It's a beautiful evening. Even a little chilly, which is quite welcome these days. I'm in Jerusalem, partly relaxing and partly preparing for delegations I'll be leading in the coming weeks. I like the Old City of Jerusalem. I like the stones, I like guessing how many hundreds or thousands of years they've been in their current configurations, how many different people have passed through and lived in these buildings. I like the narrow alleys, and the small openings that hide huge buildings, underground structures, and expansive rooftops. I like the bustling Palestinian market all around Damascus Gate, the grass and trees just next to the gate, the people of all ages sitting together, sprawled out in the shade on hot sunny days.
I don't like the Israeli soldiers and border police who patrol the streets, sit on the steps of the Austrian Hospice, set up barriers outside Damascus Gate to block Muslims from coming to pray. I don't like the college-aged Americans and army-aged Israelis who parade around in tiny tank tops and miniskirts with no awareness of cultural sensitivity. I don't like the Israeli flags strewn across rooftops in the Muslim Quarter of the city. I don't like the religious Jews who march through the city as if it's theirs, who read obituaries of Palestinians and then occupy their houses as soon as they die. I don't like that I project this settler identity onto every black-hatted Jew I see, even though many of them are not settlers in that same sense of the word; many are probably just coming into the Old City to visit, or to pray. I don't like that the political situation makes me unable to appreciate any kind of visible Jewish presence, even just walking down the streets, in any part of occupied or annexed East Jerusalem, including the Old City.
I don't like the look I get when I tell my West Bank friends that I'm coming to Al Quds (Jerusalem). I don't like the guilt I feel for easily being able to travel to the holiest city in the country, when my Muslim friends for whom it would mean so much more are not allowed to go. Sometimes I don't even tell them where I'm going; sometimes I say I'm going to Ramallah, because for me it's the same, and for them it is not.
I don't like the orange ribbons on all the cars around here, expressing solidarity with Jewish settlers of Gush Katif and opposition to evacuating them from Gaza. I don't like the blue and white ribbons that have come in response, supporting the "disengagement" as the patriotic thing to do. I don't like that I sit in Jerusalem and see these ribbons about Gaza and get a phone call that there is curfew in Hares. I don't like that I know this, as well as everything else that happens in the West Bank these days, will go completely ignored by the world, and I don't like that I myself feel almost nothing when I hear the word "curfew," that my response is automatic: if I were there, I would go out and check on the situation, but since I'm not, I hang up the pone and continue my walk.
Sometimes it's nice to be here in Jerusalem, and sometimes I just want to get out, back to the villages, back to a life that in some ways has become comfortable for me. I was in Deir Ballut last week, just visiting friends. I took a taxi over there just after sunset. The twists and turns through the hills, the dirt road surrounded by thousands of olive trees, the almost full moon shining in an almost dark sky - it was all so breathtakingly beautiful. This is how Palestine could be, I thought, appreciating for the first time the bumpy half-hour long ride that would take 10 minutes if Palestinians could pass through the Qarawa roadblock and the Deir Ballut checkpoint.
I love entering Deir Ballut, driving through some of the most lush fields in Palestine, towards the always welcoming village. I arrived at my friend Reem's house, and her husband told me she was out. At the store, confirmed the kids. As always, I marveled over the difference between Deir Ballut and other nearby villages, like Hares. In Deir Ballut, women go out on their own after dark, have wedding parties outside with dancing, singing, and drumming, and have a tendency to refuse all marriage proposals until they're finished university. Or at least this is true of the girls and women I know. Oh, and in Deir Ballut the kids don't point and stare and whisper, "ajnabiye" (foreigner) or yell, "sawrini!" (take my picture).
I'm going to miss this place. I'll miss my friends in Deir Ballut, who tell me "women are free here" and I'll miss my friends in Hares who tell me it's not appropriate for women to go out, that they're not strong enough to defend themselves. I may even miss the blonde kids up the street who throw stones at us out of boredom or amusement, and who occasionally try to physically remove our cameras from our bags to take pictures of themselves.
I'm still in Palestine for another month, but I'll be on the road the whole time with three different groups that I'll have the pleasure of introducing Palestine to. I'm not sure if or when I'll find time to write, so don't worry if you don't hear from me for a while. Jaber's trial is on Monday (he's the one who had meningitis and was arrested at Huwara checkpoint a couple months ago), and I'm going to try to go, so perhaps that will inspire a report. But no promises.
Until next time,
Hannah
Friday, June 24, 2005
Friday, June 17, 2005
No Peace for Palestinians
Last week ended the way it started, with nonviolent Palestinian demonstrations against the Wall being met with severe violence from the Israeli army. An Israeli friend of mine recently pointed out that we should not call the demonstrations “nonviolent” because they’re extremely violent – it’s just that the violence comes not from the demonstrators but from the fourth largest military in the world, trying to suppress peaceful protest.
Friday’s demonstration in Marda was even worse than the others. We were barely a few meters from the houses, starting to walk up the mountain through the olive groves, when tear gas canisters started flying. The army, as usual, was shooting gas from several directions. We counted about 50 canisters in the first 4 minutes, and it continued at this rate for at least 10 minutes more. Then, before we could collect our thoughts and make any sort of plan, the army entered the village. Now tear gas and sound bombs were coming at us from even more directions – every direction, it seemed. People scattered throughout the village, with some journalists, a few boys, and a couple internationals and Israelis near the center of the village. I was on a roof with several people, trying to see what was happening. We started to hear rubber bullets, and then, suddenly, live ammunition. We called everyone we could think to call, including a number I had for the US Embassy. I got someone on the phone, told him we were in the village (even said “there are 4 or 5 American citizens here and the army is shooting bullets into the village”). He was unresponsive as I talked, and finally said, “Um, okay. Thank you for making me privy to this information. I advise you to stay away from crowds.” Incredulously, I asked him if he was going to report this to anyone. “I report to many people,” he responded. “Will you call the army?” I asked. “I think I know what they would say,” he replied. “People are scared for their lives,” I reiterated. “Thank you for informing me,” he said again, and that was it. At that moment I found myself wishing a tear gas canister would enter his office. As it was, one entered Marda's sewing factory, sending 4 women to the hospital.
We heard more bullets fired, this time several rounds at a time, so I called Arik Ascherman from Rabbis for Human Rights. He called back a few minutes later and said, “The army says they’re not in the village, and are only shooting tear gas from outside.” Later they admitted to him that they were inside Marda, but shot only one rubber bullet and no live ammunition. They claimed that the bullets had come from a Palestinian with a Kalachnikov rifle. So now we had a new job – go around and collect as many bullet casings as we could, to prove that they were from M-16s (the army’s weapons). It wasn’t difficult, as the children of the villages have a habit of collecting all the weapons used against them, and trying to impress visitors with them. We have since given the casings to Arik, who has delivered them to the army, who apparently is investigating the situation... I don’t have much confidence that any follow-up will happen, although maybe this will make soldiers think twice next time before firing live ammunition at unarmed farmers and kids.
I should mention that the four bulldozers that had been working before we started up the hill that day stopped as soon as the army started firing gas at us, apparently retiring for an early weekend. So the demonstration was not entirely in vain.
Shortly after returning to Hares, we got a call that 6 jeeps were inside Hares, so we went to the entrance of the village to check it out. Sure enough, dozens of soldiers were hanging out next to jeeps. I asked an open question into the crowd: “What are you doing here?” One soldier stepped out of a jeep and said, “That doesn’t concern you, Hannah, since we're going to put you on a plane to the U.S. in two days.” There are so few internationals around these days that many soldiers and border policemen/women know me, especially after the intensity of last week. But this was someone I didn’t recognize. I made a mental note to try to pay more attention to soldiers’ faces and not only their guns. For my own protection, I should be able to recognize them.
Abu Rabia later told us that he had been leaving Marda earlier that day when he came across a detained international and many soldiers near the entrance. She had been grabbed while filming the army’s (mis)behavior in the center of the village. Abu Rabia asked, “Why are you holding that woman and when are you going to let her go?” One soldier replied, “Her name is Hannah and she’s been around too much. We’re going to deport her.” They later let her go (would they have let me go?), but Abu Rabia told me I should stay in the house for the next few days and write reports or something like that. I had to smile – he was trying to make me feel useful even while forbidding me from going to demonstrations. I can’t say I was disappointed. In fact, I was quite relieved. The last thing I want to do is go out every day and try to dodge bullets and handcuffs.
As it turned out, there weren’t any demos in the next few days, partially because Marda villagers probably had the same desire I did, and partially because the bulldozers weren’t working. Shabbat was followed by Shavuot, and no Wall work happened for three days. It’s funny how Jewish holidays affect Palestinian life. On this occasion it was positive. The first time I came to Palestine, which spanned the time of Rosh Hashana, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, and Simchat Torah, the West Bank was under closure for a full 3 weeks, meaning Palestinians weren’t allowed on the roads at all. Settlers also tend to attack villagers more often during holidays, possibly because they’re not working and have nothing else to do. At the same time as Marda was breathing a sigh of relief at not seeing bulldozers, my friend Munira was trying to calm her kids who had been woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of stones hitting their house. Munira, from Mas’ha, is enclosed on all 4 sides by walls and fences (the Annexation Wall, a settlement fence, and army gates). On Monday night, to celebrate the end of Shavuot, settlers from the nearby settlement of Elkana came to throw stones over the settlement fence at her house. I asked if it was a group of kids. “At one in the morning?!” she said. “No, they were adults.”
Meanwhile, people are talking about “relative calm” in this part of the world, about peace, about disengagement from Gaza, not realizing that the intention of the disengagement is not to be a beginning, but to be an end. Not remembering that Gaza is just a tiny tiny piece of Palestine. I was talking with Um Rabia the other day about the new Wall path, which encroaches even more on many of the villages in our region (including Hares, where we live). They do that on purpose, Um Rabia, said. They tell us the Wall is going through our house so they can later move it slightly and we will say, “thank you, that’s great, we have won.” And meanwhile, Israel is getting exactly what they wanted in the first place. It’s like people who say the occupation is easy now, I said. They only have to go through 2 checkpoints a day instead of 5, and wait for only a half hour and not several hours, so they think, “Great, the occupation is over.” And meanwhile the system is being more and more solidified. Um Rabia gave another example. Apparently sisters of prisoners have recently been given permission to visit, whereas it used to only be parents and spouses. She knows cases of sisters who have been denied permits and they fight and fight for the permit. But what are we really fighting for? Um Rabia asked. Do we want permits to visit our brothers and sons or do we want them out of prison?
People don’t think about the bigger issues, Um Rabia told me. They don’t think politically, and if they do they’re arrested or killed. It’s true, I thought, there is such risk here for Palestinians who even think differently than the Israeli authorities would like. How many Palestinians are sitting in Israeli prisons for supposedly thinking about doing something? That kind of risk does not exist for me. I can analyze the situation, understand it, talk about the real issues (which Um Rabia says are the Wall, Jerusalem, the refugees, and the prisoners, among a few others). I can do all this with minimal risk. And I encourage you to do the same. Don’t be appeased by the media, don’t believe that there is “peace” here, don’t be satisfied with an occupation that has slightly fewer checkpoints than it did a couple years ago. And don’t stop thinking. Not until there is justice.
Friday’s demonstration in Marda was even worse than the others. We were barely a few meters from the houses, starting to walk up the mountain through the olive groves, when tear gas canisters started flying. The army, as usual, was shooting gas from several directions. We counted about 50 canisters in the first 4 minutes, and it continued at this rate for at least 10 minutes more. Then, before we could collect our thoughts and make any sort of plan, the army entered the village. Now tear gas and sound bombs were coming at us from even more directions – every direction, it seemed. People scattered throughout the village, with some journalists, a few boys, and a couple internationals and Israelis near the center of the village. I was on a roof with several people, trying to see what was happening. We started to hear rubber bullets, and then, suddenly, live ammunition. We called everyone we could think to call, including a number I had for the US Embassy. I got someone on the phone, told him we were in the village (even said “there are 4 or 5 American citizens here and the army is shooting bullets into the village”). He was unresponsive as I talked, and finally said, “Um, okay. Thank you for making me privy to this information. I advise you to stay away from crowds.” Incredulously, I asked him if he was going to report this to anyone. “I report to many people,” he responded. “Will you call the army?” I asked. “I think I know what they would say,” he replied. “People are scared for their lives,” I reiterated. “Thank you for informing me,” he said again, and that was it. At that moment I found myself wishing a tear gas canister would enter his office. As it was, one entered Marda's sewing factory, sending 4 women to the hospital.
We heard more bullets fired, this time several rounds at a time, so I called Arik Ascherman from Rabbis for Human Rights. He called back a few minutes later and said, “The army says they’re not in the village, and are only shooting tear gas from outside.” Later they admitted to him that they were inside Marda, but shot only one rubber bullet and no live ammunition. They claimed that the bullets had come from a Palestinian with a Kalachnikov rifle. So now we had a new job – go around and collect as many bullet casings as we could, to prove that they were from M-16s (the army’s weapons). It wasn’t difficult, as the children of the villages have a habit of collecting all the weapons used against them, and trying to impress visitors with them. We have since given the casings to Arik, who has delivered them to the army, who apparently is investigating the situation... I don’t have much confidence that any follow-up will happen, although maybe this will make soldiers think twice next time before firing live ammunition at unarmed farmers and kids.
I should mention that the four bulldozers that had been working before we started up the hill that day stopped as soon as the army started firing gas at us, apparently retiring for an early weekend. So the demonstration was not entirely in vain.
Shortly after returning to Hares, we got a call that 6 jeeps were inside Hares, so we went to the entrance of the village to check it out. Sure enough, dozens of soldiers were hanging out next to jeeps. I asked an open question into the crowd: “What are you doing here?” One soldier stepped out of a jeep and said, “That doesn’t concern you, Hannah, since we're going to put you on a plane to the U.S. in two days.” There are so few internationals around these days that many soldiers and border policemen/women know me, especially after the intensity of last week. But this was someone I didn’t recognize. I made a mental note to try to pay more attention to soldiers’ faces and not only their guns. For my own protection, I should be able to recognize them.
Abu Rabia later told us that he had been leaving Marda earlier that day when he came across a detained international and many soldiers near the entrance. She had been grabbed while filming the army’s (mis)behavior in the center of the village. Abu Rabia asked, “Why are you holding that woman and when are you going to let her go?” One soldier replied, “Her name is Hannah and she’s been around too much. We’re going to deport her.” They later let her go (would they have let me go?), but Abu Rabia told me I should stay in the house for the next few days and write reports or something like that. I had to smile – he was trying to make me feel useful even while forbidding me from going to demonstrations. I can’t say I was disappointed. In fact, I was quite relieved. The last thing I want to do is go out every day and try to dodge bullets and handcuffs.
As it turned out, there weren’t any demos in the next few days, partially because Marda villagers probably had the same desire I did, and partially because the bulldozers weren’t working. Shabbat was followed by Shavuot, and no Wall work happened for three days. It’s funny how Jewish holidays affect Palestinian life. On this occasion it was positive. The first time I came to Palestine, which spanned the time of Rosh Hashana, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, and Simchat Torah, the West Bank was under closure for a full 3 weeks, meaning Palestinians weren’t allowed on the roads at all. Settlers also tend to attack villagers more often during holidays, possibly because they’re not working and have nothing else to do. At the same time as Marda was breathing a sigh of relief at not seeing bulldozers, my friend Munira was trying to calm her kids who had been woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of stones hitting their house. Munira, from Mas’ha, is enclosed on all 4 sides by walls and fences (the Annexation Wall, a settlement fence, and army gates). On Monday night, to celebrate the end of Shavuot, settlers from the nearby settlement of Elkana came to throw stones over the settlement fence at her house. I asked if it was a group of kids. “At one in the morning?!” she said. “No, they were adults.”
Meanwhile, people are talking about “relative calm” in this part of the world, about peace, about disengagement from Gaza, not realizing that the intention of the disengagement is not to be a beginning, but to be an end. Not remembering that Gaza is just a tiny tiny piece of Palestine. I was talking with Um Rabia the other day about the new Wall path, which encroaches even more on many of the villages in our region (including Hares, where we live). They do that on purpose, Um Rabia, said. They tell us the Wall is going through our house so they can later move it slightly and we will say, “thank you, that’s great, we have won.” And meanwhile, Israel is getting exactly what they wanted in the first place. It’s like people who say the occupation is easy now, I said. They only have to go through 2 checkpoints a day instead of 5, and wait for only a half hour and not several hours, so they think, “Great, the occupation is over.” And meanwhile the system is being more and more solidified. Um Rabia gave another example. Apparently sisters of prisoners have recently been given permission to visit, whereas it used to only be parents and spouses. She knows cases of sisters who have been denied permits and they fight and fight for the permit. But what are we really fighting for? Um Rabia asked. Do we want permits to visit our brothers and sons or do we want them out of prison?
People don’t think about the bigger issues, Um Rabia told me. They don’t think politically, and if they do they’re arrested or killed. It’s true, I thought, there is such risk here for Palestinians who even think differently than the Israeli authorities would like. How many Palestinians are sitting in Israeli prisons for supposedly thinking about doing something? That kind of risk does not exist for me. I can analyze the situation, understand it, talk about the real issues (which Um Rabia says are the Wall, Jerusalem, the refugees, and the prisoners, among a few others). I can do all this with minimal risk. And I encourage you to do the same. Don’t be appeased by the media, don’t believe that there is “peace” here, don’t be satisfied with an occupation that has slightly fewer checkpoints than it did a couple years ago. And don’t stop thinking. Not until there is justice.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
i wish you knew
i’ve been meaning to write for days. i’ve been meaning to sit down, have a free moment, compose my thoughts, figure out how to translate my experiences into something understandable to a world where injustice is not quite as daily, quite as random, quite as violent. i wish i could just say “there was curfew in marda today” and that you all would understand. that you would know without my telling you that that meant israeli army jeeps were driving through the village at 5:30 am (and for many many many hours after that), that they were throwing sound bombs and tear gas, and shooting rubber-coated bullets randomly, that there was a complete atmosphere of fear. i wish you would know that when three international observers arrived, we were kept out of the village by army, detained by border police, and threatened with arrest. that we were told we could only enter if we were press, but then when the press arrived they weren’t allowed in either.
i wish you would know that a boy’s id was taken from his home and he was told to come to the next village to pick it up, but that his father wouldn’t send him because he was afraid his son would be killed. or that a young man was arrested and his family couldn’t locate him all day (they now know he’s in qedumim settlement / detention center). or that each time soldiers were asked for justification of their actions, they would say, “it’s closed because we say so. this is our territory.” i wish more than anything that you could know everything that is behind this statement, every way in which it manifests itself, every way in which the world completely ignores what is happening here.
i wish i could trust that the media would tell you that a group of disabled palestinians (in wheelchairs and on crutches, many blind people, etc.) were shot at with tear gas by the army at a demonstration today in bil’in before they got anywhere near their destination (which was on their land).
i can’t even remember what is usual and not anymore. i am not surprised by things. i am only angry. and resentful. and even hateful sometimes. i don’t know how to change this. i don’t know how to get away. i don’t think anyone should be able to get away, not when others can’t. and yet how can i think clearly? saturday was a wonderful demonstration in marda, although even as i say that i think about the hundred or so soldiers who lunged towards the crowd – but they only beat a couple people, only arrested a couple israelis, and only temporarily. only. sunday we tried to accompany farmers to their land and were shot at by a private security company that guards wall work. monday we tried again to accompany farmers to their land, and this time were met by hundreds of soldiers who began firing tear gas before they could even tell who was there. 200 rounds of tear gas. before they could even see us. it’s better, of course, in the grand moral scheme of the world, that no distinction be made between palestinian farmers and international peace workers. but it’s scary. it’s confusing. and of course, the result should be that we are all treated as human, not that we are all treated as expendable.
there’s a newly involved israeli who has come to a couple demos recently. the other day we were standing in marda looking up to the top of the hill with the bulldozers, and she said, “this is just crazy. they’re just taking someone else’s land.” as a taxi driver noted a few days ago, “if i don’t like my neighbors and want to build a fence to separate us, i’d build it on my yard, not my neighbor’s.” even more simply, after i explained to a new iwps volunteer yesterday a few of the happenings of the past couple days, she said, “now that’s not nice.” and still, i can’t even bring myself to think any of this. because i am not surprised anymore. only angry.
i was in west jerusalem for about an hour today, walking down the street looking at the half-naked teenagers with their orange ribbons in solidarity with the settlers of gush katif, and i just thought, "you have no idea." if palestinians could see this, i thought, i'm not sure they would be quite as patient as they are. although they probably already know. they're probably already so used to this, more used to this than i am, that nothing fazes them at all. some have a patience that i can't always quite fathom ("this too shall pass"), and others just use avoidance ("if i stay in my home and don't let my kids out then everything will be tolerable").
i talked to a 17 or 18 year old friend in marda the other day. we were discussing the israeli activists’ involvement in demos around here, and she told me she thinks if israelis are really on their side, if they really agree with the palestinian cause, then they should leave. many israelis have told me this before (“people refuse to be soldiers, but the entire state is corrupt. we should refuse to be israelis”), but no palestinian has ever said this to me. so i pushed her, played devil’s advocate, tried to get to the root of her thinking, not sure myself whether i agree with her or not. i asked her if i should leave the u.s. because my country is doing just as many (more) bad things as israel. the difference, enas responded, is that you don’t all serve in the army. there are civilians in america. there are no civilians in israel. one thing she said that stuck with me the most is this: “we can talk about one state for all of us where we all live in peace together, and that’s fine, but what if they do separate us? what if they try to create two states? what if they finish the wall? which side will these israeli activists be on? they’ll be with israel.” i don’t know if that’s true about all of them, but certainly most.
i am going to sleep in marda now, going to be a presence in case the army returns. i don’t know if this is more important than crafting a nice message to you all. or uploading my photos. or writing up events of the past few days. or eating a meal.
i’m supposed to leave iwps next week, to start preparing for delegations i’m leading next month, and then to come back to the u.s. this all seems profoundly strange to me.
i will send this only so you have a little bit of news from here. i know it is not as much of an “article” as my usual reports. i hope you forgive me. and i hope you do something today to better the world. i realize not all the pain in the world is here. this is only my little corner. and i do only what i can. we all do. and it’s never enough. never ever enough.
with sadness and anger, hannah
i wish you would know that a boy’s id was taken from his home and he was told to come to the next village to pick it up, but that his father wouldn’t send him because he was afraid his son would be killed. or that a young man was arrested and his family couldn’t locate him all day (they now know he’s in qedumim settlement / detention center). or that each time soldiers were asked for justification of their actions, they would say, “it’s closed because we say so. this is our territory.” i wish more than anything that you could know everything that is behind this statement, every way in which it manifests itself, every way in which the world completely ignores what is happening here.
i wish i could trust that the media would tell you that a group of disabled palestinians (in wheelchairs and on crutches, many blind people, etc.) were shot at with tear gas by the army at a demonstration today in bil’in before they got anywhere near their destination (which was on their land).
i can’t even remember what is usual and not anymore. i am not surprised by things. i am only angry. and resentful. and even hateful sometimes. i don’t know how to change this. i don’t know how to get away. i don’t think anyone should be able to get away, not when others can’t. and yet how can i think clearly? saturday was a wonderful demonstration in marda, although even as i say that i think about the hundred or so soldiers who lunged towards the crowd – but they only beat a couple people, only arrested a couple israelis, and only temporarily. only. sunday we tried to accompany farmers to their land and were shot at by a private security company that guards wall work. monday we tried again to accompany farmers to their land, and this time were met by hundreds of soldiers who began firing tear gas before they could even tell who was there. 200 rounds of tear gas. before they could even see us. it’s better, of course, in the grand moral scheme of the world, that no distinction be made between palestinian farmers and international peace workers. but it’s scary. it’s confusing. and of course, the result should be that we are all treated as human, not that we are all treated as expendable.
there’s a newly involved israeli who has come to a couple demos recently. the other day we were standing in marda looking up to the top of the hill with the bulldozers, and she said, “this is just crazy. they’re just taking someone else’s land.” as a taxi driver noted a few days ago, “if i don’t like my neighbors and want to build a fence to separate us, i’d build it on my yard, not my neighbor’s.” even more simply, after i explained to a new iwps volunteer yesterday a few of the happenings of the past couple days, she said, “now that’s not nice.” and still, i can’t even bring myself to think any of this. because i am not surprised anymore. only angry.
i was in west jerusalem for about an hour today, walking down the street looking at the half-naked teenagers with their orange ribbons in solidarity with the settlers of gush katif, and i just thought, "you have no idea." if palestinians could see this, i thought, i'm not sure they would be quite as patient as they are. although they probably already know. they're probably already so used to this, more used to this than i am, that nothing fazes them at all. some have a patience that i can't always quite fathom ("this too shall pass"), and others just use avoidance ("if i stay in my home and don't let my kids out then everything will be tolerable").
i talked to a 17 or 18 year old friend in marda the other day. we were discussing the israeli activists’ involvement in demos around here, and she told me she thinks if israelis are really on their side, if they really agree with the palestinian cause, then they should leave. many israelis have told me this before (“people refuse to be soldiers, but the entire state is corrupt. we should refuse to be israelis”), but no palestinian has ever said this to me. so i pushed her, played devil’s advocate, tried to get to the root of her thinking, not sure myself whether i agree with her or not. i asked her if i should leave the u.s. because my country is doing just as many (more) bad things as israel. the difference, enas responded, is that you don’t all serve in the army. there are civilians in america. there are no civilians in israel. one thing she said that stuck with me the most is this: “we can talk about one state for all of us where we all live in peace together, and that’s fine, but what if they do separate us? what if they try to create two states? what if they finish the wall? which side will these israeli activists be on? they’ll be with israel.” i don’t know if that’s true about all of them, but certainly most.
i am going to sleep in marda now, going to be a presence in case the army returns. i don’t know if this is more important than crafting a nice message to you all. or uploading my photos. or writing up events of the past few days. or eating a meal.
i’m supposed to leave iwps next week, to start preparing for delegations i’m leading next month, and then to come back to the u.s. this all seems profoundly strange to me.
i will send this only so you have a little bit of news from here. i know it is not as much of an “article” as my usual reports. i hope you forgive me. and i hope you do something today to better the world. i realize not all the pain in the world is here. this is only my little corner. and i do only what i can. we all do. and it’s never enough. never ever enough.
with sadness and anger, hannah
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