I Thought I Know What I Believe

Last Tuesday April 5, 2011, I stayed with all our boys in the home of the Jewish NISPED volunteers who are working with Arab partners to improve a handful of Bedouin elementary schools in the Negev. Their house in Be’er Sheva is like a college apartment or group house, like Saul’s (Leib’s brother) floor at Occidental, like my nieces Sara and Erin’s house in San Luis Obisbo, like my own 8-bedroom college group house on Plymouth Street in Santa Cruz. Except maybe this one is a little messier, which is no small feat. I didn’t see any piece of clothing hanging up or in a drawer. It was perfect for us! Perfectly authentic. These volunteers are generally liberal humanitarians working for peace by reaching out to Arabs in an attempt to better understand their so-called enemy. Sounds familiar. They are allowed to delay their military service by a year by doing this type of service work. They all seemed to be kind, thoughtful, smart, even cool young people. I assumed that some of them might be resistors, or at least have ambivalence about joining the army in a year, especially after getting to know some Arab friends and working for a year in a Bedouin village. No such dilemma existed really for any of them, or at least no one admitted to any such dilemma. They told us right away how excited they are to be joining the Army. One young man has only one kidney and so, is not “fit” for a combat position. He is trying to deal with his disappointment about that. The others are eager for combat roles.

Ari, clearly the leader of the house, took a group of us (Leib, Nick, a VERY happy Eli, Ezra and Daniel) several blocks through his neighborhood to a ragged blacktop playground to shoot some hoop. Ari is about 6 feet 3 inches and has a beautiful big smile, one that doesn’t disappear when his face is at rest.

He played high school basketball on a team that went to the national championships and has only lost a little of his touch from the 3-point circle at the top of the key. He has a quiet presence, doesn't say much, but everyone listens when he does. He was the translator for those who speak only Arabic and Hebrew at our meeting back at the “Peace Tent” when we arrived. At the time, I thought he was staff because it seemed like he was in charge. Turns out he’s not staff, but he was in charge. We played three-on-three with the 7^th person rotating in.

Just like…boys. We got to know each other through some physical activity, a little banging around of bodies, and some friendly competition. After about an hour, some Palestinian guys who were kicking around a soccer ball on the same small blacktop playground, came over and wanted to join our basketball game. We all shot around for a few minutes, and some talking ensued in either Hebrew or Arabic. There was a series of exchanges, some tense laughing that seemed perhaps a little like taunts, and suddenly Ari smiled and quietly said to us in English, “I think it’s enough basketball. Let’s go back to the house.” He never told us what their exchange was about or what was actually said, but he told us he thought one of the Palestinian guys was a little crazy and he didn’t want to be around him. It was a simple thing, no incident, no drama or heroism. Just a simple, barely noticeable but leaderly act of avoiding conflict.

An hour later we were sitting down in the living room talking with Gil and Amira, who have coupled up for their volunteer year, and several other volunteers that came and went from the conversation. I was fascinated to hear that their ideas did not all fit the stereotype and assumptions I had so quickly formed. Gil and Amira are a handsome couple. Gil is trim and fit, has curly reddish blond hair (a small Jewfro), a peach fuzz beard and fair skin. His family has lived in Israel continuously, he says, for 13 generations. He is very proud of that. Amira, tall, with smooth olive skin and long wavy hair, is a national backstroke swimming champion (only for her age group, she demurs), and laughs easily and joyfully.

Gil said he couldn’t wait to join the Army. “The Army protects my family. I want to protect my family. My older brother went to protect me, and now I will go to protect my younger brother.” They asked us what we think of Obama. They were a little surprised to hear that we support him. Leib explained, “He has a hard job. He took over the country when it was such a mess. He isn’t perfect, and he’s made some mistakes, but we think he’s great.” Gil paused, carefully constructing his thoughts in English, “Well, Obama disagrees with our government. But you know, we disagree with our government, too, so I guess we understand that. But Obama has abandoned Israel, and he has made us look bad to other countries. Many other countries don’t like Israel, so we need a big country like the U.S. to support us.” I asked first if their own disagreement with their government made it difficult for them to serve in the military. The answer was, no. Everyone serves and they will, too. I began to understand that serving in the Army is not a political act for many, it is an obligation, a matter of culture and pride and service. Gil explained that serving in the Army makes people less selfish, less interested in just getting ahead themselves, more altruistic. “You are doing something hard to benefit everyone else, not yourself. This makes people better people.” I thought of Kyle, whose intention to serve I had had such a hard time understanding. My mind drifted to the late night, 2 o'clock in the morning, when we sat in my study at home talking quietly. I was incredulous, pained and afraid as he leaned forward, eyes red, and gently implored, "Dad, any Jew can go to Israel. Any Jew can live there. It's my home, too. It's a home and a family that can never be taken away. I feel like I have the same responsibility to protect it as anyone who lives there." I returned to the discussion about Obama. “I don’t think Obama has abandoned Israel. He has put pressure on Israel to stop the settlements, but he vetoed the UN Resolution condemning the settlements.” “Yes, the settlements. This is also so complicated. Most of us here think we should end the settlements, maybe even remove some of them. It’s not right that we keep taking their land. But it also keeps us safe. We can’t show any sign of weakness, or they will take advantage of it. We took all the settlements out of Gaza, and look. They had Hamas take over and they send their rockets. This was our government’s fault, too. They did not hand over the government there to someone else, so Hamas just took over. If we left the Bank, I think the same might happen. When we give them some, they want more.”

I moved to a different line of discussion. I asked, will it be difficult to be in the Army now that you are friends with your Arab partners and the Bedouin children and teachers? Amira picked up this question quickly. “Well, yes. I know they will not like knowing I am in the Army, but you know, they are so busy hating the Army, they don’t get that it is protecting them, too. The rockets from Gaza can hit an Arab the same as they can hit a Jew. I have read some of the Quran, and it is very violent, and this bothers me. You know at my school where you will go tomorrow, they beat the children. This is illegal in Israel, but they do it. When a child does something bad they are beaten. The school says it wants children to be non-violent problem solvers, to be good citizens, to be able to resolve conflict and use critical thinking, but the principal, he beats the children. When we ask about this, they say that there is no other way, that the children won’t respect them otherwise. On Rabin Day when we spend a day celebrating non-violence in schools, one of the children didn’t do his painting correctly and he was not following the directions, and so his teacher beat him in front of the class.”

Gil told us when he was in school, his class, like every class in Israel, took a field trip to Poland to visit Auschwitz. He said he cannot describe the feeling of standing in the death camp holding an Israeli flag. “So many people in my family died there, and now it is closed and we have our country. It made me understand how important it is to protect it. But you know when you go to Poland they tell you a lot about the balance. We must be strong and never let this happen again, but we must stay human and act with humanity.”

Gil tells me, “You know when we came here to do this work side by side with Arab partners, I thought I know what I believe. I had my views and I came here to live them. Now I don’t know what I believe. It’s too hard. It’s too complicated. I don’t know the solution anymore.” As he speaks, Amira, her gorgeous smile gone, her laughter silent, is nearly in tears.

Flipping our french toast breakfast