A better way forward...
With the Global Village Square postponed due to a three-day mourning period following the deaths of 19 innocent villagers in Gaza, we decided to have a small gathering in Jerusalem for those who still wanted to and could get-together. Nella, a wonderful Israeli woman and artist, whose husband was a victim of the conflict, offered her home. What we didn’t know was that the Israeli army had closed the borders completely given the threat of retaliation. Even Palestinians with permits were not allowed to cross. We were in the car on the way to Jerusalem when we got the call from Whit, an American, who with his wife Paula, had initiated and continued to support the development of these dialogue processes in the region between Palestinians, Israelis and Internationals. “Ibrahim was turned back. I can go and try to pick him up in a taxi.” "No, its OK, we’ll go and get him with the car," Danny said.As we reached the checkpoint to enter the West Bank, Danny casually turned to me and said that there was a chance that we could be arrested for trying to bring Ibrahim across when the borders were closed. "Now you tell me." I didn’t even have any ID with me. I started to imagine what might happen if I got stuck in an Israeli jail with no identification. I felt upset that Danny had not shared all the facts with me upfront. "I’m sorry. I didn’t think of it until now", he said. "Do you want me to drive you back and then I’ll go pick up Ibrahim myself?" "No", I said. "We are already here now. "
We walked into the Everest Hotel in Beit Jala where we had met the week before for the dialogue training and where we were meant to have the Global Village Square to put what we had learned into practice. I saw Anouar, Makram's brother and Ibrahim. We hugged and my tension eased a bit. We started to joke and laugh and my mood lightened a little more.
As we got into the car, I offered Ibrahim the passenger seat. “No, its better if you sit up front," he laughed. They don’t like to see dark faces in the car.”
Three guards stood at the checkpoint as we approached. They were young soldiers, eighteen or nineteen years old, two women and one man. They were laughing and seemed to be joking amongst themselves. I felt a bit more positive about our chances of getting through. I turned towards the women on my side of the car with a big Canadian smile. They looked and then walked away to continue their conversation. The young man approached Danny on the driver’s side and asked a few questions. Danny flashed his former army identification. The soldier said something to Danny and then waved us on. We let out a sigh of relief and started to laugh. We had successfully smuggled Ibrahim across the border. We asked Danny what the soldier had said to him. “Nice rank,” he said. "I guess he didn't realize that my card and status are no longer valid."
Once we were across the border, I started to forget my own fears and to realize what this really meant for Ibrahim. This was the first time he had been able to enter Israel in over ten years. Although we had to smuggle him today, he had in fact just obtained a three-month permit that Danny had been able to arrange through their joint work with the dialogue processes. While I was happy that this had been possible, Ibrahim's wife was not able to get a permit and couldn't join us. And, Ibrahim could not stay for dinner as the permit mandated that he be back in the West Bank by 7pm, or risk being arrested. As i started to appreciate the reality of Ibrahim's situation, it struck me that most Palestinians would never have the opportunity to even get a permit. How is it that we allow someone / a system to control another person's fundamental human right to self-determination?
As we continued our drive to Jerusalem, I inquired more into this lack of basic freedom. What will happen when the wall reaches Makram’s hotel I asked? "I don’t know," Ibrahim said. We discussed the fact that Makram's family was now making plans to immigrate to the USA. Makram had appealed to the highest court in Israel to allow the Everest to end up on the Israeli side of the wall, but his request had been denied. Even if the hotel could survive financially and stay open, without Makram, it would only be a building, a lifeless shell. And, the Everest had become much more than a hotel. It had become a place where Palestinians, Israelis and internationals could meet, a place where stories could be shared and people could dare to dream together, a place where we could realize our common humanity.
My chest and shoulders tightened. What would happen to Makram and his family? How would this important dialogue work continue? How would we be able to meet as friends? And what would this mean for the region as a whole? Without the opportunity to meet and to understand the other, this physical divide could only lead to greater separation, fear and mistrust.
Our attention was then pulled back to the current situation. Realizing that the borders were closed, we began to question if the two men Danny had invited from Gaza would be able to get through. Many calls followed to the checkpoint officers and other contacts to enable their safe passage. Danny had worked months to obtain entry permissions for Mohammad and Imad and he was doing everything in his power to make sure that they would not be turned back.
When they finally arrived to Nella’s, they shared their stories of getting here. They had in fact risked their lives to come, passing tanks and military forces on both sides. Knowing the danger and difficulties, I wondered why they had still chosen to come? I knew that i would not be as brave and that my natural instinct would have been to stay in bed under the covers.
It was so hard to conceive and even more painful to feel. They were prisoners in their own country. The borders were blocked on all sides, by land and by water, even the border with Egypt. Since the Hamas had come to power most of the international aid, trade and relations had been severed. Public servant employees hadn’t been paid in months, schools had been forced to close, and people lacked the basics for daily life. And, they lived in fear, day and night. Mohammed told us that when it was time to sleep, his son would crawl into their bed and ask him to protect him with his body, like a shield. We talked about the 19 innocent people, mostly women and children, who were killed while they slept. We talked about the retaliation and the rocket attacks in Sderot where Eric lives. His children too are traumatized and frequently come to his room to sleep with him and his wife.
What does it mean for the world when children are scared even to sleep?
I am saddened, angry and ashamed. Ashamed of myself for living my life in such a bubble. Ashamed that we can treat each other with such a lack of humanity. When I lived in Canada, I rarely watched the news. I thought it was too depressing, too big, and too distant. I didn’t feel that there was anything I could do. I would flip the channel or turn the page of the newspaper. "They are at it again", I would think. "It has happened for years and it will only continue. It's sad and disturbing but there is nothing I can do."
And now, here I am in the middle of it. When I meet people like Mohammad, Imad, Eric, Ibrahim and Nella, who are living this reality, I am forced to think about it and to feel it. And, when I let myself feel, I am overcome with emotion and a sense of personal responsibility. I know that I can’t just sit by anymore.
I also know that we need to be able to keep the dialogue going. It is not to be taken lightly that Mohammad and Imad made the long and arduous journey just for the opportunity to meet and to share their stories. Nor that these people, Palestinians and Israelis, could sit in the same room together and talk, after everything that has happened between them. And by sharing their stories, that they could feel compassion and empathy for the other and allow themselves to feel some hope for a better way forward, even if it was just for an afternoon in Jerusalem in Nella's living room.
posted by Heather Worosz @ 12:07 PM
0 comments
