Zionism today

Judaism, Spring, 2002 by Daniel Gordis

January 17, 2002: Is There an Alternate Route?

A COUPLE OF DAYS AGO, WE TOOK SOME JEWISH educators who are studying here at the Mandel School for a couple of weeks to the Galilee for some meetings. The theme for the two weeks was basically "the creation of collective memory," and one of the elements that we scheduled was a visit to an Arab Israeli town, to give them a sense of how Israeli Arabs tell a very different story of what happened here in 1948. And for part of the afternoon, we arranged for them to meet in small groups with Palestinian Israeli high school kids.

We met in the high school of this town, a very nice and well maintained building (that we noticed had no heat at all). We broke into small groups, and my group consisted of three American visitors, three Palestinian Israeli kids (we used to call them Israeli-Arabs, but they now want to be called Palestinian Israelis), and two Mandel staff. As our discussion began, one of the kids said, "Wouldn't you rather see the village than sit here?" So off we went, this rag-tag group of American and Israeli Jews, walking through the Arab village.

As we meandered through the village on our tour, we gradually broke into smaller groups, and within a few minutes, I found myself walking through the streets and alleys with a young woman named Karawyn, a smart, articulate, attractive sixteen-year-old 11th-grader, just a couple of months older than our daughter, Talia. Karawyn walked me through the town, and as she did, an occasional car drove by. The looks on people's faces as they saw her walking through town by the side of a Jew wearing a kippah were extraordinary. They seemed not to be able to tell if she'd lost her mind, or was in danger. Kiddingly, I said to her, "I guess there aren't lots of people wearing kippot who wander through the village?" "Jews never come here," she replied. "Never?" "Never." This, of course, in the heart of the Galilee.

We walked and talked. She's a very interesting person, the youngest of thirteen kids, the child of religious Moslem parents none of whose 13 kids are religious (sound familiar?). She wants to be a pediatrician, and hopes to go either to Haifa University or Be'er Sheva for medical school. "Is that realistic?" I asked her. "Why not?," she replied. "Lots of people from this village have become doctors." Good news, I thought, so I pushed the conversation further.

"When you see people like me," I asked, "do you see an enemy?" "Not at all," she replied. "You're not an enemy-you're just a regular person. The enemies are Sharon and Peres." Somewhat amazed that she'd group the two of them together (which said a lot about how little she knows about Israeli politics, even though she's a full Israeli citizen), I asked why they were enemies. "Because the Jews occupied us in 1948, and they want to keep the occupation."

I wasn't sure what she meant, so I pushed her further. "So you want to end the occupation?" "Not really. I like being Israeli. I know my rights, and I make sure that I get them. But I'm a minority in my high school class. Most of the kids do want to end the occupation."

"You mean that they want to live in a Palestinian State?" I asked. "Right." "So if there were a Palestinian State in the West Bank and in Gaza, they'd want to move there?" "No. This is their village. They want to stay here." "But don't they understand that this village is part of Israel, inside the green line, and no one anywhere is talking about giving this village to a Palestinian State?" "They understand that, but they want to end the occupation."

Now, we were clearly getting close to the critical point, so I pushed. "And how do they want to do that?" And suddenly, her demeanor changed. We'd been walking shoulder to shoulder through the village, looking straight ahead, just chatting, and she'd been totally relaxed. She stopped walking, backed away from me, looked down at the ground, and said, "You should probably ask them."

She didn't mean "them," of course, but the point was clear. The kids who are her classmates, full Israeli citizens, want to end the occupation. And when you ask a kid who has grand plans for her life how they want to do this, she won't tell you. Because she knows that when she does, you're going to realize that though you're citizens of the same State, you are enemies-potentially mortal ones. I wondered what kind of life she lives, sharing a class with them, and hoping to be in the medical school class that one day my own kids could be in. And I realized, of course, that her community is fully 20% of the population of this country, without the West Bank and Gaza. There's a lurking sense of desperation now that has the entire country--not just Sharon--paralyzed. Of late, I've even noticed that it's considered bad manners to talk politics at the dinner table or with guests. No one wants to discuss it, no one wants to think. There's nowhere to go, nothing to do, so let's talk about the best place to buy all wea ther outdoor ping-pong tables.