This
section
of
the
resource
book
explores
different
ways
that
people,
in
HDNA
and
otherwise,
have
and
can
be
active
in
striving
for
peace.
It
includes
various
articles
that
describe
the
experiences
of
those
who
have
acted
upon
ideals
of
peace
and
coexistence.
Personal Testimony of an Israeli Refusenik
International Solidarity Movement April campaign Over view of what I had seen in the last two weeks
[Asaf
Oron,
a
Sergeant
Major
in
the
Giv'ati
Brigade,
is
one
of
the
original
53
Israeli
soldiers
who
signed
the
"Fighters'
Letter"
declaring
that
from
now
on
they
will
refuse
to
serve
in
the
Occupied
territories.
He
is
signer
#8
and
one
of
the
first
in
the
list
to
include
a
statement
explaining
his
action.
(There
are
251
signers
as
of
February
17,
2002.)
Below
is
the
translation
of
Oron's
statement
by
Ami
Kronfeld
of
Jewish
Peace
News.]
On
February
5,
1985,
I
got
up,
left
my
home,
went
to
the
Compulsory
Service
Center
on
Rashi
Street
in
Jerusalem,
said
goodbye
to
my
parents,
boarded
the
rickety
old
bus
going
to
the
Military
Absorption
Station
and
turned
into
a
soldier.
Exactly
seventeen
years
later,
I
find
myself
in
a
head
to
head
confrontation
with
the
army,
while
the
public
at
large
is
jeering
and
mocking
me
from
the
sidelines.
Right
wingers
see
me
as
a
traitor
who
is
dodging
the
holy
war
that's
just
around
the
corner.
The
political
center
shakes
a
finger
at
me
self-righteously
and
lectures
me
about
undermining
democracy
and
politicizing
the
army.
And
the
left?
The
square,
establishment,
"moderate"
left
that
only
yesterday
was
courting
my
vote
now
turns
its
back
on
me
as
well.
Everyone
blabbers
about
what
is
and
what
is
not
legitimate,
exposing
in
the
process
the
depth
of
their
ignorance
of
political
theory
and
their
inability
to
distinguish
a
real
democracy
from
a
third
world
regime
in
the
style
of
Juan
Peron.
Almost
no
one
asks
the
main
question:
why
would
a
regular
guy
get
up
one
morning
in
the
middle
of
life,
work,
the
kids
and
decide
he's
not
playing
the
game
anymore?
And
how
come
he
is
not
alone
but
there
are
fifty...
I
beg
your
pardon,
a
hundred...
beg
your
pardon
again,
now
almost
two
hundred
regular,
run
of
the
mill
guys
like
him
who've
done
the
same
thing?
Our
parents'
generation
lets
out
a
sigh:
we've
embarrassed
them
yet
again.
But
isn't
it
all
your
fault?
What
did
you
raise
us
on?
Universal
ethics
and
universal
justice,
on
the
one
hand:
peace,
liberty
and
equality
to
all.
And
on
the
other
hand:
"the
Arabs
want
to
throw
us
into
the
sea,"
"They
are
all
crafty
and
primitive.
You
can't
trust
them."
On
the
one
hand,
the
songs
of
John
Lennon,
Pete
Seeger,
Bob
Dylan,
Bob
Marely,
Pink
Floyd.
Songs
of
peace
and
love
and
against
militarism
and
war.
On
the
other
hand,
songs
about
a
sweetheart
riding
the
tank
after
sunset
in
the
field:
"The
tank
is
yours
and
you
are
ours."
[allusions
to
popular
Israeli
songs
-
AK].
I
was
raised
on
two
value
systems:
one
was
the
ethical
code
and
the
other
the
tribal
code,
and
I
naïvely
believed
that
the
two
could
coexist.
This
is
the
way
I
was
when
I
was
drafted.
Not
enthusiastic,
but
as
if
embarking
on
a
sacred
mission
of
courage
and
sacrifice
for
the
benefit
of
society.
But
when,
instead
of
a
sacred
mission,
a
19
year
old
finds
himself
performing
the
sacrilege
of
violating
human
beings'
dignity
and
freedom,
he
doesn't
dare
ask
-
even
himself
-
if
it's
OK
or
not.
He
simply
acts
like
everyone
else
and
tries
to
blend
in.
As
it
is,
he's
got
enough
problems,
and
boy
is
the
weekend
far
off.
You
get
used
to
it
in
a
hurry,
and
many
even
learn
to
like
it.
Where
else
can
you
go
out
on
patrol
-
that
is,
walk
the
streets
like
a
king,
harass
and
humiliate
pedestrians
to
your
heart's
content,
and
get
into
mischief
with
your
buddies
-
and
at
the
same
time
feel
like
a
big
hero
defending
your
country?
The
Gaza
Exploits
became
heroic
tales,
a
source
of
pride
for
Giv'
ati,
then
a
relatively
new
brigade
suffering
from
low
self
esteem.
For
a
long
time,
I
could
not
relate
to
the
whole
"heroism"
thing.
But
when,
as
a
sergeant,
I
found
myself
in
charge,
something
cracked
inside
me.
Without
thinking,
I
turned
into
the
perfect
occupation
enforcer.
I
settled
accounts
with
"upstarts"
who
didn't
show
enough
respect.
I
tore
up
the
personal
documents
of
men
my
father's
age.
I
hit,
harassed,
served
as
a
bad
example
-
all
in
the
city
of
Kalkilia,
barely
three
miles
from
grandma
and
grandpa's
home-sweet-home.
No.
I
was
no
"aberration."
I
was
exactly
the
norm.
Having
completed
my
compulsory
service,
I
was
discharged,
and
then
the
first
Intifada
began
(how
many
more
await
us?)
Ofer,
a
comrade
in
arms
who
remained
in
the
service
has
become
a
hero:
the
hero
of
the
second
Giv'ati
trial.
He
commanded
a
company
that
dragged
a
detained
Palestinian
demonstrator
into
a
dark
orange
grove
and
beat
him
to
death.
As
the
verdict
stated,
Ofer
was
found
to
have
been
the
leader
in
charge
of
the
whole
business.
He
spent
two
months
in
jail
and
was
demoted
-
I
think
that
was
the
most
severe
sentence
given
an
Israeli
soldier
through
the
entire
first
Intifada,
in
which
about
a
thousand
Palestinians
were
killed.
Ofer's
battalion
commander
testified
that
there
was
a
order
from
the
higher
echelons
to
use
beatings
as
a
legitimate
method
of
punishment,
thereby
implicating
himself.
On
the
other
hand,
Efi
Itam,
the
brigade
commander,
who
had
been
seen
beating
Arabs
on
numerous
occasions,
denied
that
he
ever
gave
such
an
order
and
consequently
was
never
indicted.
Today
he
lectures
us
on
moral
conduct
on
his
way
to
a
new
life
in
politics.
(In
the
current
Intifada,
incidentally,
the
vast
majority
of
incidents
involving
Palestinian
deaths
are
not
even
investigated.
No
one
even
bothers.)
And
in
the
meantime,
I
was
becoming
more
of
a
civilian.
A
copy
of
The
Yellow
Wind
[a
book
on
life
in
the
Occupied
Territories
by
the
Israeli
writer
David
Grossman,
available
in
English
-AK]
which
had
just
come
out,
crossed
my
path.
I
read
it,
and
suddenly
it
hit
me.
I
finally
understood
what
I
had
done
over
there.
What
I
had
been
over
there.
I
began
to
see
that
they
had
cheated
me:
They
raised
me
to
believe
there
was
someone
up
there
taking
care
of
things.
Someone
who
knows
stuff
that
is
beyond
me,
the
little
guy.
And
that
even
if
sometimes
politicians
let
us
down,
the
"military
echelon"
is
always
on
guard,
day
and
night,
keeping
us
safe,
each
and
every
one
of
their
decisions
the
result
of
sacred
necessity.
Yes,
they
cheated
us,
the
soldiers
of
the
Intifadas,
exactly
as
they
had
cheated
the
generation
that
was
beaten
to
a
pulp
in
the
War
of
Attrition
and
in
the
Yom
Kippur
War,
exactly
as
they
had
cheated
the
generation
that
sank
deep
into
the
Lebanese
mud
during
the
Lebanon
invasions.
And
our
parents'
generation
continues
to
be
silent.
Worse
still,
I
understood
that
I
was
raised
on
two
contradictory
value
systems.
I
think
most
people
discover
even
at
an
earlier
age
they
must
choose
between
two
value
systems:
an
abstract,
demanding
one
that
is
no
fun
at
all
and
that
is
very
difficult
to
verify,
and
another
which
calls
to
you
from
every
corner
-
determining
who
is
up
and
who
is
down,
who
is
king
and
who
-
pariah,
who
is
one
of
us
and
who
is
our
enemy.
Contrary
to
basic
common
sense,
I
picked
the
first.
Because
in
this
country
the
cost-effective
analysis
comparing
one
system
to
another
is
so
lopsided,
I
can't
blame
those
who
choose
the
second.
I
picked
the
first
road,
and
found
myself
volunteering
in
a
small,
smoke-filled
office
in
East
Jerusalem,
digging
up
files
about
deaths,
brutality,
bureaucratic
viciousness
or
simply
daily
harassments.
I
felt
I
was
atoning,
to
some
extent,
for
my
actions
during
my
days
with
the
Giv'ati
brigade.
But
it
also
felt
as
if
I
was
trying
to
empty
the
ocean
out
with
a
teaspoon.
Out
of
the
blue,
I
was
called
up
for
the
very
first
time
for
reserve
duty
in
the
Occupied
Territories.
Hysterically,
I
contacted
my
company
commander.
He
calmed
me
down:
We
will
be
staying
at
an
outpost
overlooking
the
Jordan
river.
No
contacts
with
the
local
population
is
expected.
And
that
indeed
was
what
I
did,
but
some
of
my
friends
provided
security
for
the
Damia
Bridge
terminal
[where
Palestinians
cross
from
Jordan
to
Israel
and
vice
versa
-
AK].
This
was
in
the
days
preceding
the
Gulf
War
and
a
large
number
of
Palestinian
refugees
were
flowing
from
Kuwait
to
the
Occupied
Territories
(from
the
frying
pan
into
the
fire).
The
reserve
soldiers
-
mostly
right
wingers
-
cringed
when
they
saw
the
female
conscripts
stationed
in
the
terminal
happily
ripping
open
down-comforters
and
babies'
coats
to
make
sure
they
didn't
contain
explosives.
I
too
cringed
when
I
heard
their
stories,
but
I
was
also
hopeful:
reserve
soldiers
are
human
after
all,
whatever
their
political
views.
Such
hopes
were
dashed
three
years
later,
when
I
spent
three
weeks
with
a
celebrated
reconnaissance
company
in
the
confiscated
ruins
of
a
villa
at
the
outskirts
of
the
Abasans
(if
you
don't
know
where
this
is,
it's
your
problem).
This
is
where
it
became
clear
to
me
that
the
same
humane
reserve
soldier
could
also
be
an
ugly,
wretched
macho
undergoing
a
total
regression
back
to
his
days
as
a
young
conscript.
Already
on
the
bus
ride
to
the
Gaza
strip,
the
soldiers
were
competing
with
each
other:
whose
"heroic"
tales
of
murderous
beatings
during
the
Intifada
were
better
(in
case
you
missed
this
point:
the
beatings
were
literally
murderous:
beating
to
death).
Going
on
patrol
duty
with
these
guys
once
was
all
that
I
could
take.
I
went
up
to
the
placement
officer
and
requested
to
be
given
guard
duty
only.
Placement
officers
like
people
like
me:
most
soldiers
can't
tolerate
staying
inside
the
base
longer
than
a
couple
of
hours.
Thus
began
the
nausea
and
shame
routine,
a
routine
that
lasted
three
tours
of
reserve
duty
in
the
Occupied
Territories:
1993,
1995,
and
1997.
The
"pale-gray"
refusal
routine.
For
several
weeks
at
a
time
I
would
turn
into
a
hidden
"prisoner
of
conscience,"
guarding
an
outpost
or
a
godforsaken
transmitter
on
top
of
some
mountain,
a
recluse.
I
was
ashamed
to
tell
most
of
my
friends
why
I
chose
to
serve
this
way.
I
didn't
have
the
energy
to
hear
them
get
on
my
case
for
being
such
a
"wishy
washy"
softy.
I
was
also
ashamed
of
myself:
This
was
the
easy
way
out.
In
short,
I
was
ashamed
all
over.
I
did
"save
my
own
soul."
I
was
not
directly
engaged
in
wrongdoing
-
only
made
it
possible
for
others
to
do
so
while
I
kept
guard.
Why
didn't
I
refuse
outright?
I
don't
know.
It
was
partly
the
pressure
to
conform,
partly
the
political
process
that
gave
us
a
glimmer
of
hope
that
the
whole
occupation
business
would
be
over
soon.
More
than
anything,
it
was
my
curiosity
to
see
actually
what
was
going
on
over
there.
And
precisely
because
I
knew
so
well,
first
hand,
from
years
of
experience
what
was
going
on
over
there,
what
reality
was
like
over
there,
I
had
no
trouble
seeing,
through
the
fog
of
war
and
the
curtain
of
lies,
what
has
been
taking
place
over
there
since
the
very
first
days
of
the
second
Intifada.
For
years,
the
army
had
been
feeding
on
lines
like
"We
were
too
nice
in
the
first
Intifada,"
and
"If
we
had
only
killed
a
hundred
in
the
very
first
days,
everything
would
have
been
different."
Now
the
army
was
given
license
to
do
things
its
way.
I
knew
full
well
that
[former
Prime
Minister]
Ehud
Barak
was
giving
the
army
free
hand,
and
that
[current
Chief
of
Staff]
Shaul
Mofaz
was
taking
full
advantage
of
this
to
maximize
the
bloodshed.
By
then,
I
had
two
little
kids,
boys,
and
I
knew
from
experience
that
no
one
-
not
a
single
person
in
the
entire
world
-
will
ever
make
sure
that
my
sons
won't
have
to
serve
in
the
Occupied
Territories
when
they
reach
18.
No
one,
that
is,
except
me.
And
no
one
but
me
will
have
to
look
them
in
the
eye
when
they're
all
grown
up
and
tell
them
where
dad
was
when
all
that
happened.
It
was
clear
to
me:
this
time
I
was
not
going.
Initially,
this
was
a
quiet
decision,
still
a
little
shy,
something
like
"I
am
just
a
bit
weird,
can't
go
and
can't
talk
about
it
too
much
either."
But
as
time
went
by,
as
the
level
of
insanity,
hatred,
and
incitement
kept
rising,
as
the
generals
were
turning
the
Israeli
Defense
Forces
into
a
terror
organization,
the
decision
was
turning
into
an
outcry:
"If
you
can't
see
that
this
is
one
big
crime
leading
us
to
the
brink
of
annihilation,
then
something
is
terribly
wrong
with
you!"
And
then
I
discovered
that
I
was
not
alone.
Like
discovering
life
on
another
planet.
The
truth
is
that
I
understand
why
everyone
is
mad
at
us.
We
spoiled
the
neat
little
order
of
things.
The
holy
Status
Quo
states
that
the
Right
holds
the
exclusive
rights
to
celebrate
the
blood
and
ask
for
more.
The
role
of
the
Left,
on
the
other
hand,
is
to
wail
while
sitting
in
their
armchairs
sipping
wine
and
waiting
for
the
Messiah
to
come
and
with
a
single
wave
of
his
magic
wand
make
the
Right
disappear
along
with
the
settlers,
the
Arabs,
the
weather,
and
the
entire
Middle
East.
That's
how
the
world
is
supposed
to
work.
So
why
are
you
causing
such
a
disturbance?
What's
your
problem?
Bad
boys!
Woe
to
you,
dear
establishment
left!
You
haven't
been
paying
attention!
That
Messiah
has
been
here
already.
He
waved
his
magic
wand,
saw
things
aren't
that
simple,
was
abandoned
in
the
midst
of
battle,
lost
altitude,
and
finally
was
assassinated,
with
the
rest
of
us
(yes,
me
too)
watching
from
the
comfort
of
our
armchairs.
Forget
it.
A
messiah
doesn't
come
around
twice!
There
is
no
such
thing
as
a
free
lunch.
Don't
you
really
see
what
we
are
doing,
why
it
is
that
we
stepped
out
of
line?
Don't
you
get
the
difference
between
a
low
key,
personal
refusal
and
an
organized,
public
one?
(and
make
no
mistake
about
it,
the
private
refusal
is
the
easier
choice.)
You
really
don't
get
it?
So
let
me
spell
it
out
for
you.
First,
we
declare
our
commitment
to
the
first
value
system.
The
one
that
is
elusive,
abstract,
and
not
profitable.
We
believe
in
the
moral
code
generally
known
as
God
(and
my
atheist
friends
who
also
signed
this
letter
would
have
to
forgive
me
-
we
all
believe
in
God,
the
true
one,
not
that
of
the
Rabbis
and
the
Ayatollahs).
We
believe
that
there
is
no
room
for
the
tribal
code,
that
the
tribal
code
simply
camouflages
idolatry,
an
idolatry
of
a
type
we
should
not
cooperate
with.
Those
who
let
such
a
form
of
idol
worship
take
over
will
end
up
as
burnt
offerings
themselves.
Second,
we
(as
well
as
some
other
groups
who
are
even
more
despised
and
harassed)
are
putting
our
bodies
on
the
line,
in
the
attempt
to
prevent
the
next
war.
The
most
unnecessary,
most
idiotic,
cruel
and
immoral
war
in
the
history
of
Israel.
We
are
the
Chinese
young
man
standing
in
front
of
the
tank.
And
you?
If
you
are
nowhere
to
be
seen,
you
are
probably
inside
the
tank,
advising
the
driver
By
Kate
I had planned to join a campaign organized by the International Solidarity Movement (ISM) in April. My goal was to join a delegation of internationals that were going to Palestine. We would work in solidarity with Palestinian community members in various camps and villages doing acts of non-violent resistance. Five days before my flight to Israel, Prime Minister Sharon declared war on Palestine after the bombing of a Passover Sadder.
The ISM campaign had shifted. It was decided that there was a greater need for an international presence in targeted areas i.e. Arafat's compound in Ramallah and two refugee camps in Bethlehem, Al Azza Camp and Aida Camp. These camps were already experiencing curfews, blackouts, constant military presence plus missiles, gunfire and US Apache helicopters overhead.
One
group
of
internationals
successfully
marched
into
Arafat's
compound
a
few
days
into
the
campaign.
The
internationals
in
Bethlehem
then
held
a
march
at
the
Israeli
Embassy
and
were
fired
upon.
Ricocheting
shrapnel
nicked
several
demonstrators;
one
woman
was
shot
directly
in
the
stomach.
She
received
immediate
surgery
and
is
now
walking.
All
of
this
happened
before
I
arrived.
After
grappling
with
my
courage,
I
decided
to
go
ahead
with
my
flight
The
scary
parts
1.
Getting
there:
The
most
frightening
part
of
my
journey
was
the
actual
trip
from
NY
to
Bethlehem.
I'm
not
a
world
traveler.
I
was
kind
of
left
to
my
wits
to
get
from
Jerusalem
to
Bethlehem
because
the
main
organizers
were
stuck
with
Arafat
in
his
compound.
After
a
few
attempts,
I
found
a
cab
driver
that
was
willing
to
take
me
on
a
daring
and
expensive
ride
past
several
blocked
roads
and
military
checkpoints.
He
had
Palestinian
license
plates
and
was
driving
around
asking
Sheppard’s
if
they
had
seen
tanks
or
snipers.
He
dropped
me
off
at
one
of
his
friend's
houses
in
a
near
by
town.
There,
they
arranged
for
me
to
walk
to
a
clinic
where
an
ambulance
that
was
transporting
a
woman
who
had
been
treated
to
her
home
would
take
me
the
rest
of
the
way.
I
was
dropped
off
at
Al
Azza
Refugee
Camp
to
meet
the
rest
of
my
friends
in
the
April
delegation.
2.
Ambulance
rides:
Ambulance
drivers
were
constantly
being
harassed,
and
shot
at
by
Israeli
soldiers.
The
contents
of
their
ambulances,
including
badly
hurt
people
were
detained
and
held
for
many
hours
for
no
reason.
The
presence
of
an
international,
especially
an
American,
in
the
ambulance
greatly
improved
the
chances
of
getting
much
needed
care
to
folks
under
curfew
who
were
unable
to
get
to
the
hospital.
I
had
the
opportunity
to
ride
through
Manger
Square
(the
location
of
the
Church
of
the
Nativity
were
two
hundred
folks
had
barricaded
themselves).
We
picked
up
a
senior
citizen
with
diabetes
whose
legs
needed
care.
I will never think of Bethlehem in the same way. We drove at top-speed over broken waterlines jumping out to kick poles and rubble from our path. Manger Square is an ancient, sacred area that was probably really beautiful at one time. Now it's shredded. There were large holes torn through the buildings. The metal storefronts were ripped from the walls, the cars on the street were flattened like pancakes, completely smashed by tanks. The whole place was smoldering with burning rubble and garbage. We got the woman to the hospital where she was treated. We tried to return her to her home but a soldier shot at the ambulance and we had to turn back.
3.
Walking
parents
with
their
babies
to
the
children's'
hospital:
I
was
honestly
eager
to
get
out
of
the
camp
and
give
my
emotions
a
break
by
taking
this
risk.
I
only
saw
a
tank
once
on
this
walk.
It
took
every
bit
of
courage
I
had
not
duck
and
hide.
We
just
stood
there
with
our
big
white
skin
and
our
big
blue
passports
surrounding
the
parents
while
the
soldiers
hesitated
and
then
moved
on.
4.
Food
drop
to
Manger
Square:
A
UN
truck
dropped
off
a
shipment
in
Bethlehem
but
was
unable
to
deliver
it
to
the
families
in
the
Manger
Square
area
who
had
been
under
curfew
for
over
eight
days.
We
were
asked
to
help
hand
deliver
it.
Thirteen
Internationals
followed
by
about
ten
press
(who
were
all
wearing
flack
jackets
and
helmets)
carried
bags
of
food
speaking
English
at
the
top
of
our
lungs
down
the
narrow
road.
There
was
constant
gunfire
down
there.
Two
cars
were
blown
up
in
our
path
a
few
minutes
before
our
arrival.
We
were
so
far
along
at
that
point
we
decided
drop
the
food
off
but
not
to
go
all
the
way
into
manger
square.
We
stopped
a
little
bit
beyond
the
perimeter.
People
were
sticking
their
heads
out
of
the
windows
begging
us
to
come
and
leave
the
food
so
we
did.
Folks
came
running
out
to
get
the
food
and
an
Israeli
soldier
came
around
the
corner
shooting.
No
warning
shot.
We
ran.
This
action
was
well
publicized.
The
Israeli
government
was
shamed
for
not
allowing
the
families
in
Manger
Square
access
to
food.
The
next
day
an
Italian
convoy
of
trucks
was
allowed
delivered
more
food.
5.
Presence
in
the
camp:
None
of
our
attempts
at
non-violent
direct
action
could
stop
the
destruction
that
the
US
backed
Israeli
military
was
imposing
on
these
Palestinians.
We
could
tell
that
our
presence
was
helping
this
camp
only
because
camps
without
people
watching,
Jenin
and
Nablus,
were
being
destroyed.
I
witnessed
the
grief
and
anger
build
as
folks
sat
under
curfew
and
watched
their
loved
ones
being
killed
and
threatened
throughout
the
West
Bank
and
Gaza.
Experience
in
the
Azza
camp:
I
just
want
to
be
clear
that
this
is
through
my
American
eyes.
I
wish
you
could
hear
the
stories
directly
from
the
Palestinians
that
I
met.
Their
voices
are
blatantly
missing.
All
of
the
families
in
the
camp
have
the
surname
Azza.
These
families
were
relocated
fifty
years
ago
from
their
village
which
the
Israeli
government
leveled
and
renamed
Beit
Jammal.
Every
camp
member
is
bound
by
the
memory
of
their
land
and
a
commitment
to
return
to
it.
People
in
the
camp
were
constantly
telling
me
that
they
were
tired.
They
barraged
my
naive
American
brain
with
stories
of
their
struggle.
These
folks
were
so
kind
and
just
so
gracious.
They
would
serve
us
meal
after
meal,
coffee
after
coffee
far
beyond
their
means.
They
welcomed
us
into
their
homes
to
explain
what
they
had
been
through
during
fifty
years
of
occupation.
I
was
there
over
a
week.
The
emotional
torment
that
was
imposed
upon
them
by
the
Israeli
military
during
my
stay
was
over
whelming.
Israeli
soldiers,
often
eighteen
years
old
and
trigger-happy
control
the
lives
of
the
people
living
in
the
camp
with
a
never-ending
supply
of
American
made
weapons.
Tanks
pass
and
shoot
at
the
camp
five
times
a
day.
They
generally
just
shoot
around,
often
at
the
water
barrels
on
the
tops
of
the
buildings.
But
all
of
the
houses
have
bullet
holes
through
the
walls
and
windows.
The
kid's
room
were
I
was
staying
had
a
hole
that
went
through
the
window,
through
the
wall
and
then
through
the
wall
in
the
living
room
which
was
covered
up
by
a
post
card.
Over
a
thousand
people
live
in
the
camp.
The
camp
is
the
size
of
a
city
block.
It's
packed
with
small
flats
cut
by
a
maze
of
narrow
alleys
that
are
covered
in
pro-Palestinian
graffiti.
Everyone
is
under
curfew
during
the
occupation.
Every
three
or
four
days
curfew
is
lifted
for
three
hours
and
people
are
allowed
to
leaved
the
camp
to
get
supplies
and
seek
medical
care.
No
one
is
allowed
to
work
or
go
to
school.
Hundreds
of
little
kids
play
in
the
alleys.
The
adults
take
turns
watching
them
and
watching
the
news.
The
news:
I
have
never
seen
such
comprehensive
news
coverage
in
my
life.
Al
Jazeera
News
was
everywhere,
breaking
news
in
completely
closed
areas
that
other
stations,
the
UN,
Red
Cross
and
Collin
Powell
were
too
afraid
to
go.
The
news
castors
never
seemed
to
sleep.
I
saw
one
of
them
in
Bethlehem
and
got
her
to
take
a
picture
with
me.
The
television
news
is
always
on
in
the
house.
The
International
Solidarity
Movement:
A
group
of
us
met
with
some
of
the
original
organizers
of
the
April
campaign
to
express
our
concerns
and
to
find
out
what
we
could
bring
back
to
our
friends
who
are
eager
to
help
in
the
states.
Here
is
what
I
gathered:
*This
is
a
campaign
organized
by
Palestinians
and
Internationals.
The
priority
of
the
organizing
energy
has
been
spent
making
contacts
and
building
relationships
in
Palestine.
Much
of
that
work
has
been
set
back
by
the
recent
Israeli
military
occupation.
People
need
to
recover.
The
original
vision
for
a
massive
50
day
June
campaign
that
is
lead
by
Palestinian
organizers
with
the
support
of
many,
many
international
allies
will
likely
happen
in
a
pared
down
form
with
appropriate
actions
that
Palestine
can
handle
gauging
the
current
resources.
There
is
still
a
need
to
come
and
bear
witness
and
bring
our
stories
back
home.
We
just
have
to
be
careful
not
to
tap
the
meager
resources
of
the
Palestinians
with
one
zillion
internationals,
eager
to
help.
*A
constant,
well-organized,
international
presence
is
needed.
Internationals
should
understand
that
there
is
a
lot
of
chaos
and
risk
involved.
Logistics
are
currently
being
worked
out.
It
seems
like
the
organizers
could
use
folks
with
solid
logistical
backgrounds
who
are
willing
to
set
up
some
of
the
groundwork
rather
than
do
the
dangerous
stuff.
·
International
Allies
should
start
brainstorming
at-home
actions
that
speak
to
their
communities.
Our
job
is
to
build
support
in
hometowns
which
is
what
we
know
how
to
do
best.
*Once
there
is
an
Israeli
pull
out,
folks
can
start
working
on
a
call
for
worldwide
solidarity
actions.
*It
would
be
cool
if
we
could
get
access
to
an
English
translation
to
Al
Jazeera
satellite
news…
By
Hollis
Architzel
Last
year
I
lived
in
Israel
for
9
months
as
a
part
of
Workshop
50.
I
was
in
Israel
for
the
first
several
months
of
the
second
Intifada.
Being
there
during
this
time
strengthened
my
resolve
to
work
for
a
lasting
peace
based
on
justice.
During
a
seminar
in
Jerusalem
Jeremy
Milgrom,
the
field
director
for
an
organization
called
Rabbi’s
for
Human
Rights,
came
to
speak
and
show
a
documentary.
The
documentary
detailed
the
struggle
of
a
group
of
Bedouins,
the
Jahalin,
displaced
from
their
homes
by
the
completion
of
the
settlement
Maaleh
Adumim.
This
was
the
second
time
these
people
were
displaced.
Most
of
the
older
people
in
the
village
remember
being
displaced
from
their
original
villages
in
1948.
As
I
sat
in
the
little
room
at
Kiryat
Moriah,
I
cried
for
the
Jahalin.
And
I
cried
for
Israel.
That
documentary
made
a
lasting
impression
on
me;
in
Habonim
Dror,
I
was
always
taught
the
importance
of
social
justice.
In
that
spirit
I
wanted
to
do
something
about
the
situation.
I
got
my
chance
when
I
lived
in
a
chava
(a
commune
of
sorts)
with
my
Israeli
peers
in
our
sister
youth
movement,
Hanoar
HaOved
in
Jerusalem.
For
three
and
a
half
weeks
I
volunteered
at
the
Rabbis
for
Human
Rights
(RHR)
office.
Before
October
RHR
had
been
sending
groups
of
Internationals
to
teach
English
to
the
Jahalin
children.
Because
of
the
Intifada
RHR
stopped
sending
groups.
A
group
of
committed
activists
continued
to
work
with
the
Jahalin.
And
although
RHR
could
not
officially
sanction
it,
they
gave
me
and
Elana
Margolis,
another
woman
in
my
kvutsa,
phone
numbers
to
get
in
touch
with
those
people.
At
first
I
was
a
bit
dubious
about
teaching
Palestinian
children
English.
I
felt
like
I
was
being
the
benevolent
American
giving
the
gift
of
English.
After
asking
around
I
learned
that
the
parents
wanted
their
children
to
learn
English
because
in
being
removed
from
their
homes,
the
Jahalin
could
no
longer
raise
livestock
and
were
forced
to
enter
into
a
lifestyle
that
required
English
to
succeed
in
the
business
world.
So
Elana
and
I
decided
to
help
tutor
the
Bedouin
children
in
English.
The
first
time
I
went
out
I
was
really
nervous.
We
went
to
Damascus
Gate
and
met
up
with
the
other
Internationals
who
would
be
going
with
us.
We
got
in
a
Palestinian
sherut,
the
big
taxi
things.
I
remember
being
told
on
MBI
to
make
sure
I
never
accidentally
got
in
a
taxi
with
green
license
plates,
and
here
I
was
on
workshop
doing
it
on
purpose.
The
first
time
I
crossed
the
green
line
I
had
goose
bumps.
Elana
and
I
were
breaking
HDNA
policy
by
going
into
Palestine.
The
sherut
dropped
us
off
several
hundred
meters
from
the
Jahalin’s
encampment
because
the
road
isn’t
paved.
We
walked
up
and
were
greeted
by
10
smiling
children.
We
divided
them
up
by
age.
I
worked
with
3
older
girls
who
already
spoke
English
quite
well.
We
took
turns
reading
aloud
from
an
old
book.
I
divided
my
time
in
between
working
with
these
kids
and
volunteering
in
the
Rabbis
for
Human
Rights
office
doing
mostly
envelope
stuffing
and
mailing
lists.
Throughout
the
time
I
was
working
with
RHR
the
IDF
had
been
putting
up
roadblocks
around
Palestinian
villages.
RHR
and
other
human
rights
activists
participated
in
a
series
of
non-violent
direct
actions
to
remove
the
roadblocks
to
allow
ambulances
and
food
trucks
in
and
out.
During
one
such
action
I
was
in
charge
of
being
the
media
contact
in
the
RHR
office.
I
called
several
media
outlets
in
Israel
giving
them
updates
on
the
action.
I
reported
the
progress
in
removing
the
roadblocks
and
reported
on
arrests
taking
place.
Another
campaign
RHR
was
involved
in
was
replanting
Palestinian
olive
trees
that
had
been
uprooted
by
the
IDF.
RHR
also
sold
olive
oil
for
Palestinians
unable
to
leave
their
villages
due
to
roadblocks.
I
helped
sell
the
olive
oil
out
of
their
Jerusalem
office.
Rabbis
for
Human
Rights
also
does
extensive
work
with
foreign
workers
in
Israel
and
with
budget
cuts
affecting
the
Israeli
poor.
I
also
went
on
a
trip
organized
by
RHR
to
several
Bedouin
villages
in
the
Negev.
The
Israeli
government
does
not
recognize
most
Bedouin
Villages.
This
is
a
huge
problem
because
they
are
not
connected
to
the
main
electricity
and
water
grids.
I
visited
a
Bedouin
school.
The
children
sat
2
and
3
to
a
desk.
Another
problem
with
villages
being
unrecognized
is
the
Bedouin
are
not
allowed
to
build
permanent
homes,
school,
medical
clinics,
etc.
One
such
village
had
built
illegally.
I
couldn’t
understand
how
building
a
school
for
your
children
on
land
you
have
lived
on
for
50
years
could
be
illegal,
especially
when
illegal
Jewish
settlements
in
the
West
Bank
frequently
get
retroactive
recognition.
Since
leaving
Israel,
I
have
continued
to
get
updates
from
RHR
about
their
activities.
Rabbis
For
Human
Rights
has
remained
committed
to
uphold
all
human
rights,
of
Palestinians,
of
Israelis
even
during
such
trying
times.
I
am
proud
to
have
worked
to
ensure
that
even
during
a
period
where
human
rights
are
often
last
on
anyone’s
agenda
I
had
the
opportunity
to
work
for
a
more
just
world.
So
what
did
I
learn
working
with
RHR?
I
learned
Israel
is
not
utopia
I
thought
it
was.
I
learned
that
Israel
has
displaced
thousands
of
Palestinians
in
the
building
of
settlements.
I
learned
that
we
have
so
much
work
to
do
if
Israel
is
ever
going
to
be
a
“light
among
nations.”
I
learned
that
while
settlements
have
sparkling
pools
a
group
of
children
living
outside
Jerusalem
couldn’t
count
on
clean
drinking
water
everyday.
I
learned
that
true
peace
means
more
than
not
fighting.
And
I
learned
that
the
best
falafel
in
the
world
isn’t
in
Afula.
It’s
in
Palestine.
By
Chaver
Tnua,
Ezra
Weinberg
When
people
ask
me
what
I
want
to
be
when
I
grow
up
this
is
what
I
say:
I
want
to
live
my
life
as
a
Jewish
leader
and
activist.
I
want
my
Judaism
to
inspire
me
to
change
the
world
and
I
want
my
words,
but
more
my
actions,
to
have
impact
on
others.
These
goals
are
a
direct
result
of
the
profound
experience
of
15
summers
in
Habonim
Dror.
Habonim
along
with
my
Reconstructionist
Jewish
background
helped
me
to
understand
the
evolution
of
the
Jewish
people
as
an
ongoing
struggle,
using
a
unique
blend
of
spirit
and
action
to
transform
suffering
in
the
world.
Throughout
our
history
Jews
have
been
pioneers
in
this
struggle
to
end
suffering
and
build
peaceful
communities
embodying
our
highest
moral
values.
The
message
has
never
been
more
urgent
with
the
current
waves
of
violence
in
Israel.
The
Judaism
that
I
connect
to
inspires
me
to
commit
my
life
to
working
for
peace
to
someday
prevail
over
war
and
injustice.
Moving
to
Israel
to
get
involved
in
the
peace
building
movement
between
Israelis
and
Palestinians
is
a
reflection
of
this
connection.
If
there
were
ever
a
need
for
pioneers
in
peace-building,
especially
in
Israel,
the
time
is
now.
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
I
am
proud
to
say
that
Jerusalem
is
my
home
right
now
and
HDNA
had
a
lot
to
do
with
getting
me
here. I
love
it
here.
I
love
hearing
Rikud
Am
music
on the
radio
and
having
a
rule
of
only
one
falafel per
week.
I
also
love
speaking
Hebrew
and
learning
Arabic.
But
I
love
nothing
more
than
Shabbat
in
Jerusalem,
when
I
can
say
Shabbat
Shalom
to
random
strangers
and
also
be
expected
to
invite
myself
over
for Shabbat
dinner
with
people
I
meet
in Shul.
And
yet, the
massive
among
of
societal
ills
going
on
here,
most
notably
the
Occupation,
breaks
my
heart.
That
said,
there's
not
a
day
that
goes by
where
I'm
not
doing
something
to
help turn
this
place
into
a
country
I
can
be fully
proud
of.
For
those
who
don't
know,
I'm
working
in East
Jerusalem
for
the
"Palestine-Israel Journal,"
where
I'm
constantly
in
dialogue
with my
Palestinian
co-workers
who
are
subject
to
roadblocks,
curfews
and
all the daily
threats
of
the
occupation,
because
they
come
in
from
work
over
the
green
line everyday.
For
example,
recently
one
of
my
Palestinian
co-workers
-
a
divorced
mother
of
4
–
experienced
the
fright
of
having
her
11
year
old
son
trapped
in
Ramallah
while
under
siege
by
the
Israeli
Army.
She
hadn't
slept
in
48
hours
because
she
was
too
nervous
about
her
son
-
holding
her
phone
most
of
the
time
hoping
to
hear
from
them.
These
were
not
media
reports
from
a
biased
source
that
I
was
hearing.
These
were
direct
interactions
between
me
and
the
people
I
work
with.
I
tried
to
comfort
them
as
best
as
I
could.
But
honestly,
I
was
too
scared
to
try
and
imagine
what
it
would
be
like
to
be
in
their
shoes.
I
told
them
I
was
praying
for
them,
but
inside
I
knew
I
was
also
praying
that
their
pain
would
not
translate
into
hatred
towards
Israel
and
Jewish
people.
The
same
day
I
managed
to
phone
my
co-worker
in
Ramallah
just
as
she
was
at
the
outer
checkpoint
trying
to
get
out.
As
a
Journalist
she
had
some
international
connections
-
which
I
was
lucky
enough
to
retrieve
for
her
when
we
spoke.
By
the
evening
she
managed
to
get
out
with
a
BBC
truck.
She
was
extremely
grateful
the
last
time
I
spoke
to
her.
She
told
me
that
my
phone
call
really
made
a
big
difference
in
getting
her
out
of
Ramallah.
The
power
of
a
little
human
contact
can
go
a
long
way.
Working
with
Palestinians
I
hear
things
I
don’t
always
agree
with.
Recently
I
heard
my
boss,
who is
the
PA
Minister of
Jerusalem
Affairs,
compare
Jenin
to
the
Warsaw
uprising.
And
he's
considered
a
Palestinian
moderate. My
work
involves
dialoging
with
that
point
of
view,
which
is
hardly
considered
extreme.
And
when
I'm
not
at
the
Journal,
very
often
I'm working
with
Arab Bedouin
children,
learning Arabic
("Ahhtilal
Yiktulna"
=
the
Occupation
is
killing
all
of
us),
or
attending
demos
and
rallies
supporting
the
peace
movement.
Much
of
the
will
that
propels
me
to
my
activism
and
keeps
me
coming
to
work
in
East
Jerusalem
everyday,
despite
everyone
telling
me
I'm
crazy,
is
this strong
sense
of
Justice
that
was
instilled
upon
me
in
my
years
of
being
in
HDNA.
HDNA
was
a
movement
about
action.
Most
of
my
later
years
in
HDNA,
when
my
real
political
consciousness
started
to
develop,
I
wasn't
able
to
call
myself
a
Zionist.
The
non-Zionist
faction
of
HDNA
challenged
me
to
constantly
re-evaluate
my
Zionism.
I
used
to
reconcile
it
by
saying
that
I
was
a
"Zionist
in
Question."
Well
no
more.
Since
moving
here
I
have
rediscovered
that
I
am
a
Zionist.
Proud
and
true.
And
I
say
that
not
out
of
pride
or
patriotism
for
what
Israel
is
today,
but
because
I
believe
in
the
Israel
that
could
be.
I
should
also
say
that
I
didn't
make
Aliya
because
I
felt
like
working
as
a
peace-builder
and
having
army
service
would
have
been
too
difficult
to
reconcile.
I
also
don't
purport
to
say
that
I
will
be
here
for
the
rest
of
my
life.
But
my
Zionism
is
the
force
that
takes
pride
in
the
commitment
I've
made
to
devoting
a
serious
chunk
of
my
life
to
building
Israel.
When
I
say
build
you
know
I'm
not
talking
about
the
borders
and
swamps,
but
rebuilding
the
social
and
moral
fabric
of
this
society,
which
we
all
know
needs
a
hell
of
a
lot
of
work.
HDNA taught me that to be Zionist, pro-Palestinian, pro peace, and pro justice is not a contradiction. I'm sure some of you can argue that it is. I've spent a lot of hours listening to those arguments. However, I believe that a fair, just and lasting agreement can be reached to end this conflict, but it's going to take a lot of hard work to get there. I give credit to HDNA for teaching me that it's my responsibility to deal with Israel and not wash my hands of it, just because it's not the country that I want it to be right now. So we've created a monster over here. No disputing that. It's thrashing all over the Middle East hurting many people and itself in the process.
The
bottom
line
for
me
is
that
I
want
to
devote
a
fairly
decent
portion
of
my
life
to
fixing
it.
And
HDNA
taught
me
that
message.