peace – Page 7

Investing in Israel’s people

English class at Shaked School in Raanana. The school participates in the Arab Teacher Integration in Jewish Schools program. The teacher’s name is Fatam and she is from the Arab town of Tayibe. (photo from Merchavim)

In a country of eight million, one-fifth of Israel’s population are Arabs. According to research published last year in the Jerusalem Post, 35% of Jewish teenagers have never spoken to an Arab peer and 27% of Arab Israelis reported never having spoken with a Jewish youth.

In a conflict-ridden political climate, there is no shortage of angry rhetoric. Reading this rhetoric, it is tempting to imagine that Israeli society is simply a dysfunctional collection of intergroup battles. Nonetheless, there are organizations that remain focused on Israel’s immense social capital, its long history of social innovation and the initiative and dedication of its educators. Guided by words like tolerance, fairness and mutual understanding, these organizations value diversity rather than emphasize differences, and continue to work to build a more egalitarian society.

photo - Esti Halperin, Merchavim Institute chief executive officer, is the woman on the right — Esti Halperin, Merchavim Institute chief executive officer, is the woman on the right. (photo from Merchavim)

Merchavim Institute is one such organization. Founded in 1998 and based in Lod, Merchavim promotes shared citizenship in several ways. It places Arab teachers in Jewish schools, to teach spoken Arabic. It offers a wealth of classroom materials to teachers and supports 500 schools and kindergartens in the Jewish-secular, Jewish-religious and Arab-Israeli school streams.

In a separate collaboration with the Ministry of Education, Merchavim also places Arab teachers of English, science and mathematics in Jewish schools. These teachers cover material on Arab culture and society.

Merchavim’s chief operating officer, Roi Maor, explained that “dialogue, shared culture, education and improved communication” are essential if one wants to stem the flood of anger and resentment on both sides. Rather than getting stuck on debates about the country’s flag, for example, he argued, “Israel’s best chance for growth and self-improvement is through programs that focus on enrichment.”

The Arabic Teacher Integration (ATI) program does just that, by giving Arab teachers an opportunity to work in and become part of a Jewish community. But, quite apart from meeting their curricular goals, these teachers – all of whom are women – are excellent role models, said Maor. He described them as resilient and “charismatic, with exceptional leadership skills.”

Nonetheless, he acknowledged, “There is a degree of concern or tension when an Arab teacher enters a Jewish school; half of these teachers wear headscarves. Often, the teacher herself has her own concerns and worries, concerns about how she will be integrated.” Since more than one teacher has been stopped by school security and refused entry, these concerns seem valid.

Fortunately for the teachers, Merchavim’s idealism is tempered with the clear-sighted pragmatism of lived experience. Encounters between Arab teachers and their Jewish students and colleagues follow a framework, leaving little to chance. Maor wants the ATI program to be “the gold standard” and explained how encounters must be continuous. “They have to happen in the context of a larger project and be a powerful, meaningful experience,” he said.

Maor also respects the students’ “legitimate desire to maintain and preserve [their] cultural identity.” He believes that one’s identity is a tool to meet the other, rather than a hindrance or a threat. “It allows you to understand and connect to your own identity better,” he said.

Of course, change does not happen overnight. Tamara Klinger-Levi, Merchavim’s director of resource development, reflected that, even with a wonderful start to the school year, acts of violence create a “public sentiment of hatred or prejudice,” which can be a tremendous setback for Merchavim staff and partners.

Rana Younis has been teaching at Gvanim Junior High School, Kadima-Zoran, for nine years. She related an incident in her school, where she had overheard a student speaking ill of Arabs. There had been a violent incident and emotions were running high. Having turned and seen her, the student apologized instantly. “I am sorry,” he said. “It’s not you.” Younis told him, “I understand, it’s not you and it’s not me, and he hugged me. It was so touching. I tell them: there are bad people and good people in Arab society, just like any society.”

Merchavim staff are well aware of this dynamic and their staff make regular visits to Gvanim. Younis is unequivocal in her praise of the support they offer. “They help me all the time. They are like my family,” she said.

A highlight of the program comes in the form of tours for overseas visitors. This is an example of the kind of “powerful, meaningful experience” described by Maor. “Children don’t have a strongly formulated notion of [Arabs]. All kinds of negative ideas flourish in isolation but [with Merchavim teachers] all that evaporates. They learn to regard each person as an individual. We are building a generation that doesn’t generalize.”

Younis’ observations confirm this. “Reality is not what you read,” she said. “Putting the idea of Arabs and Jews aside, I am just there to teach. I love my work as a teacher. I love my students.”

Younis’ voice conveys energy, dedication and love. She spoke of an upcoming collaboration between Israeli and Arab students, called

Living Together, for which only a limited number of places was available. “When some of the students didn’t get in, they cried, they were so disappointed,” she said.

About what her own family thought of her work, Younis laughed as she related her mother’s frequent questions. “Are you OK, are you happy? I tell her, I am happy! I have no problems.”

photo - The annual Arabic Teacher Integration conference, held jointly with IDC Herzliya, is when all the players (government officials, school administrators, teachers, researchers, funders et al) meet to discuss issues and learn about new research — The annual Arabic Teacher Integration conference, held jointly with IDC Herzliya, is when all the players (government officials, school administrators, teachers, researchers, funders et al) meet to discuss issues and learn about new research. *(photo from Merchavim)*

Merchavim’s contribution to Israeli education and society at large have gained recognition at home and abroad. The new language initiative of Israel’s education ministry, led by Naftali Bennett (Jewish Home), dovetails nicely with Merchavim’s vision. In this program, Arab students will learn Hebrew starting in kindergarten and continue right through high school. As Likud MK Oren Hazan said last year (Israel National News), “When the Jewish population understands Arabic the way the Arab public understands Hebrew, we will see better days.”

Thanks to the investments of Merchavim and other organizations, these ways of thinking could become the norm for a whole generation of children. These children will finish school and assume leadership positions in society. When they do, they will have communication skills, as well as the empathy and cultural capital needed to reinvest in a fair future for all Israelis.

Speaking of the wider Arab population, Maor said Merchavim’s program “sends a message to people back in the communities that they can be successful in Jewish society.” And, while Arab women meet the urgent need for more teachers in the Jewish system and find empowerment through work, their presence enriches the entire school site.

The Arab Teacher Integration program enjoys financial support from numerous philanthropic groups in Israel, all of which support civil rights, social justice and democracy in the country. These include the Moriah Fund, the Beracha Foundation and the Jacob and Hilda Blaustein Foundation. Overseas funders include the Jewish Federations of North America and the Hadassah Foundation, which also works in Israel.

Nonetheless, even with this and the Ministry of Education support for Merchavim’s work, funding remains a challenge. Discretionary budgets for enrichment are small and programs like music are typically prioritized above Arabic electives. Maor, who finds it “outrageous” that Arabic is not a mandatory subject in Israeli schools, described this as a “missed opportunity for cross-cultural learning and huge advancement for the cause of shared society in Israel.”

However, Maor is optimistic about the future because “animosity and fear comes from ignorance.” With long-term, committed professional relationships between Arab and Jewish educators, and between Arab teachers and their Jewish students, Israeli society can change. “Citizenship is not just a piece of paper,” said Maor. “It’s about being part of a collective enterprise, in which we share a joint destiny.”

That destiny relies on every individual having the right to prosperity under egalitarian social and economic conditions. Once the majority of Israelis understand this, he said, they will also see that “the success of Israeli Arabs is not a separate phenomenon but a boon to all sectors of the population.”

To learn more about Merchavim, visit machon-merchavim.org.il/?lang=en.

Shula Klinger is an author, illustrator and journalist living in North Vancouver

Kohelet and Kristallnacht

“Vanity of vanities. All is vanity.” The day of remembrance for Kristallnacht was this week. Looking at what’s happening in Israel and globally, I’m reminded of the Preacher. By the Preacher, I mean Kohelet, traditionally thought to be King Solomon, whose writings in the Tanakh are known in English as Ecclesiastes. The first line, in Hebrew, reads: “Havel havalim. Hakol Havel.”

Everything is havel, which, better than vanity, is translated “vaporous, breathlike, fleeting.” Everything is vapor. Like Abel, whose Hebrew name is Havel, and whose life was like vapor, blown apart by Cain. Like what we thought we had gained in Israel, once upon a time: a state of our own that had mostly won the world’s respect and affirmation through blood, sweat and tears. A refuge. We thought we had pushed back the red sea of ancient, irrational hatred. The world had, to an amazing degree, recognized our right to a homeland in our homeland. The horrors of the Holocaust were understood and widely contemplated.

Yet, in the past months, much of what has happened has the character of a bad dream. The New York Times writes that the Temple Mount may not have been where the Jewish Temple was after all (later retracted under pressure). The United Nations declares ancient Jewish holy sites to be under the rightful control of a future Palestinian state, even as Palestinian Arab terrorists torch Jewish holy sites. In Europe, organizers of a Kristallnacht commemoration declare their plans to turn it into a commemoration of the Palestinian suffering for which Israel bears responsibility.

And the stabbings. The Palestinian leadership put the word out that Jews planned to change the “status quo” on the Temple Mount, where Al-Aqsa Mosque also stands. Currently, only Muslims have free access to the site, with everyone else having very limited or no access to this sacred space, revered by Jews especially but also Christians and Baha’is. “Changing the status quo,” according to Palestinian fears, would entail increasing access for non-Muslims (at least) or tearing down al-Aqsa and replacing it with a synagogue (at most). Israel has no intention of either: not of expanding access (although surely that would be a step forward for human rights and decency were that to happen) and certainly not of razing Islam’s third holiest site. Yet the claim enflames the Palestinian street, as it did at the start of the 2000 Intifada. Mothers begin celebrating the deaths of their children who died to “defend Al-Aqsa,” even giving out candy on TV. A Palestinian Arab mother names her newborn baby “Knife of Jerusalem” after the attacks. Mahmoud Abbas, who Western media falsely portray as a moderate, calls for the shedding of Jewish blood and declares that the “filthy feet” of Jews will not besmirch Al-Aqsa.

Mainstream Israel wants to negotiate an independent state for Palestinian Arabs yet a majority of Palestinian Arabs believes Israel wants to take their land and evict them. Tellingly, this is in fact what the Palestinian Arab leadership wants – to take back all Israeli land and eliminate Israeli Jews, as the Hamas charter and popular Palestinian songs, media and school textbooks demonstrate. In a classic psychological move, the Palestinian Arab imagination projects onto Israel its own desires: what is within is used to interpret what is without. This narrative has spread beyond the borders of Israel and the disputed territories to capture the imaginations of people all around the world. So, our refuge has begun to feel, increasingly, like a new ghetto, where we can be once again easily separated out and demonized.

Havel havalim. Hakol havel.

After experiencing years of checkpoints, poverty, “collateral damage,” the Gaza wars and more, it is certainly understandable that Palestinian Arabs feel sorrow and rage. It is even understandable that they hate the Israeli government. But to blame Israel and all Jews for their suffering, and not the racist, Israel-negating, violence-inciting, kleptocratic Palestinian leadership?

Israeli self-defence is viewed as aggression; the most enlightened state in the Middle East is slandered as an “apartheid state”; Zionism is viewed as racism by people whose denial of Zionism is in fact rooted in racism. Havel havalim.

Where do we look for something solid to hang on to? The opinions of the world, the justice of its courts and institutions, are failing us. And we ourselves are not immune to being blown apart by this hurricane wind on the inside and losing anything worth fighting for. In Israel, Jewish mobs have formed to attack “enemies” internal and external. Hatred and anger against the Palestinian Arabs grows. We are in danger of forgetting their humanity and their pain. We are in danger of losing our ability to think rationally, to think long term. We cannot and will not find security in the courts of the world. We must make our own reality, one that reflects what we know to be true. And we must hold to that reality with strength and with love. That is what we are already doing in our best moments:

A Jewish restaurant gives a 50% discount to Jews and Arabs who eat together.
There are peace rallies in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.
Israelis find a variety of ways to laugh through what is happening and share them online.
Doctors in Israeli hospitals treat Palestinian terrorists alongside their victims.

We know that Israelis want peace, and that Jewish values in no way mandate injustice or aggression towards Palestinians or anyone else. We must make our own peace and our own future, through clinging to our own highest values like a rudder in the storm. And, as we find a way to a just divorce with the Palestinian Arabs, as Amos Oz so rightly said we need to do, both for their sake and for our own, we must at no time forget the humanity of each Palestinian Arab. We must not demonize them, must not forget that every Palestinian Arab is made in the image of God. Our own spiritual tradition, the beating heart of our highest values, mandates that we do not return hatred for hatred. At no time may we forget to fear the loss of our own humanity under the impact of their knife blades and bombs and stones. That is the way to commemorate Kristallnacht.

Matthew Gindin is a writer, lecturer and holistic therapist. As well as teaching holistic medicine, Gindin regularly lectures on topics in Jewish and world spirituality, and has a particular passion for making ancient wisdom traditions relevant in the modern world. His work has been featured on Elephant Journal, the Zen Site and Wisdom Pills, and he blogs at Talis in Wonderland (mgindin.wordpress.com) and Voices (hashkata.com).

Need different view of Jerusalem

Sirens always make me pause. I fall silent and count one off, praying that there won’t be another. Because two sirens, as we used to say, are not women in labor.

Distant memories from the Intifada segue into those of summer last. Somehow, the rise of conflict in Jerusalem always comes along with the rising temperatures. But after the emergency meetings, the touring politicians, the dramatic headlines, there comes the first rain, and everything calms down. Then the countdown begins for next summer.

Some, though, aren’t content with just counting the days. Jeremy made aliya from D.C. six years ago. A reserve paratrooper officer, he rides his bike to work, halfway across town, each time reassuring his mother, thousands of miles away, that he wasn’t anywhere near the most recent attack. Last month, he joined a crowd of 5,000 to watch Matisyahu, the famous Jewish-American rapper, perform beneath the Old City walls. “Jerusalem If I Forget You gets a whole new meaning these days,” he tweeted, referring to the ancient prayer borrowed by Matisyahu for one of his songs.

Michal is a mother of four. At night, after putting her own children to bed, she has been going downtown, where she volunteers for a group seeking out dialogue with angst-filled youth bent on revenge. To her ever-concerned sister, she vows never to leave Jerusalem, with its crisp, cool air and still-low crime rates. It’s her husband who drops off the kids at school the following morning, where they are taught about the complexities of living in a mixed city, where you have to defend yourself with one hand and reach out to your would-be enemies with the other.

Another person is Ibrahim, a Hebrew University law student, and also a resident of Ras el-Amud, a Palestinian suburb shaken by recent events. Intimidating glares by Hamas supporters notwithstanding, he goes online every day, trying to convince people to stop the cycle of violence. Despite the long-standing advice of friends to relocate to Ramallah or the United States, he clings on to his naïve faith that there’s still hope in this conflict. Meanwhile, he alerts the authorities to suspicious happenings and, a few weeks back, confiscated a knife off of a 15-year-old brainwashed neighbor kid.

Then there’s Batia. She is an ultra-Orthodox woman. Every day she walks to work at City Hall. Despite having recently bought a canister of tear gas as a precaution, she prefers to put her faith in G-d and in the ubiquitous policemen. Just before Shabbat, she often goes up to them, to deliver fish, meat and chicken and to make their shift a little more pleasant.

Jerusalem keeps going, not through pompous statements, but through the hard work and devotion of its people, some elected officials, some social entrepreneurs and some ordinary citizens, united by relentless optimism and a profound love for their city. When things started getting really bad, I put out a call for an emergency meeting of Jerusalem civil society organizations. Within three hours, representatives from 33 organizations sat around a conference table at City Hall. It came as no surprise; even during “normal” times, the amount of people willing to sign up for civilian “reserve duty” is astounding.

There are teenagers handing out Israeli flags. Elderly people handing out small gifts to security personnel. Psychologists supporting youth in distress, activists helping out local businesses, and a string of independent online campaigns. These ordinary citizens allow the city to keep on living its life: thousands of students going back to school, the basketball team fighting to retain its championship title, and Buzz Aldrin, the second man on the moon, joining 2,000 people at the International Astronautical Congress last month.

This energy, this drive to take responsibility and think out of the box, are precisely what is needed to resolve the complexity of current events. We have to crack down on violence, while empowering moderate leaders; fight incitement on both sides and defend the right of every man and woman for freedom of worship; and make sure East and West Jerusalem get their share in infrastructure investments.

It’s time for this fresh perspective to rise from the bottom up. We are tired of instant solutions, quickly denounced by this side or the other of the political map. We are tired of those who take turns making political gains out of our hardship. Jerusalem is a different place, and requires a different point of view. The one we, young people of Jerusalem, discovered 10 years ago, when everyone else said the city was lost, and we formed Wake Up Jerusalem.

From this point of view, there is a lot of good to see. And even more to do.

Hanan Rubin is a Jerusalem city councilor and a co-founder of the solution-oriented political movement Wake Up Jerusalem, which focuses on quality of life issues for all Jerusalem residents.

Eatery’s unique offer

Recent visitors to the Hummus Bar at the M Mall in Kfar Vitkin, near Netanya. The eatery is offering a 50% deal on its hummus for Jews and Arabs who share a table and eat together. (photo from facebook.com/Mhumusbar)

An Israeli eatery is making headlines across the globe for its latest menu deal: 50% off any hummus dishes served to tables seating Jews and Arabs together.

Breaking bread together throughout history has always been an act of sharing and reconciliation. So, in response to the latest wave of terror attacks and incitement in Israel, Hummus Bar at the M Mall in Kfar Vitkin, near the coastal city of Netanya, posted a Facebook call for customers to share pita and hummus together – and pay less if they do.

The Oct. 13 post reads: “Scared of Arabs? Scared of Jews? At our place, we don’t have Arabs! But we also don’t have Jews … we’ve got human beings! And genuine, excellent Arab hummus! And great Jewish falafel! And a free refill for every serving of hummus, whether you’re Arab, Jewish, Christian, Indian, etc.”

Speaking to local media, manager Kobi Tzafrir said there were a number of people taking up the offer from his restaurant, which is famous for its chickpea spread. But, he added, the short post also fueled interest from around Israel and the world.

Hummus eateries are countless in Israel, yet Tzafrir reported that visitors have come from around the country to show support for the Hummus Bar’s message of tolerance and camaraderie.

“If there’s anything that can bring together these peoples, it’s hummus,” Tzafrir told the Times of Israel.

Hummus Bar’s Facebook page continues to garner positive posts from abroad, as well.

“Love the idea of bringing people together with food! Love and food conquers all!!” writes Urbian Fitz-James from the Netherlands.

“I think it is amazing what you guys are doing to unite people!” posts Josh Friesen from Canada.

“Thank you. This is marvelous,” writes Samir Kanoun from Turkey.

There are other messages of support – including from the United Kingdom, the United States and Japan – on the eatery’s Facebook page.

Hummus, of course, is a national dish in Israel, from the point of view of both Muslim and Jewish communities in the country. The International Day of Hummus even began here.

And it’s not just hummus that brings tolerance and coexistence. There are also Arab-Jewish owned eateries serving up coexistence, including Maxim restaurant in Haifa and Bouza ice cream in Tarshiha.

Viva Sarah Press reports on the creativity, innovation and ingenuity taking place in Israel. Her work has been published by international media outlets including Israel Television, CNN, Reuters, Time Out and the Jerusalem Post. Israel21C is a nonprofit educational foundation with a mission to focus media and public attention on the 21st-century Israel that exists beyond the conflict. For more, or to donate, visit israel21c.org.

Poet chooses politics over love?

In times of protracted conflict, can matters of the heart exist apart from politics? An award-winning documentary from Israeli filmmaker Ibtisam Mara’ana Menuhin left me at once spellbound, uplifted, sad and restless, as I found myself wrestling with this question.

Write Down, I am an Arab depicts the life of Palestinian national poet Mahmoud Darwish. The politics is important – more on that below – but what makes the film especially gripping is the story of Darwish’s catapult to national and international fame against the backdrop of his private longings for a woman on the other side of the Palestinian-Jewish divide.

Darwish met Tamar Ben Ami in the early 1960s at a political rally – this one for the Communist party in Israel. Frequently separated geographically – he under military administration (as all Arab citizens were until 1966) in Haifa, she studying in Jerusalem – Darwish documented his feelings for her in a series of letters.

I spoke with Tamar – by phone, Facebook and email – over the course of a few days. A dancer and choreographer (the film chronicles her stint in the Israeli navy’s performing troupe), Tamar divides her time between Tel Aviv and Berlin. She describes her art – and really her entire personal life – as being shaped by her time with Darwish. Her love for him is palpable, still.

Caught up as I am as a political scientist and columnist in contemplating political arrangements – refugees, Jerusalem, borders, one-state, two-state, federation or separation – Tamar operates differently.

“It’s cliché, and maybe I sound naive, but I believe in unconditional love,” Tamar tells me when I ask her what kind of political future she envisions. She is disturbed by what she sees as the artificial divisions of nations, races, ethnicities and religions, including what she sees as a dangerous interpretation of Jewish chosenness. “On this, the occupation has been nurtured.”

And, while it’s hard to disagree, I find myself confounded. Is the Palestinian national struggle one over occupation? Is it about the West Bank settlements, the land appropriation, the checkpoints and night raids and administrative detention? Or is it about the stones and earth of Palestinian towns and villages within Israel itself to which many Palestinians long to return? And, if it is the latter, how can the two national dreams ever be squared?

In the film, we see video footage of Darwish meeting a resident of Kibbutz Yas’ur, which was founded on the ruins of Darwish’s childhood village, al-Birwa. “It’s a moment of sadness and hope,” Darwish says to the man. “The sadness is that I’m not allowed to go back to that place and you have the right to go back there. But if we have the ability to be friends and we are friends, then peace is still possible.”

On one hand, it’s a wholly human encounter. On the other hand, once we put the subject of Israeli towns, cities and kibbutzim within pre-1967 Israel on the table, we are talking about the core of Israel’s identity, one which Israelis – and most Jews worldwide – are loathe to give up. And, if I’m really honest with myself, as a (liberal) Zionist who shares the Jewish national dream of those kibbutzniks, then perhaps the pain is also mine.

Nowhere was the tension between resisting occupation and demanding more fundamental claims more evident than in Darwish’s highly controversial 1988 poem called “Passers Between the Passing Words.” There, Darwish wrote: “It is time for you to be gone. Live wherever you like, but do not live among us…. For we have work to do in our land. So leave our country, our land, our sea, our wheat, our salt, our wounds, everything; and leave.”

With the first intifada raging at the time, Tamar is certain that the poem is about the occupation, not about Israel itself. “What can the occupied do?” Tamar recalls Darwish saying. The irony is that Darwish didn’t even think it was a good poem, Tamar says. To be judged by that poem pained him, and more than anything he longed to be considered a universal poet, Tamar adds.

After the 1988 poem controversy, Tamar found herself in Paris, trying to reconnect with Darwish, who was now at the centre of Palestinian politics. While she was sitting with him, Darwish took a call from Yasser Arafat. They spoke in Arabic. She could not make out what they were saying. The next day, when she called him again, Darwish rebuffed her: “You are not my girlfriend.”

We can never know whether Darwish, who died in 2008, chose politics over matters of the heart, or whether this unkind ending was just like so many ruptures between once-lovers: prosaic and universal.

But Darwish and Tamar did have contact again. After Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin’s assassination, Darwish reached out to her in compassion. And, in 2000, Education Minister Yossi Sarid attempted to introduce two Darwish poems to the Israeli (Jewish) national curriculum. Stormy Knesset debate ensued, and the government narrowly survived a no-confidence vote. Darwish called Tamar. “My poetry is so important that over it the government nearly fell?” he mused.

Though their romance had ended, they clearly shared a sense of absurdity in how the universal language of poetry can be thrust into the forefront of the ugly struggles over land, narratives, history and invisibility. It’s a story that continues to be told, even as Tamar will always think in terms of interpersonal love as much as in terms of borders and territory.

Mira Sucharov is an associate professor of political science at Carleton University. She blogs at Haaretz and the Jewish Daily Forward. A version of this article was originally published on haartez.com.

Is it paradise or pinkwashing?

Organizers estimate 180,000 people marched in the Tel Aviv Pride parade, June 12. (photo by Robin Perelle)

Alberto Lukacs-Böhm dabs a handful of birds onto the sunny sea-to-sky poster he’s painting for Tel Aviv Pride.

To live openly as a gay man in today’s Tel Aviv is to be free, he says. “It’s like to drink a fresh, clean water. That’s freedom.”

The 65-year-old is one of seven seniors gathered around a table at the Tel Aviv gay centre on June 11. The members of Golden Rainbow (Keshet Zahav) are chatting and painting as they finalize their plans to march together in the city’s 17th annual Pride parade the next day.

For Lukacs-Böhm, the path to freedom was somewhat complicated. Though he knew he was gay from a very young age, he married a woman in Hungary to avoid upsetting his mother, a circus illusionist who cried when he told her he’d kissed a boy at age 13.

He returned to Israel in 1988, the same year the country decriminalized homosexual sex. It was time, he says, “to take back my life in my hand.”

“From very young, everybody knows I’m a gay,” he explains, “[but] it was always complicated to be gay.”

“Is it still complicated to be gay?” I ask.

“Nooo,” he says, his face lighting up in an ear-to-ear smile.

“No whatsoever!”

“To speak about homosexuality or lesbian or transgender – it’s absolutely normal in Israel,” he says.

* * *

It’s day two of a five-day press trip to Israel, sponsored and entirely funded by the Israeli tourism ministry to show off Tel Aviv Pride to 43 journalists from around the world.

Day one began with an exuberant tour of gay Tel Aviv, led by Shai Doitsh, chair from 2012 to 2015 of the Aguda, Israel’s national LGBT task force. For the last decade, Doitsh has also been working with the tourism ministry and the municipality of Tel Aviv to market the city as a gay destination, a project he initiated in 2005, according to his LinkedIn profile.

Doitsh paints a rosy picture of Tel Aviv as one of the most accepting cities in the world, a year-round gay haven, where as much as 25 to 35 percent of the population may be gay, he claims.

Tel Aviv is a gay hub, both in Israel and throughout the region, he says, pausing repeatedly on Rothschild Boulevard and its surrounding streets to point out gay-friendly venues and the abundance of rainbow flags flying throughout the city for Pride.

photo - Alberto Lukacs-Böhm, right, stands behind Golden Rainbow members Nitzan Aviv and David Goldstein, centre — Alberto Lukacs-Böhm, right, stands behind Golden Rainbow members Nitzan Aviv and David Goldstein, centre. *(photo by Robin Perelle)*

He lists the many rights and benefits enjoyed by gay Tel Avivim, such as protection from workplace discrimination (introduced throughout Israel in 1992); the right to serve equally in the military (considered deeply important in a culture that requires military duty and prioritizes serving one’s country); the right to adopt your same-sex partner’s children (though surrogacy and marriage remain off-limits under the purview of ultra-Orthodox rabbis who frown on gay families); and Tel Aviv’s gay centre and Pride parade, both supported and funded by the municipality.

The gay community has a strong presence in Tel Aviv and in the city’s secular politics, Doitsh says.

“Our movement and our fight for equality is definitely the most successful in Israel” among the country’s minority groups, he says.

* * *

Doitsh may have a vested interest in trumpeting Tel Aviv’s gay appeal, but every gay, lesbian and transgender Israeli I’ve interviewed in the last few weeks has echoed his assessment. The city genuinely welcomes and supports its LGBT community, they say, or at least those members who more closely match mainstream norms.

It’s also a bubble that bears little resemblance to the rest of Israel, they all agree.

“Being in Tel Aviv is a bit like being in New York and pretending you see the entire United States,” says Moshe Zvi who, with his partner Eyal Alon, has joined the crowd gathering in Meir Park for the city’s Pride parade June 12.

“It’s a state within a state,” Alon says.

“I call it a bubble of sanity,” Zvi says.

Organizers tell us that 180,000 people are expected to gather in Meir Park to march in this year’s parade, making it the largest Pride in the Middle East and Asia.

As the marchers begin to file out towards Bograshov Street, Alon and Zvi tell me about some of the tensions that simmer beneath Israel’s seemingly gay-friendly surface.

Though Tel Aviv is a more liberal, secular city, Israel’s relatively small ultra-Orthodox Jewish community wields a disproportionate amount of political power in the national legislature due to the nature of Israel’s coalition politics, which rely on small-party support to pass most initiatives.

The ultra-Orthodox hold “almost a monopoly on power concerning marriage, cemeteries, conversion,” David Goldstein says.

Goldstein, 73, moved to Tel Aviv five years ago from San Francisco, fulfilling a lifelong dream. Now a member of the Golden Rainbow group, he says he feels much safer here than in the United States. But Tel Aviv is a bubble, he readily agrees.

It’s a secular city founded by Jewish businessmen who wanted a city of their own, he explains. Jerusalem, in contrast, is a holy city. Tel Aviv is anything but, he says, though it’s holy to the gay community and others who encourage diversity and a cosmopolitan lifestyle – anathema to the ultra-Orthodox community’s strictly religious worldview.

“They’re a very closed community,” Zvi says.

Being gay is “illogical in their way of thinking,” Goldstein says. “They would say, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that you’re this way.’”

Though he doesn’t consider the ultra-Orthodox mean-spirited in their anti-gay views – it’s “not the hatred that I find among [the] American right-wing,” he says – their steadfast repudiation of gay families makes life outside Tel Aviv less hospitable.

In one of Israel’s few headline-grabbing anti-gay hate crimes, an ultra-Orthodox man notoriously stabbed three people in the Jerusalem Pride parade in 2005, as protesters, mostly religious Jews, lined the route. Jerusalem Pride persists, I’m told, but it’s both more political and more tense than Tel Aviv’s cheerful take on the event.

It is getting easier to come out in other parts of Israel, Alon says. But it’s still easiest in Tel Aviv, where the ultra-Orthodox community is smaller, wields less power and seems more resigned to surrender the secular city to its wicked ways.

* * *

Then there are the more obvious, if less willingly broached, tensions.

Of course, Tel Aviv is a bubble, says Tal Jarus-Hakak who, with her partner Avital, was a lesbian feminist in Israel long before their nine-year legal battle successfully set a precedent allowing gays and lesbians to adopt their partners’ children.

Tel Aviv may be a cheerful, colorful, tolerant city with beautiful beaches, clubs, an increasingly well-established gay community with more and more families and businesses, and “an amazing, vibrant” gay culture, they say, but 60 kilometres away there is war, violence and poverty in many areas of Israel.

I’m sitting with the Jarus-Hakaks on the deck of their Vancouver home a few days after my return from Israel, a country they left in 2006 because, despite all their attempts to change its policies through protest and democratic means, they found the pace of change too slow and life there too traumatic, especially raising three sons.

Staying inside the bubble of Tel Aviv is “a survival mode,” Tal says. But it can get uncomfortable, too.

“Is that why you moved here?” I ask.

It’s hard to live outside the bubble – with consciousness – but it’s hard to stay inside the bubble, too, she says. Many people would call us traitors for saying this, she adds, but we’re not speaking against Israel. We’re speaking for Israel, to try to do things differently, she says.

Hadar Namir says she doesn’t want to go back to Israel either. One of Israel’s pioneering lesbian activists, Namir has been on vacation in Vancouver since April.

“I’m not wishing to go back,” she says. “I’m not comfortable with the human rights situation in Israel. That, for example, Arab-Israeli citizens are remote from being equal – and this is authorized by the government for years.”

Namir, who spent 15 years working with Israel’s Association for Civil Rights, draws me a map of the country. She places Tel Aviv on the Mediterranean coast, adds Haifa further north and Jerusalem about 45 minutes east, inland. Then she adds the occupied territories.

photo - Hadar Namir says she’s uncomfortable with the human rights situation in Israel — Hadar Namir says she’s uncomfortable with the human rights situation in Israel. *(photo by Robin Perelle)*

The map, unlike anything I saw during our ministry-sponsored tours of Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, fills with fences and checkpoints, until it’s a messy, convoluted ink-blot puzzle. She tells me stories of families divided, cut off from each other and their land or forced to take long detours to tend their olive trees, if they can tend them at all. She says there are different legal systems in the occupied territories: one for Jewish people accused of committing a crime and a different system for Arab people. She talks about inadequate government support for Arab cities, and difficulty accessing health care.

“Some gay men say, ‘let not interfere our fight for LGBT rights with other fights.’ Not me. I don’t believe it,” she says.

“I don’t want to simplify things,” she hastens to add. “It’s much more complicated” than good Israelis and Hamas terrorists. “And I do understand the desire for a Jewish state,” she says.

But different people have different narratives, she says: Independence Day for some is considered a disaster for others.

* * *

One commonly repeated narrative in Israel and around the world is that Arab communities kill gay people, further distinguishing Israel as a gay oasis.

Most of the Israelis I met in Tel Aviv hesitated when I asked them if gay Palestinians would be marching in the Pride parade.

There must be some gay Palestinians here, Zvi and Alon say, after a brief pause.

“I don’t think it’s easy being a gay Arab anywhere,” Zvi offers. “As in everything, I think life in Israel is easier than life in Palestine.”

Alon mentions a gay Palestinian party in Tel Aviv, and some gay-known coffee shops in Ramallah. But they’re discreet, he says.

Karl Walter, one of our tour guides, says there likely are Arabs participating in the parade, but quietly. They wouldn’t be able to go home, he tells me, “because the Arabs would kill them.”

Arabs “crush” gays in Gaza and in Ramallah, he asserts.

The reality, says Samira Saraya, is more complicated.

Saraya lives in Tel Aviv as an openly gay Palestinian woman. She is also an actress, an activist and a nurse who, in 2003, co-founded Aswat, a group for gay Palestinian women. She also attended the first monthly gay Palestinian parties in Tel Aviv.

“It’s complicated to live in Tel Aviv and be an Arab as well,” she tells me by phone, a week after my return from Israel. “Living in a kind of militaristic society…. On the other hand, I really love the people around me. But the moment we get into politics, it’s complicated.”

I ask her if Tel Aviv’s gay-friendly embrace extends to gay Palestinians.

“If you are willing to bargain your identity, if you are willing to be more Israeli, less Palestinian,” she says. “It depends.”

I ask if she has faced discrimination within the gay community.

“Of course,” she replies. She recalls one experience doing outreach to high school students with a mostly Jewish LGBT organization and hearing a fellow presenter say he wouldn’t date an Arab.

In the gay community, she says, “they don’t see that there is a connection between being oppressed for your sexual identity and your ethnic identity.”

As for the common refrain that Arabs kill gays, she says it’s too easy to paint Israel as democratic and gay-friendly against a backdrop of Arab homophobia. She says she enters the occupied territories as an openly gay Palestinian and no one has ever hurt her.

“I go as a lesbian to Ramallah, as well, and to Nazareth, and do not face homophobia or somebody cursing me because I’m a dyke.”

Palestinian society is “chauvinist and homophobic,” she says, but there are Palestinian people in the occupied territories living their lives as openly gay and nobody is killing them. Some of her friends are even out to their families, she adds.

Though Saraya says many Palestinians who live in Israel go to Tel Aviv Pride, it’s almost impossible for gay people from the occupied territories to get permission to attend. “Less and less people are permitted to come to Israel,” she says. “There are checkpoints and restrictions and protocols.”

* * *

I ask Namir what she thinks of the Israeli tourism ministry flying me and 42 other journalists from around the world to Tel Aviv for Pride.

Tel Aviv is a genuinely gay-friendly city, she says, and the municipality really does support the parade, the community centre and even a shelter for LGBT youth. “I do believe the credit is there,” she says. “I’m totally respectful that the minute that we decided to go out of the closet in 1993, they were opening the doors to us.” But it’s still “pinkwashing,” she says.

Tal Jarus-Hakak agrees. The ministry brought you over to show “the nice part of Israel, how tolerant we are,” she tells me.

It’s “part of their propaganda to show Israel as a gem in this area” – the only democratic country in this area, she says.

But Israel is the only democratic country in that area, Avital interjects.

“But even if that’s the case, it does not take off of Israel the responsibility for what it’s doing in the occupied territories,” Tal replies.

“There’s nothing wrong about the parade in Tel Aviv and nothing wrong about people coming to the parade,” Saraya says. “What’s wrong is trying to use the parade to cover the other violations that Israel do every day. This is pinkwashing.”

Zvi isn’t so sure. He doesn’t think showing off Pride necessarily detracts from the Palestinian situation. “I think mindfulness is in order,” he says, “but I’m glad people are coming to Tel Aviv. God knows Israel could use some good publicity. Should Tel Aviv not get this kind of feedback? I want tourists to come here.”

Walter, our guide, vehemently rejects any suggestion of pinkwashing.

“The thing to understand is that the gay parade and all that we’ve accomplished is for us,” he says, “not for tourism. It’s not for show. It’s not a PR stunt. It’s the most visible expression of freedom in the world – the only free gay community in the Middle East. People tend to forget that. We don’t.”

Gay rights in Israel have nothing to do with the Palestinian situation, he says. “If anyone uses the term pinkwashing, you immediately know that he’s a racist and a homophobe. He doesn’t have the decency to say that my foes – they did something good.”

Tourism ministries in other countries also show off their best traits to visitors, Goldstein points out.

He, too, finds the pinkwashing criticism unfair.

“I think the critics of Israel – they’re really against Israel to begin with,” he says. “People who have an axe to grind and [are] trying to besmirch Israel any way they can. So, any good points, they say they’re doing it to fool the people. I think it’s a bit antisemitic to say that.”

* * *

Back in the seniors’ room at the Tel Aviv gay centre, Lukacs-Böhm cheerfully cleans up his paints and prepares for another day in his gay paradise.

“For me, [to] be free is to drink cold, clean water when I want and how I want,” he says, with a smile.

Robin Perelle is the managing editor in Vancouver of Daily Xtra, Canada’s gay and lesbian news source. This story first ran on dailyxtra.com on July 2.

Choosing the side of hope

When focusing on Israeli-Palestinian relations, as I do for a living, it’s nice to have a good news story to relay once in awhile. On June 22, the annual Victor J. Goldberg Prize for Peace in the Middle East (run by the New York-based Institute of International Education) was awarded to Yehuda Stolov and Salah Aladdin, two leaders of the Interfaith Encounter Association (IEA). To many outsiders, inter-ethnic encounter experiences seem a no-brainer when it comes to grassroots, peace-building efforts. But not everyone is so convinced, particularly the “anti-normalization” faction of the Palestine solidarity movement.

The Goldberg Prize recognizes “outstanding work being conducted jointly by two individuals, one Arab and one Israeli, working together to advance the cause of peace in the Middle East … [by] bringing people together and breaking down the barriers of hatred toward ‘the other.’” It comes with $10,000 US.

IEA brings together Israelis and West Bank Palestinians to engage with one another in an “interactive, interfaith encounter” context. The organization has run 1,900 programs over 13 years, with 4,000 individuals participating in 2014 alone. Stolov is executive director of IEA, and Aladdin has taken on various leadership roles in the organization, most recently as assistant director.

The so-called “anti-normalization” movement is amplified by elements of the Palestine solidarity movement who associate with BDS (boycott, divestment and sanctions). For example, the Palestinian Campaign for the Academic and Cultural Boycott of Israel guidelines urge that Israeli-Palestinian encounter-type initiatives be boycotted under the rubric of “anti-normalization.” The guidelines go on to suggest that “events, projects, publications, films or exhibitions that are designed to bring together Palestinians/Arabs and Israelis so they can present their respective narratives or perspectives, or to work toward reconciliation, ‘overcoming barriers,’ etc., without addressing the root causes of injustice and the requirements of justice” be boycotted.

The anti-normalization tendency may be understandable as a philosophical commitment, particularly if one believes – as those BDS activists do – that justice points to the amelioration of only one side’s lot. But even if one believes that the only justice to be served is that of the Palestinians, the anti-normalization tendency is a misguided way to hope to achieve it.

Psychologists have long shown the importance of the “contact hypothesis” for reducing intergroup prejudice. Recent studies have even shown that even “imagining a positive interaction” with an outgroup member can be just as powerful in reducing prejudice as face-to-face encounters can be. And the first step in getting Israelis to realize the power their country wields over Palestinian life and dignity is to render the Palestinian experience visible.

Stolov agrees. The only way to end the occupation, Stolov explained when I reached him by phone in Israel, is to increase the sense of human connection between Israelis and Palestinians. Aware of the anti-normalization pressures some participants may feel, participation in IEA is kept “under the radar,” press access is restricted and meeting spots are chosen so the events can appear as inconspicuous as possible.

As the lead Palestinian drafter of the 2003 Geneva initiative, which sought to lay out a two-state plan for Israeli-Palestinian peace, Ghaith al-Omari has every reason to be jaded. And having advised the Palestinian negotiating team from 1999 to 2001, al-Omari knows firsthand how little has emerged from the halting peace process. Still, he has recently declared his opposition to the anti-normalization movement in a moving essay in Fikra Forum, reprinted on the Third Narrative website (thirdnarrative.org/israel-palestine-articles/ills-of-anti-normalization), where I serve as co-director of its scholars for Israel and Palestine affiliate group. People like al-Omari and the founders of IEA and even the Goldberg peace prize visionaries realize the possibilities inherent in hope rather than cynicism. And if you have to choose among them – as it seems you do these days – I’d rather be on the side of hope.

Mira Sucharov is an associate professor of political science at Carleton University. She blogs at Haaretz and the Jewish Daily Forward. This article was originally published in the Canadian Jewish News.

A more realistic future

Ari Shavit speaks at Winnipeg’s Shaarey Zedek Synagogue. (photo by Rebeca Kuropatwa)

As part of the Jewish Heritage Centre of Western Canada’s Annual Sol and Florence Kanee Distinguished Lecture Speaker Series, leading Israeli columnist and writer Ari Shavit addressed a packed room of 300 people on the topic Is Peace Dead? The talk took place April 19 at Shaarey Zedek Synagogue in Winnipeg.

Shavit, who described himself a “diehard peacenik,” said he is more comfortable referring to what some call “the Arab Awakening” as “the Arab Chaos.”

He explained, “We were hoping for an Arab Spring. It turned into something else and the result is the Arab Chaos. The old order that ruled over the Arab world has collapsed, but it was not replaced by any liberal democracy. It was replaced with more tribalism, more fanaticism and much more violence. We now see a human catastrophe engulfing a large part of the region and the acute situation of instability. I care about my fellow humans and we have to be saddened that we have such a terrible human catastrophe.”

Even worse, in Shavit’s view, “There is no more chance in the upcoming years to have the old kind of peace we hoped for,” he said. “I don’t think we can have the kind of peace agreement like with Egypt or Jordan in the coming years, because those were peace agreements that were signed with tyranny.”

Shavit used Syria as an example, saying that, back in the 1990s and in early 2000, he very much supported a peace agreement with Syria. But, he said, “Now, there is no one to make peace with.

“The good news is the more clear division within the Arab community. Many Arab moderates are now terrified by Iran, by ISIS, by the Islamic Brotherhood, by Al-Qaeda, by extremists, [so] they actually are closer to Israel than they ever were in the past. So, there is a kind of interesting potential within this sad, tragic, acute situation.”

According to Shavit, the road to peace today begins with the understanding that we cannot reach a two-state solution with the Palestinians in the coming months or years.

“We won’t have the comprehensive peace we hoped for,” said Shavit. “But, on the other hand, we should not accept the status quo. And, I think we should launch a two-state dynamic, which would lead to a two-state state to start with, and eventually lead to a two-state solution.”

Regionally, Shavit stressed the need for Israel to work much more closely with Egypt, Saudi Arabia, the Gulf countries and Jordan, as, he said, “They are closer to Israel than they ever were.”

Though Shavit conceded that the likelihood of signing a new formal peace agreement may not currently be in the cards, he encouraged “building a kind of peace based on economic interests, mutual interests and strategic interests.”

What Shavit envisions is “the kind of peace agreement [Israel] had with Jordan before the 1994 peace signing. There were no embassies, there were no Nobel Prizes, no White House ceremonies, but we had a very close, intimate relationship – quite a lot of the time – better than after the formal signing. That should be an example of what can be done in this new chaotic situation.”

Shavit sees potential for “cooperation as opposed to a utopian peace.” Potential partners for this cooperation, Shavit suggested would include “the major Arab Sunni nations led by moderate people…. [People who] are not deeply concerned or interested in human rights or democracy, but they don’t want extremists. Saudi Arabia and the other Gulf States fall into that category. So, the strategic game now is pretty much controlled by two non-Arab countries – Israel and Turkey – and, I would say, Egypt and Saudi Arabia.”

As to whether or not these partners are interested in just cooperation or a more lasting peace, Shavit said, “I think they want to live and they want stability. Therefore, if we promote this new peace concept, I think there’s a chance of having a better relationship. I think many of them see Israel as a partner in that.

“It’s not that they are going to have a religious conversion…. I don’t see a kind of relationship that France and Spain have or Canada and the U.S. do, but, I do see a kind of Middle East-style relationship – the ability to create a structure that can be formed again if we endorse the right ideas.”

Regarding Israel’s recent elections, Shavit feels that the left lost more than the right won. “The lack of a peace plan of action had a lot to do with that. Even the left-wing part[ies] were not very aggressive at promotional peace. The peace talked about in the national community is a kind of peace that is totally detached.”

Shavit is hopeful that Israelis will open their hearts to peace, in the case where “a kind of new peace, a concept that is more realistic, comes around. As long as the community talks about European-style peace, when we have a kind of evil political reality in a large part of the Middle East, Israelis will not buy into that.”

International support is critical to any potential peace progress and, while Shavit loves Canada in many ways, he said, “I appreciate that Canada is supportive of Israel, when there aren’t many that support Israel in such a way. [But] obviously, the real relevant player is the United States.

“I hope that America will endorse a new kind of peace policy and then build a wide coalition – first of all with Canada, then with the European powers and then with the moderate Arabs and Israelis – addressing the issues in a realistic way.”

Shavit believes that the “dysfunctional relationship” of Binyamin Netanyahu and Barack Obama is not advancing the situation. “I hope I can be successful in encouraging an intellectual process to be helpful in bringing some change to that,” he said.

Shavit, like many others in Israel and around the world, is waiting to see what kind of Israeli government will be formed. “If we do have a right-wing government, with [Avigdor] Lieberman being the centre, I worry that we will have unpleasant legislation that will alienate the Arab minority even more and jeopardize the fragile relationship with them. If it will be more moderate in the centre, there is less danger.

“I think the last six months were very troubling, with unprecedented legislation or attempts [to discriminate], though most failed. I hope and pray that our power will not go back to that kind of approach. I think it will endanger Israel’s soul in a serious way.”

Shavit is hopeful that minority rights will not be trampled, as “the tradition of the historic Israeli right always combines nationalism with liberalism, with a deep respect for democracy. I really hope we will not see dark forces in Israel rising to power.”

Rebeca Kuropatwa is a Winnipeg freelance writer.

Envisioning a peaceful future

photo - Mira Sucharov spoke on March 2 as part of the University of Winnipeg’s Middle East Week — Mira Sucharov spoke on March 2 as part of the University of Winnipeg’s Middle East Week. *(photo from Mira Sucharov)*

As part of Middle East Week at the University of Winnipeg, Mira Sucharov, associate professor of political science at Carleton University in Ottawa, spoke on the topic of Power and Identity Across the Israeli-Palestinian Divide.

About 60 people came out March 2 to the university’s Convocation Hall to hear Sucharov, who is currently the country analyst for Israel and the Palestinian territories for Freedom House, as well as a blogger and writer whose work appears regularly in several publications around the world, including the Jewish Independent.

Sucharov sees relations between Palestinians and Israelis as more polarized now than at any other time since the peace process that began two decades ago. She said she was pleased to be part of U of W’s Middle East Week, as it promotes dialogue, in contrast to the situation on many North American campuses, where hardened opposing camps are choosing shouting over listening.

Describing herself as a liberal Zionist, Sucharov explained the term as referring to someone who “believes that there is legitimacy to Israel’s existence, and that nations deserve a state.” However, “liberal Zionists not only acknowledge the existence of Israel and support its existence, they are deeply troubled by its occupation.”

Sucharov said that, while some Israelis and Israel supporters prefer the term “disputed land” to the term “occupation,” Sucharov views “occupation” as “an important word.” She explained, “We’re not just talking about a geographic swap of land. We’re talking about a population of Palestinians who are not citizens of any country.

“The IDF, on a macro level and often on a micro level, is in charge of the area and the daily lives of Palestinians who have to pass through checkpoints to get to work, to farm their land…. We know about the Israeli security barrier or separation wall that has served to disrupt daily lives in many ways in the West Bank.

“So, liberal Zionists are troubled by this idea of occupation and seek to do what they can to end it. As a Canadian from Winnipeg, I feel that by engaging in constructive discussion, constantly being educated, I can help people at a global level think more deeply, critically, and in a more engaged way about issues of global concern.”

Sucharov said that there are financial incentives, as well as ideological motivations, for living in the West Bank. “There are many who’ve moved to the West Bank because it’s cheaper,” she noted. “Part of it, no doubt, was wanting to return to biblical Israel, a sense of having a greater Israel, of being/having religious/national identity fulfilled. There’s another important motivating factor, and that was the idea of Israel having a wider girth, more strategic depth.”

In Sucharov’s view, “the occupation” should not be permanent, and dialogue is needed to get governments together for peace talks. “The only way to end the occupation is if Israelis and Palestinians come together to discuss and negotiate an agreement,” she said.

As for what such an agreement may look like, Sucharov imagines “a city with two capitals: Jerusalem, a holy place for all religions to pray at their own places of worship. Refugees will probably be returned, free return to a Palestinian state. There will probably be some compensation package, [on a] humanitarian basis for some refugees … based on historical agreements.”

If the Geneva initiative does take place, said Sucharov, “Can Israel feel safe with such an agreement?

“It used to be called, ‘give an inch, they’ll take a mile,’” she continued. “Now, there is a concern about the fact that Palestinians in a recent poll have indicated that they would want to use a two-state agreement as the beginnings of full takeover.

“Palestinians, no doubt, would want all of Israel … many of them … and Israelis, no doubt, would want all of Palestine … many of them. The question is, even if some Palestinians were desirous of acquiring or launching terrorist missions with or without the consent of its governing authority, could Israel defend itself?”

If/when Israelis and Palestinians reach an agreement, she said, they would have to make sure that there were “security guarantees from the United States … [that] the U.S. will guarantee the security of Israel.

“Palestine would have to agree to be a de-militarized state. So, both sides will not have to necessarily trust each other … [they] would have to understand that there is a security guarantee in the form of a major global superpower.

“That’s the two-state solution. But, there certainly are those in the military establishment of any state who could stand to gain from an ongoing conflict…. We have to … make peace seem more attractive.”

As things stand, Sucharov said, “Palestinians and Israelis are almost mutually fearful of one another.… I think the biggest obstacle is the culture of mutual fear.”

And then there is the question of whether or not Iran, if there is the possibility of peace between Israelis and Palestinians, will “behave in a suicidal fashion,” said Sucharov. “That’s what, in international relations, [they] call the … idea of nuclear deterrence – the idea that more nukes make the world safer. I’d prefer less nukes, less proliferation, but there is a logic to the idea of stability of nuclear weapons.

“Once peace is achieved by the government, ideally, the next generation grows up in a culture in which the status quo exists.

“Regional threats would be diffused to make peace,” she continued. However, “the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is not the only conflict in the region and we’re not going to see peace on earth, but Iran and other enemies of Israel … Hamas … would have less wind in their sails. The status quo would be peace, so there would hopefully be less local support for their belligerent postures.”

Rebeca Kuropatwa is a Winnipeg freelance writer.

Biggest improbability?

In September of 1978, U.S. president Jimmy Carter was at his wit’s end after 12 days of face-to-face negotiations between himself, Egyptian president Anwar Sadat and Israeli prime minister Menachem Begin.

Neither party was at all inclined to make peace, both had legitimate grievances with the other nation, advisors were telling them peace was not possible and that the leader and the nation each man represented could not be trusted. Things got so heated that all three parties had packed their bags and prepared statements that the talks had failed. Cars were idling in the Camp David driveway and Marine One, the presidential helicopter, was being readied to return Carter to Washington empty-handed.

Failure then, in the midst of the Cold War, would have meant an opening for the further arming of Egypt by the USSR and the nuclearization of the Middle East, where ultimately the fanatical forces that were then lurking in the shadows could very well force the Superpowers into a feared nuclear standoff. This was much like what was happening in East and West Germany at the time, only in the hot desert sands of the Middle East, it was far more likely that tempers would boil over.

These were the stakes at Camp David. The proposition was that Israel give back the Sinai Desert, land it had captured in the Six Day War, land that served as their saving buffer zone in the Yom Kippur War just five years earlier. Land that contained settlements of Israeli citizens that Begin had pledged on his life never to abandon. To do all of that in exchange for a piece of paper that promised peace, signed by three men who did not trust each other.

No one thought it probable or possible, not between these three men, Begin and Sadat, who had spent a lifetime fighting each other, and Carter, who lacked power at home and credibility abroad.

And, yet, they signed a lasting peace treaty. Israel had been at war with Egypt in one form or another for literally millennia, since the days of Pharaoh. They have not been at war since and, next to Jordan, Egypt is Israel’s closest ally in the region today.

Mark Twain said, “History doesn’t repeat itself but it often rhymes.” No two eras or events are the same, but many if not all have similarities.

Three years before Camp David, president Gerald Ford had announced that the United States would be reevaluating its relationship with Israel because of Israel’s power play, along with France, in the Suez Canal. A crisis, if you recall, that nearly, like the Cuban Missile Crisis, was only a series of missteps away from another nuclear confrontation between the United States and the USSR.

You could not have had Camp David if you had not also had the sobering realization of the Suez Canal Crisis. Carter could not have pressured Begin to do the good and hard thing for the future of Israel if Ford had not created enough daylight between the United States and Israel for Begin to see the light at the end of the endless wars with Egypt tunnel.

“History doesn’t repeat itself but it often rhymes.” I am neither a politician, nor a political scientist – though in truth I have a degree in the latter and every rabbi must ultimately learn the skills of the former. I am a student and teacher of history, the history of our people both in the land and yearning for the Land of Israel – and in all that has happened in these past many years, really since the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin (alav ha’shalom), I hear the rhyme of history.

Call it “darkest before the dawn,” but while I am filled with worry, the seriousness of the matter gives me hope that it can no longer be ignored or put off. That the pressure of absolutes that made Camp David possible has returned to make peace between the Israelis and Palestinians possible, though still improbable once again.

The region and its people are under near-bursting pressure. But pressure such as faces Israel also clarifies priorities. The greatest achievements of diplomacy have often come in the face of the most extreme pressure or, as Carl von Clausewitz wrote, “War is diplomacy by other means.”

Let’s examine the pressures in play.

In Israel, the status quo between Israelis and Palestinians is set to devolve into a third intifada. Meanwhile, there is a seismic schism between the Jews in Tel Aviv who voted overwhelmingly for the left and the Jews in Jerusalem who voted overwhelmingly for the right. Israelis on left and right are living two different realities, and they want two different futures for themselves and for the Palestinians.

In the Arab world, the forces of fundamentalism have shaken what little remains of the nation-states from their complacency with and tolerance for radicalization. Arab armies are mobilized against radicalism and terror. Yes, there is a vacuum of leadership throughout the Arab world, including among the Palestinians – but that also creates space for a leader to emerge.

Outside of the Middle East there is a fundamental disagreement between Western democracies that want Israel to act more like them, and Israel that wants the West to see that the terrorist threat confronting its democracy today is coming to their shores tomorrow. And for much of Europe tomorrow is today.

Jews are under attack around the globe. Antisemitism has come out of hiding once again. Much of antisemitism is ignorance and, yet, where do we find it? Most shockingly in our institutions of higher learning, where, in the most distorted and twisted forms, they equate Jews with Nazis. We see this happening particularly in the BDS campaigns that are sweeping across North American university campuses and right here at the University of British Columbia. These same antisemites defend terrorists as “heroes,” inviting them as speakers on campus. The Talmud says, “olam hafouch,” the world is upside down. Indeed, bigotry masquerades as fairness.

The pressure is not only external; it is internal, as well. The relationship between Jews in the Diaspora and Jews in Israel is becoming a dysfunctional marriage. It’s not headed for divorce but maybe separate bedrooms, as each tries to focus on things they love about the other, even when they are disappointed in the other.

It seems hopeless, I know, this election result whether you are left or right – the winner of the election was “hopelessness” itself. As Binyamin Netanyahu declared, in his view, there will never be a Palestinian state while he is prime minister. Those who voted for him believe that to be true and those who voted against him believe that to be true. That is the very definition of being without hope.

There is no solution to this conflict in this neighborhood, in this region, in this time. And, with no Palestinian leader who can do the same, it’s just not possible.

And, yet, we said the same before Camp David. We never thought Rabin would shake Arafat’s hand or make peace with Jordan. That Sharon, who built the settlements in Gaza would dismantle them, and that it didn’t lead to civil war.

Begin, Rabin, Sharon. These were not peace seekers, these were warriors, evolved Hawks.

We are not ready for another Camp David today; Netanyahu is not anywhere near ready, and there is no leader on the other side who can be a Sadat or a King Hussein of Jordan, a warrior who has the credibility to make peace.

By the same token, the only one in Israel right now who has the credibility to make peace with the Palestinians is Netanyahu. If he signs off on it, the people will believe it.

We are in a dark period and it may get darker. The pressure on Israel will only increase. The choices the country will have to make are impossible to understand right now. Our own solidarity both with Israel and with each other as fellow Jews will be tested, and there will be cracks. But that is nothing new for us, or for Israel. We don’t always agree, as Jews here or there, past or present, we seldom agree. In the end, however, what we have always done is survive. There’s the biggest improbability of all: that we are still here.

Israel is 67 years old. By comparison, it took the United States 150 years to reconcile slavery, a process that included a civil war, incomprehensible social disorder and civil unrest. And the United States, which is almost 200 years older than Israel, is still not yet resolved on the issue of race, as Ferguson – among many other events – reminds us.

Canada could say some of the same about true reconciliation with First Nations. We are not yet there.

This election was part of the growing pains of a nation and, in the age of nations, Israel is barely a teenager. Israel is the bat mitzvah girl who stands proudly, if not ironically, before the congregation and declares, “Today, I am a woman!” And we all smile and say to ourselves, “Not yet, but today you gave us a glimpse of the woman you will one day be. It would be more accurate to proclaim, “Today, I will no longer act like a child.”

“The arc of history is long,” Martin Luther King Jr. preached, “but it bends toward justice.” That’s the history of the world and it’s the story of our people, a story we are telling again around our seder tables this week.

What do you take away from the seder? That Pharaoh was cruel? That slavery was terrible? Yes, but also that we were redeemed; that the pressure on Pharaoh ultimately helped him see the light.

“La’yehudim hayta orah” we sang just recently on Purim and every week, as we end Shabbat with Havdalah. “The Jews enjoyed light and gladness, honor and joy. May we, too, experience these same blessings.” In another dark time, when all hope appeared lost, there was light. Let there be light once again!

Dan Moskovitz is senior rabbi of Temple Sholom in Vancouver.