Tuesday, May 21, 2024

Everyone Has a Story

 



This week will be the Israeli launch of my photo book, ‘Distilling Jerusalem’.  (That’s a cheap plug for myself, I know, but why not?)


Clearly, I have nothing to complain about. But I am not as excited as I should be. The launch was meant to be last November, but the October disaster changed all that. Now, seven months down the track, Israelis are making herculean efforts to escape the rut they were dragged into.

Rousing from my own emotional paralysis from that period, I managed to meet with the manager of a well-known store about stocking the book.
“This is interesting, fresh,” he said, thumbing through the copy I presented him. “We’d love to work with you”. I smirked to myself.
“But there’s a snag.” He added, looking up at me.  “My business partner is on reserve duty and I’m not sure when he’ll be back. I guess it depends on what happens in Rafah. I’ve been filling in for him in the store, but now I’ve also been called up for 2 months. Can you wait until my discharge?” 

My heart plummeted. Not because of the book; that can wait. But because this damned war is affecting everyone. That same morning, five young Israeli soldiers were mistakenly shot to bits in a friendly fire incident. Every such report saps me of energy. I think of the lives cut short in battle; the lost hopes and dreams; the grieving parents who invested everything – physical and mental - into the project of creating and raising a person for years on end, who is then deactivated in a split second. 

“Of course. Stay safe.” I wished him.

Debilitating Fear

A violent, unpredictable war is raging in Gaza, and serving in the army is no joke. Two weeks ago I visited a friend who has two sons currently on duty. One was out for the weekend and staying nearby with his father. My friend, however, couldn’t stand being alone; she needed distraction from the debilitating fear that there would be an official knock at her door with news she didn’t want to hear.

At lunch, I met the son who was on leave. The handsome young man strode towards me and shifted the assault rifle dangling over his shoulder so that he could shake my hand. He gave a weak smile. “Sorry if I’m not perky. A friend of mine was just killed in action yesterday.” All I could do was nod.

Unified in Division

What is moving people here to make their voices heard?  To take a public stand? To protest? 
 
An unfamiliar woman stopped me as I walked along the street and asked if I was also going to the protest.

“Protest? What protest?” The last protest I had been to was against the government’s attempt to limit the powers of the High Court. That moved me to make my voice heard. But that was a world away. Many protests have taken place since then: against the government, pushing for a hostage deal with Hamas etc.  

“We’re protesting for Bibi, not against!” the woman said. 

A man following behind joined the conversation. “Not me,” he said. “I’m on my way to the counter-protest, against Bibi.” Seeing my surprise, he tried to explain. “The country is very united at the moment. But that doesn’t mean we agree on everything. And our real enemies are those in authority. It’s all about money, and about their fear of losing their positions.”

Other protests have also been flourishing.  

On Friday, a small crowd gathered in downtown Jerusalem, holding signs and banners and chanting slogans. ‘Ceasefire now!’, ‘Stop bombing Gaza’, ‘We are starving Gaza’. Some held up packets of flour to represent a lack of food in the Strip. 






 



An acquaintance, with whom I have never discussed politics, held a banner aloft. We nodded to each other, unaware of what each was thinking. 

Across the road, people sat at street cafes enjoying the weather, oblivious to the noisy chants through the megaphone. It's all become part of day to day life.

On May 15, a Nakba (Catastrophe) Day protest took place at Tel Aviv University. This memorialises the flight of Arab (as opposed to Jewish) Palestinians from their homes in 1947 when neighbouring Arab armies attacked the fledgling state of Israel.

The very fact that such a protest can take place in the heart of Israel, however, based on principles of free speech, is a phenomenal testament to the democratic principles of this amazing country, and directly defies all the claims being bandied about of apartheid and attempted genocide against the Arab Palestinian population.

https://www.timesofisrael.com/people-are-accusing-israel-of-genocide-these-human-rights-lawyers-beg-to-differ/



The Illusion of Truth

 

Indeed, South Africa has repeatedly accused Israel of genocide in the International Court of Justice (ICJ). This has been a fantastic ploy. To the casual observer this charge, having been made in such a prestigious forum, must be true! ‘Genocide by Israel’ has been picked up by the mainstream media, and then repeated ad-nauseam when shared again and again on social media. And behold, baseless crap heard by a woke audience suddenly becomes reality.
 
Pity, especially when the reality is there for all who want to see.
 
Turkish station TRT proudly presented a report about a self taught Gazan make-up artist who specialises in faking injuries for documentaries about Gaza.
 
Let me repeat that:  A Gazan make-up artist who specialises in faking injuries for documentaries about Gaza.
 
Until a few weeks ago, the UN and world media enthusiastically quoted Gazan casualty figures spouted by the Hamas run 'Health Ministry'.
After proceedings were brought by South Aftrica against Israel in the ICJ, the UN revised its estimates and halved the number of Gazan women and children casualties that it had parroted from Hamas.
 
But it's too late, the damage is done. Try telling the above to the 'critical thinking' University protestors worldwide who have caused havoc based on the illusions of truth that have reinforced their antisemitic prejudices.

Now, while editing this post, the International Criminal Court (ICC) prosecutor has applied for arrest warrants against the Israeli Prime Minister and Minister of Defense for war crimes. 

 

Warrants are also being sought for the leaders of Hamas, mind you, but one must ask: why now? The October 7 massacres occured many months ago. Why was Hamas not called to account all that time ago? Call me naive, but there is a strong impression that the ICJ never felt any urgency in prosecuting Palestinians who murder Israelis, and seeking the arrest of Hamas leaders now is a small price the ICC is willing to pay if it allows it to smear Israel by creating an illusion of moral equivalency between the two. 

Ah, yes. The illusion of truth.

 

Reality 

 

To maintain my sanity in this stressful world, I take regular walks in the Judean hills. The forests around the Arab village of Abu Gosh are particularly beautiful. Jews flock there on weekends for the food and rustic atmosphere. It is easy to identify from the main highway by the minaret towers of the gleaming Kadyrov mosque that overlooks the village. An old crusader church is also still in full swing, now under the Benedictine order. 

 


 But that’s not what I want to share with you. After an afternoon walk in the area, I like to pop into the village for a Druze pita. The store owner knows how I like it – labaneh and tabouli salad and just a little hot sauce – and we shoot the breeze.


During the last elections, when Bibi refused to ally with the Knesset's Arab parties, my friend from Abu Gosh was all gung-ho about him. “Only Bibi. I’ll be voting for him. He’s good for the country. No one else knows how to handle Arab affairs. I’m telling you, I really hope Bibi gets elected.” Having been impressed by the Bennet/Lapid coalition I didn’t quite agree with him, but I was fascinated by his position, especially being an Arab.
 
On my visit this time, the pita guy was on vacation in Thailand, but his brother was there. “I’m just minding the store till my brother gets back from abroad. I’m actually a hotel chef.” We chatted about events.
 
“On October 7 I was working in a hotel on the coast, about an hour away, when Hamas fired their rockets and the air-raid sirens went off.” He stopped and motioned towards the hot sauce to see if I wanted any. I nodded. “I jumped in my car and drove towards home. But when I got to Latrun my wife called to tell me to stop and stay put. Sirens were going off everywhere. I was so scared for my family, but everywhere was dangerous. It was 5 hours before I could get home.
 
I thought of this soft-spoken man and his brother, of the fate of those Arabs who historically welcomed the Jews and are consequently Israeli citizens, versus those who have sought our annihilation, and today live in self inflicted poverty and hatred. 
 
If you champion South Africa’s case against Israel, or honestly believe that Israel is executing a genocide, come with me to Abu Gosh. The cost of the pita is on me.


Taking stock


Last week, Israel commemorated Memorial day for its fallen soldiers (Yom Hazikaron). This takes place annually on the day before Independence day. Before celebrating our national independence we cleanse our conscience by paying credence to the price that was, and continues to be, paid for it.

 

This year was different. I can’t think of anyone who didn’t feel a punch in the stomach, and a sense of immediate anguish, for the senseless loss of young soldiers’ lives occurring right now, day in and day out. Life has been like a reverse catharsis; instead of waking from a nightmare to discover that reality is fine, we wake from our dreams to discover that more young people have been killed, that our hostages remain lost in rat-warrens, that numerous Israeli communities are refugees while Hezbollah is slowly but steadily blowing up the north of the country, that the economy in the north has been shut down, causing many to drop below the poverty line.

 

Overseas, the noisy half of the world hates us, while the many that support us are keeping shtum.

 

Independence under fire

 

As Memorial day came to an end, Independence day was ushered in. Muted celebration is probably the best term one could use to describe it. 

 

As with every year, I joined a few friends gathered for an Israeli-style Independence dinner.

“How’s your son doing?” I asked an old friend. “Is he in the army?” His mother gave me a sharp look.

“He’s a military air traffic controller. Normally it’s pretty calm he tells me, but everything hit the fan a few weeks ago when the Iranians attacked.” I hadn’t thought about that.

 

“He sits in a control room where every controller has to watch a bunch of screens and give directions. He was pretty wiped afterwards. But he proved his mettle. They sit there with incredible focus and concentration. To them, the world disappears when they’re on duty.”

 

I imagined this 20-year-old kid with a headset and an array of screens, trying to make sense of blips representing a range of military aircraft from surrounding countries shooting down missiles and drones, presumably based on his intel. And while he was saving my life, I was down in a bomb shelter. Had he or another 20-year-old kid made an error of judgment, I might not be here to tell the tale.

Bucking tradition, fireworks were cancelled this year. Pressure has been building against having fireworks because it triggers so many PTSD sufferers.


 

Another annual tradition is, indeed highlight, the flyover of military aircraft along the length of the country’s skies. Each year I climb to the roof to photograph the speeding jets or aerial acrobatics. While on the roof, abreast of the tree line, I also marvel at the migrating swifts that swirl around me on transit between Africa and Europe. Often I point my camera at the little birds dashing about with excitement. 

 

 


 

This year, the flyover was cancelled. Hearing a plane, I ran to the roof, but there was no show to be seen. I decided instead to focus on the swifts. There were none. I scanned the trees and the skyline. Despite swirling around all week, they had suddenly disappeared. It felt like a premonition, and I found that very eery.

Fight or flight

I have a confession to make – I take Pilates classes. It somehow makes me feel I can pretend I live overseas. This week, I chatted with a woman in my exercise group who immigrated from France 40 years ago. “Do you think you’ll stay?” I asked as a joke. She didn’t take it as such.

 
“Ah. It’s not so simple”. The conversation went serious. Her Israeli-born daughter has decided it is safer elsewhere and is planning to relocate with her family to France or Portugal. Her son, on the other hand, deliberated leaving, but seeing the anti-semitism overseas he feels safest in Israel.
 
I can’t blame them. But having been raised with both Jewish pride and Holocaust trauma, I feel safer living here. These are simply reminders of lessons learned from our forefathers, way before the Russian pogroms, the Spanish Inquisition and the German Crusade of 1096, (also known as the Rhineland Massacres or the First Holocaust) to name a few.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhineland_massacres


The Haggadah states that “In every generation, every person must see him/her self as if they themselves came out of Egypt.”

“It is as if the Rabbis who constructed the Seder are saying – don’t just remember your history, but rather be your history, identify with your people’s experience and understand that your identity as a Jew living in whatever century (the 21st) is tied up with the experiences of your people.”

https://jpeoplehood.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/Peoplehood-Education-Toolkit-Resources-Collective-Belonging-Text-Pesach-Haggadah.pdf

 

Positive note 

 

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, Israel will remain resilient and thrive, albeit with reinforced trauma. Living life here will become more frantic than ever.
 
Kudos to the clothing store Renuar, and the numerous beautiful, injured soldiers who took part in its recent advertising campaign, normalising disabilities and even making them beautiful. A must for this amazing generation of heroes. 


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