It's been weeks since I last wrote in my journal or blogged. I have not yet taken a single photograph. I regret the former, but understand both. Writing has always been a passion, and more recently a tool for me to open up, to process, understand, to explore, and to hide. I have been living in Yaffo, and by living I mean far more than sleeping, eating, and spending most of my time. I mean really living; dancing in a far off seemingly unfriendly culture comprised of people who look, sound, and act in a manner I have been taught to fear, or question, even challenge. I was not a tourist in Yaffo. Living through each day, allowing what I encountered to seep into my person and my spirit.
Yaffo became a part of me. The cats fighting and children crying. The smell of fresh tobacco, steaming tea, succulent vegetables covered in flies, handled by Arabs, Ethiopian Jews, covered women, and dirty children. It was no paradise. No sheltered community protected from the realities of blood, politics, religion, and safety. It was my conflict. People who were tired of war, of loss, of suffering. Tired of children carrying rucksacks and fully automatic rifles. Tired of a life shaped by paranoia and mistrust. It was not easy for me to leave Yaffo. It is not with support for one side or the other that I leave Yaffo. But rather a taste for what prolonged violence can do to an innocent population.
The objective of SCB (and this could be entirely wrong) was to send me to Israel where I would 'experience' the 'conflict,' intern in a cross-border NGO, and even 'help' something or someone. I wonder if I fulfilled that mission. My apartment was beautiful, looking out over Tel Aviv and Yaffo. I ate well, went out in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem with friends, friends of friends, and strangers. I spent time on the beach playing games, living life, enjoying youth. How did I experience the conflict? At the Peres Center? Enclosed in a protected, air-conditioned, gorgeous cement and glass ultra modern building 25 paces from the most beautiful beach I have ever seen? We often had lunch along the water, dropping 35 Shekels on a Shuk Shuka or hamburger.
Was it through the people I met? Cab drivers in Jerusalem, in the West Bank, the police or store clerk in Sderot? What did I do, if anything, that came remotely close to experiencing the conflict? I'm not sure, and I don't think I will know for a very long time.
I should not downplay my time at the Peres Center and in Israel. Powerful encounters with adults and children. I had the privilege of observing activities through the Center, and met one or two dozen hard working, respectable individuals who are giving the prime of their lives to good, honest work. Holding Kazaam rockets in Sderot, walking in and out of bomb shelters, hearing a nine year old girl excitedly describe them as "gifts from the government."
One of the most powerful moments was at a barbecue marking the end of a two year program bringing Palestinian and Israeli youth together. These were not kids, they were nearly adults - sixteen and seventeen years old. Both sides had gotten extremely close, many communicating on a daily basis. The scary part came when I realized the Israeli participants, the ones who had become so open and deeply connected with the Palestinians, would within a year be IDF soldiers kicking down doors, gutting cars, and patrolling the borders. Some said they would be different soldiers, but at the end of the day, how different can you really be?
In retrospect, the conflict I experienced is largely internal. Battling with Judaism and deconstructing my own perceptions of the Middle East turned my time in Israel into an emotional, spiritual battlefield. I felt pushed away from Judaism at Brandeis. Orthodox students are cliquey (I apologize for the generalization, just my take), often loud and usually in big groups. I find they act older than they are, but at the same time, am intimidated by their closeness to one another and the religion. During this time I questioned my relation to Judaism. I began to think of religion as a cult, an excuse for people to act certain ways, as a justification for harmful practices and beliefs. Only those religions (Hinduism and Buddhism come to mind) that called for, above absolutely everything else, peace of mind, body, and soul, as well as introspection, do not fall under this cult category. Upon arriving in Israel, I realized how much I dislike (from a purely superficial, judgmental, ignorant, even malicious perspective) the look of many Orthodox Jews. Young men with dirty, scruffy beards. Sweaty, smelly, wearing unsettling clothing day and night. So often they seem to be in a hurry. I found myself almost disgusted with such an extreme, unattractive look. How different, I wondered, are they from someone who covers their entire body except for their eyes, or wears a white full body length cloth and a red turban. The images that comes to mind when someone mentions 'terrorist.' Is it so far from an adult, male Orthodox Jew? (once again, I apologize if what i've written above is offensive. I do not mean to liken religious Jews to terrorists, or anything of the like. What I've written above is me being completely honest, open, and forthright about thoughts and emotions I deem worthy to be shared with others).
I began to see another side here in Israel. In Jerusalem one Friday night, I went to services for the first time in a few years. Several young men came in separately. All seemed to be roughly my age - casually dressed, each with a kippah and sidur. As they came in, they embraced one another - deeply, with kisses, hugs, and warm smiles. Almost as though they had returned from war.
I watched enviously as they prayed - reciting silently, singing loudly, all by heart. While I, sitting in the back, stammered through the prayers and sang softly. Were they bound by religion? Perhaps experience, or just growing up together. For whatever reason, these young men joined hands in shul, where they opened up to each other and seemed to pray as though they would meet God tomorrow.
Every Friday night Shirel had me come over for shabbat dinner. Boy can she cook! A few blessings, BIG meal, wine, laughter, pointed jokes and plenty of roasting. That, to me, is what I realize I love about Judaism, and religion in general. To look beyond the extremists, the politics, the rigidity and self-deprecation, toward the love, community, support - three things we could all use a bit more of.
I find myself yearning to adopt certain principles of Judaism, but brace myself against others. It is with this mindset that I am drawn to Islam. To fully covered, hidden women. Piercing eyes, soothing voices, masked, protected, terrorist. I like it. I love it, here in the Middle East, with these people, and Arabic. I feel alive here, in this culture, so far from what I know and love. A complex, misunderstood, rich part of the world.
I will return once more to the idea of 'experiencing' the conflict. How can I begin to understand, let alone experience what is taking place between Jews and Arabs, Palestinians and Israelis, in the Middle East. I am no soldier kicking down doors, or gutting cars. I am not a bereaved parent or sibling, and I have not encountered a ruthless IDF soldier in my bedroom. If anything, I am a tourist. Not even an original or adventurous traveller. Just a Brandeis student. I ask questions, read a book or two, argue, follow the news. In no way does that sound like anything except spending time in another country. I believe that I cannot begin to understand (anything) unless I am that soldier or that victim. Unless my house is destroyed, my brother killed in a suicide bombing, or my daughter given 15 seconds warning to sprint from her classroom to the bomb shelter and wait, terrified, until the alarm quiets. Not only will I not understand these people or this conflict, but I ought not fool myself into thinking that because I have done my research or asked my questions that I know whats going on.
I approached Gordon Fellman midway through 1st semester last year carrying my decision to join Army ROTC. I was confident if anyone could steer me away from it, he could do it. I told him weakly that one reason for my joining the Army was to experience the military. To feel combat, to meet those on the front lines, to feel the terror, stress, love, fright, and pride so closely associated with combat. I told Fellman I refused to continue judging my military, our wars, our soldiers and their actions when I myself had not been there and seen what they see every day. He countered by saying we judge things every day - Rape, murder, autotheft, for instance, are acts we condemn without experiencing them. At the time I felt defeated, he was right, I was wrong.
Thich Nhat Hanh wrote that to fully understand, to be capable of empathy and any degree of support, we must become one with that person. We judge and condemn these criminals, but we do not understand. Perhaps these are two separate issues - groundless judgement and understanding. Nevertheless, just as I have decided to join the Army (in part) because that is the only way I feel I can understand the machine, the people behind it, and the reason for it, I will not understand this Middle East conflict until I am in it. Living in Yaffo, working at the Peres Center does not cut it.
As I mentioned above, I write this from Cairo. In just three days the experience I have shared with Justin, with a few locals, and myself, is beyond this blog. On Wednesday I will fly to Lebanon, and hopefully gain entry into Syria, before moving south to Jordan and back to Israel. I am falling in love with this culture, with these people, and with the language. I will not tell people I am Jewish, and I will not talk politics. I am confident I will be met with smiles, people trying to get my money, support, warm handshakes, delicious food, advice, and moments that will change my life.
I am eager for new cities, scary lonesome dark streets, challenges, and encounters that will shake my deepest most concrete beliefs.
Although I have failed to experience the conflict, I am, and will continue to experience life without borders, without preconceived notions, without shame, fear, or hesitation, but with an insatiable appetite for adventure and understanding.
Lots and lots and lots of love
sf
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