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?
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Friday, November 21, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
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...
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...
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
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
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
Monday, November 3, 2008
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!
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!
Saturday, November 1, 2008
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.
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.
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