The next installment from my daughter who is staying in Ramallah: her experience trying to help a Palestinian family rebuild. The events are from about a week ago.
(I'm going to try to get her photos in this time, because they really tell their own story.)
For those who remember that she had been ill, she's obviously much better now and is getting back into the swing of things. She's arranged appointments to interview Israeli activists. My husband contacted J Street and they're interested in talking with her also.
I'm proud of my daughter's commitment to actively helping others and to peaceful protest for a just cause. I'm happy that she's gotten involved in the Palestinian community and with Israeli activists. I want her to be proud of her Jewish heritage of social justice and to see that, despite the oppressive policies of the Israeli government, there are many Israelis who are committed to peace and Palestinian rights.
Where: South Hebron Hills, the West Bank
Who: Israeli activists, international activists, Palestinian family, IDF soldiers, Israeli settlers, and me
It is the morning after my sleepless night in West Jerusalem. There is a sizeable group of Israeli soldiers following 20 Israelis, internationals, and me as we trudge reluctantly up the hill away from the home of a Palestinian family in Khirbet Bir al-Eid, a tiny village in the West Bank. A few of the more seasoned activists amongst us, one of them a Rabbi from the group Rabbis for Human Rights, pause to argue with the soldiers in Hebrew about our forced departure. One soldier tells me, “You’re listening to the wrong guy.” I tell him I don’t think so; these people have been completely transparent with me.
“What’s the problem with helping people rebuild their homes? Doesn’t it make you sad to see their homes torn down?” I ask.
He snaps, “I don’t care that they live here, I care that you come here!”
This encounter angers the Israeli activists, but does not seem to surprise them. The organization sponsoring our day trip to the South Hebron Hills in the West Bank is Ta’ayush, which means ‘living together’ in Arabic. They provide free bus rides to at-risk villages in the West Bank for groups of volunteers every Saturday, and do different kinds of rebuilding and solidarity work with the Palestinian families there. They also have to go home before finishing their intended work most Saturdays when the IDF threatens to arrest them, often after settlers harass or attack them. If they deem the reason great enough, there are occasions when Ta’ayush members stay to monitor the interactions between IDF soldiers and Palestinian families, and do get arrested.
On the bus-ride to Khirbet Bir al-Eid, a British-Israeli girl, T, shares her sandwich with me and educates a few of us about what Israeli citizens can do as alternatives to serving in the military. Some directly refuse to serve out of conscientious objections, and serve time in prison. Some plead mental illnesses or disabilities. Some opt to do national service, meaning they can volunteer for a number of charities or social services. No matter what, she informs us; the hardest part is facing the potential ridicule and name-calling by more conservative Israelis for ‘betraying’ their country if one chooses such an alternative.
When we arrive in Khirbet Bir al-Eid, two IDF trucks follow us up a dirt road. We are in the middle of desert, and all I can see for miles besides dust, shrubs, and the gradations of distant hazy hills are a few tents some distance away. Two settlers standing with the soldiers brandish cameras in our faces, screaming “Go Home!” and “Goyim!” (Bad name for non-Jews). T translates another Hebrew word, directed at the women, meaning “whore.” We ignore their remonstrations and continue walking. A soldier dismounts from his truck and stands watchfully by when we finally gather around D so he can give us an overview of the situation we’re about to encounter. The family we will be meeting has lived on this land since before 1948. Though the Israeli courts do not contest their ownership of the land, they prohibit Palestinians from building any structures upon it. They are only officially allowed to live in caves. Recently, the army has demolished six of the family’s tents and shacks, including their bathroom. It is not a new story. The family has grown accustomed to these attacks, yet they continue to rebuild again and again.
Directed by two elderly men from the family wearing ghutra (traditional headdress for Arab men), we are all filling buckets with the debris we clear from one of the demolished structures and dumping them in an area now meant to become a terrace. The old men are working with the Israeli men to move the biggest and heaviest rocks. Scattered amongst the broken cinderblocks are a bent butter knife, the ripped pages of a journal with handwritten lessons in Arabic and English, broken shoes that must have belonged to one of the little girls we have met, and dusty sweaters that may belong to their mother. I don’t want to throw these things away, so I pile them in a corner. One of the young men in the family comes around with a tray of sweet tea and offers me a headscarf to protect against the sun. An elderly French woman in our group moves rocks as heartily as the rest of us, only taking a break to offer us mish mish (apricots) from a small bucket in her backpack.
Though none of this seems particularly thrilling, we are apparently creating quite a stir with the local IDF. After only half an hour there are at least five army trucks at the top of the hill facing us. At least ten soldiers are outside the trucks on the ledge right beside us, and at least three of them are video recording everything we are doing. A couple of the activists in our group are also recording the entire event. Clusters of activists and soldiers form, engaged in muted but heated debates. Two Israeli police show up to join the crowd. I see that they are leafing through some kind of packet looking for a particular page and making notations. Most of us continue moving rocks. We are promptly informed that the area is now a Closed Military Zone, and no Israelis are allowed inside. We have five minutes to vacate the premises.
We gather our belongings reluctantly, saying goodbyes to the family. The elderly man who has been making running commentary with a particularly booming voice, and who seems to be an old friend of the Rabbi, speaks to him. His words carry far beyond the crowding ears and cameras of the soldiers.
“My grandfathers lived on this land. My fathers lived on this land. My children will live on this land.”
Diary and photos by the talebearer
For more information about Ta’ayush (and to support them!!), visit http://www.taayush.org/...
and for Ta’ayush activist blogs visit
http://www.taayush.org/...
Link to my daughter's blog:
http://talebearer88.tumblr.com/
There's a distressing video there of a confrontation between protesters and IDF soldiers. In response to an email from her father about the behavior of the IDF soldiers, my daughter said:
Also, Dad, I would argue that it's the Israeli system that makes the IDF soldiers act inhumane, I don't blame all of them as individuals.
p.s. Many years ago, the first real love of my life was a young man from an Orthodox Jewish family. At that time, he was not very religious himself. I stayed friends with him for many years. The last I heard (maybe 20 years ago?), he had moved to Israel, was living in a settlement and sent me a postcard strongly supporting the settlement movement. I had a sudden thought as I read my daughter's blog: that this old boyfriend of mine, someone I had loved deeply, could have been one of the people yelling insults at my daughter and her friends.