All is not yet lost for Israel and Palestine: Hazel Sheffield explores past conflicts and uncertain futures in the Holy Land
At the heart of the conflict in the Middle East lies one country, torn apart half a century ago with the end of the British mandate of Palestine and the much needed creation of a homeland for Jewish people worldwide: Israel. This tiny territory, roughly the size of Wales, is in and out of the press weekly as tensions grow and subside. These days though, it’s often relegated to a brief mention in the international news: not many of us have retained interest in a such a long-running conflict, the origins of which are now almost lost in historical obscurity.
A Summer In The Holy Land
It is with these vague televised troubles in mind that I decided to spend my summer in Israel. Somewhere behind generic war-time images of exploding buildings and nameless politicians in never-ending negotiations I knew there must be real people keeping on with their lives. But I knew I’d never see all this from the comfort of my living room.
A week after I’d made that decision I was there, living in a basement apartment in the centre of Jerusalem with two friends. I stayed for a month, forging my own little life in the Holy City. I talked endlessly with strangers who soon became friends, found out as much as I could, and tried to help when I was able. The most striking part of my investigations was the way in which I was received: everyone I met had a story to tell and no one resented my curiosity. To the contrary, on many occasions people were delighted by my interest. The Palestinian owner of the framing shop next to my apartment would often stop me on my way past to talk to me about his ideas for peace. One memorable time he said, “We need people like you, people to tell our stories in Britain and abroad. We need your help to make peace here.”
In the beginning it baffled me: although I’m well travelled, I’ve never experienced a pervading sense of goodwill and peace anywhere as much as I did in Jerusalem. Everywhere I went I was greeted with a friendly “Shalom”, meaning peace. I felt safe to walk the streets alone at night, which I would never do in my hometown. I involved myself in conversation with perfect strangers, something I could rarely bring myself to do in England, being used to the very British fear-of-the-foreigner attitude. It was almost impossible for me to reconcile my experience with the horror stories I heard in the news.
One day a friendly stranger asked me what I thought of Jerusalem. “It’s magnificent,” I replied, “I’ve never experienced anything like it before.” To which he looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Well, maybe that’s why everyone’s fighting over it.”
The Homeland of the Jews
At the end of the Second World War pressure increased for the creation of a Jewish State to put an end to the Diaspora (the dispersion of Jewish people across the globe). The Holocaust had been a terrifyingly brutal expression of how a race without a homeland could be abused by an adoptive nation, thus by 1948 international consensus favoured a recognised Jewish state to protect the Jews, and Israel was born.
Immediately mass Jewish immigration to Israel began, displacing the existing population. Palestinians, who once occupied all of modern Israel, emigrated or moved to the West Bank as Jews and Muslims struggled to live in harmony with one another: violence became commonplace. Since 1967 Israeli forces have occupied the West Bank for ‘security reasons’, which more often translates as an unwillingness to hand over natural resources, especially water supply. This occupation and continuing violence from both sides culminated in the construction of the separation wall in 2003, which is still being extended.
At the heart of the conflict lies one city: Jerusalem. Jerusalem is the capital of Israel, but Palestinians, too, claim East Jerusalem as their capital, although Israel currently severely limits Palestinian access to the city. Today Christians, Jews, Muslims and Armenians all live in separate quarters within the Ottoman walls of the Old City. This is also the home of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, where Christ was crucified; the Dome of the Rock, where Mohammed ascended to heaven; and the Western (or ‘Wailing’) Wall, significant in Judaism as the only remaining wall of the Second Temple.
No wonder I could sense a certain spirituality about the place. During my time in Jerusalem I fasted for Yom Kippur as Islamic prayers washed over the city, emanating from the mosques on the first day of Ramadan. I pressed my head to the Wailing Wall and pushed prayers for peace, written on scraps of paper, into the cracks in its smooth, warm surface. I walked in the footsteps of Christ when he carried the cross. As an atheist, I’d certainly never expected to reap such spiritual benefits from my time there. The extreme energy of the place is pervasive, almost physical, certainly unavoidable, and the extent to which the Israeli government will go to maintain exclusive possession of the city is equally extreme.
Separation Barrier
The separation barrier, built in direct contravention to UN security council resolutions, means that Palestinians are now living within the walled confines of a veritable Israeli prison. It falls just to the east of Jerusalem, cutting off Palestinian access to many essential facilities belonging to them in East Jerusalem, including the three main Palestinian hospitals.
To gain access to these facilities Palestinians have to cross the barrier at an armed checkpoint just outside the city. Here, I witnessed hoards of Arab men crammed like cattle through metal turnstiles to get home after a day’s work in Jerusalem in Human Rights violations that left me open-mouthed. Papers and passports have to be presented to the army, protected inside glass booths, in order to pass through. Papers don’t guarantee access though, as the Government Security Service (GSS) routinely bars people from crossing for suspected terrorism. Those who are refused entry will not be told why, though it might mean they can’t get to their place of work or go to hospital: such is the omnipotence of the GSS.
Addressing Human Rights Violations
Inside the crossing points two older women can normally be found, watching the proceedings. They are from an organisation called Machsom Watch, which was founded in 2001 in response to repeated reports in the press of the Human Rights abuses of Palestinians crossing army and border police checkpoints. Since then the organisation has grown to some 400 women, most of them mature professionals, all of them Israeli, who volunteer daily at checkpoints. Their quiet but assertive presence demands accountability on the part of the security services towards the civilian state.
The day I passed through the checkpoint, the Maschomwatcher on duty told me, “One year, before we started volunteering at the checkpoint, forty Palestinian women gave birth here because they were refused entry and couldn’t get to hospital. Since we’ve been monitoring only one woman has given birth here, and that was because she left it a bit late to get to hospital!”
It might not seem like much, a bunch of grey-haired women standing around watching people pass through the gate. But in a society where the dominant discourse is military and where young soldiers with guns openly patrol the streets, the non-violent and unyielding presence of these benevolent women is a direct challenge to the moral authority of the military.
The Israeli Response
Yet Jewish Israelis remain largely supportive of the project. When I asked people within Jerusalem if they were comfortable with the limitless controls being imposed on thousands of Palestinians to ensure their own safety from Palestinian attack, the response was often that if such measures were necessary, so be it. One woman said, “If the separation barrier means I can sit in a restaurant without fear of terrorism, then I think it’s the right course of action.”
It might sound callous on her part, but who among us here at Durham would not expect the state to protect our liberties in the face of a terrorist threat? Statistics show that since the construction of the barrier terrorist bombings and actual violence has all but stopped in Jerusalem. This is reason enough for it to stay in the eyes of most Israelis.
The Future
On the 15th November, Israeli President Ehud Olmert and Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas will meet with the heads of the Arab states in the US for a peace summit, the first since the enormously unproductive Camp David in 2000. It is unlikely that this summit will be any more effective - for one thing the militant Palestinian organisation that currently has control of Gaza, Hamas, hasn’t been invited.
One thing I am sure of is that any real change on the ground in Israel and Palestine isn’t going to come from politicians. It has to come from real people: from the coming together of Israelis and Palestinians in a mutual quest for peace. I’ve no doubt from talking to people within Israel and the West Bank that both sides are tired of the conflict, willing to co-operate, and bemused by the resounding militancy and destruction of the whole crisis. But there are plenty of barriers that need to be broken down before co-existence can become reality: language, religion, and the irrelevant battling of politicians remain far greater obstacles than any concrete wall.
Showing posts with label middle east crisis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label middle east crisis. Show all posts
Friday, 9 November 2007
Sunday, 20 May 2007
Small Steps in the Right Direction
Ever looked at the state of the world and felt powerless to make a difference? Here's how...
It was one of those typically overcast April days outside Café Limon on Bridge Street, and I was warding off the cold with coffee and a book in quiet company and even quieter thought. Being predisposed to a Saturday watching the world go by in my hometown, I’ve come to observe that Bridge Street is one of the most entertaining and fascinating places to witness life in our city in all its many forms. This particular weekend happened to play host to the continental market, filling the town centre with spices and flowers and children with sweeties and general genial hubbub.
Peterborough was alive with everything that makes it so unique. Here we are, a microcosm of British life: we are multi-faith, multi-racial; we come from all over the world and from just down the road, we grew up here, went to school here, we live here because it is our home. We are cautious about the way our city is changing, yet ready to be enlightened. We are on the sidelines of Europe and we peer into its colourful depths every now and again, when the pricey travelling circus of the continental market comes to town screaming: ‘Peterborough, look! This is Europe, and for one week only you are part of it!’
That weekend and every other time I really open my eyes and look about me I am struck by the muddled, miraculous diversity of this place where we live. Peterborough is essentially, and still feels like, a small city, and yet we rank amongst some of the biggest cities in the country when it comes to the diverse nationalities that live here and the huge range of cultures and religions that bring such vibrancy to our hometown.
So much negativity has come to be associated with that overused word: diversity. We’re all different, especially here in Peterborough, and for some innate human reason differences seem to become barriers, and barriers become hostilities, and hostilities become conflicts. It happens in our city every day. It happens on our televisions more than that. And we switch the box off and ignore the latest about the crises in the Middle-East and we turn away from kid who gets picked on at school for the colour of his skin because it seems easier than doing something. And anyway, what can we do?
There was someone else sitting outside Café Limon that day who’d been thinking about that question for a lot longer than I had. We met by chance: he sat to my left absorbed in foreign scribblings that appeared to me like some sort of code. I tried to suppress my intrusive and sadly instinctive curiosity; I failed. I asked him about his ‘code’. It wasn’t a code: it was Hebrew. I reddened, professed ignorance and apologised for my questions, but my embarrassment barely had time to surface before it was brushed aside with the man’s open smile and outstretched hand. Dan Bevan, 25, born and raised here in Peterborough.
Our following conversation and later meetings and musings revealed that Dan and his partner Jodie Turner are unafraid of that ominous question, ‘what can we do?’ Together, through much hard work and self-driven determination, they have founded a non-violent, non-religious, not-for-profit organisation called ‘Small Steps’. This summer, Jodie and Dan and their like-minded friends at Small Steps embark on a rather remarkable overland journey through Europe to the Middle East, where they will live for two months in Israel.
Their journey is not about crashing about in strange places to gawp at foreignness before disappearing home to show their friends how well travelled they are with the aid of a tan and a digital camera. It is about questions, questions like ‘what can we do?’ But mostly it is about the very thing that the name of the project suggests: taking small steps towards a better world.
Dan is no stranger to the Middle East: he spent a year and a half living in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem learning first hand about the Israeli conflict. For most of us the Middle Eastern crisis barely registers anymore, being inundated as we are with 24-hour news coverage that somehow detracts from the overall horror of the situation there. We see individual events, terrorist bombings, bloodshed on the streets, fear ingrained into strange faces, but we have lost the ability to look at this conflict for what it is: ordinary people living in terror their whole lives for reasons that seemed important fifty years ago. The reasons get lost in history and the terror becomes inherent in communities: the conflict continues.
Dan and Jodie and their friends understand the enormity of the problems there and recognise that they alone cannot bring peace to Israel and Palestine. However they also understand that we, as human beings and as part of the global community that bears witness to these atrocities every day, cannot continue to sit back and do nothing. We must hold ourselves accountable.
Dan speaks for me and, I’m sure, many of you when he says, "I don’t like the fact that the world’s a mess. And I don’t know what I can do about it, I really don’t. But I know I want to do something, I know I don’t want to go through life being satisfied with having a house, lots of money, a good job… I want to make a difference." I’d normally cringe at the clichéd gap-year jargon implicit in ‘making a difference’, but Dan was earnest and humble, and for once the phrase seemed appropriate as he went on, "I want to make a difference, but not for some sort of legacy, so I can say, ‘well, I’ve done that’, just because what else is there to do?"
With this in mind, Small Steps is based around a set of unique and flexible goals. It is about learning on a personal level and on a global level: about helping each individual to place himself within the world and to gain an understanding of peace that they can hopefully share with those they meet. Non-violence is central to this and Dan is optimistic about the possibilities for social change through non-violent means: "One of the biggest problems in the Middle East is that people tend to polarise themselves as either pro-Israeli or pro-Palestinian. We’re going to go there and try and understand both sides, and not make any decisions, because it’s not our place to do so. We want to understand people living in the conflict, and then to take that and look at ourselves and ask ‘what can I do?' And I expect what people will probably find is that they can be kind to their neighbour, walk down the street in Peterborough and smile at someone, be friendly towards random people in coffee shops. We can do all of these small things, and eventually they all count towards having a more peaceful world."
The decision to go to Israel despite the dangers associated with the area was an obvious one for Dan and Jodie. They explain, "Nowhere else is it so clear how far from our paths we have strayed. Israel is a land where people have forgotten to listen to others. The conflicts and the struggles of the people and the land are the same conflicts that lie within each of us, and we hope that by making changes to our own lives we can begin to create social change."
Practically, this translates as working with peace-keeping organizations, visiting Kibbutzim (socialist agricultural communities), spending time with the Bedouin and supporting their plight with the help of organization such as Bustan, and learning about numerous different faiths through contact with ordinary people. Israel is the birthplace of Islam, Judaism and Christianity, but it also the homeland of Druze, Black Hebrews, Sufis, Kabbalists and many other smaller denominations. Dan and Jodie hope that spending time with these communities will provide spiritual enrichment and understanding for all of those involved, which in turn will contribute to the overarching goal of non-violent means of creating social change.
Although spending time in Israel is clearly the most important part of the project, the journey there is also in the process of careful planning. The group plans to travel cheaply overland, often hitchhiking. The ability to trust the benevolence of strangers is a central part of the ideologies behind Small Steps and hitchhiking seems a good place to start. It will take around six weeks to get there, departing on 1st August, and will include visits to the Sangatte, to learn about the condition of immigrants waiting to enter the UK; Berlin, to explore divisions that are still evident from the Second World War; and Auschwitz, to remember the horrors of the Holocaust.
Dan also stresses that Small Steps welcomes everyone – from families to the elderly – with likeminded ideals. So far word of mouth and website publicity have generated a huge amount of interest, with people from all over the world expressing enthusiasm and support for the project. Some of those interested will begin the journey with Dan and Jodie on the 1st August, whilst some plan to fly out to meet their friends from Small Steps in Israel, or en route. In every instance, it becomes clear that Small Steps is as much about the individual as it is the global community or even the organization itself: anyone who feels that they want to take part is welcome, no matter how much or how little time they are able to commit to the project.
Dan told me that Peterborough has a lot in common with the Middle East. It seems far-fetched at first, but it doesn’t take long to understand where he’s coming from. Both are fraught with cultural divisions, both have problems relating to the sheer number of multi-racial communities and religions living in one place. Whilst the Middle East may be an extreme example of the problems resulting from diverse peoples in small spaces, these same conflicts and struggles are evident on our streets and even in our homes. And these conflicts and struggles must be addressed in the same way: through listening with compassion, through a willingness to understand. These are small steps that all of us can take.
If you would like to help, log on to www.small-steps.net to contact Dan or Jodie and find out more.
It was one of those typically overcast April days outside Café Limon on Bridge Street, and I was warding off the cold with coffee and a book in quiet company and even quieter thought. Being predisposed to a Saturday watching the world go by in my hometown, I’ve come to observe that Bridge Street is one of the most entertaining and fascinating places to witness life in our city in all its many forms. This particular weekend happened to play host to the continental market, filling the town centre with spices and flowers and children with sweeties and general genial hubbub.
Peterborough was alive with everything that makes it so unique. Here we are, a microcosm of British life: we are multi-faith, multi-racial; we come from all over the world and from just down the road, we grew up here, went to school here, we live here because it is our home. We are cautious about the way our city is changing, yet ready to be enlightened. We are on the sidelines of Europe and we peer into its colourful depths every now and again, when the pricey travelling circus of the continental market comes to town screaming: ‘Peterborough, look! This is Europe, and for one week only you are part of it!’
That weekend and every other time I really open my eyes and look about me I am struck by the muddled, miraculous diversity of this place where we live. Peterborough is essentially, and still feels like, a small city, and yet we rank amongst some of the biggest cities in the country when it comes to the diverse nationalities that live here and the huge range of cultures and religions that bring such vibrancy to our hometown.
So much negativity has come to be associated with that overused word: diversity. We’re all different, especially here in Peterborough, and for some innate human reason differences seem to become barriers, and barriers become hostilities, and hostilities become conflicts. It happens in our city every day. It happens on our televisions more than that. And we switch the box off and ignore the latest about the crises in the Middle-East and we turn away from kid who gets picked on at school for the colour of his skin because it seems easier than doing something. And anyway, what can we do?
There was someone else sitting outside Café Limon that day who’d been thinking about that question for a lot longer than I had. We met by chance: he sat to my left absorbed in foreign scribblings that appeared to me like some sort of code. I tried to suppress my intrusive and sadly instinctive curiosity; I failed. I asked him about his ‘code’. It wasn’t a code: it was Hebrew. I reddened, professed ignorance and apologised for my questions, but my embarrassment barely had time to surface before it was brushed aside with the man’s open smile and outstretched hand. Dan Bevan, 25, born and raised here in Peterborough.
Our following conversation and later meetings and musings revealed that Dan and his partner Jodie Turner are unafraid of that ominous question, ‘what can we do?’ Together, through much hard work and self-driven determination, they have founded a non-violent, non-religious, not-for-profit organisation called ‘Small Steps’. This summer, Jodie and Dan and their like-minded friends at Small Steps embark on a rather remarkable overland journey through Europe to the Middle East, where they will live for two months in Israel.
Their journey is not about crashing about in strange places to gawp at foreignness before disappearing home to show their friends how well travelled they are with the aid of a tan and a digital camera. It is about questions, questions like ‘what can we do?’ But mostly it is about the very thing that the name of the project suggests: taking small steps towards a better world.
Dan is no stranger to the Middle East: he spent a year and a half living in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem learning first hand about the Israeli conflict. For most of us the Middle Eastern crisis barely registers anymore, being inundated as we are with 24-hour news coverage that somehow detracts from the overall horror of the situation there. We see individual events, terrorist bombings, bloodshed on the streets, fear ingrained into strange faces, but we have lost the ability to look at this conflict for what it is: ordinary people living in terror their whole lives for reasons that seemed important fifty years ago. The reasons get lost in history and the terror becomes inherent in communities: the conflict continues.
Dan and Jodie and their friends understand the enormity of the problems there and recognise that they alone cannot bring peace to Israel and Palestine. However they also understand that we, as human beings and as part of the global community that bears witness to these atrocities every day, cannot continue to sit back and do nothing. We must hold ourselves accountable.
Dan speaks for me and, I’m sure, many of you when he says, "I don’t like the fact that the world’s a mess. And I don’t know what I can do about it, I really don’t. But I know I want to do something, I know I don’t want to go through life being satisfied with having a house, lots of money, a good job… I want to make a difference." I’d normally cringe at the clichéd gap-year jargon implicit in ‘making a difference’, but Dan was earnest and humble, and for once the phrase seemed appropriate as he went on, "I want to make a difference, but not for some sort of legacy, so I can say, ‘well, I’ve done that’, just because what else is there to do?"
With this in mind, Small Steps is based around a set of unique and flexible goals. It is about learning on a personal level and on a global level: about helping each individual to place himself within the world and to gain an understanding of peace that they can hopefully share with those they meet. Non-violence is central to this and Dan is optimistic about the possibilities for social change through non-violent means: "One of the biggest problems in the Middle East is that people tend to polarise themselves as either pro-Israeli or pro-Palestinian. We’re going to go there and try and understand both sides, and not make any decisions, because it’s not our place to do so. We want to understand people living in the conflict, and then to take that and look at ourselves and ask ‘what can I do?' And I expect what people will probably find is that they can be kind to their neighbour, walk down the street in Peterborough and smile at someone, be friendly towards random people in coffee shops. We can do all of these small things, and eventually they all count towards having a more peaceful world."
The decision to go to Israel despite the dangers associated with the area was an obvious one for Dan and Jodie. They explain, "Nowhere else is it so clear how far from our paths we have strayed. Israel is a land where people have forgotten to listen to others. The conflicts and the struggles of the people and the land are the same conflicts that lie within each of us, and we hope that by making changes to our own lives we can begin to create social change."
Practically, this translates as working with peace-keeping organizations, visiting Kibbutzim (socialist agricultural communities), spending time with the Bedouin and supporting their plight with the help of organization such as Bustan, and learning about numerous different faiths through contact with ordinary people. Israel is the birthplace of Islam, Judaism and Christianity, but it also the homeland of Druze, Black Hebrews, Sufis, Kabbalists and many other smaller denominations. Dan and Jodie hope that spending time with these communities will provide spiritual enrichment and understanding for all of those involved, which in turn will contribute to the overarching goal of non-violent means of creating social change.
Although spending time in Israel is clearly the most important part of the project, the journey there is also in the process of careful planning. The group plans to travel cheaply overland, often hitchhiking. The ability to trust the benevolence of strangers is a central part of the ideologies behind Small Steps and hitchhiking seems a good place to start. It will take around six weeks to get there, departing on 1st August, and will include visits to the Sangatte, to learn about the condition of immigrants waiting to enter the UK; Berlin, to explore divisions that are still evident from the Second World War; and Auschwitz, to remember the horrors of the Holocaust.
Dan also stresses that Small Steps welcomes everyone – from families to the elderly – with likeminded ideals. So far word of mouth and website publicity have generated a huge amount of interest, with people from all over the world expressing enthusiasm and support for the project. Some of those interested will begin the journey with Dan and Jodie on the 1st August, whilst some plan to fly out to meet their friends from Small Steps in Israel, or en route. In every instance, it becomes clear that Small Steps is as much about the individual as it is the global community or even the organization itself: anyone who feels that they want to take part is welcome, no matter how much or how little time they are able to commit to the project.
Dan told me that Peterborough has a lot in common with the Middle East. It seems far-fetched at first, but it doesn’t take long to understand where he’s coming from. Both are fraught with cultural divisions, both have problems relating to the sheer number of multi-racial communities and religions living in one place. Whilst the Middle East may be an extreme example of the problems resulting from diverse peoples in small spaces, these same conflicts and struggles are evident on our streets and even in our homes. And these conflicts and struggles must be addressed in the same way: through listening with compassion, through a willingness to understand. These are small steps that all of us can take.
If you would like to help, log on to www.small-steps.net to contact Dan or Jodie and find out more.
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