This is my second day in Bethlehem. I met with my friend Christie Reiners, who lives in the city six months a year. She is from California and is supp0rted by her Pesbyterian congregation there. She visited our church this summer and spoke to some members who are contemplating a trip to the Holy Land in the coming year. Christie knows everyone, it seems in this city, and that fact is verified as we seem to be greeted warmly by some one every where we go. As I mentioned, this particular trip, my fifth entry in four years, was quite different from previous trips. I always come to learn. This time I was opened to some new experiences, and Christie's contacts here were an excellent place to begin.
Just today, we visited the Captain of the Palestinian Tourist Police force who is also is a member of one of the largest families in the nearby village of Beit Javar, a center for quarrying exceptional Palestinian Stone. The Quarry has the potential to fuel a stagnant and captive economy when the walls finally come down. The potential take over by a local settlement though is a real threat, thereby preventing any real chance that the Palestinian people can have a vital economy, much less a future. Christie, through the young man I met and others, are trying to call attention to the plight of the workers here through union groups in the States. It is they, who could truly identify with the plight of the quarry workers here, she believes. Last night, we met with a Palestinian film maker who is planning to do a story on the stone workers and the potential problems they face in developing a badly needed industry. The ramifications of such growth would have immediate effect on some 150,000 Palestinians and their families.
We also walked down from the church of Nativity to visit Zougby Zougby at the Wi'am Center (Cordial or Civility) which is a conflict resolution center that provides training of woman and youth in the area. In the tradition of Arab hospitality, we drank our fifth glass of tea for the day, and heard about the work of his center. He also shared some hommus and filaphel before we returned to Naivity Square and a visit with a wood carver friend of mine who was crafting some gifts for me at home. We then walked across the city to meet with a family who house a center in their home to deal with the needs of some 15 handicapped children who receive no services from the schools nor community. The family provides and individualized educational experience for them on a daily basis. Most are from the nearby Refugee camps. We had tea and a local desert together as we heard Waffa share her family story and the need for support for their selfless act of humanity.
I walked back to hotel, again filled with amazement with the persistence of the Palestinian people, despite the windy, rainy cold day amidst the shadow of the walls of occupation. Tomorrow is another day.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
From the city of Siderot to Bethlehem
Much time has passed since I left D.C last Wednesday. I have been on the move since then, with little access to internet. This trip is very different from any I have been on. All the others were more formal, either Iwas traveling on a delegation, or attending a conference. The only fixed poin, prior to my trip, was my attempt to join the Interfaith Peace Builder's Tour group in Jerusalem on the 28th of October. I wound up in different hotel nearby them that night, which worked out well, actually.
The next morning we travelled together to a rural kibbutz near Gaza- Zikim and heard from a spokesman there who shared the history of his kibbutz. He is an American from San Francisco who was disillusioned with life in the States during the 60's, and looked for a new start in Israel in 1967. His empathy with the plight of the Gazans was powerfully told. He exposed the human side of the war, and shared how his Kibbutz had depended upon the labor from Gaza for labor for years, to do labor on their farms. They also were nostalgic about the happy days that had shared with them, attending each others' weddings and celebrations
I had a wonderful day, also with the Interfaith Peacebuilders group on a tour in the south to the city of Achelon, just north of Gaza as well as yo Erez Gate at Gaza and nearby Sederot. By far, hearing the story of Nomika Zion, and Israeli activist from "The other Voice" and her neigbhor, Erik Yellin,talk about their experiences with the Kassam rocket attacks, was stirring. Nomika, wrote the article that we received last year called 'Not in my name". (I recommend checking it out on the web if you haven't read it. It was a courageous act on her part. Being a peace and justice advocate is a lonely job in her area of the world. ) It was a letter addressed to the world, calling for an end to the bloodshed in Gaza, and sending a mesage that what occured there was not Jewish. I remember reading it and being stirred by her courage amongst a very hostile community, who interpreted her act as treasonous. The story of the neighbor, whose house and family were hit by a random rocket, was equally chilling. But still, both thought the incursion by the troops, and the incessant bombing, was not justified. They though such actions would only incurr more violence. They both called on us as Americans to complain to our government, register support for Gladstone report, call for sanctions that would end the support for such atrocities, and to save us from ourselves."
Yaniv, a member of Combatants for Peace who visited in our church last April, picked me up soon from the home of Namika and we drove south to his father's farm or "Maschad". It is not a kibbutz in that members of the community are permitted to make a profit though can gain help from the community if times get difficult. I joined the whole family that night to celebrate "shabot' along with seventeen other family members. It was a wonderful experience, and I of course, had a great time with the seven or more children who quickly enticed me away to play with them. I wish I had brought my "love you forever Book". The south of Israel, The Negeve Desert, is really beautiful, and quite isolated from the rest the world. It is easy to forget about "the other" and for that moment, that there was even an occupation going on..
The time with Yanif was special too. We had met him last spring on the Combatant for Peace tour. He was an Israeli soldier who layed down his weapon. I think I wrote about it in last year's blog. He invited me to his Mashad west of Gaza. His family had a farm there and he built his own home out of discarded materials. It was an experience just to spend the night there. He is a young man of 37 years, close in age to my own sons. We were kindred spirits, and enjoyed each other'company. I admire his courage to speak out in his community about violence. His family's support for him was inspiring too, though the come from a different era. Towards the end of the stay with him, we took a walk in the fields surrounding his village and he shared his early years as child, and time with children in the nearby Arab village. Those were wonderful memories, as he and his Arab and Jewish friends roamed the expansive free space that surrounded them. He drove me to the Bus Stop, and saw me aboard as I headed back after sabbath and sundown to Jerusalem where Iwould spend the night, before heading out the next morning for breakfast with my friend Daoud and his family in Beit Jala, outside of Bethlehem.
There in Beit Jala, I met Tony, Daoud's brother, and bumped into Christy Reiners, a fellow Presbyterian, and leader of my second tour with the Presbyterian Peace Fellowship. She was heading towards a bus stop just a few feet from where Daoud let me office. This is a truly a small planet and a small place. The Interfaith Peace Builders group was at Daher's orchard so it was perfect timing for me to talk about Fotonna and the work we were doing to support Daoud and his family. I wish I had a couple of copies of Mark Braverman's book, The Fatal Embrace" and copies of the resource guide "Steadfast Hope: A Palestinian Quest for Peace" to distribute. While Douad wasn't able to be there with the group, the setting alone was all the group needed to conclude that it was a worthwhile project. Brother Daher and his sister, spoke from their hearts, a powerfuls story of persistence and courage.
I checked out the olive trees we had planted last year and they are beginning to mature. I also planted a tree for Obama, and plan to send a picture of it to him and an appeal to end the settlement expansions which are eating up Palestinian land by the acres each. It is human tragedy.
I am now in Bethlehem. Having a shower and clean clothes was a blessing. I must close for now. The trip has been rich and stimulating. Another amazing experience. I am grateful for my good friends here. Love, Bill
The next morning we travelled together to a rural kibbutz near Gaza- Zikim and heard from a spokesman there who shared the history of his kibbutz. He is an American from San Francisco who was disillusioned with life in the States during the 60's, and looked for a new start in Israel in 1967. His empathy with the plight of the Gazans was powerfully told. He exposed the human side of the war, and shared how his Kibbutz had depended upon the labor from Gaza for labor for years, to do labor on their farms. They also were nostalgic about the happy days that had shared with them, attending each others' weddings and celebrations
I had a wonderful day, also with the Interfaith Peacebuilders group on a tour in the south to the city of Achelon, just north of Gaza as well as yo Erez Gate at Gaza and nearby Sederot. By far, hearing the story of Nomika Zion, and Israeli activist from "The other Voice" and her neigbhor, Erik Yellin,talk about their experiences with the Kassam rocket attacks, was stirring. Nomika, wrote the article that we received last year called 'Not in my name". (I recommend checking it out on the web if you haven't read it. It was a courageous act on her part. Being a peace and justice advocate is a lonely job in her area of the world. ) It was a letter addressed to the world, calling for an end to the bloodshed in Gaza, and sending a mesage that what occured there was not Jewish. I remember reading it and being stirred by her courage amongst a very hostile community, who interpreted her act as treasonous. The story of the neighbor, whose house and family were hit by a random rocket, was equally chilling. But still, both thought the incursion by the troops, and the incessant bombing, was not justified. They though such actions would only incurr more violence. They both called on us as Americans to complain to our government, register support for Gladstone report, call for sanctions that would end the support for such atrocities, and to save us from ourselves."
Yaniv, a member of Combatants for Peace who visited in our church last April, picked me up soon from the home of Namika and we drove south to his father's farm or "Maschad". It is not a kibbutz in that members of the community are permitted to make a profit though can gain help from the community if times get difficult. I joined the whole family that night to celebrate "shabot' along with seventeen other family members. It was a wonderful experience, and I of course, had a great time with the seven or more children who quickly enticed me away to play with them. I wish I had brought my "love you forever Book". The south of Israel, The Negeve Desert, is really beautiful, and quite isolated from the rest the world. It is easy to forget about "the other" and for that moment, that there was even an occupation going on..
The time with Yanif was special too. We had met him last spring on the Combatant for Peace tour. He was an Israeli soldier who layed down his weapon. I think I wrote about it in last year's blog. He invited me to his Mashad west of Gaza. His family had a farm there and he built his own home out of discarded materials. It was an experience just to spend the night there. He is a young man of 37 years, close in age to my own sons. We were kindred spirits, and enjoyed each other'company. I admire his courage to speak out in his community about violence. His family's support for him was inspiring too, though the come from a different era. Towards the end of the stay with him, we took a walk in the fields surrounding his village and he shared his early years as child, and time with children in the nearby Arab village. Those were wonderful memories, as he and his Arab and Jewish friends roamed the expansive free space that surrounded them. He drove me to the Bus Stop, and saw me aboard as I headed back after sabbath and sundown to Jerusalem where Iwould spend the night, before heading out the next morning for breakfast with my friend Daoud and his family in Beit Jala, outside of Bethlehem.
There in Beit Jala, I met Tony, Daoud's brother, and bumped into Christy Reiners, a fellow Presbyterian, and leader of my second tour with the Presbyterian Peace Fellowship. She was heading towards a bus stop just a few feet from where Daoud let me office. This is a truly a small planet and a small place. The Interfaith Peace Builders group was at Daher's orchard so it was perfect timing for me to talk about Fotonna and the work we were doing to support Daoud and his family. I wish I had a couple of copies of Mark Braverman's book, The Fatal Embrace" and copies of the resource guide "Steadfast Hope: A Palestinian Quest for Peace" to distribute. While Douad wasn't able to be there with the group, the setting alone was all the group needed to conclude that it was a worthwhile project. Brother Daher and his sister, spoke from their hearts, a powerfuls story of persistence and courage.
I checked out the olive trees we had planted last year and they are beginning to mature. I also planted a tree for Obama, and plan to send a picture of it to him and an appeal to end the settlement expansions which are eating up Palestinian land by the acres each. It is human tragedy.
I am now in Bethlehem. Having a shower and clean clothes was a blessing. I must close for now. The trip has been rich and stimulating. Another amazing experience. I am grateful for my good friends here. Love, Bill
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Have Ya Been There?
Now have ya been there, have ya really, been there?
Have ya crossed the Allenby Bridge by day from Jordan
When such passage through the terminal maybe endless in time,
Where your success depends on the mind of a youth with a gun
Who knows you not by name.
Have seen the City of Jericho, whose walls came a tumblin’ down,
Been replaced by the new one of wire and steel
So as not to threaten the ones who farm their lands beyond?
Have ya driven up from the Dead Sea, passed the shanties of the Bedouin who flee,
Not because they are reckless, and feckless but because they simply are not free?
Have ya passed by the new Settlements,
that form new walls to the East, of the City that once was the scene of the Holy ones and their priests?
Have ya passed through the gates of that City whose babe was born long, long ago,
And is now a place so surrounded that even the wise men can’t go.
Have ya experienced the check points in origin that are meant to secure,
But instead, further divide the land, its people and their mature?
Have you traveled up from Ben Gurion, on up to the Galilee, raced down passed the city of Jericho, across to Jerusalem, Joppa and the Sea,
Without even a trace of the secrets that are within, the
Nearly four hundred miles of concrete for which it is a sin.
Have ya slept in a cave of the shepherds, pulled olives from their trees, and tried to take them to the markets, lined with walls as far as you can see?
Have ya been there? Have you really seen?
Have ya been to the old city of Hebron, that has endured death and desolation,
Walked down its old streets, passed the market shops
Now shuttered below from their clients, and stormed from above by the rain of garbage, and the epithets of the new “owners”?
Have ya been to the temple of worship where the bodies of the patriarchs abide, and reflect on the three great religions whose
Paths are more closely aligned, than imagined?
Have ya been there?
Have ya stayed with the families in Beit Sahour, whose Christian heritage is fading?
Not only because they’re sealed off from their roots, in the villages that were long ago invaded,
But because they can’t make a living, they and their families must go.
Have you walked the camps around Bethlehem,
Whose numbers near 20,000 or so, and whose children wander the Alleys, shooting cap guns and throwing stones,
Fighting an enemy they have seen take away their fathers and brothers and so?
Have you gone to the gates of Gaza - Rafa, Erez to name just a few?
Where inhabitants live like prisoners surrounded on all sides and the view?
Where the glass windows of the Crossing at Erez appear,
As some mall we might see in the land of the free, yet denies the tales within.
But the truth lies for those to hear, with over a million and half human beings,
Trapped by the fence that denies them their defense,
And Like shooting fish in a barrel, vulnerable and exposed.
Have ya seen the hungry children there, the men unemployed and depressed,
Because they have no meaning, no life and so they have much distress.
Until they promise to respect their captors, they have little of real life left.
But how can that be, from the land of the free, of mercy and justice.
A State that denies so much,
Must really have an alternative agenda, for which they feel is their destiny or some other disguised motive.
The captors have really lost their souls it seems.
Who can blame those within for their rockets, when a generation of children have nothing
To dream about, to strive for, to reach out amongst the forgotten.
So take a trip and see for yourself, and get up from that table!
Go to the land of strained enchantment if you are able.
Don’t take a route of comfort, nor just to see the historical stones.
Travel to its cities within the walls themselves, to the camps, and valleys below,
The settlements that rim above, the stolen trees and demolished homes.
For that is where you’ll find me, amongst the living stones.
Bill Plitt
Feb. 9, 2009
Now have ya been there, have ya really, been there?
Have ya crossed the Allenby Bridge by day from Jordan
When such passage through the terminal maybe endless in time,
Where your success depends on the mind of a youth with a gun
Who knows you not by name.
Have seen the City of Jericho, whose walls came a tumblin’ down,
Been replaced by the new one of wire and steel
So as not to threaten the ones who farm their lands beyond?
Have ya driven up from the Dead Sea, passed the shanties of the Bedouin who flee,
Not because they are reckless, and feckless but because they simply are not free?
Have ya passed by the new Settlements,
that form new walls to the East, of the City that once was the scene of the Holy ones and their priests?
Have ya passed through the gates of that City whose babe was born long, long ago,
And is now a place so surrounded that even the wise men can’t go.
Have ya experienced the check points in origin that are meant to secure,
But instead, further divide the land, its people and their mature?
Have you traveled up from Ben Gurion, on up to the Galilee, raced down passed the city of Jericho, across to Jerusalem, Joppa and the Sea,
Without even a trace of the secrets that are within, the
Nearly four hundred miles of concrete for which it is a sin.
Have ya slept in a cave of the shepherds, pulled olives from their trees, and tried to take them to the markets, lined with walls as far as you can see?
Have ya been there? Have you really seen?
Have ya been to the old city of Hebron, that has endured death and desolation,
Walked down its old streets, passed the market shops
Now shuttered below from their clients, and stormed from above by the rain of garbage, and the epithets of the new “owners”?
Have ya been to the temple of worship where the bodies of the patriarchs abide, and reflect on the three great religions whose
Paths are more closely aligned, than imagined?
Have ya been there?
Have ya stayed with the families in Beit Sahour, whose Christian heritage is fading?
Not only because they’re sealed off from their roots, in the villages that were long ago invaded,
But because they can’t make a living, they and their families must go.
Have you walked the camps around Bethlehem,
Whose numbers near 20,000 or so, and whose children wander the Alleys, shooting cap guns and throwing stones,
Fighting an enemy they have seen take away their fathers and brothers and so?
Have you gone to the gates of Gaza - Rafa, Erez to name just a few?
Where inhabitants live like prisoners surrounded on all sides and the view?
Where the glass windows of the Crossing at Erez appear,
As some mall we might see in the land of the free, yet denies the tales within.
But the truth lies for those to hear, with over a million and half human beings,
Trapped by the fence that denies them their defense,
And Like shooting fish in a barrel, vulnerable and exposed.
Have ya seen the hungry children there, the men unemployed and depressed,
Because they have no meaning, no life and so they have much distress.
Until they promise to respect their captors, they have little of real life left.
But how can that be, from the land of the free, of mercy and justice.
A State that denies so much,
Must really have an alternative agenda, for which they feel is their destiny or some other disguised motive.
The captors have really lost their souls it seems.
Who can blame those within for their rockets, when a generation of children have nothing
To dream about, to strive for, to reach out amongst the forgotten.
So take a trip and see for yourself, and get up from that table!
Go to the land of strained enchantment if you are able.
Don’t take a route of comfort, nor just to see the historical stones.
Travel to its cities within the walls themselves, to the camps, and valleys below,
The settlements that rim above, the stolen trees and demolished homes.
For that is where you’ll find me, amongst the living stones.
Bill Plitt
Feb. 9, 2009
“Think about the Other”
Yaniv Reshef, a former Israeli soldier, watched from a distance of 12 miles, the bursting mushroom clouds high above the Palestinian cities and towns of Gaza caused by exploding bombs dropped by fleeting F-16’s. He felt the ground, farmed by his family for as long as he could remember; shake beneath his feet with each new cloud.
He thought about his own experiences as a foot soldier in one of the most elite and feared brigades called the Golani. Memories of times when he threw shock grenades through the windows of sleeping Palestinians for fun, or held his gun to the head of a child within an innocent household, now stirred his conscience.
Yaniv also recalled the meetings he helped organize for Combatants for Peace in the neighboring Israel town of Sderot so that the people there, who had been recipients of crude rocket fire from the other side of the prison-like fence, could hear his Palestinian and Israeli partners tell their stories.
Bassam grew up in the ancient city of Hebron, and remembers as a young boy seeing an elder in his community shot from behind by an Israeli soldier. The memory remained with him. At 17, he was caught planning an attack on Israeli troops, and spent seven and half years in prison for that act. Inside those walls he learned Hebrew, and saw a film about the Holocaust. He heard the story of the other. He knew that continued violence was not an answer.
In 2005, he co-founded Combatants for Peace and like Yaniv and others, he refused to use weapons again. Even when his 10 year old daughter Abir was gunned down two years later by an Israeli soldier from behind as she left her classroom, Bassam remained committed to ending the violence.
On March 24th, over 100 gathered in the sanctuary at Trinity to hear the stories of the two former soldiers who hadn’t known each other before the 30-day tour of East Coast cities, but who had become intimately close during those days on the road. Many of those in attendance came from outside the Arlington community. What they heard was riveting. What they recognized was a courage of conscience for which the Combatants had received an award just a week before at the Peace Abbey in Sherborn, MA.
Later that week, at the closing ceremony for the tour at St. Columba’s Episcopal Church in D.C, Bassam was unable to attend the meeting. Yaniv filled in for him, and told Bassam’s story which revealed how deeply he had come to understand his new friend’s inner voice and outer experience. Growing up just several miles from one another in the southern regions of their now separated lands, neither of them was given that opportunity to know each other before. At the closing, Yaniv translated a poem by a famous Palestinian poet, Mahmood Dawish.
Think about the Other
When you are making your breakfast, think about the other.
Don’t forget the food for the doves.
When you are making your wars, think about the others.
Don’t forget those who seek peace.
When you are paying your water bills, think about the others.
Don’t forget those who drink from the clouds.
When you are returning to home, to your home, think about the others.
Don’t forget those who live in tents.
When you are sleeping and counting the stars, think about the others.
There are some who can’t find a place for sleep.
When you are given your spirit a space to fly, think about the others.
Think about those who lost their right for words.
When you are thinking about the others, the distant others,
Think about yourself, and say, “I wish I were a candle in the dark.”
The Kibbutz and the Village: A lesson of hope
The Kibbutz and the Village: A Lesson of Hope
By Bill Plitt
On the final day of my recent trip to Israel and Palestine in November ‘08, in the old city of Jerusalem, where I was staying, a colleague suggested that I take a diversion on my way home and venture up just south of Galilee to the Israeli Kibbutz Metzer. So, along with my Quaker traveling companion and one other American, we hired a taxi and drove north for nearly two hours to the interior of the state of Israel, to a place I hadn’t been before.
As I sat down in one of the four, plain metal chairs around the small table in the trailer office of the Kibbutz Metzer, I stirred my coffee slowly and wondered about the appearance of the commune’s simplicity. I wondered also about the journey of its people and those in neighboring Israeli Arab villages. Dov Avital, the secretary general for the kibbutz, who had poured us each a cup of coffee, as is custom among the people of the Middle East, was as eager to tell his story as we were to listen. We knew little about this place that grew out of the idealism of the 50’s. We were not prepared for what he was about to tell us.
On Nov.10th, 2002, a lone Palestinian gunman entered the kibbutz and murdered three adults and two children. The mother had just finished reading her children a bedtime story. This violent act shook the kibbutz and neighboring villages, and the shock reverberated throughout Israel. What events could have led up to this?
Dov shared with us that in 1953, one hundred and twenty Argentinean émigrés formed the kibbutz in a barren area in central Israel, a practice that had been replicated many times since 1948 when Palestinian villages had been emptied and Arabs expelled during what was called ‘the war of Independence’ by the Jews or ‘the disaster’ by the Palestinians. In this case, the land was taken by the émigrés as granted by the “Armistice Treaty” of ‘48. From the very beginning, however, the founders chose to practice coexistence with the surrounding villages whose people were Arab and who today make up about 20% of the Israeli citizenry.
The cooperation was two-way from the very beginning. When the Kibbutz could not locate viable water, the nearby Israeli Arab village of Meiser connected Metzer to its own small well; that action would not be forgotten. Other acts of kindness would follow over the 50 years of working together: dousing a threatening brush fire together near the Kibbutz; sharing sports activities with neighboring villages, including the use of Metzer’s swimming pool; even forming a joint soccer team which competed in the regional league. In the words of Avital, the community ‘became a close knit, multi-generation tradition.’
In 2002, a few weeks before the murders in the kibbutz, the Metzer’s board protested against the building of the ‘security fence’ across the Green Line because it would cut through the olive groves belonging to the West Bank village of Kefin; it would deprive the farmers of 60% of their fields. Metzer’s leaders had scheduled a meeting with Israeli Defense Ministry for the 11th of Nov. to argue the case. The meeting never happened, for on the evening of the 10th, the terrorist committed his horrible acts. But the long history of coexistence between the Kibbutz and the neighboring villages endured the onslaught. The terrorist was not from those villages.
Despite the emotions that rocked Israel, the secretary general said at the time, “Although the thirst for revenge is natural, we need the strength to remember our message and remain firm believers in our desire to live in peace with our neighbors.” He then said, “Most Palestinians are not terrorists.” During Shiva, the Jewish period of mourning following death, many Palestinians from several villages visited the Kibbutz to express their sorrow.
Even after this tragedy, the members of the Kibbutz continued to extend invitations to maintain their long history of coexistence with Arabs across the Green Line. In 2004, when the ‘security fence’ or ‘separation wall’ was constructed, it prevented the villagers from tending and irrigating their olive trees that lay between the Green Line and the new “separation” fence. The Kibbutz offered to construct a tunnel under the wall to receive sewage, circulate the waste in their own holding ponds, and pump the water back to their neighbors for irrigation.
As we heard this story, I was truly amazed at the contrast between what I had seen over the previous two weeks of my visit in the occupied areas of the West Bank and at the Erez Crossing in Gaza, a walled prison containing more than a million people, and the Metzer-Meiser experience.
As we prepared to catch the train from Haifa to Tel Aviv, we couldn’t help but be captivated by the thought that in the darkest hours, human beings are capable of drawing from their common well of humanity, and as President Obama put it in his inauguration speech, “extending hands and unclenching fists”. We thanked Dov for his story. Our coffee remained cold and untouched. The lesson of hope warmed our hearts.
By Bill Plitt
On the final day of my recent trip to Israel and Palestine in November ‘08, in the old city of Jerusalem, where I was staying, a colleague suggested that I take a diversion on my way home and venture up just south of Galilee to the Israeli Kibbutz Metzer. So, along with my Quaker traveling companion and one other American, we hired a taxi and drove north for nearly two hours to the interior of the state of Israel, to a place I hadn’t been before.
As I sat down in one of the four, plain metal chairs around the small table in the trailer office of the Kibbutz Metzer, I stirred my coffee slowly and wondered about the appearance of the commune’s simplicity. I wondered also about the journey of its people and those in neighboring Israeli Arab villages. Dov Avital, the secretary general for the kibbutz, who had poured us each a cup of coffee, as is custom among the people of the Middle East, was as eager to tell his story as we were to listen. We knew little about this place that grew out of the idealism of the 50’s. We were not prepared for what he was about to tell us.
On Nov.10th, 2002, a lone Palestinian gunman entered the kibbutz and murdered three adults and two children. The mother had just finished reading her children a bedtime story. This violent act shook the kibbutz and neighboring villages, and the shock reverberated throughout Israel. What events could have led up to this?
Dov shared with us that in 1953, one hundred and twenty Argentinean émigrés formed the kibbutz in a barren area in central Israel, a practice that had been replicated many times since 1948 when Palestinian villages had been emptied and Arabs expelled during what was called ‘the war of Independence’ by the Jews or ‘the disaster’ by the Palestinians. In this case, the land was taken by the émigrés as granted by the “Armistice Treaty” of ‘48. From the very beginning, however, the founders chose to practice coexistence with the surrounding villages whose people were Arab and who today make up about 20% of the Israeli citizenry.
The cooperation was two-way from the very beginning. When the Kibbutz could not locate viable water, the nearby Israeli Arab village of Meiser connected Metzer to its own small well; that action would not be forgotten. Other acts of kindness would follow over the 50 years of working together: dousing a threatening brush fire together near the Kibbutz; sharing sports activities with neighboring villages, including the use of Metzer’s swimming pool; even forming a joint soccer team which competed in the regional league. In the words of Avital, the community ‘became a close knit, multi-generation tradition.’
In 2002, a few weeks before the murders in the kibbutz, the Metzer’s board protested against the building of the ‘security fence’ across the Green Line because it would cut through the olive groves belonging to the West Bank village of Kefin; it would deprive the farmers of 60% of their fields. Metzer’s leaders had scheduled a meeting with Israeli Defense Ministry for the 11th of Nov. to argue the case. The meeting never happened, for on the evening of the 10th, the terrorist committed his horrible acts. But the long history of coexistence between the Kibbutz and the neighboring villages endured the onslaught. The terrorist was not from those villages.
Despite the emotions that rocked Israel, the secretary general said at the time, “Although the thirst for revenge is natural, we need the strength to remember our message and remain firm believers in our desire to live in peace with our neighbors.” He then said, “Most Palestinians are not terrorists.” During Shiva, the Jewish period of mourning following death, many Palestinians from several villages visited the Kibbutz to express their sorrow.
Even after this tragedy, the members of the Kibbutz continued to extend invitations to maintain their long history of coexistence with Arabs across the Green Line. In 2004, when the ‘security fence’ or ‘separation wall’ was constructed, it prevented the villagers from tending and irrigating their olive trees that lay between the Green Line and the new “separation” fence. The Kibbutz offered to construct a tunnel under the wall to receive sewage, circulate the waste in their own holding ponds, and pump the water back to their neighbors for irrigation.
As we heard this story, I was truly amazed at the contrast between what I had seen over the previous two weeks of my visit in the occupied areas of the West Bank and at the Erez Crossing in Gaza, a walled prison containing more than a million people, and the Metzer-Meiser experience.
As we prepared to catch the train from Haifa to Tel Aviv, we couldn’t help but be captivated by the thought that in the darkest hours, human beings are capable of drawing from their common well of humanity, and as President Obama put it in his inauguration speech, “extending hands and unclenching fists”. We thanked Dov for his story. Our coffee remained cold and untouched. The lesson of hope warmed our hearts.
“The Nakba, Memory, Reality and Beyond”
The Seventh International Sabeel Conference, Nazareth/Jerusalem, 2008
By Bill Plitt
Josef Ben-Eliezer is a holocaust survivor. As a young Israeli soldier in 1948, he participated in the “Nakba”, the expulsion of Palestinians from their homes and villages. His military actions in Ramla, a small village near the coast, recalled his own childhood when his family was forced out of their home in Poland, marched to the Russian border, and taken by train to the camps of Siberia.
He shared his story with us one evening at the Sabeel Conference which met that night in the Israeli City of Nazareth. It was a gathering of 175 Christians from five continents concerned about peace with justice. Josef’s story was powerful, and he recognized that what he had done in1948, was precisely what had happened to him at the hands of the Nazis, a few short years before. He no longer could remain in the Israeli army or in the country to which he had been drawn. His strong need for personal survival, as well as the drive to preserve his new homeland’s existence, dissipated as he realized the connection between his own horrors as a ten year old, and those he was inflicting on others, as a soldier.
You could have heard a pin drop during his retelling of the story. Every word was measured. There was not a dry eye in the room, when Josef described his return to Israel some years later, and his subsequent conversation with a survivor of Ramla. It was then that he revealed, he had asked for forgiveness from the Palestinian for any pain he may have wrought as soldier.
When Josef had finished his story, a lone Palestinian of similar age, rose slowly from the back of the hall and said in a critical tone, “I appreciate the sincerity of your words, but it is not enough. More like you are needed to stand up and share your stories. I thank you for your courage.” He paused and then said, “I wish you many long and happy years!” The two former adversaries shared that night a message of reconciliation and forgiveness, two necessary ingredients for true peace with justice. The moment was symbolic of the entire week as we heard more of such stories and more attempts to disclose the Palestinian narrative from both sides, so long buried in time.
After a week of digging more deeply into the events of what happened to the 750,000 Palestinians who had been forced to leave their villages in 1948, as well as hearing attempts by some Israelis to right the wrongs of that era, the conference participants were greatly moved to make their international presence known in some meaningful, non-violent way. 48 participants rose together that night in the Deheisheh Refugee Camp, outside of Bethlehem, planned our strategy and rented a bus to Gaza the next morning. We could no longer be content to just sit and listen to more stories of pain. It was a call to action.
The news report from the day before indicated that the Israeli Military in Gaza had refused representatives of non-governmental Organizations (NGO’s) their right of entry into the city for a second straight day. The bus arrived at the terminal building of the Gaza gate of Eretz, a large, modern edifice with a glass facade that stood three stories high, and extended the width of parking lot some 150 yards. The building denied the presence on the other side of a city of 1.5 million Palestinians under siege. Only the flies revealed their existence.
We were there to stand in solidarity with the health care organizations and media that had been denied rights guaranteed by international law. Mairead Maguire, a Noble Peace Laureate from Ireland, stood with us, as we encircled the NGO’s, who were holding an impromptu staff meeting in the center of the empty parking lot, to discuss the implications of being prevented entry into what appeared to be the world’s largest outdoor prison.
The next day, the NGO’s were allowed to enter, and shipments of food crossed the gate for the first time that week. There is no indication that our presence made any difference. But the NGO’s felt supported by our presence. We had felt we had made an attempt to act on our call to stand with those who mourn. At that point, the conference became more than a series of panel discussions and stories. It had become a call for an end of the occupation for both Israelis and Palestinians.
The week was full of rich worship experiences, memorable visits to destroyed villages and the stories of their inhabitants, stirring lectures by distinguished scholars like Rashid Khalidi, impassioned speeches by diplomats such as the former Prime Minister of the Netherlands, Andreas Van Agt, and descriptions of heroic acts by both Israeli and Arab citizens to expose the horrors of the disaster, the Nokba of 1948.
Submitted by Bill Plitt, December 23, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Gaza Walls Crack Just a Little
The journey with Sabeel continues to be an amazing experience. And like other trips to this region. there are many surprises and magical spaces along the way. As we emerged from a visit to theDeheisheh Refugee Camp, the largest in the region with 12,000 inhabitants, 60% of whom are under the age of 18, we could see much work to be done, though the refugees themselves whose families have been here since 1967, have done miraculous acts just to have survived the circumstances.
Bailot, a young Palestinian student, and guide for the afternoon, took us on a walking tour of the camp. Shortly after we began, young children on the roof over head, threw stones which landed close by. I'm glad no one was hurt. While I didn't take it personally, the incident did make me uncomfortable for the rest of the journey that day. The stress of living in the camp must be unbearable. Bailot, shared his own story. He was presently attending the University where he was studying be prepare for social work. He was 21 and spent two years in prison for throwing stones at the Israeli Army. He also had been shot and spent a month in the hospital at the time. He then went on to say that his mother's childeren, 6 boys, had all been in prison at one time! Imagine that? We later went to his home and shared tea with is family, in a tiny, confined space, surrounded by other buildings and where the sun didn't shine. He shared some videos that he had produced for a project sponsored by French as a way of expressing the frustrations that surely must be inside.
I left the group early, and Bailot took me to the Ibdaa Health Center in the Camp where I delivered 5o sets of eye frames for the eye clinic sent by our church community. The staff were grateful for the frames, but many of the glasses broke when the lenses were extracted from them. What they need is 300 frames a month - new frames so that they can create the proper lenses for the children.
I returned after my visit with the director there, to the Camp's center were the Conference ( a very mobile one) set up it's evening meeting while being fed by the camp inhabitants. There were over 250 of including about75 Palestinians. It was there, after a day of increasing amounts of information that defined the circumstances of the Palestinians and the Israelis, that the group birthed a new idea. After a passionate appeal from a Italian/American woman, and an appeal by a Nobel Prize Laureate from Ireland who was also a conference attendee, there was a call to show solidarity to the NGO's at Gaza the next day. Over 48 people signed up and met through the evening to plan the strategy. It was ageed that we would not try to get into the City, but would stand in peaceful solidarity with groups like OXFAM and Mercy. These groups by international law have the right to enter into the space to provide human asssistance. The press too, were there and unable to enter.
In short, the people are with out basics and the economy is in a shambles. According the Dr. with us, who works in reconstruction surgery there, 130 were killed last week during an incursing by IDF forces with 50 seriously wounded. Four to five people killed each day is not unusal. The prompt for such incursions, are the rocket fire, who no body encourages, and that do little damage. And while this form of violence cannot be condonned, the collective punishment the Israeli forces inflict can hardly be justified. Little of this information appears in our press.
We awoke at 5 am to take the bus ride to the coast. On the way, we generated our mission, confirmed our roles, and leadership, and rehearsed our actions. We also prepared for the worst case scenerio which included tear gassing, and other dispersing activities. We had become a pretty cohesive group. The risk for us that we could be deported straight away, and not allowed to return. The thought of that affecting Daoud or the Tent of Nations project was provoking.
When we arrived at the huge building that hides the City from road, one could hardly imagine what life was like for the million and half citizens behind the glass walls. Sound booms from overhead from Israeli jets were frightening, and the claims by the private security personnel behind the fences, often told us that it was a very dangerous place for us to be. We were in the car park outside the gate. Their appeals seem to be attempts to rid the place of us. We voted to stay put. The only persons in the lot were taxi drivers hoping to get passengers coming through the gates and charging them a hundred dollars apiece for a ride back to Tel aviv.
The non-government-organizations (NGOs) had all been denied entrance, including the medical doc with us. They decided to hold a meeting in the parking lot with chart paper and chairs they had brought with them, surrounded by the 48 of us and members of the European press. It was quite a scene.! One member of our group, a Nobel Peace Laureate from Ireland, talked with the BBC about why the conflict in this region must be solved soon with justice. Her speech was eloquent and moving from someone who knew about violence and its price for a society.
Prior to the meeting, we were told to gather against a wall separating us from gate, because the Palestinians were supposedly launching their rockets. It turns out it was another effort to make us leave. It didn't work! While we standing there in the hot sun of the morning, hutled together, I offered to share my poem "Walls, Lines, Fences and Borders". It seemed like an appropriate moment given the circumstances. I invited the group to repeat the montra, and they did. I felt great satisfaction in sharing the poem, but more, their partipation with me. It was a special time of sharing a personal moment together. The words of that meagre poem have such power for us all. It was a gift to me, and I hope one for others in the group. The walls of the gates of Gaza seemed to crack just a little. Love, Bill
Bailot, a young Palestinian student, and guide for the afternoon, took us on a walking tour of the camp. Shortly after we began, young children on the roof over head, threw stones which landed close by. I'm glad no one was hurt. While I didn't take it personally, the incident did make me uncomfortable for the rest of the journey that day. The stress of living in the camp must be unbearable. Bailot, shared his own story. He was presently attending the University where he was studying be prepare for social work. He was 21 and spent two years in prison for throwing stones at the Israeli Army. He also had been shot and spent a month in the hospital at the time. He then went on to say that his mother's childeren, 6 boys, had all been in prison at one time! Imagine that? We later went to his home and shared tea with is family, in a tiny, confined space, surrounded by other buildings and where the sun didn't shine. He shared some videos that he had produced for a project sponsored by French as a way of expressing the frustrations that surely must be inside.
I left the group early, and Bailot took me to the Ibdaa Health Center in the Camp where I delivered 5o sets of eye frames for the eye clinic sent by our church community. The staff were grateful for the frames, but many of the glasses broke when the lenses were extracted from them. What they need is 300 frames a month - new frames so that they can create the proper lenses for the children.
I returned after my visit with the director there, to the Camp's center were the Conference ( a very mobile one) set up it's evening meeting while being fed by the camp inhabitants. There were over 250 of including about75 Palestinians. It was there, after a day of increasing amounts of information that defined the circumstances of the Palestinians and the Israelis, that the group birthed a new idea. After a passionate appeal from a Italian/American woman, and an appeal by a Nobel Prize Laureate from Ireland who was also a conference attendee, there was a call to show solidarity to the NGO's at Gaza the next day. Over 48 people signed up and met through the evening to plan the strategy. It was ageed that we would not try to get into the City, but would stand in peaceful solidarity with groups like OXFAM and Mercy. These groups by international law have the right to enter into the space to provide human asssistance. The press too, were there and unable to enter.
In short, the people are with out basics and the economy is in a shambles. According the Dr. with us, who works in reconstruction surgery there, 130 were killed last week during an incursing by IDF forces with 50 seriously wounded. Four to five people killed each day is not unusal. The prompt for such incursions, are the rocket fire, who no body encourages, and that do little damage. And while this form of violence cannot be condonned, the collective punishment the Israeli forces inflict can hardly be justified. Little of this information appears in our press.
We awoke at 5 am to take the bus ride to the coast. On the way, we generated our mission, confirmed our roles, and leadership, and rehearsed our actions. We also prepared for the worst case scenerio which included tear gassing, and other dispersing activities. We had become a pretty cohesive group. The risk for us that we could be deported straight away, and not allowed to return. The thought of that affecting Daoud or the Tent of Nations project was provoking.
When we arrived at the huge building that hides the City from road, one could hardly imagine what life was like for the million and half citizens behind the glass walls. Sound booms from overhead from Israeli jets were frightening, and the claims by the private security personnel behind the fences, often told us that it was a very dangerous place for us to be. We were in the car park outside the gate. Their appeals seem to be attempts to rid the place of us. We voted to stay put. The only persons in the lot were taxi drivers hoping to get passengers coming through the gates and charging them a hundred dollars apiece for a ride back to Tel aviv.
The non-government-organizations (NGOs) had all been denied entrance, including the medical doc with us. They decided to hold a meeting in the parking lot with chart paper and chairs they had brought with them, surrounded by the 48 of us and members of the European press. It was quite a scene.! One member of our group, a Nobel Peace Laureate from Ireland, talked with the BBC about why the conflict in this region must be solved soon with justice. Her speech was eloquent and moving from someone who knew about violence and its price for a society.
Prior to the meeting, we were told to gather against a wall separating us from gate, because the Palestinians were supposedly launching their rockets. It turns out it was another effort to make us leave. It didn't work! While we standing there in the hot sun of the morning, hutled together, I offered to share my poem "Walls, Lines, Fences and Borders". It seemed like an appropriate moment given the circumstances. I invited the group to repeat the montra, and they did. I felt great satisfaction in sharing the poem, but more, their partipation with me. It was a special time of sharing a personal moment together. The words of that meagre poem have such power for us all. It was a gift to me, and I hope one for others in the group. The walls of the gates of Gaza seemed to crack just a little. Love, Bill
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