Yafeh Nefesh

As most of you probably know, Israel launched a massive air assault against Gaza on Saturday. Needless to say, things have been a little tense around here. Not only is it tense because I am Israeli, but I am also living with Palestinians and Israelis. Nobody here agrees with what Israel is doing, but people are coming to the situation from very different perspectives.

We have some Palestinians who clearly take this attack against Gaza as a personal attack. They are eaten up over it, seeing the situation as a "holocaust," a "genocide," and the dead as martyrs. Many of them feel betrayed. I think because they are here, living in Israel with Israelis, and the government has done something exactly opposed to what we are here for.

There are some Israelis who feel extreme shame and disgust over what their government has done. They do not in any way support what is happening, and they would likely refuse to serve if they were called up for reserve duty. And there are other Israelis who believe that Israel has the right to protect themselves and respond (to the Qassam rockets), but that the path chosen was disproportional and unreasonable. And there are Israelis (and some Americans) who are extremely concerned over the safety and well-being of the Israeli towns near Gaza that have faced rocket fire even during the truce, but much more so since it ended. Additionally, many people have good friends or family who have been called up and some students here may very well be called as well.

It became clear that things were at a boiling point at the Institute and something needed to happen. We decided that sitting and talking about the situation just wasn't enough, we had to do something. Some students want the Institute to issue a letter denouncing the violence and the attacks on both sides, otherwise what are we doing here? What is the point of us coming together if we have nothing to show for it? How can we (particularly the Israelis and Arabs) go back to our communities and justify why we were here?

We also decided that as a student body, we need to do something. We decided to organize a demonstration, or a "peace vigil" so as to comply with Israeli law. It was incredible to see how we were able to come together and support each other, to find a way to take the anger and frustration and channel it into something constructive. We were on the edge at that moment - either we were going to fall apart or we were going to draw on each other and strengthen our friendship, trust, and commitment to each other.

Once we agreed on the demonstration, we had to come up with a message that everyone could stand behind. It was no easy task. Some people wanted only a general call against violence, others wanted specific reference to Gaza (that was the point of the demo for them), others wanted to say that they disagreed with Israel's response, and still others thought we should not only focus on negatives, but to show what should be happening. It was hard to find a balance: the general statements didn't have enough bite for the people who wanted to condemn the particular actions, and the pointed slogans seemed too anti-Israel for some. After a long, but productive discussion, we decided on a number of slogans, all of which were to be written in Hebrew, Arabic, and English.


"Stop the Bombing in Gaza! Stop the Qassams! Violence is not the Solution!"


"Remember March 2008? There is No Military Solution"



"Jews and Arabs Refuse to be Enemies"


"Gaza Residents Deserve Security, too"



We decided to hold the demonstration at a nearby Kibbutz where the regional council, health clinic, and regional store is located - lots of buses stop here. We started out in the parking lot where we had a fair amount of interaction with customers, some heated conversations, some more productive. We were asked to move to street and we complied. It made us more visible to cars passing by, but we lost the human interaction. The police came within 30 minutes of us being there. They tried to make us leave saying that we were holding an illegal demonstration. We managed to prove that what we were doing was, in fact, perfectly legal. They made it difficult for us - parking right in front of our signs, making sure we didn't stand on the road itself, etc.

The best part, though, was when a very angry man from Kibbutz Yotvata came up to us yelling in Hebrew about why we were here, why we didn't go to Sderot and Gaza, why we didn't just go home. He called us "yafeh nefesh," literally translated as "beautiful soul" but meaning somethng closer to "bleeding heart." The Israelis felt proud, proud to be a bleeding heart, someone who cares for humanity regardless of race, ethinicity, or religion. I'll wear that label, too.

Hope Flowers

More on Bethlehem. It feels like a really long time ago at this point. As I've mentioned, living on Kibbutz is like living in a bubble, and I've been sucked into it pretty effectively since I've been back. Even though I had a very powerful experience in Bethlehem, it is easy to shove it to the back of mind now that I have more immediate things occupying my time. I'll do my best to start recounting the trip, though.

We started by going to the Hope Flowers School in Al Khader (neighboring Bethlehem) and heard from the director, Ibrahim Issa. The school focuses on peace education and non-violence through teacher training, compassionate listening, interfaith education and dialogue, and parent involvement. It also has many extra curricular activities, war trauma support, and exchange programs with Israelis (which were more common prior to the second Intifada).


The Hope Flowers School

A quick sidenote: The great thing about the name of the school is that the Arabic can be translated as either "hope flowers" as in hope flowers here or as "flowers of hope." I think both embody the mission and goals of the school.

Anyway, the second Intifada brought new challenges to both the school and Ibrahim Issa himself. With the reoccupation of Bethlehem, simply getting to school became a challenge for many students. A fence separated some students' homes from the school, a fence where the gate was only opened three times a day by Israeli soldiers. A roadblock was constructed on the road leading up to the school. And the main building was shelled at one point causing serious damage to the top two floors. Needless to say, these circumstances placed added strain on the goal of peace education. As Ibrahim put it, they started "educating for peace under occupation."

Additionally, the school received a demolition order against their cafeteria in 2003 because it is too close to the proposed route of the separation barrier. At this point the building still stands, but as far as I know the order is also still valid.

The war trauma support started after the second Intifada and reoccupation of Bethlehem because many students and families were experiencing home searches, curfews, seeing tanks and aircraft, demolitions, etc. The priority of the school is the well-being of the students and their families, but it became another way to connect with Palestinians and promote the goal of peace education.




Some students

Ibrahim faced many personal challenges during the seige of Bethlehem. He was imprisoned and his house demolished in 2002 because he was suspected of aiding and abetting a terrorist. The Israeli government later released him because they were mistaken, but only after destroying his house and without an apology. Not only is this a terrible story, but Ibrahim has remained committed to peace education, non-violence, and promoting dialogue between the Israelis and Palestinians.

I was blown away by the fact that he did not just get angry and disillusioned, but has forged ahead despite seemingly insurmountable stepbacks. I don't know if I would be able to maintain such conviction. Although, I suppose he may feel as though he has no other choice. I am invested in this conflict in many ways, but I am also acutely aware of the fact that I can walk away from it if I choose to. I don't have to be in Israel, I don't have to pursue an IR degree, and I don't have to be an activist in the US, but Ibrahim has to wake up in Bethlehem every day. It still amazes me that he is so committed to the school that his father created and am encouraged by the fact that he believes in its mission and is willing to fight for it.

Encounter

After a few days of processing, I think I am ready to write a bit about my experience in Bethlehem. For those of you who don't know, Bethlehem is located in the West Bank and is under the control of the Palestinian National Authority (PNA). To make things more complex, the West Bank is broken up into Areas A, B, and C each designating the level of control under the PNA. Area A is under full Palestinian administrative control, Area B is under Palestinian administrative control with Israeli security control, and Area C is remains under full Israeli control. Parts of Bethlehem are Area A and parts are Area B. For us, it didn't make much difference, but it means that Palestinian authorities or police cannot enter Area B even when domestic disputes or the like occur.

Anyway, a little background about Encounter. The purpose of the program is not to have a dialogue with Palestinians or to present a "balanced" portrayal of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, the goal is to show American Jews another side. We were there to listen and to see how Palestinians in Bethlehem actually live and what they experience on a daily basis. There was a lot of conversation and dialogue among the participants in an effort to grapple with what we witnessed and to examine how it fits into our lives and our Jewish values.

Many of the participants on the trip were in Rabbinical school or attending yeshivot. It certainly changed the conversation and the emphasis as compared to my discussions with other students at the Arava Institute. There was an explicit Jewish focus to how we approached and dealt with what we experienced.

I certainly did not come to any conclusions; no questions were answered, in fact many more are now present; the more I learn and see, the more complex and massive the conflict appears to me, and the less clarity I seem to have. That being said, the purpose of the trip was not to find answers, it was to learn, to explore, to start figuring out how to bring this conversation back to the American Jewish community.

I was struck by some of the Talmudic and Rabbinic ideas brought into the group that were used to help us approach and process the experience. Unfortunately, I do not remember who said this, but a rabbi taught his students that when studying Talmud, one must be able to demonstrate understanding of another's perspective by repeating it back to them before stating their own view. Without doing so one has not really learned any Talmud. This form of study goes beyond simply a way to learn Talmud, it should be applied to other aspects of life. I have thought a lot about this idea and am saddened by the fact that so few Jews (including learned, religious Jews) fail to take the ideals of studying Talmud into their everyday lives. Thinking about the resistance we face in the mainstream Jewish community to even acknowledge the wrongs being done to Palestinians, much less to listen to their perspective, really saddens me. So it was encouraging and gave me some hope to see American Jews, who have a strong religious identity, truly engaging and struggling with the reality of the occupation and of how to become leaders within the Jewish community to start addressing such issues.

I know that I haven't actually said anything about what I saw or heard yet, but one of the really powerful things about Encounter is its emphasis on processing and questioning among the participants. The acknowledgment that these issues are very difficult for Jews to confront and providing a safe environment in which to do so made the program successful. I promise to give some of the nitty gritty details (with pictures!) in my next post, which will follow shortly.

- M

Happy Hanukkah

I haven't had a chance to update the blog recently because I was in Jerusalem and Bethlehem for the past five days for an Encounter trip, Shabbat, and the first night of Hanukkah. I took the midnight bus back to Ketura from Tel Aviv, so I've had about 3 hours of sleep and took a test in climate change at 8 am - just a disclaimer if this post is only semi-coherent. I will definitely write more about Encounter, which was an incredibly intense and amazing experience, but I want to start with something a little bit lighter...Hanukkah!

I had the pleasure of spending the first night of Hannukah in Jerusalem with my good friend Anna and one of her roommates. We found out that Chabad was putting together a hanukkiah out of 5,000 legos and we decided we couldn't pass up the opportunity to see it. Not only did they have a huge lego hanukkiah, they had free sufganyot (the famous jelly-filled doughnuts that Israel is known for during Hanukkah), and they were giving away hanukkiot to those who didn't have one. I've never actually been to a Chabad event before, so it was uncomfortable at first just to take the Hanukkiah, but Deborah insisted that I didn't have to pay for it. It's amazing how much free stuff Chabad gives out.

Along with putting together the hanukkiah (sort of pre-fab as it was already in sections) there was lots of entertainment for little children: magic tricks including swallowing a balloon, turning confetti into Hanukkah gelt, and dressing up in an inflatable penguin costume. Good times had by all.

We then went home to light and sing songs. They sell oil hannukiot in abundance in Jerusalem, so we not only had the typical cheap candles that everyone gets from Sunday school, but a real oil hannukiah. It was so beautiful to walk around the city because so many people put their hannukiot in the window or outside. I love how public the holiday is - something I've never experienced in the States.

I also learned a little bit of the halakhah surrounding the holiday. You are supposed to light where you sleep, so it was suggested that because I was actually going to be sleeping at Ketura, I should have someone light for me there, or to be thinking of me while they light so that I fulfill the requirement. I also lit in Jerusalem, but it is most important that it is done in your home or where you are staying.

There are three levels of fulfilling the commandment to light on Hanukkah. You really only need to light one candle each night. If possible, lighting a hanukkiah with increasing the number of candles each day is better. The third and ideal level, is where each person lights their own hanukkiah. I think this is mainly for practical reasons. If one can afford to have multiple hanukkiot, they should, otherwise, one per family is sufficient.

I'll let you know if there are any nice rituals that the Kibbutz performs. I do know that the huge hanukkiah on top of the mountain is lit each night. Hopefully I'll be able to get some good pictures of it.

Hag sameach v'shavua tov!

- M

Academics?

Permaculture is so cool! I've been reading about permaculture design for my Sustainable Agriculture class (what we lovingly refer to as "sustag") and it makes me want to live on a farm. Forget grad school. After all, once our economic base (fossil fuels) collapses, an IR degree won't do me much good anyway. As far as my sustag instructor is concerned, we are facing the apocalypse pretty soon, so I may as well gain some survival skills, right? Why not start with learning how to grow my own food? Actually, the great thing about permaculture, is that it is truly an art - taking advantage of the potential relationships between different elements on the land. Wouldn't it be nice if my biggest concern was how to make sure that the chickens get appropriate food while contributing to the fertilizing soil and reducing pests that may damage crops. There is obviously a lot more to it; permaculture design can be very complex, but it seems significantly more manageable than working towards a negotiated two-state solution between the Israelis and Palestinians.

More realistically though, I've talked to Elaine (my sustag instructor) about starting a garden when I return to the states. I've gotten all sorts of useful information from preparing the soil to good composting methods to tips on how to plant different vegetables and how to best store seeds. Corn, for example, needs lots of room to grow, so each seed should be planted at least one, if not two, hand-widths apart. To get good seeds, find a few good ears of corn, mark them, and let them dry out on the stock. When they start to whither remove the ear and the then scrape off the kernels. Let them dry completely (not in the sun) and store them in a Nescafe jar. Garlic can be planted from a clove that has sprouted, but make sure that it is pointing up or nothing will come up. Most plants can find the surface, but garlic grows in whatever direction you place it in. We've talked about cucumbers, onions, carrots, potatoes, and other herbs. They all seem to have their own little quirks to them. She also says that a kumquat tree grows quite nicely in a pot indoors...hmm, that could be fun.

While I'm at it, I can tell you a bit about my other classes as well. It's something I've tried to avoid blogging about because it seems so mundane, but I'll try to think of a few highlights. I really like aspects of my mediation class. It is supposed to be environmental mediation, but we have focused more on the mediation process itself, and last week we looked at three different conflict resolution cases - Israel/Palestine, Northern Ireland, and Bosnia-Herzegovina. It was really interesting to compare the three process, particularly because the US played such an important role in all three, but approached them very differently. As fascinated as I am by the Israeli-Palestinian negotiations, I would really like to start looking at others in more depth. It is also funny that Ireland has come up here a couple of times. Not only have we looked at the conflict in Northern Ireland, but we talked about the potato blight and famine and sustag. I haven't had an opportunity to explore my Irish heritage at all, and the more I hear references to it, the more my interest is peaked.

We've also done some role playing in mediation. Active listening seems to be a really important skill to have. Thanks Avodah :) We have two instructors, one of which is a practicing mediator. He has worked on a number of environmental cases, I think. He has been the one to go through much of the process with us and he tells us great stories. The other is a professor at Ben Gurion University. She worked for the UN in Bosnia after the Dayton Accords were signed in an effort to implement them. She has also shared some fascinating stories about her experiences over there and how she managed to help bring the parties to the table over a disputed Sarajevo.

What else? We've finally gotten to policy issues in climate change. Alon Tal, founder of the Institute, gave us a few lectures. He is head of the new Green Party in Israel, so he's kind of a big shot. He currently does something in the Israeli government and he represents Israel in the UN for something related to the environment. Anyway, he's a legend around here, so it was good to finally meet him.

Good enough. I won't bore you with classes again. It's bad enough that I have to sit through them...

- M

Living in a Bubble

I have been living in Israel for nearly three months now. Well, I should say I have been living on Kibbutz Ketura for nearly three months now, for I quickly discovered that Kibbutz Ketura is not Israel. It may be in Israel, but it is certainly not representative if the country. Being in a coexistence program where I am also living with Israelis, Palestinians, and Jordanians, I did not expect to have the "typical" Israel experience (whatever that means), but I did expect to gain a deeper understanding of Israeli politics and and of how current events in the region affect people.

Let me start by saying that living on any kibbutz will provide a unique experience unto itself, but Ketura is in a category of its own. Why? It is located in the Arava Valley for one. Most Israelis don't really consider anything in the south to be part of Israel. When Israelis go home for the weekend, they are "going back to Israel." I am in the middle of nowhere, 60 km from civilization, so to speak. It was also founded by Americans with a particular religious view, so despite the fact that I am definitely not in America, the influence is felt quite strongly. It is really easy to shut the rest of the world out - to become an ostrich and put my head in the sand. In some ways I can see why the kibbutzniks decided by move here, but on at the same time, it can be uncomfortable to live in this parallel universe.

I find it frustrating that even while doing this peace building work, I am so disconnected from the political situation that will have significant implications for what we are trying to do here. I have had to go out of my way to stay up on the events in Hebron. I know that there is an election coming up, but I do not have a good sense of how Israelis really feel about the candidates or of what the political climate is right now. I want to know what the man on the street thinks, but I don't have access to him. I want to hear heated discussions about how Netanyahu is going to devastate this country and ruin all hopes for peace, or how people wonder whether Livni will really be able to negotiate with the Palestinians.

Part of the challenge come with being in the Institute. I am living in a bubble inside of a bubble. In some ways I love it. I am with 40 amazing people who share similar values and with whom I have been able to connect in unique ways. I am living with Jordanians and Palestinians in Israel! Who would've thought? But because of the intimate nature of the program, the fact that not all kibbutz members are thrilled with our presence (that was a diplomatic way of putting it, right?), and because we are so busy with classes and work, we are further isolated from the kibbutz community. It is kind of fun to have our own little world where we talk about really hard issues, which sort of creates an environment of belonging to an exclusive club. This little world has also sparked some serious soul searching for me, so in some respects feeling even more isolated while I figure things out (although, I have also created some very strong bonds with people through this process - so more connected and more isolated at the same time?).

How can I really tell that I'm living in a bubble?
- We get sooo excited when mail comes. Not mail for me, mail for anyone (but mail for me is the best, hehe)
- Food rotation in the dining hall!
For example: soup with dinner (for the winter season, I suppose); green bell peppers (last year I always bought green peppers because they were the cheapest and came to despise them; now I'm just happy that it's something new); oatmeal or pancakes for breakfast; something other than chicken for Shabbat
- A three minute walk across the kibbutz seems SO far
- Drinking something other then Nescafe is an event

That's all for now

- M

Some Reflection

It has been an emotionally intense few weeks here at the Machon so I thought I would share some of the issues and feelings that have been consuming me for a while. I want to preface this post with the fact that I have done a lot of soul searching since I arrived, and that I am still very much working through how I feel and where I stand on a lot what I will be discussing, that I have come to question a lot more about what I used to take as a given than I ever expected, and that I am being challenged in ways that I never thought that I would.

I am not really sure where to start because there is so much to say, but since I have been talking with some friends here about Zionism and whether I identify myself as a Zionist, I may as well begin here. I could write books about this, but I'll try to stick to what has been in the front of my mind recently. Am I a Zionist? Well, at this point, I don't think I would identify as "Zionist" but I am certainly not an anti-Zionist. I have been struggling a lot with the notion of a Jewish State. Not the existence of Israel, but Israel as a Jewish State. Realizing (not that I didn't know before) and truly understanding the implications of maintaining Israel as a Jewish state is really problematic in many ways. It requires discrimination, racism, and inequality to maintain such a reality. My humanitarian side, my fundamental values of pursuing social justice, are violated.

On the other hand, I can't imagine not having a Jewish State. I do not feel a deep connection to land in the way that I expected to when I came here, but I can not describe what it is like to be part of the majority. It is assumed that you are Jewish. It is built into the social structure and the culture. There is no where else in the world that I could go to study Jewish text in the depth or breadth, surrounded by Jewish culture, so fully immersed in this way of life.

Even though I have no intention of making aliyah, I would still feel a great loss if Israel no longer exists. Spiritually more than anything, but my Judaism is definitely somehow connected to a Jewish State. I think it is important for diaspora Jews, who have every intention of remaining diaspora Jews to have the foundation, to have a "home."

So, how do I reconcile these two competing needs? First, as my good friend Anna put it, if I questioned the right of any state to exist based on treatment of minorities, human rights, etc. there would be no countries. I think what I struggle with most is the fact that these policies are somehow connected to Judaism.

Regardless, I do think that there can be a Jewish state with less discriminatory laws against the Bedouins, the Arab-Israelis, the Palestinians, and the non-Ashkenazi Jews that live here. I think that there can be equal rights for these citizens and that the integrity of the Jewishness of the state can be maintained. I am not suggesting that I would be ok if there was "only some" discrimination or that minorities get almost equal rights, I am just saying that I do not think a Jewish state and equal rights are necessarily mutually exclusive. Perhaps in the manifestation of the state as we know it today, with the agenda and the motivations that drive these policies, but as an ideal, I like to think that it is not impossible. But I wonder.

I have been applying to graduate school (I really shouldn't be sharing this, for what happens if I am not accepted?) which has forced me to think long and hard about what I actually want to do with my life. Conflict Resolution. In the Middle East. My personal views on Israel as a Jewish State are important to this questions. As are the emotions that I have experienced when listening to my fellow students talk about some of their stories, some of the terrible experiences they have had while going through checkpoints or serving in the Army. In some respects I feel very much like an outsider. I can absolutely empathize with them, but I can only imagine what it must be like. That puts me in an ideal position to do mediation, conflict resolution work, right? Well, hearing these stories and listening to the reactions of other students has also forced me to confront my biases and prejudices. I have had physical reactions to both the stories and the responses - pain, anger, frustration, confusion, sadness.

So, can I really do this type of work? If I needed to be objective, not to take a side, go against my feelings (which I am sometimes embarrassed and horrified by) would I be able to? On the other hand, I am aware of the fact that my initial emotional reaction is not necessarily representative of what is just or what should be. I realize that I have to take a step back to look at the facts, to really listen to both sides, to acknowledge and validate all of the experiences here. But it is so hard. Hard to confront my demons, the fact that my gut reaction is not always what I think is just. Will I burnout if I actually try to make this my career? But I am passionate about it. And I have tried to find other passions, other directions, but I have not been satisfied. And emotions are important. How else can one relate to others, to understand, to realize that the intangible affects the tangible and that these feelings are what inform or actions?

I do not expect to find any "answers" to these issues, but I am excited, an perhaps a bit nervous, to see what I discover during the rest of my time here. A lot can happen. After all, I have only been here for two and a half months and I still have six to go.

- M

Peace?

So, the vast majority of our trip focused on social/environmental issues in Israel, but one day was devoted solely to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict for which we attended an all-day conference entitled "Toward a Lasting Solution: Evaluation of the Peace Process, One Year After Annapolis." Some very reputable and important figures spoke including Ron Ponduk, Yair Hirschfeld, Lucy Nusseibeh, the former PM of Jordan, and other academics and politicians. I was obviously really excited about attending and wasn't disappointed with what I heard. Of course, there were some speakers who didn't say much of anything, but I thought there was a surprising amount of substance given the forum and constraints placed on the participants.

I was a bit frustrated and upset when I heard from others today that they felt the conference was a waste of time, that they didn't see the point in us going as this is an environmental studies program, and that nothing concrete was said about how to change the facts on the ground now. First of all, I understand that a lot of people are here primarily for the environmental aspects of the program, but the whole point is that environmental issues are inherently social issues, and we can't make any significant environmental impact without regional cooperation, which would require some sort of peace agreement. Second, there is an explicit peace building/coexistence component to the program - that's why Israelis, Jordanians, Palestinians, and Americans are here together. We are doing on the grassroots level what needs to be done at other levels of society.

In terms of failing to hear anything concrete or any immediate measures that can affect conditions on the ground, that wasn't really what the conference was about. The first session basically set the stage for the rest of the conference giving us background on the current situation, measures that the PA have taken thus far, the current political situation in Israel, etc. The rest of the speakers focused on the alternative solutions to the Annapolis conference and other efforts that have been made in the past. The point was to look at how negotiations could be more effective and how leaders can approach negotiations and the conflict differently. We weren't hearing from grassroots activists, we were listening to academics and politicians. I'm not saying that it is the best way to come at the issues, but people need to consider the purpose of the conference.

I also think that straightforward, rational proposals have been tried before and failed, and the point was to look at the underlying causes for the failure of those ideas and of the conflict itself. For example, Lucy Nusseibeh discussed psychological barriers to negotiation, particularly the notion of splitting and projection. The idea is that people or groups develop a sense of victimhood due to traumas they have experienced and that they get stuck in that mentality. It leads one to divide emotions into "all good" and "all bad" - splitting - and then attributing the bad emotions to the other. This defense mechanism allows one to externalize an internal conflict. I realize that this discussion is fairly abstract, but it also enables us to gain a deeper understanding for why conflict persists and becomes more entrenched, which might give us an opportunity to figure out how to address these issues.

We also heard a really interesting discussion regarding the language used in the Arab Peace Initiative. Ilai Alon suggested that the document was credible based on his reading of the Arabic text. I won't get into details, but there are some important conclusions to be drawn...the Peace Initiative can be seen as a confidence building measure on behalf of the Arab League, Israel and the West failed to understand the enormity of the effort made by the Arab leaders, and that we should be promoting the significance of the document as a way to propel negotiations forward.

There were definitely some speakers that did not contribute much to the conference including Knesset Member Amira Dotan who just kept saying that it is important for the two sides to talk to one another, that people-to-people activities are crucial. I wasn't very impressed until one of the audience members asked her to come to a protest that was occurring outside of a Palestinian home in Jerusalem because the family had been forcefully evicted. I was expecting her to politely decline, but her response was, "of course I will come." If that isn't trying to affect some real change, I don't know what is.

If you're interested in reading more, information about the conference, bios of the participants, and the full papers can be found at http://www.bringingpeacetogether.org//default.asp?mode=page&pageID=22

- M

The Plight of the Bedouins

I just returned from a week long trip in the Negev and Jerusalem with the Machon. We basically put Israel under a microscope and spent five days looking at the environmental and social problems here. The majority of our time in the Negev focused on issues surrounding the Bedouin residents. And for good reason. There are about 180,000 Bedouins living in the Negev, 80,000 of which live in unrecognized villages. The Negev is by far the poorest part of the country and is seen by many as the "backyard" or "garbage dump" of Israel. Others prefer to see it as Israel's frontier. I suppose both descriptions could be fitting depending on your perspective. The Israeli government certainly sees it as the former, however.

A little bit of context: Traditionally, Bedouins are semi-nomadic and worked as herders or in agriculture. Many fled to Jordan or Egypt during the 1948 war and the majority of those that remained were forced into the Northeast portion of the Negev. In the 1970s, the Israeli government constructed seven townships promising government services (water, electricity, roads, education, health care, etc) in exchange for the Bedouins giving up their claim to the land. Many agreed to move into the townships in hopes of a better life. About half the population remained outside of these townships in their own villages to maintain their traditions and way of life. These unrecognized villages (which are illegal) do not appear on official maps, the government frequently demolishes houses, and the villages are denied access to basic services. Because of these restrictions there are high rates of unemployment, health problems, and crime.

We visited three villages on our trip. The first was Umm Batim, formerly an unrecognized village that is going through the process of becoming recognized. This process has, of course, been more difficult than it should be. The village is subject to certain conditions including giving up some land, controlling population, and abiding by land use restrictions. In exchange, the village should be granted government services, none of which they have seen yet.

The poverty is strikingly obvious when you enter the village. Not only is there no road to get in, but the buildings are made of plaster walls and tin roofs. In most of the window frames there was no glass. We were treated with traditional Arab hospitality - served tea and coffee during the discussion, where they came around multiple times to fill our glasses. Of course, by the end of it the ladies had to use the facilities, so we were taken to the bathroom. Well, to the outhouse.

Next we went to the first recognized township, Tel Sheva. It actually looks like a town. The government designed and constructed it for the Bedouins. Unfortunately, they did not consult those who would actually be living there, and there have been a number of problems as a result. I don't know if it's an apocryphal story or not, but I was told that when people first moved in, they put their sheep in the houses and setup tents outside because the buildings were too close to each other and too dark. The point is that the government completely disregarded the social structure and needs of the community when they built the village.

We visited Mariam Abu Rayek and her desert herb garden at Tel Sheva. She has a pretty incredible story: a Bedouin woman who refused to marry and started her own successful business. She wants to preserve the culture by continuing to use traditional medicinal herbs and cooking the food of her grandmother. Her specialty is black cumin oil which is supposed to be good for the immune system. She sells it, and the sign gives a list of about 20 ailments that it is supposed to cure.

The following day we visited an unrecognized village, Wadi Na'am, located literally across the street from Ramat Hovav, the largest industrial complex and hazardous waste site in the country, and about 100 meters away from a huge electrical plant. The irony? They don't have electricity! All of the negative impacts with none of the benefits.

It took us about 20 minutes to get into the village from the main road because the conditions were so bad. While we had already seen a lot of poverty up to this point, nothing compared to this village. We were taken to the guest house where the walls were made of corrugated metal and the roof was a tarp. To let enough light in, one of the residents just rolled up part of the tarp. The fire pit to make the tea and coffee was inside the tent, so afterwards we smelled as though we had just been to a bonfire.

Many issues arise with living across the street from pesticide and other chemical plants, not the least of which is health problems. There is no proof that higher rates of respiratory disease and cancer are directly linked to Ramat Hovav, but the plant certainly can't be helping. We asked Najib, our host, if anyone from the village works at the plant. He responded by saying that for them, working at Ramat Hovav is like the Palestinians who helped build the separation wall. They know it is detrimental to the community, but they need to support their families. Another problem: what happens if there is some sort of accident at the plant? Because they are not hooked into any government services, they are not notified by the authorities. So I guess there is an advantage to having some of the residents work there - they can sound the alarm.

So far I have only shared our experiences at villages themselves, but we spoke with a representative at a Regional Council in the Negev who gave us a better idea of how the government approaches the "Bedouin problem." The conclusion: just ignore them. That's a great idea...there are 80,000 people who live in unrecognized villages, and like it or not, they are there, on the land. The representative showed us slides from a presentation that would have been presented to government employees. The demographic breakdown of that council's jurisdiction read "4,000 residents" and "6,500 Bedouin." So, are the Bedouin not residents even though they carry Israeli ID cards? Residents only refer to Jews. And when discussing economic development, health, the environment, or any other issues that local government might discuss, they don't take the Bedouins into consideration at all. What?!

The government's perspective and the policies towards the Bedouin are driven largely by the fact that Israel is a Jewish State. The threat of the growing Bedouin population (their population doubles every 17 years) is seen as a direct threat to maintaining the Jewishness of the state and to bringing more Jews down the dumping ground of the Negev. I have always believed in that Israel should remain a Jewish state. But to what length will they go? Can such terrible treatment really be justified for the sake of a Jewish state?

Yom Huledet Ketura

This weekend is Kibbutz Ketura's 35th birthday. We had the traditional barbecue last night with some delicious grilled meat, and today were a number of activities including camel riding (which I did not partake in), pita making (the dough was already made, but we got to knead it and cook it over an open fire), a time capsule of sorts, and a game of capture the flag.

I thought it would be a good time to give a little bit of history about the Kibbutz in the spirit of celebrating and honoring its establishment. Ketura was founded in 1973 just after the Yom Kippur War. The original buildings were left over from the army. Mike Solloway, one of the founding members (and my "adopted father") explained that the Kibbutzniks weren't able to sleep at Ketura the day it was officially handed over to them because the IDF was still using it. The fact that it was established at such a turbulent time in Israel's history helps to explain the four rows of barbed wire surrounding the perimeter and the multiple bunkers scattered throughout the area.

There is also a big moat just inside the fence, but it has nothing to do with military security. It is protection from flash floods. Because they had one in 1975 and a lot of the Kibbutz was underwater. Apparently it was a mad rush to save the books in the library. There have been floods since (the most recent in 1997 or 1998, I think) but the moat has done its job and diverts the water south. It seems that we might be due for a flood this year, but it's hard to say. We did have a good rain the other day. It was quite exciting - we stopped class for it :) It is hard to imagine this place teaming with water...

There is also a story behind the name, Ketura. It was originally named Outpost Ketura by the IDF because a Nahal (river) Ketura used to run NW of the Kibbutz - it is now a dried up riverbed. Ketura is also the name of Abraham's wife. When the Kibbutz was founded, the name committee of the government wanted to change the name to something like Kibbutz Nir Shlomo Kaplansky or "Nashak" (an acronym of the name) who was some important figure or something. Needless to say, this option was not so appealing, so the Kibbutzniks fought to keep the original name and ultimately won.

Interestingly, the Kibbutz was originally slated to open on 4 October 1973 (Sukkot), but it was postponed until 22 November due to the war. The actual opening occurred on the Thursday prior to the reading of the parasha, Chai Sarah, that mentions Ketura. Hmm.

Ketura was founded by a number of young Americans in the Young Judea youth movement. There was a lot of skepticism over the ability of these people to successfully begin and maintain a kibbutz, but with some trial and error they figured it out. The government was willing to give them the land because it was interested in developing the Negev. It wasn't the first kibbutz in the area (that was Yot Vatah), I think it was the third or so. The American roots are strikingly obvious here. Not only do most of the members speak with a terrible Hebrew accent, but there certain aspects of religious life that are decidedly American and stem from the Young Judea roots - a traditional egal service, for example, which is hard to find elsewhere in Israel.

Initially the Kibbutz had its own vegetable garden, but it proved very labor-intensive, detrimental to one's health (due to all of the pesticides and physical labor involved), and not very profitable. As members got older they began looking for other more sustainable and lucrative forms of income. That is how the date farms, the refet, and the algae farm came to be. Other forms of income include the Machon Arava and the Guest house.

There are four or five of the founders that still live on the Kibbutz along with a number of others who came within the first five years. But from the sound of it, the character of the Kibbutz has changed dramatically. It is now a well-established kibbutz, the realities of kibbutz life has changed (in terms of what jobs are available, the economic foundation, and how kibbutzniks spend their free time). Aside from the economic considerations, the fact that a new generation is now on the Kibbutz makes a big difference. It will be interesting to see where they take what their parents built for them.

You Can't Take Me Anywhere

Did my parents teach me nothing? I have vivid memories of my mother giving my father the evil eye and making him promise not to talk about religion, sex, and especially politics when we go over to a friend's house for dinner. Or more recently when my Dad and I were staying with my very conservative Uncle in Virginia - we were not to discuss politics while he was hosting us for the week. Israel must have done something to me. I am generally good about letting a comment slide or keeping my mouth shut when someone says something I adamantly disagree with, especially if it is someone I'll probably never see again. But that didn't happen this weekend. All pretenses flew out the window.

I was in Jerusalem for Shabbat with Anna and Aaron. We had lunch with a number of recent and soon-to-be olim's (people who make aliyah and become Israeli citizens) including four young men who are currently, or who had served, in the Israeli army. I don't really remember how the conversation started, but somehow Gaza came up, and something to the affect of "Gaza should just be carpet bombed" was said. As I said before, I can usually keep my mouth shut, but it was just inappropriate and based on what I'm doing here, I couldn't let the comment go. We got into a heated conversation (if you can call it that) which lasted for over an hour. It was essentially me, Anna, and Aaron versus everyone else, and eventually turned into multiple conversations with Anna and Aaron talking to one person and me taking on the rest by myself. It was intense and upsetting.

The reality is that a lot of Israelis and a lot of Americans who move to Israel feel this way. Everyone claims to want peace, just so long as it is peace in their terms. In the meantime it is ok to force Palestinians to live in horrendous conditions and subject them to humiliation at border crossings because it prevents Israelis from being harmed. And anyway, other countries have done much worse, so Israel really isn't that bad. And the media is feeding us anti-Israel propaganda. AHHH! Needless to say, we talked (or yelled) at each other and nothing constructive came of it.

If anything, it seemed that they were speaking to me in a very patronizing way. Not only did they say things to me as if I didn't know anything, but one girl even asked me, "So how did you come to have these views? Was it because of your experience here (at the Arava) or your upbringing or what you learned in school?" I didn't really know how to respond and was later quite offended by the question. As if it is something novel to support human and civil rights? That I have some strange or foreign beliefs? In hindsight I should have said to all of these practicing Jews that my view comes from the fundamental value of Tikkun Olam - to repair the world - and social justice, which does not only apply to Jews, but to all of humanity. They probably would have just given me a blank stare, though.

And if I had ever previously considered making aliyah, this experience certainly made me think again...probably not the response they were hoping for.

It was bound to happen. I just expected this kind of heated conversation to be in a PELS session (the peace building course) or something, not at Shabbat lunch. But I'm in Israel, so I shouldn't be so surprised...

A Soldier for Peace

Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated 4 November 1995 and Rabin remembrance day was officially held here on 9 November this year. The Kibbutz put together a beautiful ceremony that started with a video montage of the heated demonstrations against Rabin for his decision to sign the Oslo Accord: pictures with Rabin in a Nazi uniform and protesters holding signs saying "traitor" etc. The song "Shir L'Shalom" played in the background, the song that Rabin sang immediately before his death. (He put the paper with the words to the song in his breast pocket, and they found it stained with blood after he was shot.)

I walked in after the video had started playing, and at first was appalled that that instead of seeing pictures of adoration and love I saw hatred and violence. I then realized that it was meant to demonstrate the tension felt throughout the country at the time and put into context the events that followed. It was very powerful to place that juxtaposition in the foreground of his memorial.

The entire ceremony was in Hebrew, so I didn't understand very much of it, but it was clearly very moving for many people. The 11th graders put on the ceremony, they read passages about Rabin, gave some background on his life, and sang songs. Like I said, it was all in Hebrew, but it is clear what a significant figure Rabin is in Israeli consciousness.

The following evening, the Machon had a separate ceremony. We gathered on the roof of the dorms and sat in a circle. Everyone who wanted was given a chance to speak about their thoughts or memories of Rabin. Many spoke of what he symbolizes. One of the Jordanian students began by reading King Hussein's (of Jordan) speech given at Rabin's funeral in 1995. Some of the older students spoke of how they remember the event clearly, and for the Israelis, how devastating it was for them. A lot of them also spoke of the dream of peace dying with Rabin, or at least the hope that peace would be possible.

It was very powerful to hear the Arab students speak with admiration and respect for Rabin. Afterall, he began as a military man, and only much later in his life did he push hard for peace. Interestingly, Yasser Arafat died on 11 November 2004, so the anniversary of his death is at just about the same time. A few of the Palestinian students decided to speak about Arafat and honor him in the same ceremony. I was struck by how much they paralleled Arafat with Rabin - a peacemaker, a generous, kind man, a man in love with his people and willing to sacrifice for them. He holds the same place in the Palestinian conscience that Rabin holds for the Israelis.

I shouldn't be surprised by this because he did a lot for his people. But the West, especially Americans, have a very different image of Arafat. Many question what his true motives were, remember his days as a terrorist, and place most of the blame on him for the failure at Camp David in 2000 to reach a peace agreement (I'm not saying that I necessarily agree with all of this, but this is my general sense of what people think of when they hear Arafat's name).

Rabin and Arafat are clearly two very important figures and hold a lot of significance for people studying here, but I was still impressed, that on a day reserved for a national hero in Israel, the Palestinians were able to talk about Arafat. Clearly they are linked as the agreement was made between them, but one comment I frequently hear when I see a picture of the famous handshake is that Clinton had to physically push Rabin to extend his hand to Arafat. Not much love was felt between the two men, perhaps making the fact that they were able to reach an agreement so much more profound and says a lot about them as human beings.

Regardless, at our little remembrance, there was a sense of mutual respect and understanding of the importance that each leader's memory holds for the respective groups. I wonder what will happen on Israel's independence day...commemorating the outcome of the 1948 war, or the Nakba (catastrophe) in the Palestinian and Arab narrative.

Staying Sane

For the most part, life is great here. I am in a beautiful place with wonderful people, and I am learning so much! But it can be pretty intense and overwhelming at times. Simply juggling our packed schedule - including 5 courses for credit (15 hours per week), 2 additional non-credit courses (8 extra hours each week), mandatory student life activities, community service, reading/studying, and a multitude of meetings - can seem daunting. It doesn't help that most of the material is incredibly depressing. I know I've mentioned this already, but it's hard to read 100 pages a week about how humans are directly affecting climate change and then move on to the fact that the pesticides we use on our crops are killing the bees needed to in order to pollinate them. Not to mention lots of talk about identity, the conflict, and how to figure out a way to actually live together.

To top it off, I am dealing with a completely dysfunctional bureaucracy (and living on kibbutz with a ridiculous number of inane rules). Not only does it run like a small non-profit, it runs like a small non-profit in Israel. Simple matters should not take weeks to resolve. But they know how to make things as complicated and challenging for us as possible. It's just comical at this point, but has been a source for many heated discussions and debate. We ask for or about something and we are told to talk to someone else, who promptly tells us to either talk to yet another person, or to go back to the one who just sent us. No one seems to know what is going on, and everyone seems to want to be in control at the same time.

Anyway, the long and short of it is, we have had to come up with methods to deal with the extremely intense and inefficient system that is the Machon. This is what I have come up with so far:

- Impromptu parties: filled with singing, dancing, and drumming. We go all out and look ridiculous! But it is so fun. And a way to release some of the tense energy that has built up over the week.
We had our Challoween party (planned, but the music and dancing wasn't), a birthday party for a few students, and a couple of campfires. All very necessary and cathartic in some ways.


Happy Challoween!


Lots of dancing


Breakfast before hearing Obama's speech


A toast to the next President! (Mmm...tequila at 6 am)

- Hikes: Getting outside of the kibbutz is amazing. And we have a great "back yard" to escape to. Climbing up on the mountains is so exhilarating and liberating - it is a physical challenge and a mental break.

- Pub night: I can't say that I've partaken much, but there is a pub here that is open Thursday, Saturday, and Monday nights. It is a converted chicken coup. Seriously. Cheap beer, bad music...what more could you ask for?

Bad movies: We've setup the projector on the lawn a few times for a good movie night. The most recent: "Don't Mess with the Zohan" High quality, I know.

- Gardening: We're starting an organic garden from scratch near the campus. And by "from scratch," I mean we are making the soil, because it started out as just sand. We've added compost and manure and lots of water. We're getting ready to plant (so far parsley, radishes, corn, and a few other herbs have been planted; the rest should happen next week). It has been a source of internal conflict for me. On the one hand, I really want to garden. On the other, I really need to study. But I've decided that getting my hands dirty and doing is just as, if not more, important than reading. So I'm writing to you now with lots of dirt under my finger nails. Literally :)

- Mud building: I haven't done it yet, but people are planning to do it again Tuesday morning at 6:30 (that's right, we don't mess around). Another chance to get dirty and play with the earth. I'm so excited!
- Running: it is my savior. I go most mornings when the air is crisp and cool (it's cool now, it wasn't a month ago) and most people are still asleep. It is therapeutic, I can clear my head, and I don't have to talk to anybody!

We also look to each other for support - to talk, complain, laugh, and sometimes cry. Any other suggestions? We would all love to hear them.

- M

The Suspence is Killing Me

My ballot came today. Good timing, right? I have been freaking out for the past month, checking the mailbox every day in vain, hoping to see an envelope with my name on it. Eventually I decided to take matters into my own hands, so I did some research and discovered that the US Embassy in Israel has a Write-in Ballot that can be used if someone fails to receive their official ballot in time to vote. I filled one out and sent it express mail, even though I am sure it won't arrive in Snohomish County by tomorrow. But, heaven forbid, a recount is necessary, my vote will count.

It makes me a bit sad and quite frustrated that, in one of the most important elections of my lifetime, my vote effectively doesn't count. Thanks, not only to the county, that decided not to send out the ballots until Oct. 4, but also to Israel's postal service, which basically shut down for two weeks during the Jewish holidays. Not that I really minded getting so many days off myself, but come on people...we need to vote!

Nevertheless, we are holding an election party Tuesday night to celebrate or mourn the results. Well, it will actually be Wednesday morning for us. In fact, we are meeting at around 3:30 am to start watching as we are 7 hours ahead of the east coast. We will be making breakfast at around 6 - a good American breakfast with eggs, home fries, and pancakes or french toast(no bacon, of course). And we will also have some vodka on hand...just in case. The crowning jewel is that the only American news channel we get is Fox - "Fair and Balanced." It could prove very entertaining or quite torturous depending on outcome. Let's hope for the former.

We will also be equipped with some good youtube videos and jingles about Palin. Here are a few for your viewing pleasure...
(I am having trouble posting the videos, so the links will have to suffice. But they're worth watching.)

Hey Sarah Palin

Hockey Mama for Obama

Barack Obama is IRISH!

Narratives

In this week's PELS (peace-building and environmental leadership) seminar, Dr. Sami Adwan, co-founder of PRIME, Peace Research Institute in the Middle East, spoke to us about historical narratives and how they affect one's perception of a conflict. Through his work at PRIME, he and a number of Israeli and Palestinian teachers developed a history text that places the two narratives side by side. The goal was for the teachers to take the booklet back to their students and teach both narratives in class. The project was conceived in the late 1990s, but it did not begin until 2002, during the Intifada. The timing created a special challenge for the teachers - not only logistically, but psychologically and emotionally as well. It was very difficult for the Palestinian teachers to travel to the meetings, and the act of doing so created tension within their communities - how can you be working with the enemy? The teachers faced many other challenges: writing and compiling the narratives, hearing the other side's narrative in their native language, and finally teaching it to their students.

Dr. Adwan emphasized that the purpose is not to convince one side that the other is right, or to delegitimize one's own narrative, but to expose each side to the other's perspective. It allows people to see the "other" as human beings, not simply as the evil enemy. The goal is to provoke thought, to make one more critical of his own perspective, and to realize that there is another legitimate side to the story.

We not only heard Dr. Adwan speak, we also had the opportunity of sharing our collective narratives. We broke into three groups - Arabic-, Hebrew-, and English-speaking students. We were asked to discuss our narratives regarding Jerusalem - how does our community portray Jerusalem? I was clearly in the English-speaking group, which really meant the American-Jewish group (aside from one person who was raised Christian and is now converting to Judaism). We discussed how a lot of us grew up with the notion that we were supposed to have a deep connection to Jerusalem, to have a strong love for it, etc. and evolved into a conversation about how many of us actually felt when we arrived in Jerusalem. Many of us still had very strong emotions, but they weren't what we were expecting or what had been built up from childhood. We commented on how jarring it was to be in such a holy place and walking by someone holding a machine gun; the fact that it is a city of great importance to three major religions, but it has a decidedly Jewish feel to it; and the fact that there is a particular type of Judaism that is the norm in the City, creating a tension between the unique experience of being in the majority as a Jew, but that one's way of practice is not necessarily accepted (i.e. the mehitzah at the Kotel). We also discussed how loving this place brought sadness because of the injustices that exist because of it. Our conversation about the American-Jewish narrative of Jerusalem continued, but the more interesting part of the experience was listening to the Israeli and Arab narratives.

One thing that struck me was how the Israelis and Palestinians both equated the City to their heart and soul. This theme ran throughout the description of each of their narratives. For the Israelis, they are taught growing up that without Jerusalem, they are only a shell. It starts with King David, and today the soldiers are inducted into the Army in front of the Kotel - a reminder that this is what they are protecting. There was a clear visceral response to the question of Jerusalem. Culturally, historically, spiritually, it is central to the Israelis.

While the Palestinians had a similar visceral response, it was from the perspective of longing. It was said multiple times that being denied entrance to Jerusalem only strengthens their resolve to enter it. That they are missing a part of themselves, of their souls, of their beings. There was a strong sense of pain and frustration when Jerusalem was discussed.

At the end of this exercise, we were told to return to our respective groups to see if we wanted to revise our narratives after hearing the other ones. The American group mostly felt the need for clarification of some of our previous statements. Some also felt they could now express a sense of guilt over the current situation. Others stated that they did not feel guilt but a sense of responsibility to change the reality of the situation in the future. In our second discussion, it became clear how varied the narratives really were within our group. We had people on opposite ends of the spectrum with any statement that was made. Guilt, no guilt. Zionist, anti-Zionist. Deep connection to Jerusalem, little direct connection, etc. I know we're all Jews - two Jews, three opinions, right?

None of the narratives were completely homogeneous of course, but Dr. Adwan made a point that really stuck with me. The American group definitely had the most varied narrative, there were some significant differences within the Israeli group, and there was the greatest amount of consensus in the Arab group. Dr. Adwan noted that the group coming with the most power has the most varied narrative. What else can the Palestinian narrative be? They long for Jerusalem because of its historical, religious, and cultural significance. What will they do other than develop this and instill it into the hearts and minds of their children? Israelis, similarly, have a deep historical, religious, and cultural connection to the City, but it is theirs right now. Instilling a love and respect for the place is crucial, but as individuals, they can see the inconsistencies with the virtues and values taught and the reality on the ground. This contradiction can cause one to question, to begin developing a different narrative. And the American Jews, while also having a connection to the City, don't have the same practical concerns that face the other two groups. We are further removed from it, our survival as a people or a state does not depend on it.

The day was intense and it brought up some sensitive issues, but it really made people think about things. We face even more challenges, because after exercises like these, we can't just go our separate ways as those ways happen to lead to the same place...our rooms, or the classroom, or the dining hall. Because we all live together. We have to figure out how to deal with these issues inside a formal setting, and then how to move on from them after the fact.

OMG!!!

Sarit shaved her head! Well, Volk, Matan, and I cut and shaved her head. Not just for the fun of it, she is donating it to an organization equivalent to Locks of Love here in Israel. But she didn't just cut it off, she actually shaved it!! And we documented it all. For your viewing pleasure...


We had to braid it first...


And then we get to start cutting...


The last braid is gone!!!


And the rest is going...


Demi and Natalie should watch out!



Hmm...should I be next?


- M

When It Rains, It Pours

Well, I wouldn't say it poured here, but it did rain last night! As much as I love the desert, I do find it difficult to live without the rain. Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, it is a part of me. I was even thinking of going up north some weekend when it is supposed to rain there, just to feel the cold, wet drops on my face. Luckily, I didn't have to go so far. Unfortunately, I did not get to enjoy it very much as we seemed to bring some sort of stomach bug home from the Rainbow. Yesterday was definitely the worst of it. I stood outside for a couple of minutes and then listened to the rain fall from my bed...

I'm feeling much better today and so is the air. The air seems much cleaner, and it almost feels like fall here, but there are no pumpkins or changing leaves. It really makes me miss it, even though I used to dread fall because it meant winter was just around the corner. We may be giving up jack-o-lanterns, but we've decided to celebrate Challoween (get it?) instead - costumes, candy, the works. There are also no shortage of pumpkin seeds here...it's a favorite in the Middle East.

Aside from the physical rain, we've also had a lot of reading dumped on us. And the material is pretty heavy. I'm pretty much hearing over and over again how we're screwed and well on our way to making the planet uninhabitable. Go us. The issues are so massive that it can become completely overwhelming and seem hopeless. I've been thinking a lot about how I dealt with my work last year - seeing poverty, severe illness, and injustice daily - and why, in some ways, I am having more trouble with learning about climate change and our current agricultural system than I did then. Not that I was really able to accept or reconcile what I saw last year, but I was able to separate myself in a way that I am having trouble with here. Perhaps it is the fact that I go to class and talk about climate change, and then I come home and read about climate change, and then I talk to everyone around me about it. It's just too much. Last year, when I went home, I made a conscious effort to leave things at work. Or maybe, as Sara said to me, maybe it's because it's "like...the EARTH." I think that sums it up pretty well.

On a more positive note, I get to vote! It should be a given, but I still haven't received my ballot, and I'm kind of starting to freak out. I decided to do some research and see if there were any other options. It turns out that I can mail in a write-in absentee ballot that will be counted if my actual absentee doesn't make it in time. Whew.

- M

To The Rainbow!

Being in a Jewish state, everything closes for Jewish holidays, so we didn't have class over Simchat Torah. Coincidentally, the Rainbow Gathering is going on this month in Israel not far from the Kibbutz. We decided it would be fun to go for the holiday. It was definitely an experience...

For those of you who aren't familiar with the Rainbow, wikipedia has a pretty good explanation. But it is basically a gathering of a bunch of hippies who espouse the values of peace and love. The festival itself includes a lot of dancing and singing, cooking, and sleeping under the stars. I haven't actually slept outside here yet, and sleeping in a rocky and sandy desert is in itself an experience. Not only is the ground incredibly hard, but the sun rises really early here. There was little hope of sleeping in. The Baba didn't help much. He was a crazy German man who started yelling some pretty inappropriate things early in the morning. And voices carry out there.



There were obviously no toilets, so we had everywhere and nowhere to do our business. Needless to say, there aren't many trees or much privacy, so it was kind of just finding as private an area as possible and making do.

It seemed that having dreadlocks or a shaved head, going topless (for both men and women), and smoking was a prerequisite for being part of the "family." It was actually really nice to be somewhere that people felt so comfortable with their bodies, but it took some getting used to. There was definitely a celebratory feeling and a sense of sharing among everyone that was also really wonderful.

We didn't get to our zula (camp site area) until after dark, so I didn't have a good sense for where I was. And right as we were getting there, the food circle was called, so we headed for dinner and afterwards we sang and danced for hours. It was really windy until around 10 or 11, but then it became quite still and peaceful.

The next day a few of us helped prepare lunch. I cut carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, and squeezed lemons for 2-3 hours. We made sooo much food! It was really fun to sit around with about 20 other people chopping and talking, listening to the music that was around. There was a point at which the Torah was taken out and people were able to make an aliyah for the holiday. And of course there was more singing and dancing.



I felt so disgusting by the afternoon - sitting by the fire, sleeping in the sand, cooking all day, and sweating from the hot sun - that I was so glad to get home and take a shower. It really made me think about the luxuries that we consider basic amenities (did I mention there was no toilet?) and how I have to be in the right mindset to enjoy living that way. I also thought a lot about the values that the Rainbow Gathering family seeks to live out, including peace. But I was really troubled by the fact that they were doing anything. Yeah, it's great to say that you want peace in the world and to object to capitalism and the Man, but what are they doing about it? I shouldn't be so critical and perhaps I should just accept it for what it is, but what is the point and purpose?

Now I'm back in the real world and I get to be depressed by issues like climate change and how effectively we're destroying our environment, not to mention the Isreali-Palestinian conflict and our efforts to learn to live together. And even though I have that feeling of dread that creeps up whenever I am in school, it's also kind of comforting to know that I am trying to do something meaningful for myself and ultimately for society.

Until next time,

M

Norming

It is strikingly clear how atypical my Israel experience has been so far. There is the obvious...I am living with Arabs, Israelis, secular, religious, teenagers, and middle-aged students. It is quite a combination. We're still in the norming phase, so we're one big happy family, but I'm sure that tensions will arise soon enough. I bring up this crazy mixture of people that I will be spending the next four months with, because last night for Shabbat, the differences and juxtapositions all seemed to be highlighted.

Let's start with the fact that I'm in Israel and we we were teaching people about Shabbat, from the meaning to the rituals to the traditions to how it is celebrated on the Kibbutz. One of the unique things about going to Israel is that as a Jew you are not a minority...everyone knows what Shabbat is. Not everyone keeps Shabbat, of course, but you don't have to explain yourself.

I also happen to be rooming with the only female on the program who is shomer shabbat. On the one hand, I am surrounded by people who have very little exposure to Shabbat, and on the other, I am experiencing it in a very traditional way. I also think it's funny that after living in an intentional Jewish community last year, this is the first time I am actually living with someone who is shomer shabbat.

We have non-Jews who have had very little exposure to the religion, and we have secular Jews (mostly Israeli, but some Americans as well) who are culturally Jewish (because they grew up in a Jewish state) or who have minimal Jewish educations. And then there are some practicing Jews from the US. And we're on a Kibbutz that was founded by some Americans that were involved in Young Judea. So there is a space for those that do practice. Of course, it is never so clear cut. I have already noticed some of the typical tension between some of the Reform and traditional Jews. I shouldn't make this generalization as there are some very open and accepting people on both sides of the aisle here, but there have also been a couple of uncomfortable moments. I wonder if this will be a place that American Jews start to hash out their differences as there often seems to be a wide gap between the traditional and liberal forms of Judaism. I want to stress that for the most part people have been very respectful of different traditions and are excited to learn from each other.

There is also a really wide age range - someone just graduated from high school and some people have established careers. I think it's a great opportunity and fairly uncommon to such a variety of perspectives and experiences to bring to the table. Some students will have to go home to work on weekends to keep their jobs. It really makes me think of the commitment and sacrifice that people are making to be here. It seems that for a lot of the Americans who are here for their semester abroad, that it's a chance to travel, get some college credit, and do some environmental work and maybe a little bit of peace building. It is not only the age that brings the different perspectives, but the privilege (or lack thereof) that we come with.

Something else I have realized since coming here is that a lot of the people here came primarily for environmental studies. I have been told multiple times now that two types of people come to the Machon - those who want to study the environment and see coexistence as a way to ultimately help the environment, and those who want to focus on coexistence and see the environment as a tool to help with peacebuilding. Can you guess where I fall? it also seems that, for the most part, the Israelis and Arabs fall into the former category, and it is about half-and-half for the Americans. I don't really know what this reality will mean practically, or how useful such a program really is, and I imagine that it is something I will struggle with a lot throughout the semester.

In addition to the strange and amazing mix of people, some of the other oddities include living on a Kibbutz in the desert. A very small percentage of Israel's population actually lives on Kibbutz (there are about 150 members on Ketura) and most people live in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, or another city north of Be'er Sheva - not on a kibbutz or in the desert. And most people on Ketura are native English speakers, so we're not exposed to Hebrew as much as I would like. All students who received a MASA scholarship are required to take Hebrew, though. And they have decided to put it on Friday, a.k.a. the weekend. The brilliant planning makes it nearly impossible to leave the kibbutz for Shabbat. Genius. So when are we supposed to practice our Hebrew? But we're taking matters into our own hands. That story is for another time, however.

Shavua tov everyone.

-M

Where am I? I look one way and everyone is speaking Arabic. I look the other way and everyone is speaking Hebrew. I like to think I have some grasp on each of these languages, and to an extent I do, but hearing them side-by-side is just causing some major information overload. Part of it is probably the fact that we've been going pretty much nonstop since Sunday, so I'm absolutely exhausted. But I think I would be a lot better off at this point if I just stuck to one of the two languages. I understand parts of the conversations I am eavesdropping on, but when I try to speak, part of it comes out in Hebrew and part of it in Arabic. Instead of Spanglish I'm speaking Hebric? Or at least trying to.

The great thing is that everyone is really enthusiastic and patient in my sorry attempt to speak with them in something other than English. When I sit with the Arabic speaking students, one of them usually goes over the conversation with me afterwards to see how much of it I understood. A pitiful amount if you ask me.

It has been an intense few days with meeting everyone, registering for classes (they start on Sunday!), taking a regional tour extending from Eilat to the Kibbutz, and our first peace-building session this morning. We have officially finished orientation and it has certainly done its job. Not only are people more familiar with the area, the machon, and the kibbutz, but we have become intimately familiar with each other. This may seem like a painfully obvious observation, but we have learned so much about each other as individuals as well as from a social and cultural perspective.

(It has also become abundantly clear to me what my reality will be for the next four months. I thought Avodah was bad - living with each other, having programs, retreats, and shabbatonim - but here we not only live together, we go to school together, eat together, and we'll be talking about some pretty intense stuff. We'll be one big happy family...I'm just glad I can disappear into the mountains for a little while if I have to.)

Some observations:

- Israelis have a very different sense of personal space than Americans - not an earth-shattering comment, but when you're walking with someone you met 5 minutes before and they literally take your water bottle from your hand and start drinking from it, it takes on a new meaning. I love that there is a level of comfort and intimacy with people that we just don't have in the State unless we're really close with someone. Perhaps the water bottle example isn't adequate. There have been numerous interactions that make me pause - people touch each other more freely (get your mind out of the gutter), they share food more readily, and they aren't afraid to get in your face about something. I get that Americans do all of these things, but we've only known each other for five days.

- Arabs really like nargila. I mean really.

- Americans follow the rules too much. We could learn a thing or two from the way Israelis and Arabs do what they need to do even when they aren't "supposed to." It comes in handy when living in a place where that's the norm.

- In general, there seems to be a striking difference between how Jews and Muslims approach religion. I don't know how to articulate very well, but when we were discussing Succot, questions about religious practice and the Torah versus Rabbinic commentary came up. As Jews we put a lot of weight in the commentary and don't necessarily see the Torah as given directly from God. This seemed to be a harder concept for some of the Muslim students to grasp. It seemed obvious to them that the Torah was given directly from God, just like the Koran, and the role of the Rabbis was never fully clarified.

- Arabs make really good tea and coffee - ok, I knew that already, but it's been reinforced here thanks to Muhammad.

Our first peace-building session today was like Avodah all over again with twice as many people! We talked about what reminds us of home and how we define it. I found it fascinating how different people responded. In my group it seemed that the Americans considered a place home based on relationships and connections made with people, while the Arabs, especially the Palestinians, considered the physical location a central aspect of "home." It really made me think of how much Americans take for granted that we don't have to worry about the land, it's a given that it will be there. Palestinians, though, are in a much more vulnerable and precarious position where their physical home is threatened. In a way I think it is really special that they have such ties to the land, but the price for it is probably too high.

And on that note, I'm out.
- M

Home Sweet Home

After a long weekend in Jerusalem I'm back in the desert and so relieved to be here. I am surprised at how much I have fallen in love with it. Not that I didn't have a great experience in Jerusalem, but it's definitely not the same. We came back with the new students, so there was a lot of anticipation and excitement around the Israelis and Palestinians finally joining us. Even better, we came back just in time for Succot, so we went to services and are eating in the Succah all week. And to top it off, I went for an amazing hike this morning with ten other students. (We took the Rosh Hadag trail, which translates to "fish head") It felt so natural to be here. I can't describe how or why it feels like home here - especially since I grew up around trees, water, and mountains. I love breathing in the fresh air and the feeling of freedom that I get when I'm in the middle of the barren, rocky hills.


Rosh Hadag - can't you tell?

Before I get lost in the nostalgia of the desert, I'll try to give some highlights from Jerusalem. It was one adventure after another, so I can't do it justice in this post, but hopefully I'll be able to at least get started.

I left on Wednesday morning to get to Jerusalem in time for the last meal before Kol Nidre. The meal was served at 3 pm. We didn't get to Jerusalem until about 2, only about an hour before public transportation stopped running. We had to get from the Central Bus Station to the Old City and then to the hostel before everything shut down. Getting to the Kotel was easy, finding our hostel was not. We had an address, but no one seemed to know where it was. It kept getting later, and shockingly, I started freaking out a little and worrying that we would miss the meal or not get a bed or something. Needless to say we eventually found it with time to spare.

Let me take a moment to explain where we stayed and the type of service we attended. It is a free hostel called Heritage House which is funded by Aish HaTorah - something I didn't know before arriving. For those of you know about Aish HaTorah, it was as scary and uncomfortable as you might imagine. For those of you who don't, their website is www.aish.com, you can also check out the Wikipedia entry.

There are two houses that are gender segregated, so poor Eric was left to his own devices for a large portion of the holiday. We ate our last meal separately, and then when we went to services, not surprisingly, there was a mehitzah. I've been to numerous gender-segregated services, but I've never sat through one where I couldn't see the Ark or the Hazzan. To make it worse, at the beginning of the service, the "ladies" were asked to make sure to walk behind the men when going to our section so as not to disturb the men who were trying to daven. Excuse me. If men don't have the self control or adequate concentration to continue praying when a woman walks in front of them, they have some serious issues that hiding us won't even begin to address. OK, I'm done for the moment. It also took some time to get used to the strong Ashkenazic influence - tav's were pronounced as an "s" and "oh" was "oy."

Heritage House locks its doors for much of the day and they kicked us out pretty early for Yom Kippur. We had to be out by 7:15 am. They didn't force us to go to services or anything, but what else are you going to do on Yom Kippur in the Old City so early? Needless to say, it was painful. We stayed for part of Shachrit and then Elizabeth and I went to the Kotel. It was quite moving to go, but by 10:30, we had had enough. And the Hostel wasn't reopening until 1:30.

I usually try to go to services for most of the day on Yom Kippur, but it became clear quite quickly that this was not going to be spiritually fulfilling or meaningful in a way that I was hoping for. I mean, I don't count as part of a minyan, I'm hidden behind a big curtain, and I can't see the Torah (so why did we bother even standing when the Ark was opened?). I also couldn't stand the hazzan's voice or the constant oy's that punctuated the prayers. I decided that I could get a lot more out of the experience as an intellectual and sociological exercise.

After our high holiday adventure and the fact that we were locked out of the building at 9 am the next morning, we decided to go to another hostel for the rest of our stay - Friday to Sunday. We found a really cheap one, the New Swedish Hostel, on the road leading to the Arab Sook. It was cheap for a reason. The beds were so narrow that we were all afraid we would fall off. There were signs all over including "Do not wash clothes in the sink!" and "Please - Put Your Toilet Paper in the Bin, Not in the Toilet Or It Will Be Closed." I felt as though I was in an airplane when I was in the bathroom. I couldn't stand up straight because the ceiling slanted, and I could barely shut the door because the space was so small. I thought it was pretty hilarious, but Eric wasn't so amused.



The story continues, but it will have to wait for another day. In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy the unusual weather - it is too cloudy to see the sun right now. It's also pretty windy. Maybe we'll get some rain? That is something I miss...the rain. Perhaps, deep down, I am actually a Seattle-ite...

-M