West Bank Seminar Day 1: Getting Settled

The Case Of The Missing Passport

Wednesday morning I awoke on time but wound up late for breakfast because I could not find my passport. I’m pretty sure where I left it. It was sandwiched between two books on my bookshelf. But it wasn’t there. The last time I took it out was on my most recent trip to Anata well over a month ago, and I’m fairly positive I returned it to that spot on my shelf that same day. But just to be sure, I went ahead and tossed my room “like a Shin Bet agent looking for the microfilm.” But it didn’t turn up.

If I did, in fact, leave it where I believe I did, only one person could have taken it. And I had an intuition, long before I began dumping drawers and boxes of paperwork out on the floor hunting for it, that the person had taken it. For the sake of my story, I will refer to this person as Akhi, the Hebrew word for brother, for if any word describes my relationship with Akhi up until this point in time, I would regard him as no less than my brother. I did not want to believe that Akhi would do such a thing, but the impression stuck with me for some reason. We’ll return to this issue in my next post.

I jetted out the front door, somewhat panicked, and hopped in a cab over to The Ambassador Hotel in East Jerusalem. Fodor’s describes The Ambassador as “One of East Jerusalem’s veteran hotels [...] transformed by thorough and tasteful renovations. Throughout the hotel the use of Jerusalem limestone and beige-and-cream decor gives a marvelous feeling of light and airiness.” It was, in fact, rather posh accomodations. My room had a balcony with a magnificent view of East Jerusalem and some of the boys (plus Le Le) and I sat up looking out over the city and shooting the shit later in the eve, but, well, a full day transpired before that time arrived, thus I digress. On the way over to the hotel I called ahead to Neil, our education coordinator and told him about the passport issue. He suggested not to worry too much and, knowing we’re going to be crossing various checkpoints over the next few days, offered matter-of-factly that “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Believing I would arrive rather late for breakfast, I asked him if he could order a meal for me. It was, however, a buffet meal, so he offered to have a friend pack up some food for me.

I arrived at the hotel, dropped my bags, and headed into the dining room. Mara was in the process of packing food for me, so I jumped in, thanked her and took over. Blech to Israeli meals. I don’t like olives. I don’t like cheese. And I don’t like all those nasty salads Israelis eat, what with the eggplant and the cabbage and the nasty sauces and blech blech blech. Thus my options were limited to buttered rolls, cereal, and hardboiled eggs. After eating a roll and some cereal, and pounding a cup of coffee, I pocketed a couple of eggs and sauntered off to the conference room for the opening session of our seminar.

Another Brick In The Wall

Our fist meeting was with Amos Gil, the executive director of Ir Amim, an Israeli organization “founded in order to actively engage in those issues impacting on Israeli-Palestinian relations in Jerusalem and on the political future of the city. Ir Amim seeks to render Jerusalem a more viable city even under the dire current circumstances, while generating and promoting a more politically sustainable Jerusalem in the future.” Gil himself is the former director of The Association for Civil Rights in Israel, and is the husband of an Israeli diplomat. While living in New York, Gil served as the executive director of Congregation Beth Simchat Torah, the notorious queer minyan. Gil was joined by a reporter from The Nation.

As Gil was introducing us to his organization and what we’d be doing that morning — taking a tour of the separation barrier around East Jerusalem — I cracked open my hardboiled eggs. You may recall Josh’s e-mail which I posted just prior to this seminar. The postscript read, “There is also the Zionist-Anarchist buffet, but you will have to bring your own cutlery and the eggs will be empowered to eat you, instead.” Indeed, the eggs revolted. They were rotten — rotten to the core. The whites were gray and the yolks green and corroded. Thinking back on it now elicits the very illness I felt when I first looked upon them. I shuddered with revulsion. Oh, irony.

We left the conference room and alighted our bus, making our way past my house in Baka, and were informed that I live on the green line and that a few blocks further and my home would be considered placed in occupied territory. Then heading down Derech Hevron, we skirted around a portion due to traffic, which inadvertently yielded an insatiable view of Jerusalem I’d never seen before. It was stunning.

Our first stop was the top of Gilo, overlooking Beit Jala and, in the distance, Bethlehem. There I got my first bird’s eye view of the separation barrier. Gil then expounded upon the barrier, how it’s dividing communities and impeding access to farmland and schools, how Sharon’s trying to hang on to Bethlehem and other decidedly Palestinian territories, and gave us various other insights which have been repeated elsewhere ad infinitum and which hardly need my attention here. Frankly, there was no information Gil offered which I hadn’t heard before, so I wasn’t necessarily impressed with his presentation. The view was breathtaking, however, and as the photographer Ahikam Seri noted in our meeting with him later in the evening, the wall itself was rather impressive, in the literal sense — in that it leaves quite an impression. From Gilo we followed the route of the wall all around East Jerusalem, watching it snake up towards the Qalqilya checkpoint and on past Ramallah, all the way back around to Sheikh Jerrah.

Along the way we stopped in Abu Dis where I got my first close up view of the wall, and a concrete understanding of how it is dividing Arab towns to no one’s benefit. The wall through Abu Dis quit literally splits the village in two, right along its main road, turning one half into Palestine and the other into Israel. I watched in staggered amazement as eldery Palestinian men and women climbed embankments and squeezed through tiny openings [photo by JHE] in the wall in order to simply return home with the groceries they’d just purchased from the shop we stood near. This made very real for me the words of a Haaretz article I’d read ealier in the year about the wall, stating, “The desire to avoid harming the population insofar as possible was placed very low on the order of priorities.” Indeed it would appear so. Regretably, how this could constitute anything other than further incitement seems an anathema to me.

Of Phillies & Brits

After our tour of the wall, we had an “urban drop-off” in East Jerusalem, during which time a bunch of us headed over to The Philadelphia for lunch. The Philadelphia is a famed Arab restaurant, and allegedly Jimmy Carter’s favorite place to eat in Jerusalem, or so Harry often tells me. Frankly, I thought it kind of sucked. I ordered precisely the same meal I had the night before at HaMishpacha, a kosher family restaurant in Nakhalat Shiv’a, and I have to say, it was much better than The Philadelphia’s rendition. And this of course makes sense: Jimmy Carter was a mediocre president, so it would figure he’d have mediocre taste as well.

After lunch, Leah, Julie, Sam and I wandered around for a bit and found ourselves at St. George’s Cathedral — the Anglican church of Jerusalem. The architecture was lovely, and there was quite a number of interesting things inside to ponder, but none so much as this: The royal arms of the British government in Palestine. Beneath the meticulous carving the plaque reads, “The royal arms formerly displayed in Government House during the British Mandate for Palestine were deposited in this church on the termination of the mandate 14th May 1948.” It’s not something I ever expected to stumble upon really. And it seems odd to me that a Palestinian church (the minister is a Palestinian Chrisitan) could maintain such reverance for the O.G. occupiers.

Shikaka! Or, How I Learned To Like Hamas

Following our drop-off, we returned to The Ambassador where we met with Khalil Shikaki, the director of The Palestinian Center for Policy and Survey Research, “an independent nonprofit institution and think tank of policy analysis and academic research [which] conducts academic and policy analysis studies [and] organizes socio-political surveys and public opinion polls on current Palestinian political and social attitudes. ” More or less, Shikaki is a Palestinian pollster — the Arab Frank Luntz. But in that, he has his thumb on the pulse of Palestinian public opinion more than any other person in the region. Sadly, this has at often times put Shikaki in a precarious position, as publishing the sometimes controversial results of his polls has infuriated Palestinian extremists, and his office has been repeatedly ransacked and he himself assaulted.

Shikaki shared various facts and figures with us, the three most striking of which I found to be the following:

1. Hamas is becoming an increasingly democratic institution. With the eradication of its leadership by the Israeli military, Hamas no longer holds by the strict “river to the sea” ideology to which it adhered under the likes of Sheikh Yassin and al-Rantisi. With the end of the Arafat era and the exposure of Fatah’s corruption, the Palestinian population is increasingly finding Hamas to be a viable alternative to Arafat’s former party. Hence, during the recent local elections, Hamas made incredible gains at the polls, and this is expected to continue in the upcoming parliamentary elections as well.

   Is this because Palestinians favor terrorism? Not precisely, and I’ll return to this shortly. It would appear Hamas’ success is due to the fact that Palestinians genuinely favor sorting out the rank corruption in the Palestinian Authority, making peace with Israel, and gaining lasting economic viability (as is reflected in Shikaki’s recently published polls). Thus, in order to maintain the support it’s receiving, Hamas is responding to its newfound constituents by changing its platform to cater to the majority view amongst Palestinians. Recently Hamas announced that it would accept a two-state solution — a total deviation from its previous position, but again, one which resonates strongly with the majority of Palestinian voters. Further, Hamas is seeking out the most esteemed, respected, and non-corrupt members of the Palestinian community to run on the Hamas ticket — even those who have expressed displeasure and disagreement with Hamas’ positions in the past. This is not a political ploy, Shikaki argues. Rather, Hamas seems to be making a genuine attempt at representing the interests of the Palestinian people in a true and arguably noble fashion. This is what Shikaki views as the basis for their recent electoral success, and not, as some anti-Palestinian commentators have regarded as fevered support for Hamas’ terrorism.

2. Palestinians believe that violence has, in fact, been an effective means of advancing their cause, and see the Gaza withdrawl as an example of their success. This would be a foul misconception on their part, according to Shikaki, who also notes that, statistically speaking, Israel responds more positively to the needs and interests of Palestinians when they make efforts for peace, as opposed to their acts of violence, Israel’s response to which essentially worsens the Palestinians’ situation.

   Israelis are not blind to this perception on the part of the Palestinians. Most secular people generally opposed to the settlements, I find, oppose the disengagement for this reason. I have, myself, engaged in countless conversations with taxi drivers around Jerusalem on the subject of the disengagement (dozens, literally), and the response I hear most often is the same proferred by the likes of Benjamin Netanyahu and Alan Dershowitz: By giving up the Gaza settlements, Israel is sending the message to terrorists that their violence is an effective means of getting what they want, and therefore, it encourages them to create more terror. Based on Shikaki’s findings, it is hard to argue that this would not be the case.

   The question then remains, should Israel not withdraw then, because it would incite more violence? Or should they withdraw anyway because, at the end of the day, it’s still the right thing to do?

3. The degree of religious observance within the Palestinian community has no effect on an individual’s interest in peace. Even amongst the most devout Muslims, the number in favor of making peace with Israel is consistent with that of secular Palestinians. Shikaki conducted this poll in conjunction with Hebrew U, which applied the same questions to Israel and discovered, perhaps not shockingly, that the more religious an Israeli, the less likely the are to favor peace. This is incredibly disheartening to me. As my Rambam-inspired graffiti states, “Torah’s purpose is not vengance in the world; rather mercy, kindness and peace in the world.”

We’re Off On The Road To Judea…

I’ve only been in the West Bank a few times. Usually I’m just driving through to non-occupied territory, like on my way to Harry’s in Modi’in, but there were two occassions that I went specifically to Palestinian villages in Area B with ICAHD. Thus, I haven’t seen much of the region, except from a car or bus window, but I have to say, the first time I saw the Judean hills, I was mesmerized. This is, after all, the land of my fathers, where the ancient Jewish people walked, farming and shepherding, and making pilgramage to Jerusalem. But more than the appeal to my heritage, Judea/Samaria is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been in all of my life. The rollings hills, the terraced landscapes and olive groves, the vast expanse of open sky… I have been all over the U.S., I have been to Jamaica, to the Golan and the Galilee, to Budapest and Sarajevo — all of which are beautiful places in their own right. But I have never seen such awestriking beauty as that of Judea/Samaria.

And so, after our meeting with Khalil Shikaki, we boarded a bulletproof bus and rolled through the West Bank to Kfar Adumim, a settlement roughly 5 miles east of Jerusalem. There we met with Orna Markoff, assistant to Pinchas Wallerstein of the Binyamim regional council in southern Shomrom and former chairman of the Yesha Council, a lobbying group which represents the religious settler movement. We were initially supposed to meet with Wallerstein himself, a contentious figure in the settlement movement who recently made headlines by calling for civil disobedience against the Gaza withdrawl, but he was unable to meet with us as he was busy throwing a hissy fit outside the Knesset as they were set to approve the compensation plan that day.

Markoff took us out behind the moadon (community center) for a view of Wadi Kelt where we watched the sunset as she gave us a demographic breakdown of the settlement and a brief history of its inception. Of the 36 settlements in the Binyamim region, Kfar Adumim is one of five that is home to both religious and secular people (the other 31 are religious communities), and comprising over 300 families. It is a remarkable place, for certain. But the subject of our meeting was not so much to learn about Kfar Adumim, as so much as to understand the process by which settlements come into being, what their relationship to the Israeli government is, and how they manage their affairs internally. What I discovered was in some ways shocking and in other ways enlightening and, honestly, inspiring.

How To Start A Settlement

1. Pick a hill — any hill — in Judea/Samaria. As long as it’s not a zone declared off-limits by the Israeli army (like a shooting range), it’s all gravy.

2. Drive a few caravans (otherwise known as a trailer or a mobile home to the white trash afficianado) to the top of the hill and set ‘em into the dirt.
3. Prepare for the legal battle. Once you’ve setup shop, a couple things can happen. Either the army will come and force you to leave, or the government will take you to court. Chances are, it’ll be the latter. But either way, the determining factor deciding whether or not you get to keep your settlement is protektzia.

   Protektiza is a Hebrew word derived from the English word protection. It essentially refers to the power of the connections an individual has to people high-up in the Israeli foodchain and the amount of influence they can wield over the decisionmakers in the Israeli government.

   Take for example a story a friend once relayed to me about his honeymoon: The day after his wedding, my friend was called up to serve in Gaza. Now here’s a dude who just got married, and the day he’s supposed to leave for his honeymoon, his commanding officer is demanding he straps on his gear and goes to sit for a month in one of the most dangerous and hellish places on earth. The man would clearly, and justly, rather go on his honeymoon. And who could blame him? So he calls a friend who knows somebody, who knows somebody else, who knows somebody else, and he keeps climbing the foodchain til he gets to someone big with a lot of influence. The next day he gets a call from his commanding officer telling him he’s free to go on his honeymoon, but to never ask him for anything again because he just completely got his ass handed to him. “I don’t know who you know, but damn you to hell!” That, essentially, is protektzia. Now apply this framework to keeping your illegal outpost, and you’ll see how the game works.

4. Once you’ve gotten approval for your settlement, the government will aid you in getting water, electricity and other utilities, and help you with roads, schools (or school buses) and other civil services, including defense. This isn’t for free, however. You are still a taxpayer, obligated under all the same laws as an Israeli citizen. For all intents and purposes, you are no different in the eyes of the Israeli government as someone who lives in Israel proper. The government used to give subsidies for mortgages, but apparently this is no longer the case. Settlers, however, per person, still receive a higher amount of money in government services than citizens in Israel proper.

Relative Anarchism

Generally speaking, settlements have no governing structure. Like anarchist kibbutzim and other forms of socialism gone wild, no one is really in charge. The settlers elect one person “mayor” who represents them to their regional council which is comprised of all the other “mayors” in the region. These mayors determine policy by consensus and their decisions are then applied to all the settlements within the region. Government jobs other than mayorship are not elected positions but rather jobs for which people apply and are hired (hopefully) on the merit of their ability to perform that job. Decision-making within each settlement itself is done by the community who participate in townhall meetings where everyone argues like a motherfucker to get their way. The process is entirely democratic and anarchistic in the sense that the “mayor” can only advance the agenda to the regional council which the community has decided upon. As I stated earlier, in some ways this is incredibly inspiring. There are dozens of such communities throughout the West Bank and all of them are functional and, in a sense, practical. The only drawback, of course, is the end result of this movement, which is the occupation.

My conclusion, quite frankly, is thus: I would love to live in the West Bank. It is gorgeous. The weather is incredible. The level of freedom, the autonomy of the individual, and the ability to exercise one’s democratic power is sincerely “The American Dream.” Beyond that, the power with which the land speaks to my religious and cultural heritage — the ability to live as a fully-realized Jewish person in a spiritual community in the land of my fathers — is overwhelming. But I could never accept living there at the expense of another people. And while, after visiting Kfar Adumim, I can totally identify with the desire to live in Judea/Samaria, and even, in some respects, idealize the revolutionary romanticism elicited by the settlers’ efforts, it is unacceptable in my eyes for those people to live there if it means their Arab neighbors must face oppression and disposession.

Something somewhere’s got to give. I really wouldn’t want to see these people have to give up their homes or their lifestyles. It would suck in a major way. But if keeping their homes and maintaing such a lifestyle means that life for Palestinians must suck in a major way… Somebody’s gotta work out an agreement somewhere. Really.

Crocodile Tears

As per my previous point, we asked Markoff what she thought about the Palestinians under occupation, and her feelings about the settlements necessitating that occupation. Markoff explained, “I drive through East Jerusalem past the checkpoints every day. And I see elderly women standing out in the hot sun at those lines, and I have nothing but compassion for them. I hate seeing what is happening to them. It is truly awful. But if they would just stop their terrorism…”

Sadly, Markoff seemed completely blind to the fact that these conditions were brought on by Palestinian disposession — disposession which continues in defense of her home. “Why should I leave here? There were no Arabs here when we arrived. A few bedouins scattered throughout the Wadi, but there were no Palestinian villages until we built our homes here and they built homes near ours because they knew they could find work here.”

The rationalizations are endless. And they’re even sensible in some regards. I could truly feel myself identifying with her in her situation. But at the end of the day her position neglects the plight of the Palestinian people. And any position which neglects to take into account its affect on another is an ill-informed and flawed one.

The klal gadol (greatest theme) of Torah is v’ahavta l’rekha kamokha — love thy neighbor as thyself. And as Rambam and many of our other great sages consistently point out, this rule does not apply to Jews alone. To be a fully-realized Jewish person dwelling in the land of your fathers means to be one who behaves in accordance with this ideal. And until the religious settler movement realizes and acts upon this fact, they are at risk of losing all they have struggled for.

Calling It A Day

We returned to Jerusalem and had dinner at some shmancy kosher restaurant, then headed back to the hotel. There we met with Ahikam Seri, an Israeli photojournalist, who presented us with a slideshow of his inspired photography.

Seri wasn’t much of a speaker. He was generally cool and it seemed that if you got to know him he could be an incredibly funny guy. But we weren’t able to get much out of him. He offered some insights into life at Bat Ayin (the notorious settlement where the alleged “new Jewish underground” hails from) while he was showing us the photos he shot there, and relayed a couple of interesting anecdotes, but for the most part, he let the photos speak for themselves, and I guess that was pretty much fine by me.

Afterwards, Sam, Josh and I convened on the balcony to talk about a project we’re working on (which you’ll all see pretty soon), and then I hit the sack to prepare for our next glorious day of adventure — a trip to the living hell that is Hebron, the famous Gush yeshiva, and dinner at Bat Ayin. More on that soon…