From Jerusalem with Love

Walk Like the Messiah

So many mountains, so little time...

After exploring Jerusalem mountains like Mt. Herzl, Mt. Scopus and Mt. Zion, it's time to turn our attention toward the most famous of them all: the Mount of Olives. Yesterday, our ulpan teacher did not show up, freeing up several hours of my afternoon. Why not walk home from school, I thought?

Adjacent to Mt. Scopus, home to Hebrew University, stretches the Mount of Olives. Once covered with Olive Trees, the mountain is mentioned numerous times in both the Old and New Testaments. Jews believe the Messiah will one day descend the mountain before entering the Old City's "Gates of Mercy," at which point everyone buried on the mountain will be resurrected. For centuries, pious Jews have sought burial on these sacred grounds overlooking the ancient Temple.

For Christians, the Mount of Olives is also central to all-things-Messiah - in their case, Jesus. The Mount of Olives is associated with some of the most important events in Jesus' life, including his ascension to heaven, teaching of the Lord's prayer, and his final night of freedom at the Garden of Gethsemane. On the Mount of Olives, Jesus also wept while foretelling the gruesome destruction of Jerusalem, an event that came to pass seven decades after his death. Some of the Holy Land's most stunning churches sit on the mount, somewhat secluded from the hustle and bustle of modern Jerusalem.

After wandering around the Mount of Olives, I made my way through the heart of Arab East Jerusalem. This really did involve "making" my way, as it was lots of guesswork as to which staircases, alleys and paths descended toward the main road. Along the way, I felt a bit like Tom Cruise (or Matthew McConaughey?), as small children pointed at me, shrieked "hello!," and, in one case, hit me with large pink balloons before being called off by their mother.

Decrepit East Jerusalem is not a place Jewish Israelis visit, with the exception of fringe areas containing hotels, restaurants and government buildings. Through the last stretch of my walk, I admired new views of familiar sites that being in East Jerusalem afforded - the golden Dome of the Rock, the famous tower of Hebrew University, and the hotel-filled skyline of West Jerusalem. Each time I visit a new mountain, promenade or observation point, a few more pieces of Jerusalem's incredible topography and haphazard design slide together. Slowly, everything feels less intimidating, more manageable, and even more connected.

It was appropriate that my walk ended in Abu Tor, a small area just south of the Old City. Abu Tor is unique in that its eastern half sits thoroughly in Arab East Jerusalem and feels like the the cramped scene I described above. After climbing a few long staircases, without warning or signage, one comes upon the western half of Abu Tor, known as a ritzy West Jerusalem, Jewish neighborhood. Blue, Hebrew street signs suddenly appear, sanitation improves by a few centuries, and the children stop pointing at the lone, pale Anglo in their midst. Abu Tor is not exactly Jewish-Arab integration, but it's some form of "live and let live" co-existence.

My three-hour walk took me through the founding "myths" of the Hold Land's three great religions and an invisible boundary between Israel's two warring (but more often keeping to themselves) claimants. Happily, I did not pass any checkpoints, security fences, or bag searches. These measures, after all, are not mentioned in the Bible. Hopefully, they will one day join the Mount of Olives as part of ancient history.

(See the Mount of Olives photo album.)

Never Again?

Today is Yom HaShoah (Day of the Holocaust), when Jews around the world remember the systematic murder of 6,000,000 Jews in Europe by the Nazis during World War II. At 10:00 this morning, a deep siren was heard throughout the country. People exited their cars, got up from their desks, or paused on the street to stand in memory of Europe's Jews.

During last night's ceremony at Yad Vashem, the national Holocaust memorial and museum, Israeli leaders begged the world to take seriously the threats of Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad to destroy the state of Israel. Ahmadinejad regularly calls the Holocaust a "myth," while simultaneously demanding Israeli Jews leave their country and "return" to Europe. I wonder what the outcome would be if Israel's 250,000 Holocaust survivors - 4% of the population - were polled as to their desire to return to a continent that stood in silence (and often assisted) in the genocide of their families and communities.

Yom HaShoah remains a powerful reminder of why the state of Israel is necessary to protect the Jewish people. Unfortunately, the world is once again turning its back on a dictator with open intentions of eradicating Jewish life. As proven by Hitler, it would behoove the international community to remember that Jews are rarely the only target of genocidal maniacs, just usually the first.

(See the Mt. Memory photo album for pictures I took at Yad Vashem last fall.)

Local Color

For a dose of some local color and Zionist history, take a look at these photo albums from the final days of Passover break...

• Rishone L'Tsion - "First to Zion," the oldest modern Jewish settlement and Israel's fourth largest city
• Train from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv - the slooooooooooow but historic rail jouney across the country
• Tel Aviv Color - a walk through the old southern neighborhoods of Neve Tsedek and Florentin, both transforming from slum-to-fun
• Mimouna - the annual, post-Passover festival imported from Morocco and long a symbol of Sephardic culture (and hospitality)

Back to School...

Super-models

Yesterday I visited Tel Megiddo, aka Armageddon, in northern Israel. The archaeological treasure trove overlooking the fertile Jezreel Valley is where the New Testament says the final battle between good and evil will be fought. In recent ages, Megiddo hosted the first fully-recorded battle and provided control of the ancient Via Maris trade route. Every ancient king seemed to raze and rebuild his own city here - their palaces, temples and stables are still being dug up, layer after layer (a "tel" is a mound containing layers of settlement, built one on top of the other).

As with dozens of sites I've visited around Israel, Tel Megiddo houses impressive to-scale models of what the area once looked like. Models show ancient temples and a circular mound of stones on which animals were sacrificed long before the advent of monotheism. At one point, the city's ruler constructed a deep, underground shaft to bring water into the city during times of siege. The models show the fortress-like nature of Megiddo, once the most important city in the region but today a flower-strewn, tamed tourist attraction.

Some models I've seen in Israel reconstruct the distant past, while others envision the future. In the basement of Jerusalem's City Hall sits a massive model of central Jerusalem, including every building and street. The model also shows the future of Jerusalem, from the dazzling new bridge at the city's entrance to a show-stopping Four Seasons Hotel planned not far from where I live. Our tour guide claimed the model helps city planners ensure architectural continuity. Ironically, the model instead speaks to the chaotic array of buildings, neighborhoods and holy sites that pepper Jerusalem like trees in an overgrown forest.

Not all models represent past, present or future realities. Some models offer a critical take on social and political issues, divorced from requirements of "scale" and accuracy. At the Israel Museum, three dozen artists have created an array of "scenes" depicting modern Israel, blemishes and all. The "Mini Israel" exhibit serves as a counterpoint to the idyllic tourist attraction of the same name in the middle of the country, whose pristine models make no room for nasty realities like war, hate and inequality.

Two models forced me to stop and think for more than the cursory 15 seconds. The first was a pile of small rusty buildings, heaped in the center of the room. My first impression was that the buildings represented the Palestinian "tragedy" of 1948, when thousands of Arabs fled their homes in anticipation of the invading Arab armies and others were evacuated by the Israeli army. The buildings seemed to have an Aladdin-esque, Arabic flair to them, easily identified in spite of their dilapidation. Some left-wing, "post-Zionist" artist placed this heap of rubble here, I thought to myself.

Upon closer inspection, I noticed the buildings were in fact Jewish constructions, with Stars of David on quite a few of them. Perhaps these were the synagogues and homes of the Jews expelled from Arab countries after Israel's creation in 1948, the so-called "forgotten refugees" Israel was forced to absorb under siege conditions. Or, perhaps they were an echo of the Holocaust, the total destruction of Jewish life in Europe. The pile of decaying buildings led me to think about the sad past of both Israel's Arabs and its Jews, possibly the goal of the artist. Politics aside, both people have suffered at the hands of "outsiders," whether Nazi Germany or modern, extremist regimes closer to home.

The second model of note was a Lego-esque enactment of a settlement evacuation, complete with police and military action figures pushing back action figure "settlers" as the community is dismantled by bulldozers. This model seemed to draw the most spectators, as its chaotic scene called to mind both recent events in Gaza and the West Bank as well as what the coming years will likely hold. Using children's toys to depict controversial events would make an interesting full-scale exhibition, no? Anyone who spends time with children knows they get lots of "practice" for a violent future with toy guns, military action figures and gory video games. Child's play and adult atrocities are points along the same spectrum.

My fondness for models is matched only by my love for maps, both ancient and modern. Like some of the models discussed above, maps in the Middle East - their terminology and delineation - say a lot more than meets the eye.

See the four photo albums: Tel Megiddo, City Hall, Model of Jerusalem, and Mini Israel - Critical Edition.

Split Screen Society

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I just got home from some Jerusalem sightseeing and was greeted by a split-screen broadcast. On the left half of the screen was the swearing-in ceremony of the new Knesset, complete with a guitarist and vocalist singing about the sun shining on us during our journey. On the right half of the screen were clean-up efforts in Tel Aviv following a suicide bombing earlier today.  At least 8 people were killed, more than 60 wounded, and hundreds of family members and friends thrown into sudden mourning.

Israel is a split-screen society, figuratively and literally. In recent years, there has been controversy over "split screen" coverage of terrorist attacks, i.e, how large does an attack have to be to merit a total interruption of programming? Is it appropriate to split the screen between the ramifications of an attack and a sporting event?

Today's split-screen was more appropriate than ones involving sports, to say the least, with the gruesome scene in Tel Aviv highlighting words spoken in parliament. Shimon Peres, the last "founding father" still standing, gave a typically urgent-sounding address about Israel's astounding maintenance of democracy amidst five wars and thousands of terror attacks in the past century. All speakers made mention of the Tel Aviv attack and Israel's painful quest for peace with the Arabs. Ariel Sharon's seat at the front of the room was left empty in tribute to this other "founding father," now on his deathbed. The ceremony closed with the national anthem, "Ha Tikvah" ("The Hope"), which remains as relevant as ever.

"To be a free people in our own land," the song ends. There is certainly no freedom in a country were students get SMS messages every so often telling them to avoid public places due to terror alerts, or a country whose communities are attacked with rockets daily. The moral relativists and terrorist apologists will tell you that until the Palestinians have freedom, there will be no security for Israel. This line of thinking is clearly false: there was terrorism long before "occupation," and today's "occupation" itself is what prevents dozens of bombs exploding inside Israel on a daily basis. The Palestinians will have freedom from Israel's army once they give up their culture of genocide.

Today's suicide bomber was just 16-years old. He was raised in a society where children attend terrorist-training summer camps, and soccer fields are named after suicide bombers. I think back to Golda Meir's words, spoken more than three decades ago: there will be peace when the Arabs love their children more than they hate us.

May that day come soon.

King Me

Jerusalem is a city of kings, and more than a few queens, I've noticed. There's the King David Hotel, King George Street, and all kinds of streets and hotels and squares named after kings, ancient and modern. My travels during the past week have put me face to face with some of this kingly past.

We begin with Wednesday and Thursday nights, when I attended the Passover seders in the Presidential Suite of the famous King David Hotel. No, I was not washing dishes, but rather the guest of a pharmaceutical/real estate giant from NYC who comes to Israel every few weeks. A hobby of his is to have students over for Shabbat dinner and the holidays, where he regales them with business stories, the intricacies of Judaism, and, of course, good food.

His two-story suite is where Bill Clinton and other world leaders stay, so it was posh. In one of the bathrooms, there was even a white china water fountain next to the toilet, probably so the rich and famous can quench their thirst even while on the bowl. I ducked down and helped myself to a long, cold drink, marveling at how President Clinton himself likely made use of this device just a few months ago! The seder table was fancy, as you'd expect, with dazzling floral arrangements, several dozen bottles of wine (for just 15 people), and custom-made menus from the hotel. Far from the old shtetl seder, courses included:

• Poached Grouper, marinated in Sage Oil and served on a Baked Fennel

• Foie Gras Terrine with carmelized Red Grapefruit Segments

• Coconut Meringue Layered with Creme Brule and Pineapple Coulis

I could not pronounce many of the items, but Arab waiters certainly understand the universal language of pointing. All in all, I felt a bit like a king, gazing out the window into the moonlit Old City, sampling wines from around the world, and pausing to be thankful I am no longer a slave in Egypt but a guest in the King David. Of course the real king was our host, who kept us until 4:00am, performing the seder as his father, grandfather, "and 1,500 years of our ancestors" have done it. Let's here it for his majesty!

Another Jewish "king" somewhat better known than our host, but with less means, was Theodore Herzl, my hero, the man who put Zionism on the international stage (not to mention the Jewish stage) during the last few years of his short life. Hardly an observant Jew, Herzl was as "assimilated" Austrian journalist deeply troubled by the anti-Semitism he saw as inherent to European society. Spending his family's fortune down to the last penny, Herzl used a combination of will-power, oratory skills, and PR razzle-dazzle to "found" the Zionist movement during a series of congresses and private meetings at the turn of the century. He was a master "networker" who chased down foreign rulers and Jewish philanthropists in pursuit of a charter for Jewish autonomy in part of the ancient homeland. He also wrote theatrical plays, all of which flopped.

Though he did not live to see the State of Israel, Herzl remains the undisputed “father” of Zionism. Every Israeli town and city has a Herzl Street, and the military/national leader cemetery in Jerusalem is named for him. Even during his few years as Zionism's publicist, Herzl became known as "the King of the Jews,” admired for his European manners, flair with words, and carefully orchestrated presentation.

Last week I visited the newly opened Herzl "Experience" close to Herzl’s grave, a four-room, multi-media walk through time during which visitors attend the first Zionist congress, view Herzl artifacts, and learn about the man who told Europe's Jews, "If you will it, it is not a dream." The "Experience" was of course kitsch, and was hampered by a lame "framing story" about the mounting of a play about the life of Herzl. Still, I love Herzl, and I love kitsch, and it’s always fascinating to see how history is presented.

After the Herzl Experience, I took a walk through the Jerusalem forest to Ein Kerem, a magical hideaway somewhat removed from traffic, loud Israelis and commerce. Here, events from the New Testament involving Mary, John and others took place. A host of gorgeous churches dot the mountainside, as do dozens of stone houses, winding paths, and colorful gardens. Like Herzl, Jesus was known as the "King of the Jews" during his lifetime. Unlike Herzl, Jesus actually became a deity after his death, inspiring Christian attachment to the Land of Israel for 2,000 years.

My Ein Kerem wanderings ended at the massive Hadassah Hospital complex, where Ariel Sharon - another king - was recently declared "permanently incapacitated."

Finally, sticking with the King theme, I visited the Rockefeller Museum in East Jerusalem, a treasure trove of artifacts dug up during the British Mandate years. On display are the marks left by dozens of kings, from pharoahs of Egypt to Roman emperors who all controlled the region at one point or another.

On Passover, we are supposed to celebrate liberation from slavery and the delivery of the Jewish people to Israel. Anything "kingly" or otherwise idolatrous gets the upper shaft, from the plagues thrown down on pharaoh to the golden calf welded by former slaves at Mt. Sinai. In today’s Jerusalem, however, all things king are at the forefront. You don’t have to walk far to get lost in a major dose of majesty.

(See the Herzl Museum, Ein Kerem, and Rockefeller Museum photo albums)

Wandering

A decade ago, back on Long Island, my friend Greg and I used to take our bikes to Hoyt Farm filled with woods, nature paths, and the cross-country trails we ran on in middle school. One day, we decided to stray from the path and take our bikes into the woods, just to see what was there. Big mistake. After 10 minutes of wandering and joking how spooky it was, we could not figure out the way back to the trail. It was still early afternoon and the reserve was not that big, but, nonetheless, we felt some panic. We decided to just keeping walking in one direction, assuming that eventually we would come to a road or trail.

The plan worked. Before we could get to the road though, we had to throw our bikes over a tall fence with barbed-wire, and then climb the fence ourselves. Our bikes were damaged, and we both got cuts and bruises from climbing the fence and jumping down to the other side.

Yesterday's solo adventure in the woods around Jerusalem proved I have not learned much since those naive high school days. It being vacation and my being a tourism tapeworm of sorts, I decided to take the bus out to Latrun, which marks the end of the mountains outside Jerusalem and start of the coastal plain. My road atlas showed that the famous Israel Trail, a hiking path that runs the entire length (or height, you might say) of the country, goes through this area. I found the trail behind the picturesque Latrun Monastery and, armed with two bottles of water, the road atlas, and a big bag of matzoh, made my way through the green fields of Latrun.

For the first hour, I figuratively "got lost" amidst the winding paths, sloping hills and absolute absence of other people, occasionally stopping to take a photo. Soon, I was fully in the forest, walking along the legendary Burma Road. This road was "built" at night by Israeli youth during 1948's War of Independence as a way to get supplies to the besieged city of Jerusalem. The main road to Jerusalem was blocked by Arab forces, who murdered hundreds of Jews in ambushes on the supply convoys. The Burma Road circumvented this lethal route, allowing food and water to reach Jerusalem and save its residents from starvation.

At some point, I realized the road and connecting trails were poorly marked. When I saw markings, they were of several colors, presumably for different trails. Genius that I am, I used my road atlas, the sun, and superior sense of (in)direction to choose the right paths. After another hour, I realized I did not know where I was.

The road atlas showed the entire Israel Trail, but it also showed other paths in the area. All of these snaked around various ridges and mountains. The topography, combined with the poor trail markings, made it next to impossible to navigate. I had meant to buy a compass that morning, but, in my brilliance, instead bought two hot dogs for 8 skekels at the bus station. Oh, I also should have looked up exactly what color the markings for the Israel Trail were, as that would have been useful too.

Wandering through the Rabin Park forests southwest of Jerusalem, I came across dozens of plaques in honor of people and communities who had donated funds to plant trees in the region. Did you know that only one country on Earth entered this century with a net gain of trees since the last century?  That country is Israel, whose pioneers (and today's Jewish National Fund employees) continue to turn what had largely been barren wasteland into a green jewel surrounded by desert (just look at a satellite map of the region). Yes, all the coins people have put in blue boxes for 100 years actually did go toward planting trees, and for people who put in a lot of coins, plaques were installed!

The paths I walked on were wide, sunlit was plentiful, and I was not too scared I did not know my exact location. After all, I would eventually hit a road, right? I was pleased and excited to be wandering the forest, alone, munching on matzoh and admiring the Spring scene. On two occasions I ran into Bedouin or Arab boys with massive flocks of sheep. One of the herders made a loud hissing noise as I passed - was it for me or the sheep? After about two hours of this wandering, I started to get annoyed, especially when I sensed I was going in circles within the same area. Is this the same flock of sheep again, the one I saw an hour ago?

At last, anticlimactically, I heard cars speeding down a highway, and found myself back at Road 1, the highway from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem. I looked at my road atlas and determined I was not more than two miles from Latrun where I started. This proved I had been going in circles, because I walk a lot more than two miles in four hours!

Knowing there were no bus stations for a couple of miles, and being somewhat pooped from four hours of walking, I (for the first time) pointed my fingers to the highway and relied on the kindness of strangers. Hitchhiking in Israel is much more common (and encouraged) than in the US - part of the "one big family" thing.

After just a minute of "begging," a white van pulled over. I definitely scored, because the driver was a 20-something, "modern Orthodox" (not an Israeli term) muffin of a wedding photographer named Yoni. His parents came to Israel in their 20's from Hicksville, NY, not far from where I grew up. We talked about all-night hikes in the army, the "one seder only" tradition in Israel, and how in just half a century Israel has given the world one million Israelis (who have left the country for good or indefinitely).

I also told Yoni I felt like Moshe (Moses), who wandered around for 40 years until reaching Israel with the ancient Hebrews. Moshe is my Hebrew name, and tonight is in fact the night all Israeli Jews - even the "secular" ones - sit down for some kind of seder (Passover meal) to commemorate our freedom from Egyptian slavery and 40 years' wandering to Israel.

There are some big differences my wanderings and those of Moses, including Moses was actually leading an entire people, whereas I led just myself. Also, Moses did not actually get to enter Israel, but simply viewed it from Mount Nebo in today's Jordan. One similarity between the wanderings, however, was that neither Moses nor I were adequately equipped for the journey with a compass and accurate hiking map. Repeat: a compass and hiking map, not a road atlas! 

Next time I go wandering alone, whether in the woods or the desert, I will bring with me a compass and hiking map. It will still feel like wandering, I hope; but, paradoxically, knowing exactly where I am will provide more freedom along the way.

(See the Rabin Park Forests photo album)

Home/Land(s)

My two-week Passover vacation got off to a rousing start with  trips to Ramla and Ramallah this weekend. Ramla is where I lived for three months during my volunteer year, a brief but eye-opening experience. Ramallah is the cultural capital and largest Palestinian city, perched in the mountainous West Bank north of Jerusalem.

No place in Israel holds as much nostalgia and interest for me as Ramla, the only city in Israel originally founded by Arabs (more than 1,000 years ago). Ramla is one of Israel's few "mixed" towns, where Arabs and Jews shop at the same shuk (outdoor market), walk the same streets and live in tacit acceptance of each other. It's one of the country's poorest towns, and widely known as both a drug capital and home to relocated Palestinian "collaborators" with Israel.

During my three months in Ramla with four other volunteer-friends, this fascinating city felt like my personal playground. My volunteer week included playing with Ethiopian-Israeli three-year olds at the kindergarten, tutoring Jewish and Arab students in English, serving meals at a soup kitchen, playing board games with street kids...and that was just the first half of the week. Meeting, working and playing with all kinds of people in Ramla made this dusty, somewhat backwater town 15 minutes outside Tel Aviv one of my favorite places on Earth in a matter of weeks. It helped that I was living with four eclectic and equally enthusiastic friends, traveling around the country every other weekend, and having a secret romance with a research scientist the town over. As they sing in Hebrew, hayu yamim tovim (those were the good days).

To this day, I look at my Ramla months as a pinnacle experience that jolted me into the future, and into myself. Ramla, which means "sand" in Arabic, was home to my biggest "hey-day" so far. Fittingly, the town itself has had numerous hey-days and reincarnations - from serving as the regional capital many centuries ago to its modern pinnacle in the 1960's and 70's, when Ramla was a city of bustling wedding halls, night clubs and a stop on the old main road from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem. Today, most Israelis grimace when I tell them of my love for Ramla, including the ones who grew up there.

In a killer one-two punch of vacation travels, I followed up yesterday in good old Ramla with a visit to Ramallah today. Just 30 minutes' drive east of Ramla, Ramallah is the de facto capital of what I hope one day will be a peaceful Palestinian state. A friend and I took a shared taxi from Arab East Jerusalem to get there, a 15-minute ride during which we saw the security fence, Jewish settlements, "refugee camps," checkpoints and lots of graffiti. This was my first visit to a Palestinian city since 2000, when my birthright Israel trip went to Jericho to hear about the peace process just before it collapsed in flames.

Ramallah did not fail to capture my full attention. It actually reminded me a lot of Tel Aviv - swept up in consumerism, trendily dressed locals, a motley mix of architecture, palm trees lining the streets, and lots of traffic. It was strange to see no signs in Hebrew, hear no Hebrew spoken and to be surrounded by people whose feelings for Israel range from resentment to uncontrolled hatred.

Our Ramallah tourism consisted of two ad hoc stops. The first was the to "Mukata" complex where the Palestinian Authority sits. Four years ago, the area was surrounded by Israeli tanks, with Yassir Arafat forbidden to leave while he ordered suicide bombings inside Israel. (What other country would have just pointed their tanks at his office, instead of dropping a bomb on him outright?) When Arafat died almost two years ago, he was buried within the Mukata complex. My friend and I asked the guards if we could visit the tomb and we were escorted up a mound of gravel and construction refuse to the site. An impressive mausoleum is currently under construction, and around the grave itself are stacked piles of two-by-fours! No one else was paying their (dis)respects during our visit, but because of the guards watching over us, I was unable to urinate on the grave of this man who more or less founded international terrorism before I was born.

Not far from the Mukata, I decided to pop into an office called "PalMedia" for foreign journalists (www.ptmc.ps). We met with the attractive young PR coordinate, Sireen Kassis, who told us about her organization's work to help journalists cover Palestine. She was very friendly, well spoken and did not even mention Israel or occupation. During our 10 minutes in the office, I was grinning inside because I am interning with the equivalent of this "NGO" that works with journalists on the other side of the Green Line, The Israel Project. Sireen said PalMedia was founded two years ago (one year after The Israel Project!), and I wondered if they used their "competitor" as a model.

This comparison brings me to the major "bottom line" of my Ramallah visit. The trip hit home how eerily similar the Palestinian and Israeli narratives have been in some ways, and also how each "side" has largely defined itself through the other. I sometimes wonder if there would be an Israel were it not for the unity forced on the cleavage-filled, divided country by half a century of Arab attempts to (in their own words) "drive the Jews into the sea." The Zionist movement and today's Israel have always been torn at the seams between factions, ideologies, ethnicities, etc. The ongoing struggle for survival, in my opinion, unites Israeli Jews as much (if not more than) the Zionist vision(s) laid out more than a century ago. I hope I live to see an end to the conflict, and to see how Israel will apply all the extra energy and resources internally. I think the story of Israel is already a miracle, and can only wonder what dreams may come if there is peace.

Now we come to the Palestinians, who were never a "people" of their own with a culture distinct from Arabs living in the surrounding countries. Their quest for sovereignty flows from their position in the Arab world, which has used them as a sort of live grenade against Israel for so many decades. Responsible for the Arabs who fled today's Israel in 1948 and for their subsequent exploitation, the Arab states (and Iran) have masterfully used the Palestinians as their major pawn in the war to destroy Israel. Yes, the Palestinian people are oppressed, but their own leaders are mostly to blame. What can you say about a society that encourages its children to blow themselves up?

In an ironic twist of fate, the Palestinians have adopted much of the narrative used by Zionism in its quest to reestablish the Jewish homeland - "freedom from oppression," "national rights," etc. Conveniently forgotten or ignored by most the world is the reality that Israel's "occupation" and presence in what might one day become the state of Palestine is a result of a war of annihilation launched by the Arab states in 1967. This is another great irony of the conflict - the Jews, who for centuries were persecuted in the countries they called home, have been forced to "occupy" another people in order to protect themselves. True, Israel's occupation is one of the most benevolent in history and has greatly improved living conditions for Palestinians, but it is an occupation nonetheless. You've all heard about checkpoints, closures and the fence (see last entry).

Just a few years ago, Israelis traveled to Ramallah every day for shopping and business. Today, such a trip is a step away from unthinkable. In my beloved Ramla, Arabs and Jews share the same streets, and there are virtually no bag searches, soldiers or tension. Ramla proves to me that it is not ridiculous to hope that Jews and Arabs will one day share this strip of land in peace. It's already happening, hidden from the headlines, between the worlds of Tel Aviv and Ramallah.

(See the Ramla and Ramallah photo albums)

The Fence

On Thursday I went on a school-sponsored "tour" of the security fence led by someone from the army spokesperson's unit. We went to three vantage points around Jerusalem to see the fence (in some cases, wall) and discuss its purpose, logistics, etc.

I think very highly of the fence, and would not be here were it not for its construction during the past four years. The Palestinian terror groups, you see, are always planning and trying to execute attacks inside Israel. From 2001-2003, more than 1,000 Israelis were killed in suicide bombings and shootings. Since the fence's completion around most of the West Bank, there have "only" been several bombings inside Israel.

The security fence is actually a complex network of a fence itself, anti-vehicle trenches, and sensors that inform the army when someone attempts to breach it. Soldiers are able to arrive at the spot of the attempted breach within minutes to track down the perpetrator(s). Most of the international media's coverage of the security fence (particularly the photos) is about a big gray wall reminiscent of the Berlin Wall. In actuality, only a tiny percent of the fence is a wall, necessary to prevent snipers from shooting onto Israeli highways or, in some cases, put up to avoid using more land in Palestinian areas (a "wall" structure takes up much less room than the fence/trench/buffer network).

People around the world have condemned Israel for this nonviolent attempt to protect its citizens from the barrage of almost daily bombings that took place before the fence went up. The fence has been called a "land grab," an "apartheid barrier," and Israel's attempt to impose a border on the Palestinians. The fact is that the Palestinians, particularly their leaders, effectively built the fence themselves with their genocidal campaign of civilian mass murder on buses, restaurants and markets. Israel has built and taken apart similar fences on former border areas with Egypt and Jordan once those countries agreed to cease hostilities and recognize Israel. This current security fence can also be removed; the victims of terrorism can never come back.

The fence has not only saved countless Jewish lives, but also Arab ones. More than a few Israeli-Arabs have been killed in suicide bombings. Additionally, the fence allows the army to moderate its targeted killings of terrorists in bomb laboratories and on the way to attacks, thus preventing the occasional killing of bystanders (the terrorists love to operate in the heart of civilian areas; the more Palestinian civilian deaths, the worse Israel looks).

In an impressive examples of Israel's democracy, Palestinians have petitioned the Supreme Court to alter the fence's route when it might interfere with their livelihood (i.e., cutting them off from farmland), and the court has on several occasions ordered the government to reposition the fence. In other instances, the government pays "rent" to Palestinians for land on which the fence sits.

My fervent hope is that the fence and the army's activities will some day soon prove to the Palestinians that they cannot destroy Israel. Only then can there be security, peace and sovereignty for both people. Until then, the fence stands as an ugly memorial to all those killed by rejection ism, extremism and hate.

See the Security Fence photo album; also see this link for an interactive map of the fence:

http://info.jpost.com/C001/Supplements/MapCenter/3.sfence.html

Symptoms

This week I had a stomach flu thing whose symptoms more or less mirrored the Israeli electorate in Tuesday's national elections: little stability, and a lot of rejection and upheaval. The public's disenchantment with the system showed itself in both low turn-out and a hearty rejection of the two major parties.

In spite of the apparent bleakness, the elections provided significant reason for hope. The Israeli public thoroughly endorsed Acting Prime Minister Olmert's plan to "converge" Israel's border by removing isolated West Bank settlements and strengthen large communities on the border. This represented the closest thing to a referendum on the settlements and, thankfully, pragmatism won the day.

Additionally, "social agenda" parties were the surprise success stories, including the seven new senior citizen "pensioner" parliamentarians. One can only hope that some of the energy, resources and ideology that went into the settlement movement for so long will bee applied inside the Green Line to mending skyrocketing poverty and inequality. There is hope, seeing as all the Right wing parties together could not scare enough of the public into voting for their often dubious agendas.

During election night itself, I was with the Israel Project (my internship), which hosted an event at the Government Press Office for foreign journalists. Someone smart decided not to pay the security guard overtime on this most hectic of nights, so I spent much of the night on guard duty. The Russian guard took his metal detector wand with him, so it was not as fun as it could have been.

Israel and the Palestinians have both held their elections now, and for the umpteenth time in 100 years, both sides have made clear where they stand on issues of compromise and co-existence. It's time for another round of upheaval and rejection, and - yes - little stability.

(See the "Gallery" photo album for a picture of me with Israel's new prime minister taken five years ago!)