Yovav Kalifon

His finger on the pain, Jordanian tells Israelis how it is

I heard about a Jordanian on CouchSurfing who was inviting Israelis to meet over a cup of coffee. I didn’t make it to that meeting a year ago, but last week I ended up hosting him in Jerusalem!

Yahya (Yan) Barakat Ababneh is a freelance journalist, Arabic tutor, tourist guide and stage actor. He covered events in Jordan, Lebanon, Saudi Arabia, Russia, Libya. His stories appeared on Amman Net, Saraya News, Gerasa News and elsewhere.

Arriving on a Friday evening meant I had the chance to expose Yan to some Jewish traditions. I took Yan over to where my not-so-religious friends were having a shabbat meal. We performed some Shabbat rituals, extra nicely I should say, blessing over the wine, the bread, the washing of the hands, and finally eating!

Conversation went from Jewish traditions to secularism and religion in Israeli society. We discussed Islam in comparison with Judaism, Israeli society versus Arab society, the disappearance of Hebrew tribes and the persistence of Arab tribalism, modernity and how it fits together with these social structures, where democracy and liberties fit in the picture, how Jews and Arabs see each-other, the meaning of peace treaties during an Arab Spring and the likelihood that anything will hold…

Having so many observations to share, Yan happily agreed to let me organize a living-room conference for more Q&A with Israelis.

On a one-day’s notice, my living-room filled up with over 20 guests: left and right-wingers, secular and religious, journalists, activists, lawyers, educators, social leaders, interns, students, sabras, new immigrants, and some folks I don’t really know.

Yan was introducing us to “[his] Jordanian street”. He was trying to paint a picture that was hard for some Israelis in the room to accept:

“If he is right about what he says, it is terrible!” one said in Hebrew to the person sitting next to him. Indeed, the Israelis’ reactions was no less interesting than the main speaker…

Putting the finger on the pain, honesty despite embarrassment

Yan came for a serious discussion, and that meant being honest about embarrassing issues. In Arabic they say you should put your finger on the pain.

Starting with indicators of danger, Yan explained how Jordan border control will change your license plates as you drive your car in from Israel. If you stand out too much as Jewish or Israeli, you might be escorted around. These security measures imply danger for Israelis visiting Jordan.

In theater, where Yan has much experience, the villain usually carries Jewish markers, particularly the Payot (sidelocks). Such symbols are associated with evil, as the villain is not necessarily Jewish. The same goes for caricatures in mainstream newspapers.

In police records, you may find numerous cases of people who call each-other “a Jew” in an argument, which will often result in violence.

Q: Antisemitism, and hatred towards Israel, does it stem more from Islam or from the ongoing conflict with the Palestinians? Will hatred go away once we strike a peace deal or is it more culturally ingrained?

In the Quran, Yan says, there are convenient quotes which are used to show Islam as a religion of peace. They  pertain to calmer times when Mohammad was in Mecca. There are many more nasty quotes pertaining to later times when Mohammad was in Medina. Both are part of Islam. Both should not be ignored.

Distancing himself from religion, Yan recited some of the things you might hear a Jordanian Imam say to worshipers. These are not easy things for Jews to hear, stuff about earthquakes under their feet, rocks and trees turning on them, women becoming widows, children becoming orphans, “amen amen amen” chant the worshipers.

This sort of antisemitism stems more from religion and general society. People are less concerned with the conflict and more concerned with the economy. This sort of hatred is based on ignorance, and can be treated with education.

Q: What about people who are not religious? Can they break away from such negative sentiments towards Jews?

In the schools, Yan says, again you’ll find that Jews are blamed for killing prophets, robing lands, spreading evil.

Also in the family home, there is a lot of pressure to align with the tribe. This, in addition to rigidity in schools and mosques, makes open-minded flexibility all the more difficult to exercise, and the sort of ignorance that results from it is prevailing.

Before coming to Israel, some of Yan’s relatives were furious with him. One was urging him to talk to the intelligence service first, another told him to hide the fact he was Jordanian, yet some took it rather well despite them being Islamist!

Q: I’ve been a tour guide for Israelis in Jordan for 16 years. What you are telling us cannot be. I have not witnessed any of it.

There are weekly protests in front of the Israeli embassy in Jordan. 20 out of 32 journalists left the conference room just before the Israeli president addressed those present, recently in Amman. A visit by an Israeli professor sparked a spontaneous student protest within minutes of his arrival.

These are daily events which you might miss if you don’t speak the language, don’t understand the Imams, don’t read the news, don’t bother to visit East Amman, and don’t deal with people outside the tourism industry, says Yan.

I spent 3 weeks traveling in Jordan (Feb 2011). Most people were taken aback when I mentioned my nationality. Most then quickly recovered and said “It’s OK, don’t worry, we have peace now… but don’t tell others what you just told me!”.

Q: We know to expect this sentiment from Palestinians in Jordan (which constitute the majority), but you are telling us this is a general trend. What’s the king’s role in all of this?

This is certainly not unique to Palestinians, or to Jordanians, Yan promises. In Middle-East politics, anyone can accuse anyone else of associating with Jews, being a Mosad agent, or being of Jewish descent. Syrian president Assad, for example, accuses the rebels, and they accuse him, of exactly that. Politicians who disagrees with some decision often come out and say it was promoted by Israel, as if Israel is puling all the strings around the Arab world and everywhere else.

King Abdallah of Jordan does not speak Arabic well, did not grow up in Jordan, does not understand the religion and does not consult with the tribes like his father Hussein did before him. Support for Abdallah depends mostly on which tribe you belong to, same as your other political views and religion depend on your tribal identity. There can be no democracy when all vote according to which tribe they belong to. Tribe leaders have this much influence over the parliament. The king has to consider this when he appoints officials, and he cannot navigate well if he doesn’t have “Arab smarts”, as Yan puts it.

Q: If there is peace on paper only and a king who threatens to resign, should Israelis be more concerned with what Arab politicians do or how the Arab street reacts?

There is no democracy in Jordan or anywhere in the Arab world, but the street still rules, not the politicians. A politician, a king, or a president will find it extremely difficult to break lines with how the public thinks. With so much influence in the hands of religious leaders and tribal leaders, there is only so much you can do.

Peace treaties with Egyptian president Sa’adat and Jordanian King Hussein immediately spring to mind, but the whole purpose of Yan’s visit to Israel was to tell Israelis it wasn’t so. Peace on paper is not good enough, Yan says. You Israelis are not safe in Cairo and Amman. We should be looking for something entirely different.

Q: How do you find Israel so far?

Sure, you may have radicals here too, but in a bar in Jerusalem (Uganda) I could talked with a Haredi Jew and East Jerusalem Arabs at the same time, I met with Arab students and professors in Israeli universities, all had their own criticism yet all live together, without being separated, and without killing each other.

So what can we do to improve the situation, and avoid catastrophe in the future?

This was Yan’s original question for Israelis on his visit to Israel. Should we organize soccer matches? Yan doesn’t like soccer at all but he believes this will draw the sort of criticism that will eventually die out. As people get used to these soccer matches, new doors will be open to them.

My own experience in peace activism has made me somewhat skeptical. I don’t presume that deeply rooted issues can be so easily washed away. Social change should be driven with the same intensity as others promote ignorance and hatred. In-fact, more intensity is necessary since building trust and understanding takes much more energy than killing it.

Here is what I suggest

Lets take some inspiration from Yan. Here is a man who was not afraid to report from Syria, and got beaten up both by Assad supporters and by rebels, each side accusing him of supporting the other camp.

By coming to Israel to talk to Israelis Yan was again taking risks. His career in journalism, theater connections, respect from family and friends, even his personal safety may be at risk after publishing his reports.

This is inspiring to me, because here we have a situation where two societies obviously suffer from ignorance and lack of trust. With one visit, Yan showed us what can be done to remove these two elements.

Project Tiyul-Rihla as an example

In project Tiyul-Rihla we do the same. With a mixed group of Israelis and Palestinians we discuss history to discover our own ignorance towards each-other. Embarrassing as it is, it allows us to put our finger on the pain.

And it takes guts. Both sides feel they abandon safety when they cross the 1967 lines on the trip. Some of our participants indicate they anticipate harsh criticism from their own communities. Some even choose to lie to their family about where they are going.

We take these risks because we are trying to promote change. I am afraid risk is necessary, due to prevailing ignorance and fear between Israelis and Palestinians.

I am happy, and proud to say I see this guts in my Israeli and Palestinian partners on Tiyul-Rihla. By now we also have partners with guts in Jordan!

We do it. Yan is doing it. You are welcome to do it too.

“The last train to Auschwitz”

I wouldn’t have been writing this post if it wasn’t for a remarkable coincidence.

While hiking in the Galilee recently, in the Northern part of Israel, a girl in my group mentioned her wish to write the story of her grandmother, a Dutch holocaust survivor. Strangely enough, her grandmother and my late grandmother shared a very similar, and very special story.

My grandmother, Hana Fischhendler, was born in Germany to a Polish family. When Hitler came to power the family moved to the Netherlands, illegally, and found shelter with the Jewish community there. Hana became a nurse, a dietitian. She also worked in the orphanage, where she looked after the man who would later become my grandfather, Shlomo.

Shlomo Nuñes-Nabarro was born to a family of Anusim, Spanish Jews who were pushed out and forced to convert to Catholicism in Portugal during the inquisition. The Anusim kept their Jewish traditions in secret, which is why their children were also forced to convert. Some 200 years later, some of these Anusim left Portugal and moved to the Netherlands where they went back to being openly Jewish. Shlomo belonged to this Spanish-Portuguese community.

In 1940, Shlomo the soldier was released from German captivity and returned to the occupied Netherlands. He married Hana during the Nazi occupation. The yellow star on their clothes is clearly visible in their wedding picture.

My Opa and Oma (Dutch for grandfather, grandmother)

Luckily for the both of them, Shlomo was holding on to documents indicating his father was born in England. With the help of the neutral Swiss embassy in the occupied Netherlands both Shlomo and Hana obtained British documents. This made them more valuable to the Nazis, who sometimes exchanged foreign nationals in return for German captives. Hana’s four sisters, in comparison, had no such documents, and were sent to death in Sobibor straight away.

In 1943 Shlomo and Hana were sent to Westerbork, a transit camp close to the German border, from which trains were leaving for Auschwitz weekly. Instead of death, Shlomo and Hana were sent to Bergen-Belsen, a concentration camp where other “privileged” foreign nationals were held, in northern Germany.

One day, while Shlomo was lying in the clinic of the camp suffering from Polio and Typhus, and with Hana nursing him there, those “privileged” prisoners disappeared from the camp, sent away to death camps in the east.

Shortly after that, only a few days before Bergen-Belsen was liberated, Shlomo and Hana were put on the train east, headed for Auschwitz*.

Moving east through Germany, the train would occasionally come dangerously close to the Russian front. In areas of heavy shelling, the train would turn back west, and then try pushing east again. Going back and forth between two closing fronts lasted some 12 days before the driver finally stopped receiving regular commands and abandoned the train in Tröbitz, in the eastern part of Germany.

On the morning of April 22, almost exactly sixty-eight years ago, Russian soldiers opened the doors of the train and found an estimated 2,500 Jews inside, minus 600 who died in transit.

The German residents of Tröbitz were evacuated by the Russians and Jews from the train were allowed to use their houses. They found much food stocked in the various cellars, but malnourished as they were, many of them could not digest the foods they consumed and died a horribly painful death. My grandmother, Hana, who was a dietitian, probably knew better, and was able to nurse herself and my grandfather back to health.

My new friend from the hike in the Galilee had a Dutch grandmother, also with British documents, and she went through the same sequence of camps as my grandmother did. Her grandmother, who was only ten years old at the time, tells a remarkable story of a very long train ride that never reached its destination, but was intercepted by Russians.

The thought of freely enjoying the green Galilee, walking alongside the granddaughter of a little girl who somehow survived the same camps and the same train that I associate with my grandparents is moving to me.

After the war, Hana and Shlomo returned to Amsterdam. Shlomo, who knew the Sepharadi community traditions well and the special Hebrew intonation of it’s prayer became the Hazan (cantor) of the famous Portuguese synagogue of Amsterdam. They had three children, Devorah, Rivka (my mother) and David.

 —-

*While writing this post I was corresponding with my mom in the kibbutz and my uncle in Amsterdam, checking some of the details above. I noticed that Auschwitz was liberated in January 1945 while the train left Bergen-Belsen later in April. It could not have been going to Auschwitz.

This link on The Lost Train: Bergen-Belsen to Tröbitz tells the same story as above but mentions Theresienstadt as the train’s destination. This makes much better sense.

I assume people on the train were either not aware that Auschwitz was already liberated, or maybe they didn’t care where they were going. They realized they were being sent to their death, and “Auschwitz” was synonymous with “death”. In that sense, they were on “the last train to Auschwitz”.

Observing Passover

I made a few observations this Passover.

A few of us were hiking overnight the day before Passover, from Arad to Masada, with the idea of returning home exhausted and then napping before the traditional family dinner, which is typically very heavy and very long.

One of the usual topics of conversation just before the holiday is “are you going home for the Seder?” (the Passover ceremonial meal). Us secular Jews, it seems, also feel the need to be home with the family. New immigrants to Israel would fly across the ocean to reunite with their parents. You might say it’s the same reaction people have before Christmas, but the question is why Passover, as opposed to other big Jewish holidays.

A Jew might say that Passover is just the biggest, but why is it the biggest?

Another observation that came up in conversation and may lend us a clue is the observance of Yom Kippur, a day of fasting in the Hebrew calendar. It is my impression that secular Jews often turn religious just for this one day of the year. Why?

Well, I visited the Samaritan community a few times in recent years, including on Passover Eve. They are super religious about this day, and in general. One of the things they say about Passover is that if you are Samaritan, you simply cannot miss it. That is why they stayed by their temple in Nablus over the millennia while Jews were making all sorts of adjustments to their religious observance as a scattered nation in diaspora.

My theory is that Jews used to be more like the Samaritans. You simply had to be there for the animal sacrifice of Passover. After the Jewish temple in Jerusalem was destroyed the sacrifice ceased but you still had to be there!

The question remains, what purpose does the Seder maintain today?

Taking a closer look at the Hagada, which we read during the Seder meal on Passover Eve, we see it emphasizes, repeatedly, the defining moments of the Jewish story (not to say history). On top of that, the Hagada emphasizes, repeatedly, the importance of passing this story on to the next generation. The Hagada itself is the vessel which encapsulates the code that keeps Jews holding on to their identity and their family (community).

As for you Kippur, the fast relates to an important religious concept of atonement of sins. If you think of the popularity of Jesus you’ll see why Yom Kippur is so central to Judaism; your sins are erased, in a way.

OK, but why should secular Jews care?

Well, Yom Kippur is so central in the Jewish calendar that it became a marker. You are expected to take part in it, much like you are expected home for Passover. If you don’t, then you crossed the marker, and people will notice. On Yom Kippur, if you don’t fast and you do it in public, you’d feel out of place. If you drive your car, you might feel weird doing it, since you’ll find yourself alone on the highway (I’m talking about Israel now). So even though you are secular, you’ll be more inclined to play along and respect the tradition, in public, and some secular people will take it a step further and actually fast.

Why do I call it a marker? Because it marks you as Jewish. Don’t do it and you might feel “out” of the tribe. It’s silly, I know, and you won’t feel it everywhere you go, but the observation still stands - there are traditions we keep because they helps us feel our Jewish connection, to our family, to our community and to our history (add faith if you are religious).

The main idea presented here is that costumes and rituals can assist in maintaining an identity, and in this case, the costumes bind you to stick with your folk, physically. Built into these holidays is the idea of finding a Jewish community to observe the rituals with. And please don’t get me wrong; being Jewish is not about keeping those rituals or what’s left of them if you happen to be secular. Being Jewish is more about the essence, which is to stick with your folk and remember who you are.

The other values and ideas which are promoted vis a vis these rituals and texts, I feel, may help to characterize Jewish thought and way of life, but they are of secondary importance. You can take them, if you are religious or if you find them humanistic or universal, and you can leave them, if you are secular and you have better ideas of your own, but at least you are there, with your folk, during the Seder, to go over them once more. This alone already makes you Jewish, and you are free to do whatever you want with it.

Sari Nusseibeh and the art of negotiations

I had the pleasure of listening to Sari Nusseibeh talk about The Indeterminacy of negotiations and the Archimedian Lever, a talk hosted by the German Academic Program of Theology at Dormition Abbey, Jerusalem.

The body of the talk, though highly abstract, was very enjoyable, since it took me back to my university years as student of mathematics. Also, the talk was inspired by a book both Sari and I recommend reading called Flatland (E. A. Abbott 1884).

The end of the talk was also very enjoyable since it related to what I do today, which is bridge-building through education.

I wish to go over the presentation, as I promised Prof. Nusseibeh that I’ll try to improve the wording somewhat, and I’ll relate it to my own work and ideas.

Consider, if you will, two negotiators with a given problem at hand. We may imagine the two negotiators to be situated on a flat surface, with each one projecting a beam of light in some direction along the surface. Whenever their two beams intersect, that point of intersection represents a potential solution to the conflict. That is to say, the two players are on the same playing field and they can look at the same spot and see eye to eye on conflict issues. They can also miss each other if their beams run in parallel, for example, or if one beam shines to the left and the other points to the right, in which case the two will never meet.

Now, it may turn out that the situation is even worse than we imagine. For example, let’s assume the two negotiators are not situated on the same flat surface, but rather on two separate plains. Two plains can be parallel to one another, like the flat surface of your desk is parallel with the floor. Extend those two surfaces to infinity and they will never meet, so the beams embedded in them will also never meet. The negotiators may keep rotating forever in search of a solution that does not exist.

In the off chance that your desk or floor are at an angle relative to one another, the two plains can meet. Your laptop’s flat screen, for example, meets the flat surface of your keyboard, connecting at the hinges. The hinges here represent the line of intersection between two non-parallel plains when your laptop is open. A beam of light projected along the surface of the screen may meet a beam that’s projected along the surface of the keyboard, but surely the two will have to meet at a point along the line defined by the hinges, which is the line of intersection between the two plains. So, all “possible solutions” to the conflict necessarily lie along the one-dimensional line of intersection, whereas beforehand we considered a two-dimensional surface of “possible solutions” where the beams could potentially intersect.

Going ahead with our intuition, it may seem to us that there are less points along a line than there are across a plain, since a line embedded in a plain is a subset of that plain. Our intuition may lead us to suspect that the number of “possible solutions” is therefore reduced when we consider only the line of intersection and not the entire plain, but this turns out to be false. The infinite number of points along the line and the  infinite number of points across the plain are equinumerous.

At this point in the presentation Sari suggested more complicated additions to bridging the gaps between the two negotiators. For example, if the two are resting on separate plains (purple and orange in the picture above), why not consider a third plane that contains the both of them (blue plain)? That third plane will be at an angle to the two original plains, but it will bring us back to the first scenario of being situated on one flat plain. Alternatively, one may consider worm holes connecting the two negotiators, through which their light beams may travel more effectively, like taking a shortcut through the mountains by means of a tunnel.

Now let me apply this abstract analogy to the Arab-Israeli conflict. What scenario are we looking at? Are we on the same page, seeing eye to eye, or are we on separate plains, looking for the line of intersection, or perhaps we are on disjoint parallel plains with no hope of finding a solution, unless we create a tunneling effect?

My personal observation is that the two sides of the Arab-Israeli conflict do not perceive the plain, nor their positions in it in the same way. There is no objective plain or positions to talk of; there are only perceptions of plains and positions, in the eyes of the two negotiators, or in the eyes of third parties. A possible solution for one player may look like a non-starter to the other, and a proposition that seems sensible to an outsider may be rejected by either player or even both! The reason is that we don’t have all the necessary information to know where the two players are positioned and what the playing field really looks like. We only have our perception to rely on, which includes the way we see the plain, the position of the other negotiator, and the imagined perspectives of the other players.

At this point Sari concluded that the minimum we can hope to accomplish in this generation lies in the field of education. Sadly, I also come to the same conclusion the more I find basic misunderstanding between the two sides. The way I understand it, both sides still need to gather more information about the other, about their respective societies, about how the world works, so that both may better perceive the situation as it really is, clarify what the plain really looks like, and try to maneuver through it.

As our understanding improves, or regresses, so does the plain fluctuate around us. As we gain insight into the mind of the other negotiator, his imagined position in the plain shifts, from our perspective, and moves closer to his real position. The picture will be very dynamic indeed, during this long and painful learning process, as we come to terms with more and more aspects of reality, changing our perception of it as we go. In the end of that long process, we may reach a point when we can finally see each other clearly, and see the field around us in much the same way.

At that point in time, The Indeterminacy of negotiations may give way to determinacy, at least to some degree, since by then the parameters which define reality, as well as the intention and motivation of either negotiator, would have become known to both parties. On that day, it should come as no surprise to either player if they shine their beams towards the same spot and illuminate the solution they both desire, or if they choose to shut their beams off and walk away from the negotiations table. For better or for worse, negotiations will cease being a matter of chance.

What I hope to accomplish with Project Tiyul-Rihla is exactly what Sari Nusseibeh suggests. Here is a project designed to allow Israelis and Palestinians to understand each other much better than before. By conducting joint trips to each other’s territories, and especially by visiting historical sites of heritage on both sides, we get to see the complex history of this land and of the people in it. As we travel this way and learn of each other, our respective identities come into light, our future aspirations begin to clarify as a result, our perceptions or misperceptions are more easily picked up by our travel companions, and together we can start to correct each other’s distorted views of the playing field, the players and their positions in it.

Physical motion and civil movements

If you’re gonna start a movement, start with a small dedicated group and give your movement some direction. Then you can try to grow in numbers and fine-tune the direction.

If you go about it the other way, first grow and then try to give it direction, you’ll find that everyone is pushing in different directions and your movement won’t move at all.

Purim in Jerusalem; Shabbat in Bnei-Brak

Purim at Talia’s in Yaffo

Last Purim I went around Jerusalem on my bicycle. I went into a few “parties” in Meah-Shearim, an ultra-orthodox (Haredi) neighborhood, and finished the night back in down-town Jerusalem with a dance party on Bezalel Street #6.

On the one hand, it was nice seeing how the different communities celebrated the same holiday. When we wear our masks, drink too much and forget ourselves on the dance floor it is easy to feel how we are all the same. Also, it was amusing to notice how many secular people dressed up as Haredi, and how Haredi people dressed up as unorthodox figures, policemen, soldiers, street cleaners, etc…

After thinking about it a little further, we are not really the same. While both types of parties, Haredi and secular, were really a lot of fun, I can’t imagine us partying together, even on this relatively minor and not so strict Jewish holiday.

On technical grounds, you can’t expect secular people to party like the Haredi do, separating the men from the women, playing Klezmer music, singing only Purim songs, and running mostly in violent circular motion. You also can’t expect a Haredi person to feel comfortable at a secular party, dancing closely with the opposite sex, listening to funky techno music in unknown foreign languages, and not going in stupid circles all the time (except for one Haredi guy I personally know and love dearly, who consistently dominates any dance floor, whether it’s at a party, a pub or anything else).

But the problem goes deeper than that, and it has to do with my recent visit to Bnei-Brak, another Ultra-Orthodox neighborhood, this one outside of Tel-Aviv.

 ——

My good friend David and I were invited at the Rabbi’s table for lunch, on Shabbat. The meeting was set up by a mutual friend of ours, a local religious girl who studied physics with us way back when at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. The idea was both to have a little reunion of friends, but also to introduce David and I to that particular family and to their way of life, since both David and I are very secular and usually don’t do that sort of thing.

First of all, that whole weekend in Bnei-Brak was brilliant, and I was thrilled that it went so well. I had an unforgettable experience from start to finish. What took place at the Rabbi’s table over lunch was a follows.

After getting to know each-other a little bit and having the first course, the Rabbi and his family started explaining more and more things to David and I, since we both had more and more questions for them, the more they kept explaining, and so forth.

At one point I had the Rabbi and his son fully engaged in a debate over the evidence for the existence of God. The best evidence the Rabbi wished to present me with was the story of Mount Sinai, where 600,000 freed men, former slaves in Egypt, witnessed Moses interact with God and come down with the Torah.

That tradition, according to another tradition, was passed down from father to son until it was put to paper to become known as the Bible, says the Rabbi. The difficult question, assuming God doesn’t exist, is how could a story referencing 600,000 witnesses start being passed down the generations, if there were no actual witnesses to start the process?

After dealing with this question we also discussed modern physics, as it turned out the Rabbi and his son had burning questions regarding bits of knowledge they somehow came across, relating to Einstein’s theory of relativity (the twin paradox), and quantum mechanics (Schrödinger’s cat).

David’s side of the table had a more relevant conversation going, where the Rabbi’s son-in-law first tried to hint we were somehow, in some respect, lesser Jews, since we don’t keep the Jewish laws. Gladly, that conversation ended with him agreeing that Jews are Jews, whether they keep Kosher or not, believe in god or not, know they are Jewish or not.

Moving on, the Rabbi’s son-in-law and David discovered another disturbing gap in their views, this one relating to politics. In strictly religious neighborhoods, they might block the streets on Shabbat, to make sure no traffic passes through. It is legal to drive in Israel on Shabbat, because Israel is not a religious theocracy, and the question was what would happen if the orthodox would grow in political power.

David was highly disturbed to discover the extent to which the son-in-law was willing to forgo civil rights and democratic values for the sake of religious law. Moreover, it was difficult to show the son-in-law the benefits he himself derives from living in a free and democratic society, where he can go into politics, go into business, move freely, or even block roads and piss the rest of the population off.

——

So can we party together on Purim? Can we work well together? Can we function well as a society?

Despite the differences between us, with all the limitations they impose, there seems to be a deeper something which glues us together, so my answer is ‘Yes’ to all three questions. With enough reasonable people on both sides, and with enough time to develop flexibility, the main bodies of our respective sectors see the importance and the benefits of sharing their lives, and they find ways to get along in positive cooperation.

The tension is still there, but alongside of it there is care and concern. That deeper something I refer to relates to a shared history and a shared destiny. I’ll explain more on upcoming posts.

”Common Language” for Israelis and Palestinians

Shortly after the assassination of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, President Bill Clinton said something that will be remembered by most of my generation.

Clinton said, in Hebrew, “Shalom, Haver”, and translated himself: “Goodbye, friend”.

Clinton’s gesture, to speak in Rabin’s own language, impressed native Hebrew speakers because of how it sounded in their ears. I can still spot these words printed or referenced today, almost 20 years after the event, as I go around Israel.

Long retired rock-star Arik Einstein surprised everyone when he came out with a new single titled “Shalom Haver” after so many decades of not even giving an interview!

That’s the sort of impact words can have, and it would not have worked the same if uttered in English.

Now take Bibi Netanyahu. Speaking at the UN General Assembly in 2011, Bibi replied to Abu Mazen’s speech by saying “as we say in the Middle East, let’s talk Dugri”, meaning, let’s talk straight.

It was perhaps a nice gesture to utter the Arabic word dugri after a disappointing speech by Abu Mazen, but making use of this common Israeli street slang failed to impress even the Israeli public, as this video illustrates.

The sort of language we use reflects much more than words alone. It can reflect sincerity and respect (Clinton), or the lack there of (Bibi)…

I’ve been thinking of Hebrew and Arabic for a very long time. The more Arabic I learn, the better I understand the in’s and out’s of Arab and Palestinian ways. The more I try to explain Israeli society to Arabs, the more I wish they knew Hebrew better, so they would “get” the inside of my mind and my world.

We need a “common language” if we are to understand what we are saying and doing to each-other, and I don’t mean it in the literal sense.

So, last Friday, together with partners from Paris and East-Jerusalem, I kick-started a new project.

The project has to do with language, but it goes much further than that.

It was exciting. A Christian school in Area C let us host 30 Israelis and Palestinians who came to hear about our new project.

We discussed our motivation for learning Hebrew and Arabic. Different people suggested different motivation, ranging from the most practical needs (finding work) to the more philosophical reasons (being cultured, making steps towards peace).

Indeed, with better language skills, I feel the “peace industry” of bi-national NGO’s would do a much better job, and I hope they join the first class of the program…

But then we explained we are actually offering much more than just language classes. Our classes, I imagine, will end up being the more minor element of our program.

What we want to do is meet once a week in classrooms in Area C which Jews and Arabs can access without too much hassle. Professional lessons will be given in two separate classes, one teaching Hebrew and one Arabic. During the break, our learners could meet, catch-up, and practice chatting. So far so good.

After the break comes the interesting part of the day.

Here, we will start by giving mixed pairs little challenges to work on. This will force pairs to communicate in each-other’s language, and the challenge itself will carry content of extra meaning (explain these news articles to each-other, explain these jokes, start a correspondence sitting side-by-side and continue it over the coming week…).

Moving ahead with the program, we will offer bigger projects for the learners to work on, during this “challenge time” after the break. Preferably, class takers will suggest their own joint projects to work on, making them more relevant to their lives (lead an art workshop, do some gardening outside the school, translate each-other’s recipes…).

By giving our learners joint projects to work on, they would not only practice their language skills, but also gain higher exposure to the culture and mentality of the other camp. As they work in teams, they will discover more and more differences and similarities between them, and this will reinforce their curiosity and motivation to open the doors wider.

Here are some joint projects that I would like our learners to take on:

1. Organize trips for yourselves, to either side, to introduce your world to the other camp. That’s basically what I already do with another project called Tiyul-Rihla. Here though, we could pause to explain the graffiti we see along the way, to stay true to our “common language” framework and look straight into the heart of society.

[I got this idea from cool videos by Guy Sharett.]

2. Translate your favorite poems between Hebrew and Arabic during the  semester, and we will publish your booklet to raise awareness towards our program, possibly even paying you back for your participation in the course.

3. Set up another school with a similar program in another part of Area C  to introduce more Israelis and Palestinians to each-other, so they too could see more clearly what exactly is going on in our conflicted land, and why it’s so hard to agree and cooperate on joint projects :)

As a result of such a program, we will all be better at communicating, not only because we will know more words, but because we will know how to speak to one-another. Experience gained through working on joint projects might turn out to be the best tool.

With our new-found knowledge and self-empowerment, I am sure our alumni will be able to take a fresh look at the history of this region, the stalled peace process, the options that lie ahead, and they will be able to offer better solutions, and put their ideas to practice.

I hope we got enough people excited at our kick-starting event last Friday. It will be nice to start this kind of project with the committed support of serious backers.

If you like this approach, please get involved.

Some of the success of Tiyul-Rihla

An Israeli participant articulated: “My goal here is to meet the other side, to confront my prejudice and learn about them.”