cosmic element of national identity; it is sustained by the historic element alone, which keeps us alive and will not let us die, but it cannot provide us with a full national life. What we have come to find only in Palestine is the cosmic element... We come to our Homeland in order to be planted in our natural soil from which we have been uprooted, to strike our roots deep into its life-giving substance.”

Kim and the inky oil from a black olive

This choice, however, was a tough road to hoe.  The fact that Jews had been forbidden to own land meant that they arrived with little to no agricultural skills.  Palestine is mostly desert country with rocky soil, while the Galilean river valley area was swampy.  Pictures of the early kibbutz on the shores of the Kinneret (Sea of Galilee) show only 2 trees.  And the native populations of Arabs and nomadic Bedouin were not happy to receive these settlers, leading to raids and harassment. (At this point, land was being bought from the Ottoman Empire by the Jewish National Fund, sometimes with coins donated at cash registers in the U.S.)  The labor, financial resources, and security made group settlement a necessity.  But people in the second aliyah were taken with the socialist revolutionary spirit of the times as well. 

Holding the inheritance from God; Soil

The first kibbutz was founded in 1909.  Their dream was to work for themselves to build up the land, and in the process, build a nation.  These were the idealists that planted not only the intellectual seed of Zionism, but they also planted it geographically, establishing the connection to the actual land.  And in fact, our host, Benny, at Kibbutz Sede Eliyahu, asked us to pick up the soil and hold it in our hands, saying, “this soil is our inheritance from God.” 

This nation-building mindset required a certain amount of militant toughness.  We visited with two elderly kibbutzniks, but the words of Yehudit, a woman in her 80’s, stuck with me most. Yehudit explained that the kibbutzniks recognized that there was no possibility to have a Jewish state in Europe, so they came to Palestine to both have a socialist state and to change the Jewish character in one generation. “Jews have always been afraid. We were survivors.  The way of the Jews [historically] was to hide, to run, to cry.  We were not a people to stand up for ourselves.”  The kibbutzniks were leading a revolution to change their lives to be positive people.  The young people leading the revolution largely left religion behind, partly in line with socialist ideology, but partly also to wipe out all the traditions of the Diaspora (i.e. when Jews were scattered across the nations).  So the Kibbutzniks were forbidden to be polite, because to be polite is to be a hypocrite.  Kibbutzniks were raised to hate the character of Jews in Diaspora because they were not proud, but frightened.  So in this new character, babies were forbidden to cry.  People were not allowed to share their grief.  There were many who left, and others who committed suicide but left diaries with the suffering they couldn’t share in public.  According to Yehudit, the highest status was awarded to he who does the hardest work.  In 1943, her dream was to be “big, strong, fat, and a blacksmith.  I was most proud of my hands because these are the hands that build the country.  I was raised in a generation to do, to work, to create, not for ourselves, but for others.”  This was the creation of the New Jew.

Yehudit

Our other host, Aryeh Malchin, fought with the US in WWII, and then worked for a year smuggling concentration camp survivors – mostly children – into Palestine illegally when Britain was still limiting migration to 10,000 a year.  (Malchin described the ships, layered with secret compartments where people would have to lie down during the voyage and take turns sending representatives to the food lines).  Once caught, Malchin spent some time detained, and then founded another kibbutz.  He still lives there to this day at age 94, along with members of Dr. Mikva’s family. 

Farmland

 There are 270 kibbutzim in Israel today.  Most have undergone full or partial privatization.  Some, like the first we visited, continue to be communally sustained with meals prepared, cleaning, teaching, farming, and all other kibbutz jobs executed by members.  There is a communal dining hall, synagogue, athletic facilities, schools, and nursing homes on the kibbutz.  Some prefer to live on a kibbutz but work in the private world; in that instance, their salary is given directly to the kibbutz and they are given an allowance the same as all other members.

Our last speaker of the day was not related to kibbutzim, but rather was an Ethiopian Jew.  She spoke about how her family emigrated from Ethiopia – by foot – in a time of persecution along with 40,000 others.  Many were swindled, robbed, and some died and they only got as far as Egypt. Eventually Israel executed a covert mission to collect the population and fly them into Israel against Egyptian policy.  However, once settled in Israel, the community was met with skepticism from the Chief Rabbinate regarding their Jewish rituals and practices, which differed from the orthodox.  Since citizenship is granted based on religious identity, this threatened to leave Ethiopians out of Israeli society.  A compromise was eventually brokered to allow them citizenship, but life remains economically and sometimes racially difficult for Ethiopian Jews in Israel. 
...

Reflection: Sabra (aka prickliness)

Early in our trip, Jared had shared how the word ‘Sabra’, hebrew for cactus, is the self-appointed slang for the Israeli people.  The allegory was that they were prickly on the outside, but soft in the middle (and probably related to survival in the desert.)  This kept surfacing in my head while listening to Yehudit say they were attempting to recreate the Jewish character in one generation.  Ophir’s ‘judgmental Israeli society’ became alive in her story, with the unwillingness to entertain suffering or trauma.  She was very proud of their success, too, saying it only took 55 years.  

We have a similar pride in the frontier toughness and ‘bootstrap’ ideology of the American story, and respect for those of worked the hardest to found our nation.  There is personal agency (as in the ability to act in your own self-determination) in both stories, to make the choice to pick up and move, which is empowering and transforms the story from tragic, about persecution, to proud, about ability.  But while the origin of the story is also religious persecution, my understanding of the American goal was not erasing the traditions and personal character of the past, but creating the arena to cleanse it of corruption. And while this is the prevalent narrative in America, it is far from the whole truth, especially if you were Black, Native American, or many other scapegoated minorities.

The idea of wishing to change the Jewish character is fascinating to me.  I wish I had asked Yehudit what she feels about the conflict now; that the military side of Israel has fully embraced the tough, aggressive exterior planted by the kibbutz movement.  Would she still be proud of the impolite ‘New Jew’?  I found myself contemplating how Yehudit’s story mirrors children who have experienced trauma, especially if perpetrated by their parents through abuse, alcholism, or mental illness, sometimes develop a tough outer facade.  When trust is broken with the person or persons who are most directly responsible for their well-being, some children overcompensate for their pain by showing no weakness, as if to say, ‘everything is fine.  I can take care of myself.’   No crying.  Not showing pain.  Some children learn to show no emotion; others become bullies of those who most reflect the weakness they are trying to hide.  Eventually this behavior becomes damaging to others, and also to the child themselves.  

In our conversation with Sami at the Holy Land Trust, he asked the question, ‘what healing needs to happen within the Jewish people so that they can deal justly with Palestinians?’  In an individual, that’s got to be introspection, analysis, painful realization, modified behavior and atonement.  What does self-recognition look like in a national identity?  Perhaps this recognition of the kibbutzim role in Jewish identity is part of that introspection and analysis.  

I don’t know if a traumatized child is an apt metaphor because the actions of the Isreali government and military, and some of the political voices, are really just intent on placing their desires for a Jewish state above any consideration for Palestinian self-determination.  And if by parents, my metaphor abstractly refers to ‘the world’ and our collective conscience, the Palestinians are certainly not just some kid on the playground getting ridiculed (although humiliation is definitely part of the occupation). They simply were the politically weakest people in a game of political titans with first-world self-importance deciding their fate.  With Sami at the Holy Land Trust, we also talked about the ability of Palestinians in his work to have agency, to have some self-determination in their conscious actions towards peace.  The most damaging part of the occupation of Palestine is not the loss of land, but the occupation of their lives.  The inability to travel, to build, to farm, to create a livelihood.  It’s the loss of agency, which is a natural human drive.  When someone is robbed of almost all ability for self-determination, you still grasp for power. When so many avenues are closed to you, you still search for ways to make an impact. There is agency in choosing a jihad of suicide bombing - you make a choice to have your life make impact, however unfathomable. It’s important to create other avenues for Palestinian agency in this conflict, which is why I so appreciate Sami’s work.  The peacemakers we met with - not just Sami, but Marwan in the Aida Refugee Camp, Iyad our tour guide - are having the opportunity to take action, however small, in this bloody conflict.

From my political background, I know that Power concedes nothing without a Demand, backed by equivalent Power.  But I also know that politicians are not leaders, but follow the will of the people, and every revolutionary battle has been led from the inside, by changing the will of the people internally.  Every person we met with- on both sides- continually said that the conflict cannot be resolved by outside forces, but that it must be resolved from within. Signing a treaty for peace at Camp David, they said, means nothing at home.  Changing the will of the people often requires radical and shocking action that upends the order of the social system and reprioritizes value; like chaining yourself to an oil rig about to be sunk in the North Sea, or risking your life in marches or freedom rides that leave you exposed to dogs, fire hoses, and murder. It’s the radical action of making your life vulnerable in service to others, or your cause, that shocks people enough to think twice about their value system.  When the nation of Israel is ready to make peace, the nation will have to come to the table with vulnerability, not prickliness - with admonission of fault, recognition of Palestinian losses, and true apology. Because the cactus, although plentiful in Israel, is not a native species.  

Israel Day 7 – Sunday – Politics in Israel

Labor Party's Jerusalem HQ

We closed Shabbat with the Havdalah blessing (more on that later) and visited the Labor Party, as it was 3 days before national elections in Israel.  Labor, a historic socialist party in Israel, had fallen to its lowest numbers in the last election, and our hosts were fighting to rebound.  They were focusing on what we call ‘bread and butter issues’ in this election – fighting austerity measures in Israel and concentrating on the price of groceries and wages. (Interestingly, the price of groceries in Israel is actually set by the government, not the market).  Labor, along with other center-left parties, did much better than expected, while Likud, that had been running the government for the last 5 years, took a beating. 

St. Georges Anglican Cathedral, Jerusalem

After attending Episcopalian services in English Sunday morning (with a perfectly inspiring sermon; ‘Paul does not intend for us to sit on the premises while singing, “Stand on the Promises of Christ My King”), we spent the day learning about social issues and advocacy in Israeli society.  There are 34 political parties in Israel that function in a coalition government (which means when people vote, rather than geographic representation, each party receives a percentage, and that percentage of their chosen representatives joins the Knesset.)  Each party prepared a list of 120 names prior to a national election.  If the party were to win a majority, their first name would be their candidate for Prime Minister (and if they got 10% of the vote, the top 12 names would join the Knesset).  But, this is only the beginning – from here it gets complicated.  The party that wins the most, (this time 19 & 17% respectively), spends the next three weeks horse-trading with the other parties to bring together a unified group that has received 61% of the vote.  If successful, this will be the ruling majority, who will control the Prime Minister position, fill the portfolios (something like a cabinet that heads each section of government), and pass most of the laws over their term.  The minority can draft laws, but they must make creative alliances to be successful in passing any legislation.  If the top vote-getting party fails to bring together this majority in the time allowed, the Knesset President selects a different party to make the same attempt.  This happened in the last elected government, which is why Netanyahu, who came from the second vote-getting party, was able to be Prime Minister.

There are parties in Israel ranging from Labor (center left worker party) to Likud (right wing security party) to the Jewish Home Party (believes that Palestine should be abolished).  The surprise winner (2^nd place) in January’s elections was the Yesh Atid (translated; ‘There is a Future’) party, headed by a well-known (and handsome) former news anchor.  The main platform of the party in this election is to change military conscription to include ultraorthodox men. Currently, military service, mandatory for all Israeli men, is waived for the ultraorthodox if they choose to study Torah until age 45.  The policy echoes the respect Israeli society has for the very religious; however, there is growing backlash towards this group because, in order to study until age 45, most ultraorthodox men do not work and receive housing and other government subsidies, averaging around $1200 a month.  Demographically, this group is primed to become the majority in Israel by 2050, as they average 6.5 children per family.  (Incidentally, although ultraorthodox women have a subservient status in their society, they not only do the childrearing but also work outside the home to support the family. More on this later.)     

Both the visit with the Open House GLBT Center and the Israel Religious Action Center talked about the peculiarities of balancing the elements of theocracy in Israel with modern laws, since there is no separation of religion and politics in Israel. In matters of family law, citizens of Israel must go through the rabbinical court system. For example, Israel recognizes marriages from any country, and you can be married according to your faith tradition or in civil court. However, the religious authority for Jewish marriage is the Chief Rabbinate and Rabbinical Courts, which, as I’ve said, has always been ultraorthodox up to the present.  That can be challenging for a secular couple, or an interfaith couple, as well as a gay couple.  So many people simply leave Israel to get married in Cyprus or Canada.  This becomes a major problem, however, in divorce.  For Jews, the Rabbinical Court is the only court that can grant divorce, and this must be with agreement of the husband (women are not allowed to testify), according to Jewish Law.  If a man doesn’t agree, the woman, or partner, is stuck.  Family court may decide matters of custody or alimony, but if the divorce proceedings are filed first in rabbinical court, the process can stall.    

The Open House host shared how challenging rabbinic law is regarding issues of surrogacy (at least, until May of last year).  The Rabbinate had declared that surrogacy from a Jewish woman who is already married is considered adultery, and the child will be a mamzer – someone barred from participating in the religious fabric of life (as in, they won’t be allowed to marry in rabbinical courts).  This designation of Mamzerim follows all children of this individual.  In addition to advocacy, the Open House focuses on counseling, HIV testing, and networking for LGBT people.  They are they only LGBT agency in Jerusalem, which is the religious center of Israel, and it’s an inspiring site to see their series of rainbow flags waving outside on the street.

The IRAC, an organization grounded in Reform Judaism, centers its advocacy through Jewish scripture (this is my kind of advocacy, as you may have guessed).  Our speaker said that too many secular Jews who only have contact with religion in terms of Orthodox Judaism link it with corruption, racism, and homophobia.  IRAC hopes to help progressive and secular Jews connect with Judaism, and reject those negative aspects.  (Essentially the same reason I went to Seminary).  In some instances, they act as watchdogs, such as to call out racist statements sourced in Jewish scripture or when spoken by state-employed rabbis. (For example, it’s against Jewish law to kill unless you are saving a life. One rabbi said that if you are killing to save a Jewish life, then it’s not against the law – essentially validating brutality in the Israel occupation.)  The employees of IRAC issue counter interpretations and call out the racism in the media.  IRAC is also part law firm, part grassroots organizing for equal rights.  In 1999, gender segregation began on public buses in Israel.  (Yes, I said buses became segregated in 1999).  The ultraorthodox created this policy because they believe that men need to exist in a sphere that is pure of women, so they don’t become distracted from their studies.  Women were to enter and sit in the back of the bus, men in the front.  IRAC fought this policy in 2002 and won in the Supreme Court in 2010, causing statements to be posted in all buses that all are welcome to sit where they choose.  However, in ultraorthodox neighborhoods, segregation continued.  So IRAC has been organizing groups of ‘freedom riders’ – women who enter ultraorthodox neighborhoods and purposely ride in the front of buses.  They have heard from many ultraorthodox women that the presence of these women gives them the cover to resist the social pressure to ride in the back of the bus.  IRAC also takes on the marketing bias in Jerusalem, where the pressure from the religious conservatives pressures advertisers to censor or remove the women from their billboards, lest the women be considered inappropriately dressed.  (While in some ways, I think this de-sexualization of advertisement is something I’d support, IRAC points out that swapping out a smiling, fully dressed woman for a cartoon character is a systematic removal of women from the public sphere). 

Moriel Rothman discusses the situation in Silwan

We ended the day in Silwan with Moriel Rothman and the Rabbis for Human Rights.  Silwan is a neighborhood just past the ‘green line’ border in East Jerusalem, which is being steadily gentrified by incoming Israelis.  And while legal, the situation is one of the worse perversions of legality that we saw.  Prior to the 1948 war, Silwan was a strong Jewish neighborhood.  When the armistace lines were drawn, and Arabs were expelled out of Israel territory, likewise the (mostly orthodox) Jews living in Silwan were expelled from East Jerusalem.  These Palestinians who still live within Israel (and all their descendants) are called ‘present absentees’, or internally displaced Palestinians (IDPs), and are not allowed back to their homes or land.  Although those remaining inside of Israel were made citizens, their rights are not the same as Jewish citizens.  In 1950, Israel passed the Absentee Property Law and required anyone who wanted to claim their home to be present when Israeli officials visited; if not, their home was seized and likely demolished or given to Jewish refugees, which were flooding Israel’s shores in the years following the Holocaust. This is regardless of documents of ownership or intercession from Palestinian heads of government. (Wikipedia explains itbetter than I do.)

Home labeled as Jewish by new Israeli residents

This home is now divided in half and occupied by both a Palestinian and Israeli family

In recent years, however, Jewish families who hold deeds to properties in Silwan have been petitioning the Supreme Court to reclaim their home, and they have been winning.  Granted permission by the Supreme Court, these Jews (mostly Ultraorthodox) return with assistance from Israel’s government, which forces whichever Palestinian family has been living there to leave.  So while Palestinians have no claim to their former land, they are also, still, being pushed off of their current property in what is technically Palestine.  In response to this abuse of power, progressive rabbis and Israelis have been staging demonstrations in Silwan every week for several years – at their high point with 5000 rally attendees.  This was extremely controversial and emotional at first; when CTS’s first Israel trip joined the demonstration, several of the new Jewish residents came out of their homes to photograph them.  (This is a form of intimidation in Israel, as once you get on the watch list, you can get blacklisted.)  The protests have continued and seemed to slow – but not stop – this housing takeover.  Moriel Rothman writes about it in his blog here.  It’s heartening to see this show of solidarity and protest coming from within Israel…I just wish we could multiply them by 100.

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Reflection: Movement

Israel’s government system is a maze that is fascinating and rife with challenges.  First and foremost, there is the tragic and infuriating conflict and abuse of the Palestinian population.  I think there’s a fair argument to be made that those Palestinians who stayed within the Israel nation and became naturalized citizens ended up with a better, albeit still shortchanged, political situation.  They have the right to vote, bring cases up against the court, and have the potential to collaborate with Jewish Israelis to fight for fairness – a long road, no doubt, but one with potential.  I heard conflicting accounts of the voting rate in the Palestinian territories.  One comment said that Palestinians vote only in the range of 20% as a protest to the state of Israel, another said the turnout was recently at 70%. Perhaps it varies depending on the area.  (This article claims that turnout of Palestinians was up 3% to 56%, the highest since 2000). At our Shabbat dinner at Ron Cronish’s house, joining us was a Palestinian Israeli lawyer who fights for human rights.  He was part of a protest to prevent road construction through Palestinian parkland, which was small in size, but promising in aspiration.  As it was 4 days before the election, our hosts asked him to heavily encourage all his acquaintances to vote, alluding that better turnout might make a difference in the outcome of the road construction.  Their hope that Palestinians might be able to move development plans through amassing political power felt familiar and auspicious.

As an organizer, I couldn’t help but be excited about today’s contents.  Just like the light show at Herod’s Castle, it’s a fascinating juxtaposition of ancient law and modern expectations.  Israel is a young society with so much potential movement, in contrast with the American governmental system which was designed, admittedly, to prevent any rash change.  In America, the burden of caring about the future of your country can be so exhausting.  You can feel like Atlas, holding the weight of the world on your shoulders, while pushing against intractable pillars of greed, media dominance, and paranoid partisanship.  We tried to pass national health care 9 times over the course of 100 years, and we still barely squeaked by with a market-based, conservative-inspired plan that has become the battle cry of socialist takeover.  Of course, being an activist in Chicago, the bedrock of organizing, is worse.  People see you coming a mile away; they know exactly what you are after, and they’ll try to blow you off like a dandelion fluff.  You have to arrive with the numbers, credibility and attitude to boot.  I’ve often longed for a professional situation where you could feel the impact you were making, rather than blindly hope until the vote is cast.

Israeli society, on the other hand, feels so unfinished.  From the absence of a constitution to the complicated dilemmas between religious and civil law, what I saw was potential.  Everything you do is pioneering and innovative.  I have always felt so fortunate to be in the narrow niche of faith and liberal politics, where methods are still being molded, leaders are still being discovered, and hearts are still being inspired in new ways.  IRAC is using this model to change laws, change minds, and change the face of what it means to be religious. Open House supports people challenging the Chief Rabbinate on matters of modern society – and winning.  Rabbis for Human Rights are able to make a media splash just by joining in solidarity with their Palestinians.  The potential for movement-building is wide open, inviting, and beautiful to these hungry activist eyes. 

Israel Day 6 – Shabbat!

I’ve never before been excited about a Sabbath, and heading into it, I’m not sure I was excited at the time.  But in retrospect, not only was it sorely needed, the two Shabbats we experienced in Israel lent a calm to the trip.

Before splitting into small groups for a Shabbat dinner with Isreali hosts, we joined Friday night services at a reform congregation that became popular in Jerusalem only after an Ultraorthodox neighbor snuck into one of their services and ran away with the Torah in hopes that the liberal reform congregation would leave the neighborhood.  Only after the publicity of the stunt did the congregation receive enough funding to build themselves a proper synagogue.  Thus begun my learning about religion in Israel.  Where we have ‘spiritual but not religious’, Israel has ‘Jewish but not religious’ – in that ‘religious’ denotes the ultraorthodox, and everyone else tends to self-identify as secular, even if they attend Shabbat regularly.  The State echoes this division, funding both the synagogues of the ultraorthodox and providing stipends and housing allowances (and military deferral) for ultraorthodox men who want to study Torah, but providing no financial assistance whatsoever for Reform or Conservative Jewish denominations.  There is a high respect in Israel for the devotion of the ultraorthodox, and in fact the two Chief Rabbis appointed by the Knesset have, up until now, been ultraorthodox. 

In our Shabbat service we were provided with prayer books that held the English translations of the Hebrew prayers (which are mostly sung) and if you listened carefully, you could follow along.  The Rabbi did occasionally insert a few English statements to keep his American guests (Chicago’s Catholic Theological Union was also in attendance) up to speed.  The message of the service was to shake off the remnants and pollutants from the week before and prepare ourselves for the presence of the divine.  During Shabbat, which is sundown on Friday to sundown on Saturday, Jews are to have a day of rest marked by the scripture, ‘do not create’.  The interpretation of ‘create’ leads most not to cook, work, ignite (as in your car), or turn on electrical devices.  This does require that food be prepared ahead of time, and it was interesting to see how the hotel dealt with Shabbat restrictions in feeding their guests.  (On Shabbat, there was instant coffee rather than brewed, because the water could be kept hot all night, while coffee could not.  You can turn things off on Shabbat, but not on.)  So Shabbat becomes quality time with family.  People walk, bike, play card games, study torah, sing, and generally spend time together.  The city of Jerusalem comes to a standstill – no buses, cars, trams, and scarce pedestrians because all the shops are closed.  

The Supreme Court Building

I was signed up for a bike tour of Jerusalem, which was ideal in the empty city streets…until you remember the amount of hills in Jerusalem.  It was, at times, like biking San Francisco.  But it allowed us to get a bit more information about the state of Israel and modern (West) Jerusalem. Yeni (yen–AI), our bike tour guide, brought us to a hill overlooking the Knesset (the lone house of Congress in Israel) and through the Supreme Court.  The interspersing of rectangles and circles in the architecture symbolizes that law is flat, but justice is round. He pointed out how the Supreme Court building sits higher than the Knesset, signifying the supremacy of the law.  He also told us that Israel does not have a constitution, which complicates governing and law in the land.  There is a set of laws that might be considered a Bill of Rights and can be used as a guide, but there is no bedrock document that is referred to when interpreting modern dilemmas, because many religious Jews believe there should be no law higher than Torah.  (Jared also said that the lack of a Constitution has to do with the haphazard beginnings of Israel; since a Constitution is usually written before the founding of a nation (in a time of unity), now Israel is a diverse nation and the process drafting a Constitution would create bitter partisanship, especially considering the interesting balance of religious and political supremacy in the land.)  Two Chief Rabbis, who are elected by the Knesset, advise the executive, congress and court system on matters relating to religion – birth, death, marriage, and divorce. The Supreme Court is felt, by most progressive Israelis, to be the beacon of democracy and justice – and answer to becoming too theocratic under guidance of the Chief Rabbis.  Anyone is allowed to bring cases in front of the Supreme Court, and Yeni commented that recently, a Palestinian argued and won a case before the Supreme Court.  (That doesn’t necessarily mean the Israeli Supreme Court is objective in American terms…see theLefternWall blog for more examples.)

Knesset building from under the pine trees

While standing on a hill under a cluster of Pines, Yeni remarked that the pine is not native to Israel/Palestine, and in fact is a patriotic sign of the war.  When Palestinians were forcibly moved from the area and their home demolished, the new state of Israel had to do something to prevent them from returning and rebuilding on the same portion of land.  Where they couldn’t put Jewish people, they planted the fast-growing pine tree to occupy the land.

We stopped near the Montefiore Windmill, the first and only windmill in Jerusalem, built in 1857 as a sign to the Jerusalem people that progress and civilization can live outside the walls of the Old City.  Yeni takes this opportunity to show us the panorama of Jerusalem – from the Old City on the left to the Security Wall and proposed E1 Zone on the right – and I take the opportunity to pick his brain about the occupation.  (E1 is a territory proposed by the Rabin administration (1995) and pursued by the Netanyahu administration that would unite Jewish settlements in the West Bank, and be surrounded by the same security fence.  This would heavily complicate Palestinian transportation between Bethlehem and Ramallah, two Palestinian towns north and south of Jerusalem, by making them travel around the outside of the wall enclosing the Jewish settlements.  More importantly, if Israel annexes the E1 zone, it effectively separates East Jerusalem, the Palestinian capital, from the Palestinian cities in north and south West Bank, effectively ending the potential for a Palestinian state.  As of November 30^th, 2012, Israel approved building in the E1 zone, supposedly as retribution for Palestine’s successful move to be recognized by the EU as a non-voting member.)

The security wall in top right corner at tip of trees

Yeni professed to be a lefty leftist, and is against E1.  He wants better human rights for Palestinians, but he admitted to being scarred and jaded by the ugly side of the conflict.  Trained as a medic in the army, he was near a pizza restaurant when a bomb exploded inside during the second intifada.  Wanting to offer help, he rushed straight into the grisly sight of children’s torn limbs across the restaurant.  Later that night, he saw the mother of the suicide bomber on television, handing out candy.  Of this, he told me that Palestinians and the Jews are people with different values.  He wants them to have their state, and for Israel to be less aggressive, but he expressed cynicism that the two peoples could ever share a common culture or citizenship.  He questioned the motives of the Palestinian people as well – citing how, within 5 years of establishing Israel, Jews had set up universities and hospitals.  In Gaza, where Israel withdrew in 2005 and foreign aid is plentiful, Palestinians have focused on obtaining rocket-propelled grenades in order to take revenge (referring to the recent conflict in 2012).  It became clear how much violence takes a toll on visions for peace.

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Reflection: Hope (or lack of it)

Our guide, Yeni

On Shabbat, I found myself contemplating the bloody turn of the second intifada, and how that complicated the instinct towards peace for so many Israelis.  I so appreciated the opportunity to speak with Yeni, a guide who was not enlisted to teach about peace, or identity, or politics, but simply shared his honest feelings on the matter of the occupation – someone to lend a new, independent, unassuming voice to what we were hearing.  Like Ben David, Yeni’s (inner) morals pointed him toward hope for a fair and peaceful resolution to the conflict.  But like Ben David, Yeni had developed a jaded outer crust towards the Palestinian people as a result of gruesome violence.  Living in a bit of a cocoon of bodily safety as I do on Chicago’s north side (the distinction is worth noting), I realize I can’t relate to the way spilled blood and uncontrollable violence can corrode your spirit and your hope.  But I think it’s a very real, visceral fear.  At one point early in our bike trip, as Yeni was speaking, there was a loud bang that startled us all.  We quickly found the source; a young woman, dressed in a punkish style, kicked an aluminum door a second time with such force that it reverberated all over the near silent street.  I thought how out of character, and probably disrespectful, it was to be out on the street creating such noise pretty early on the Sabbath.  But Yeni stared at her over his shoulder for nearly another two minutes.  I couldn’t help but wonder if that bang, which sounded eerily like a gun, caused a crisis reaction in his psyche. Just like it’s hard to teach fear to a generation that doesn’t know fear, I imagine it’s hard to unlearn trauma if you’ve seen it firsthand.

And yet, from Nusseibeh’s book, I remember the account of the would-be suicide bombers’ motivations for their crime; how a single mother with 5 children attempted jihad because she was so humiliated by Israeli soldiers who forced to strip and dance in front of Palestinian men at a checkpoint.  This public humiliation was enough for this woman to give up life – give up motherhood!  And it reminded me of a question Nilsa had asked; just what is a (wo)man’s breaking point?  How much can you push someone before they break, or become violent?  How far do you push someone before they give up on hope, and close the door to peace?

With each generation comes a new opportunity for social change.  I think about our issues at home; for some of my fellow organizers in Chicago, the social issues that are most in our sights are too easy.  They call the gay rights issue ‘won’, the fight for immigration reform ‘over’.  Why?  Because the upcoming generation has already acclimated to the victory. The majority of people in their 20’s know someone gay or lesbian, or have accepted the friendly stereotype so available in our entertainment, and so when this voting bloc becomes more engaged, the policy path is paved for victory.  (This is not to say the marginalization, bias, and discrimination is negligible.  Just that policy will change.)  Similarly, once a young person realizes they have been sitting in class next to an undocumented immigrant for the last 3 years in school, they rarely see the benefits of excluding that person from the American system.  The ‘illegal alien’ is also a friend, a classmate, or a team member on their basketball team. The dehumanization of labels becomes more and more difficult – especially in our social media age.

With each generation comes new opportunity for social change, but only if barriers are crossed, relationships are made, and walls are torn down.  Only if suicide bombings stop; only if Israeli abuse is curbed. Nusseibeh’s most salient point, in my opinion, was his statement of the wall as a barrier to relationship, not a barrier to terrorism. I am heartened that there exists the opportunity for Jews to enter their children into joint Jewish-Arab schools.  But listening to Ben David’s pride at teaching his children not to ‘hate Arabs’, but also hearing that the sentiment is often heard in Israeli circles, it feels like ‘peace’ is getting further out of reach.

I remember Ophir’s words – that if you’d take a ‘strategic risk’ in waging war, why not take a risk in waging peace?  For those of us who are not Chief Defense Ministers or holding a gun at a checkpoint, I feel like the most important risk you can take is to be vulnerable.  This may mean vulnerability in your geography, vulnerability in your principled stand, or vulnerability in your interactions with others.  There is vulnerability in opening your ears to hear your enemies’ story.  There is vulnerability in allowing your children to befriend the ‘other’ and try to balance the biases that will inevitably come falling down on them as they grow.  I guess the most important vulnerability is in taking the first step, the one that seems small, unexpected and impossible.  Sometimes, in our lives, small steps are all we can do to make Beverly Harrison right;  “Hope is believing in spite of the evidence…and watching the evidence change.”  But small steps lead to new generations.