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Barbara Katzenstein Jimenez
Courageous People in the Promised Land
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
PREFACE
6
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
8
ISRAEL MAP
9
NAHARIYA
10
DRUKS KFAR VRADIM 22 NIMR NIMR HURFEISH
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MAKHOUL MAKHOUL VILLAGE
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FADDIDA AKKO
56
HAIFA
72
HABIB I’BILLIN 74
NAZARETH 92 BINYAMINOV OR AKIVA
102
AWAKA GIVAT OLGA 114
TSFAD
124
TEL AVIV 136 SIMANTOV AMITAL
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MOR-TAMMAM-ROUMANI
156
JERUSALEM
170
MOUSSAIEFF
208
ALALU ABU TOR 230 NATAF
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NAKASHIAN
250
FISHER-FREUND
270
IBRAHIM ABU GHOSH 284 YAMIN CASTEL
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HOROWITZ BAT AYIN 304 KOUBI ASHKELON
316
ABU FREIH RAHAT 334 YEFET NEVATIM
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PREFACE “Hi Barbara, it’s Suzi Plaut...Tourgeman,”a voice offered,
attempting to jog my sluggish memory. I struggled in
the nonchalant flair of an old college roommate.
utter silence, like trying to breath through a mask of
Sharing family anecdotes, we soon fell into an intuitive
sticky cobwebs. Who could this cheery person possibly
relationship that dispensed with preambles or polite
be? Worse, why was she phoning before I’d finished my
evasions.
morning coffee? Suzi sensed my bewilderment because
she hastily added “you know your grandfather William
often. (I’m not an email person and my texting skills
Katzenstein and my grandmother Tillie were brother
are prehistoric.) Suzi was researching our family tree.
and sister.”
Originally, she’d hoped I could provide her with fresh and
Luckily, I was still in bed. Her news absolutely
interesting information. Of course, that proved futile. Aside
astounded me. For starters, I’d never known that my
from a rich trove of old photos, most of whose subjects I
grandfather had had any siblings. I’d always thought
was unable to identify, my contribution was zilch!
of him as an only child, just like my father and I.
Of
Suzi arrived with what I can only describe as
Over the course of the following year, we spoke
All the same, Suzi and David kept encouraging me to
course, there were hints of distant relatives, but their
visit them in Jerusalem. Their invitation was tempting.
connection to us was never clear. Besides, Judge William
Yet such a long journey would necessitate an extended
had died before my eighth birthday and being a rather
stay, at least six weeks I thought. No problem. My cousins
severely handsome man, he wasn’t someone you could
found me a charming apartment for rent in Rehavia.
snuggle up to or ply with questions. Grandma Julia never
The Second Intifada had just wound down and tourists
once mentioned any close paternal relatives. I guess she
were a rare sight. In their absence, the intricate, vibrant
definitely preferred her own Kramer clan.
mosaic of Israeli life beckoned. Stressful seduction is
how I’d describe it.
Anyhow, after a very painful pause, a flicker of light
penetrated the cluttered recesses of my brain. I recalled
Daddy having spoken of a cousin who wanted to meet
evolve which would culminate in this book. It’s always
us. At the time, her husband was serving as the Israeli
seemed to me that the United States’ long tradition of
Ambassador to Peru. We, on the other hand, were living
isolationism, the sheer breath of our continent and our
in Colombia, but shuttling back and forth between New
general disinterest in foreign history serve us poorly. We
York and Madrid. So, the opportunity passed without my
tenaciously nurture a host of misconceptions about the
ever learning exactly through whom we were related.
beliefs, goals and very real differences of other societies
The situation began to intrigue me. Suzi sounded so
as opposed to ours. Cultural relativism aside, the global
warm and spontaneous that I promptly ignored one of my
village in which we live and work demands a deeper
own cardinal rules: Never invite casual acquaintances
understanding of these realities, not only as regards
to stay. The overwhelming odds are that you’ll regret it.
foreign policy but in the conduct of our daily lives.
Just then, Suzi was visiting her mother in Florida, so after
a rather protracted conversation, I blurted out “why not
as I engaged in conversations with a wide swath of
fly up to New York and spend some time with us before
Israelis (thanks to the jump start of some preliminary
heading back to Israel?” Instinctively, almost viscerally,
introductions from my cousins) the concept of “FAMILY
I sensed that we would forge a close and enduring bond.
MATTERS” began to coalesce.
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Gradually, as I settled in, a project began to
I am neither a historian nor a sociologist. However,
My purpose, devoid of any political message, is
me to establish this prerequisite. First, I needed to limit
simply to interest readers in the amazing courage of
the book’s scope by placing all 20 families within the
these families, as well as to illustrate the tremendous
same frame of reference. Second, as much as possible,
demographic complexity of this tiny nation. Through
I wished to avoid eliciting
my photographs and short interviews with two or three
that might have complicated these interviews, either by
generations in each family (secular Jews, Haredim,
inhibiting the speakers or exposing them to reprisals.
Catholic Arabs, Druze, Bedouins, Ethiopians, Bukharians,
Armenian and Greek Orthodox, Kurds, Libyans, Yemenis,
journey of personal discovery, mine as well as my
etc.), I hope to entice the reader into explore some of
subjects’. I hope it will also be yours.
political pronouncements
Finally, “FAMILY MATTERS” has been a seven year
these narratives further. What I am doing is merely opening a window of visual and verbal images that personalize a far-off land and render it more accessible.
“FAMILY MATTERS”, as the title suggests, is both
about the importance of family and the situations which concern and directly affect their lives. Some of these families have lived in Israel for centuries. Others immigrated there between the two World Wars. Still others arrived during the last fifty years. All aspired to a better life than that of their forefathers but, as we learn, ‘better’ means different things to different people. It carries different connotations in different cultural contexts.
What interested me was not only what peoples’
initial impressions and illusions were, but how these had altered over the years. How had the perceptions and goals of their children and grandchildren evolved, perhaps in diametrically opposite directions?
One of the discoveries that surprised me was that
Israeli adolescents are not more politically aware than their contemporaries abroad. Despite suicide bombings and recent wars, they seem to have made an almost conscious decision to postpone consideration of these issues until army service, university or some catastrophic event impinges directly upon their lives.
All ‘my’ families have one thing in common. They live
within the boundaries of the Israeli State.Two reasons led
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Nothing we ever become or accomplish springs from the void. Therefore, I should like to express special gratitude to: My parents, Sylvia and Stanley S. Katzenstein whose generosity, intelligence and artistic awareness provided me with the best possible education. They set high standards of excellence but also indulged my insatiable wanderlust. The Bentley School and Sarah Lawrence College whose professors, while instilling intellectual discipline, encouraged us to extend our horizons, think originally and welcome difficult challenges. My cousins Ambassador David Tourgeman and Suzi Plaut Tourgeman whose incomparable hospitality and unflagging assistance in arranging many initial contacts, made this project especially pleasurable. All the amazing, brave and courteous families that I was so privileged to interview. My friend Salomon Penaloza Teshima, who guided me through me the intricacies of Photoshop and digital printing, with an infallible aesthetic sense. His help and friendship were essential factors in the completion of this book. My Graphic Designer, Lilla Hangay, who is responsible for the beautiful layout of FAMILY MATTERS.
Barbara Katzenstein Jimenez
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Barbara and son Luis Enrique share a silly joke.
ISRAEL MAP Lebanon Mediterrean Sea
Rosh Hanikra
Syria
Tarshiha
Nahariya
Kfar Vradim
Akko
Hurfeish Isfael
Capernaum
Haifa
Ibillin
Tiberias
Nazareth Illit
Nazareth
Poriya
Or Akiva Caesarea
ISRAEL Egypt
Giv’at Olga
Jordan
Netanya Kfar Saba Herzliya
Tel Aviv Yafo
Petah Tikva Ramat Gian Bat Yam
Abu Gosh Ashdod Jerusalem Ashkelon
Bat Ayin
Gaza Rahat Beersheba Nevatim
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MAKHOUL MAKHOUL VILLAGE
Sunset from Makhoul village.
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The children of Shaab, for whom Naim Makhoul built his school.
Breaking ground for Naim’s school, 1952.
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Naim Makhoul points proudly to the date when he built his beautiful home, the first stone and concrete dwelling in Makhoul village, 1952.
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NAIM MAKHOUL Everyone in Piqiin depended on agriculture. Christians, Druse, Jews and Moslems, all tilled the land. Little vineyards, olive, fig and pomegranate trees dotted the horizon. Whether you were young or old, a man or a woman, you had a specific task. It was a simple life. We weren’t rich, but gradually, my parents acquired small plots and joined them into larger holdings. The Makhoul family was the first to plant olive groves on 50 dunams and, in 1924, experimented with grafting stronger trees. No one used machinery . Hard manual labor was our inexhaustible resource. We also grew tobacco. But since the British imported tobacco and derived a considerable revenue from it, they attempted to discourage locals from planting. Every year, they would burn a percentage of the crop to sustain its price. Then, in 1930, they destroyed our entire harvest, 1.000 kilos. We were like slaves who had worked twelve long months for nothing. That year, my father couldn’t even afford the new suit he’d promised to buy for me. After finishing Tarshiha elementary school, I entered Terra Sancta in Jerusalem. By then, our family was comfortable and we were the first in our village to pursue higher education. As a young man, I had hoped to become a lawyer but decided instead to study social work in Haifa and graduated as a teacher. Now Halim and his son Amid have fulfilled my dream. In 1952, I was exiled to the village of Sha’ab (40 kilometers from Piqiin) for protesting against the military government. Sha’ab was a hamlet whose original inhabitants had been displaced by Palestinian settlers. Facing the prospect of four idle months, I decided to start a school on the premises of the Greek Orthodox Church. It opened on September 1,1952 with fourty four students. The next day, an inspector of Arab education visited us. He reproved me for writing articles criticizing the military government , but agreed to provide us with two teachers. Soon afterwards, an MK friend from Mapai approached Ben Gurion. “How could you exile someone to Sha’ab and then allow him to open a school? It’s absurd.” Ben Gurion agreed, and my exile order was revoked. Two years ago, Sha’ab’s local council, together with it’s school teachers, presented me with an award. I admit, I’m very gratified that I could contribute something so valuable to that poor community. Even though my exile had ended and I had completed my social work specialization, I couldn’t find work within the public school system (El Mehal Jahan); so I continued teaching in private schools and began writing weekly articles for Al Mirsad al Ha Mishmar - Mapai’s newspaper. I wasn’t a party member, but this was the best political option for peaceful Jewish-Arab co-existence. It’s members were honorable people and helped me to become Secretary General of the Arab Farmer’s Association. Another important occurrence took place in 1952. I built the first stone house, here, in Makhoul village. It happened like this.....A serious disagreement with the Druse majority forced our family to leave el Bokhara (Piqiin). I chose this place because most of our family owned land here. Unfortunately, the Israeli government had already demolished four hundred and fifty Arab villages. I lacked a building permit and under the terms of the British Mandate, the entire Galilee had been targeted for agriculture. I received three summonses to the court in Acre and was fined 50 pounds each time. They ordered me to demolish my house;so I appealed to the District Court of Haifa. In June of 1954, the court ruled against me. It imposed a 200 pound fine and ordered the government to raze my house within twenty four hours. Next, I rushed an appeal to Jerusalem’s High Court and nailed their stay order to our door, which prevented the demolition crew from beginning its work. I’m not sure why the District Commissioner and Licensing Bureau finally agreed to issue the requisite permits. Maybe, it was to prevent more disorderly 44
settlement efforts. In any case, I’m quite proud of myself for doing something no one else could. This was an orphan endeavor and look how it’s taken root. Nobody else has yet been able to build a new Arab village in Israel. I sincerely hope our children won’t suffer from the kind of discrimination we’ve experienced. We’ve had to litigate, even to keep our own private holdings. Today, the law still allows for arbitrary government expropriation. Israeli Arabs, whether Christians or Moslems don’t find equal work opportunities. Israel is our State too; but we’re made to feel like second class citizens. Israel should be a nation for its entire population, without regard to religion or race. Everyone hopes to live in peace, equality and justice - to make a better life. There should be room for both Arabs and Jews to enjoy this country. Teachers must be given the task of promoting co-existence. Today, all children have the opportunity to attend school.. They also have the freedom to think and speak out. In our day,education was only for the lucky few. I believe there must be a Palestinian State which provides the right of return for refugees. I’m against racist treatment for anyone. Lets make it our goal not to perpetuate human suffering. Extremists destroy life. They’re modern day Nazis. It makes no difference whether the fundamentalists are Moslem or Jewish. They’re equally abhorrent. I say, lets do our best to restore the tranquility and good relations of past years, a time when, as a boy, I called my Jewish neighbor “auntie”.
HANNA HADDAD: Born 1919 (Salwa’s father) I wanted to prove to this country that Jews and Arabs could live together, if they learnt together. That’s why, despite our neighbors’ criticism, I sent my son Isam to a Jewish school in Kyriat Haim. It’s important to find links which connect our communities. I’m friends with everyone. Certainly, there are differences, but we were all born at nine months. I think ‘ God gave you a mind..... use it. Behave honorably and fulfill your responsibilities.‘ I’m not afraid of Jews or Moslems. I speak my mind and people respect me for it. Everyone respects an honest person. I was born in 1919 in Jish (Gush Halav), a small hamlet on the Lebanese border. I learned English at the Scottish College in Tsfad, left school at fifteen (1934) and went to Haifa looking for work. The Iraq Petroleum Company offered me a job. Not only did my language skills improve, but a British secretary also taught me typing. Two years later, I was promoted to clerk. My ambitions, didn’t end in an office,though. I enrolled in the police academy on November 2, 1937. During the Mandate, Jews, Christians and Moslems were all represented on the force. At that time, there were three pre-conditions for becoming an officer: high grades, seniority and recommendations. My Hebrew was poor, but it improved quickly. I made corporal at nineteen, was assigned to headquarters and given the responsibility for deporting illegal aliens. With the outbreak of World War II, we shipped out to Cyrenaica, Libya, while my family remained in Haifa. I wanted to succeed, to rise up through the ranks. Yet without a university degree, I understood that I would have to take risks and accept dangerous assignments. I became Deputy CID in the British Military Administration based in Barce and Zidi Rafia for two and a half years. Only when permission to bring my family was finally denied, did I return to Jaffa with the rank of Inspector. During 1948, an opportunity arose to join the Red Cross staff in Lebanon. So,I left my family in Nazareth and began to work with displaced persons. The salary was good which allowed me to send for my wife and children. Eventually, I was put in charge of three refugee centers. Then eleven months later, my father forwarded a letter from some Jewish comrades in the old Mandate police force. They invited me to
come home and join a new Israeli unit. That sounded tempting, so, we returned to Israel once again, and I became a police officer; first in Nazareth and then in Majd el Kurum. Next, I was promoted to Station Chief in Shfar’am and finally, in 1969, I became head of Haifa’s Investigative Department.. There ,we dealt with all the area’s murders and felonies. Our most famous case involved Amos Barranes, a Jewish soldier accused of murdering Rachel Heller, a girl who was also Jewish. I had originally arrested Barranes ,but my investigation showed him to be innocent and I ordered his release. He was rearrested and imprisoned after signing a false confession, obtained under duress. I retired from the police force as its most senior arab officer, with the rank of lieutenant colonel (1976). I was in absolute disagreement over the Barranes case and continued to lobby in his favor until he was finally absolved by the High Court, 29 years later. Although he was granted an amnesty after nine and a half years, he was only declared innocent when Rachel’s killer turned out to be a high-ranking, Shabak officer. Once my police service ended, I turned to politics. I had many friends and acquaintances throughout Israel, Christians, Jews and Moslems but not enough votes to reach the Knesset. People don’t ask about your ideas as much as what you can offer them. A man must be very correct and professional in his career. Religion never made a difference to me. I maintained good relationships with all groups. My goal was to find the truth and follow the law. That was the secret of my success. If you are honest, straightforward and observe proper conduct, you’ll earn respect. I’ve been in the army, in the police force and in politics. Now, I’m a pensioner. What can I do ? We’re part of a small Christian minority. What can I talk about with the villagers of Turan ? We’ve no common ground. I feel useless. Most of my friends are dead. Israel is a dynamic country. Everything here changes quickly. There’s no place for an older man’s wisdom. No one is interested in past experiences or what they might teach us about today. We don’t have programs that would encourage people like myself to share our knowledge with the younger generation. We’re a nation that silences our wisest leaders (Abba Evan, Shimon Peres, Itzak Rabin). The Christian community in our area is quite small. Of a total population of eleven thousand, we number less than two thousand and so must be cautious in our relations with Moslems. The Islamic majority was never so extremist as they are today. In October of 2000, at the village of Um el Fahm, fourteen people died because of religious violence. My son Zahi is the police station commander there. Moslems have a serious problem within their own community.... the confrontation between moderates and fundamentalists. Christians are Arabs first; but Moslems identify themselves as Moslems first, not Arabs. That posture excludes us and sets the stage for a dangerous polarization of interests. How do we envision Israel’s future ? Disengagement is the right choice for all parties and all people. Fifteen years ago, a Likud minister asked ‘What are we doing in Gaza‘ ? ‘Did we ever hear a sensible reply ‘?
ISAM HADDAD: Born 1947 (Salwa’s brother) I was born in Haifa, spent my early years in Nazareth’s mixed Christian/ Moslem community and graduated from Terra Sancta elementary school. Afterwards, my father enrolled me in a Jewish secondary school in Haifa. He was adamant about the importance of learning Hebrew and believed it would equip me to work and live more easily, in Israel. Becoming part of the Jewish community was an extreme change. In addition to the usual subjects, I studied Hebrew, Jewish history, Tanach, Talmud and cultural traditions. We also read extensively
about the Holocaust. Very soon, I was first in my class. This situation didn’t seem unusual to me. Actually, life in our villages was quite similar to life as described in the Tanach. What happened, though, was that as I became fluent in Hebrew I found it more difficult to express myself in correctly in Arabic. Halim Makhoul and I have been friends since our first week at Hebrew University in Jerusalem. We’ve enriched each others lives and now, as brothers-in -law, our futures are also intertwined. When we started university, life in Jerusalem was very different from our experiences up North, or from what the city is today. Until the Six Day War (1967), we would peek through holes in the walls of the Old City to see how Jews outside were living. Once the war ended, Jerusalem became an open city. Students could exchange all sorts of information and socialize freely with many different kinds of people. Criminal law was my first interest but I didn’t like representing felons. I wanted to defend people who had accidentally committed a crime, not habitual offenders. That lead me to litigate more and more in civil court, specializing in real estate cases. My clients were mostly Arab land owners from the surrounding towns and villages. Israel’s aim was to expand its land holdings. The law established that any Arab who had left the country after independence would forfeit his property. Assessments were very onerous. Taxes were fixed at 2.5% of the land’s value. Farmers had difficulty raising that much money. Often, they were forced to sell their plots in order to live and pay the government. Some Jewish owners made common cause with their Arab neighbors; but it wasn’t until 1999 that the 2.5% tax was finally repealed. During the Yom Kippur War (1973), I was working in Haifa. Israeli Arabs considered the Arab countries liars. We felt that we belonged here, despite issues with government policies. We were struggling for equal civil rights but we were Israeli citizens - part of the larger national community. Now, as then, we share one state. We think our relationship must change but we are not anti-majority. For us, cooperation is the key to co-existence. Ninety percent of the Israeli/Arab population believe their interests and their future lie within the State of Israel. In the Jewish camp, things are different. Some people clamor for a purely Jewish nation. Others want complete separation within Israel’s borders. The question of the ‘right of return’ for Palestinian refugees is an insurmountable obstacle. Jews rightly fear becoming a minority within their own country. Before 1948, people maintained strong cross-cultural and cross religious friendships. Today, we can’t feel each others pain. Since 1948, many ideas have been proposed about how to live together peacefully. Most Arabs have finally realized that the Jewish State is a fact, not a passing phenomenon. Unfortunately, neither the Jewish religious right nor the Moslem fundamentalists can accept any compromise. Extremists don’t know how to conciliate. In their world view, one side must always prevail. It’s the politicians’ job to structure a just civil society. For now, our best option is two separate states. Perhaps future generations will understand the benefits of living and working together. In any event, Israel is too small and too poor to support its ever increasing population. We Christians are a weak minority within a minority. Maybe, because of this we’re very peaceful. We can’t defend ourselves. Look what happened in Meghar. Christians there accounted for twenty five percent of the population, Moslems another twenty five percent and Druse, the majority fifty percent. Christians, generally speaking were wealthier. They were land owners and professionals. The Druse, soldiers and policemen, burned down Christian houses and stores and expelled the Christian families from that area. They felt empowered because they had served in the army and in the border police. They died for Israel and feel entitled to impose their power. Resentments persist and the conflict simmers close to the surface. Druse leaders say they are ashamed of these extremist actions, but that’s because all of the village teachers and doctors are Christian. 45
I’m less affected by this type of discrimination. As a Christian lawyer, I’m able to work within the system to help promote positive change through dialogue. Nonetheless, arab minorities aren’t proportionately represented in government. They’re on the administrative periphery and have no real voice in policy decisions. The bigger issue is to analyze why communities enter into conflict. The task is to find solutions that promote well being and progress regardless of religious and ethnic considerations.
HALIM MAKHOUL: Born 1946 “It’s very hard to live in a country that doesn’t love you. Israel is a Jewish State for Jewish people. Of course we have rights; but as a democracy ,every project and every plan is conceived for the benefit of Jewish majority not the entire population. When Pan-Arabism failed, Moslem fundamentalism became the new unifying principle. In a state that embraces these extremist values, we Christian Arabs are also afraid. Nevertheless, under normal circumstances, we feel an affinity of language and race with the Arab population. We believe that the Palestinians must be allowed to reclaim their land. Jews are strong and successful all over the world. They should stop thinking that they are always threatened by extermination. Hamas will disappear once peace comes with Israel. It’s existence will become irrelevant. No community wants to live in a perpetual state of war. Yet, for the moment, it’s their way of protecting themselves like Lechi, Irgun and Hagganah during Israel’s fight for independence. I don’t agree with the terrorists‘ thinking or actions; but I understand their frustration. This new generation was nursed on a dream of independence. For them, the current state of affairs is war; and suicide bombing is their counter-offensive. All young peoples’ dreams are similar: a good life, a car, a house, a job, marriage. But they know only terror. Their behavior will change once the reasons that incite it disappear. Our family were farmers in Piqiin. The population there is principally Druse. I was born in 1946, during the last years of the British Mandate. As a young boy, I believed I belonged to a good religion. Like other Christians, we felt we were more progressive than the Druse. Our schoolteachers and directors were all Christian. There were no restrictions on mixed company. My mother sat and conversed with men. She also dressed differently....in modern fashions. Mother wanted her first son to become a doctor and the second, a lawyer. (We were seven children, in all). Our farming economy depended on cooperation and age-based tasks, to improve our living standards. Christian families dreamt of financial progress through education. My parents worked tirelessly because they understood that education was the key to achieving success and economic rewards. They wanted to give us what they missed, and knew that a good education would be expensive. Studying, though, didn’t disconnect me from the land. Even today, I don’t see any conflict between agriculture and a professional career. At school, we had Druse friends but they also felt the difference between their lives and ours. Druse classmates could come to eat at our home. They could even speak with my sisters. I never ate at their homes; but then my mother’s food was much tastier. Another difference was that Druse girls usually left school after sixth grade. At thirteen, they became “women” and were strictly separated from masculine company. My self-confidence was always very high. I didn’t feel that Jewish Israelis or Jewish tourists were superior,at all. But the truth is, we weren’t equal. If my parents or other relatives wished to visit Haifa, they needed a special permit. 46
Hanna shows me his certificate of honorable discharge from the Palestinian Police Force, w1948. Reason: the end of the British Mandate. The other photos show him as a young man and in uniform.
Jews, on the other hand, transited freely. My first encounter with politics was the rise of Nasser. He called for Arab unity and promised to restore our tattered pride. I thought,’ Nasser is a leader I can love’. I didn’t want Israel’s defeat or annihilation. I was interested in salvaging our ethnic dignity. At that time, nationality was the most important component of one’s identity. Israel’s Arab population focused on that, rather than on religion. I thought ‘we’re a minority in Israel. Most countries have minorities, but we’re part of a greater nation. Then big changes happened.‘ The Six Day War (1967) destroyed what was left of our pride. The ease with which the Arab armies were defeated was shameful. We realized that there was no substance behind Nasser’s boastful words. The war strengthened Israel so much that I noticed a drastic shift in attitude towards Israeli Arabs, both in the media and on the street. The stronger Israel became, the more discrimination we felt. This might seem illogical. Usually, the more secure a nation is, the more generosity it can afford to show its minorities. Yet from 1948 to 2007, we’ve experienced a trend of increased inequality. Now, we even hear some people calling for the transfer of Israeli Arabs to countries outside Israel. Twenty years ago, that would have been unthinkable. Most Moslem Arabs have substituted Islam for Pan-Arabism , as the key component of their identity. No Christian Arab can embrace that option. As a minority within a minority, we’re in a very complicated position. After high school, I wavered between two career choices. On one hand, I wanted to study Arabic. I excelled in linguistics and thought of becoming a professor. My other option was law. My uncle warned me that I might face insurmountable obstacles, both as his nephew and as an Arab, were I to choose a teaching career. So, I enrolled in Hebrew University, Jerusalem and became a lawyer. It was a good choice. I enjoyed my studies. Now though, I encourage Manar to follow the academic path, probably because that opportunity eluded me. At university, I had many Arab and Jewish friends. Because I always favored co-existence and dialogue, I held two interesting jobs. One was as Arab delegate for the student’s dorms. The other was as coordinator of a Bezalel sponsored communications program, which held symposiums and debates between Arab and Jewish personalities. This led to a Jewish/Arab summer camp experience which sent students for a month or six weeks to stay with families in five different villages. My university life was very rich and complete. I joined the voluntary law
Hanna Haddad’s house in Turan. Left to right: daughter Salwa Haddad Makhoul, Hanna Haddad and son Isam Haddad.
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committee and was a member of the debating team. I even took a course in jewish folk dancing. I’m still friends with many classmates. They’re my professional colleagues now. When people can live together in an apolitical environment, you see that peace is attainable. After graduation, I opened my own law office. At first, it was a general practice. Later, I began to concentrate on land claims and disputes, as well as on divorce and alimony cases. Today, my principal client is Bank Hapoalim. I’m their 48
lawyer here in northern Israel. We have a staff of both Jewish and Arab professionals. Ethnic and religion distinctions are not barriers to ability. The current problem is not the West Bank or Gaza. The problem is Israel. It’s the strongest country in the region. If it really wished to withdraw from the occupied territories, it would do so, without pre-conditions. If Israel wants to create a Palestinian State, why build more settlements on the West Bank ? It’s not logical to pursue the ‘right of return’ issue. It maybe just, but it’s not feasible. There’s no physical space to accommodate so many people. Instead, bona-fide refugees could be compensated by an international program similar to the Marshall Plan. The right of Israel to exist as a State with a Jewish majority is undeniable and must be preferred over the theoretical right of the Palestinians. Israel’s founders took the decision to create and defend their State by force. Their yearning gave them the impetus to conquer this land. When they realized that the area won was sufficient to create a Jewish Homeland, they stopped. After the Holocaust, the need for this State was so apparent, so urgent that whole world concurred. It seems to me that the new generation of Israeli leaders, especially the Russian politicians, don’t weigh moral considerations. Today, it’s how much you can get, not how much you have a right to. So people don’t feel badly or ashamed at the idea of transferring Israeli Arabs to other countries. How can anyone live in peace with such a concept ? What it foreshadows is a catastrophe. Think. My son might not be able to live in this house or on our family’s land. We fool ourselves if we believe we’re so modern and so intellectually evolved. We suppose that all injustices are behind us. Then, we discover that what happened one thousand or one hundred years ago, can happen again tomorrow. We’re still living by the law of the jungle. We’re no more moral than the cave man. My children think about relocating abroad. There’s no guarantee that their generation or their children’s generation will be able or welcome to live in Israel. True, you have to work hard to effect positive change. But there are more incentives for Jews to enter politics than for Arabs. Politics today is a career path, not an engine for civic development. Idealism and morality are quickly disappearing. Of course, this isn’t an exclusively Israeli problem. We see it everywhere. I’m
not interested in political office. To succeed in politics, you’ve got to be good at deception, at cheating. People don’t ask about your ideas, it’s what you can do for them. Voters encourage corruption. Our elected officials are a reflection of voter morality. We’re society whose primary focus is on consumption. In our family we have two Christian Arab MK’s (members of the Knesset), but here’s the contradiction. Moslems get elected to the Knesset as Islamic party members. Christians feel uncomfortable emphasizing their religion. First because the problems Christian Arabs face are those that all minorities face and second, because such a position would alienate them from the larger Arab polity.
SALWA H. MAKHOUL “My parents named me for a song ‘From where do I bring happiness (Minen ajib eselwah m’em)’. Salwa (Aselwah) is a swallow that brings joy. Being the only girl in a family of seven brothers, I guess my arrival did help lighten the atmosphere. I was born in Nazareth, but we actually lived outside Haifa in Kyriat Haim. My father was the highest Arab officer (Gundar) in the police force. He worked long hours in the criminal department, came home late and always seemed to be on duty. He wasn’t strict with us, but my eldest brother made up for that. He really imposed his own version of military discipline. At father’s insistence, we attended private religious schools. After fifth grade, I boarded with the Salvatorian Sisters in Nazareth and only returned home once a month. Then having finished middle school, I returned to Kyriat Haim but traveled every day to the Christian Orthodox High School in Haifa, until graduation. Career choices for women were more limited then, so armed with my high school diploma, I enrolled in a two-year
seminar for Arab teachers. At nineteen, I became a fully qualified primary school mistress. Over the next three years, I taught grades one thru six. Then I met Halim and we married three and a half months later. I had just turned twenty-three. Halim and I grew and prospered together; but we started from zero. His parents were land-rich but had little cash. We were careful with money and loved each other; but our life wasn’t a TV soap. We planned thoughtfully and with mutual respect. We enjoyed doing things together and would travel by bus or taxi or on foot because, of course, we didn’t own a car. At the beginning, it was hard work. Halim bought his own law practice and law books. That was very expensive. Two 49
years later, I became pregnant with Deema ( Rain Cloud in the Desert) our eldest daughter. Amid, now a lawyer, followed within sixteen months. At first we lived in Nahariya. Then,we stayed at uncle Naim’s for seven years, while we built our house in Makhoul village. I became pregnant again before the construction was finished. At five months, my stomach seemed huge; and by the seventh month, I felt so tired I went to the hospital. Ultrasound was very primitive then, but the doctor thought I might be carrying twins. We rushed to finish our house. Meanwhile, I consulted a private physician. His verdict absolutely astounded us. The twins were actually triplets!!! Manar, Lubna and Reem in that order. Suddenly our family had mushroomed... food, beds, clothing. There was so much to do. It meant I had to take a year’s leave without pay. Deema and Amid had a hard time. Used to being little stars, they were now demoted to cameo roles. I kept thinking what I could do to make their lives normal amid such confusion. I wanted to give them love and a good education, provide them with challenges and invent interesting activities. Halim was very clever about budgeting our resources. There were lots of bills to pay: the construction workers, the car, his secretary. We planned what was absolutely necessary and postponed all luxuries; no parties, no cinemas, no restaurants. Every child got only one new Christmas present. They understood how hard their father worked. So we renounced many pleasures, but the children always had everything they needed for school, whether it was books, clothes or school supplies. Once we finally moved into our new home, my family became a full-time project. I managed our house. I studied with the older children, put the triplets in day care and returned to teaching at the end of the year. My job wasn’t a hobby, either. I needed the salary. With a big family, you’ve got to be energetic. I’m proud of our children. We share their interest and diversions. They’re very motivated and realistic. We wanted them to be receptive to different ideas, to look beyond borders. We emphasized the importance of technology, the need to expand their mentality and search for new horizons. Even so, I’ve never told my children how to live. We believe in direction but not control. We wish them success in their careers and hope the choices they make will enrich their lives. Nonetheless, I do think it’s important to speak out honestly. We never pretended problems didn’t exist. Communication is hard work. We’re parents first. Our children love and respect us, but we are also friends. No one is perfect. If something goes wrong, I want to discuss it. I need an explanation... a dialogue. If I notice that one of our children has become distant or unusually introverted, I dig until I discover the truth. What’s caused this problem? Where’s the mistake? If they help me understand, they’ll feel freer to discuss their lives. The triplets are specially close. As youngsters Reem and Lubna were hardly ever apart. People told us to enroll them in separate schools. Maybe I made a 50
mistake by not listening. Now Lubna is married and lives in Norway. Reem has had to invent a new focus for her life. She still has trouble making decisions without Lubna’s advice. This village is quite small. Just look around. I’m not so conservative, but I’m restrained. I try not to make a spectacle. Change will come, although very, very slowly. I think, at home you should behave as you wish, dress as you like. In public, it’s best to follow certain customs. I don’t think girls should live with their boyfriends before marriage. Respect is the basis of any lasting relationship. Casual sex is not respectful. Later, in a marriage, you must discuss with your husband what’s the right thing to do, what’s best for both people. Once you agree, don’t let others influence your direction. Today, relations between Christians, Jews and Moslems are much more tense than before. Moslems can demonstrate and speak out because they are a majority. Christian Arabs must be conciliatory. We’re taught to be self-effacing. We can’t discuss the Moslem-Christian conflict freely because we’re such a small community. All we want is a tranquil life. There are always boundaries for Christian Arabs. We can elect Knesset members, but never hold government, ministerial or diplomatic positions. Despite holding an excellent degree, no important technology company will employ you. Arab Christians are considered security risks. Even the Lebanese Maronites, who were given protected refugee status in Israel after the war, find that their children are being refused admission to Jewish schools in Nahariya. And they were Israel’s allies!”
Top: The driveway of the Makhoul’s house, Makhoul village. Bottom: Makhoul village today. It’s located just half an hour from the northern coastal city of Nahariya.
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AMID MAKHOUL: Eldest son, lawyer
I was raised in Makhoul village. We’re all Christians here, unlike in the majority of Galilee towns. Whether in Piqiin Elementary School or in Tarshiha, I was a minority student. There were always obvious differences between Christians and Druse. One of course, was our relative socio- economic situation. Other incidental dissimilarities could be seen in our food and dress. Druse kids were always talking about enlisting. They were very familiar with all kinds of weapons, as well as being excellent shots. We, on the other hand, were always discussing what to study at university. The way my third grade class divided was totally predictable. My Christian schoolmates all followed professional careers. The Druse entered the military and later found jobs in factories, on the police force or with security companies. Still, as young kids there were no major problems although we definitely felt more vulnerable. What helped redress the balance was that in Piqiin, our principal and most of our teachers were from Makhoul village. They supported us in many confrontations. I was a good student in high school, as well as our class spokesman; but I never felt driven to be the ‘best’. My favorite subjects were Arabic and English. I always envisioned becoming a lawyer like my dad, and made a huge effort during twelfth grade to do well on the Bagrut (our Israeli SAT’s). In general though, I was a rebellious teenager. I couldn’t obey what I considered senseless rules. I wasn’t a big believer, so I cut religion classes. I grew my hair long and dyed it neon colors. That really displeased my teachers but I’m a logical person. I understood it was important to follow a plan, prepare homework, and sit for tests. I knew I had to graduate with high marks, so I used the system to start life. Of my thirty eight classmates eleven are now lawyers. The remaining Christian students all have B.A.’s, M.A.’s, and PhD’s. I guess we didn’t do so badly. In the North, our situation was totally peaceful. Girls and boys socialized openly and we had no problems with our Jewish neighbors. Belonging to a prominent family counts in the Galilee. People are impressed because you’re well connected and that has many benefits. The Arab/Israeli conflict didn’t really affect us either and our entire community was very pro Israel. Like my father and uncle, I attended Hebrew University - Jerusalem. It was a great honor to be accepted there. Yet, I confess that in my first year (1996), I was a terrible student and hardly ever attended classes. I crammed like crazy to pass my exams and celebrated my low C’s. To support my extra-curricular activities (parties, trips and girls) I worked part- time as a waiter, a translator, a law clerk and a law court assistant. I almost didn’t need my fathers financial help.Later, I focused more keenly on getting my diploma. It wasn’t necessary to be a genius, just to pass well. I guess that summarizes my attitude towards life. The most important thing about being a lawyer is to understand personalities. Next, there’s eloquence and mastering the art of negotiation. University courses teach you how to think consequentially. After making Dean’s List and pulling a grade of 94 on my moot court case (it was an appeal in contract law), I knew I’d chosen the right profession.
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Once I began working with Palestinians in court, or meeting them in social situations, I realized that Arabs are treated in a discriminatory manner. Their papers are scrutinized at every check point and their statements are usually received with skepticism. This hit home in a very personal way, after my first year at university. My Jewish/Belgian girlfriend had bought two tickets to Eilat as a surprise. When the airport security guards saw my I.D., they questioned us for an hour and a half, comparing Anouk’s answers with mine. We were the first to enter the waiting room and the last to board the plane. That experience ruined our vacation. Imagine, a law student at Hebrew University whose father is a prominent lawyer and whose uncle is an MK !! It was totally humiliating. I learned then that things weren’t as perfect and harmonious as I had always thought. As an Arab, whether Christian or Moslem, you’re marked. I’m not a racist; but it’s hard to accept that any Ethiopian immigrant in uniform can stop, delay and harass someone whose family has lived here for the last threehundred and fifty years. Repeated incidents like this one can transform any moderate into an embittered opponent, a violent protester or worse. My best friends are Jewish/ Israelis, both from Likud and Labor. We can always discuss issues sensibly. This incident didn’t distort our relationship, but it did open my eyes to life’s realities. After university, I did a year’s internship in Nahariya. I took the Bar exams, received my license and the next day argued seven bankruptcy cases before the Haifa court. Since then the skills of persuasion and negotiation have been at the core of my every legal strategy. Today, I’m totally dedicated to my profession. Working with my father is what I always wanted; although my social life is pretty tame. When you love your work, you enjoy dedicating time to it. Sometimes, I’m so swamped its impossible to leave the office. As a lawyer, I take great satisfaction in helping people
organize their lives. The financial compensation is, I confess, also rewarding. I’ve represented wealthy Jewish settlers in land purchases from Arabs, husbands or wives in divorce battles, bankruptcy and tax cases. Here, you can’t restrict a law practice. Your clients are so diverse that you must deal with each issue and each person equally. If I think about my future, I definitely don’t see marriage and children as immediate options. Those are scary choices that entail big responsibilities. It would mean sacrificing my independence. I have trouble obeying rules, so right now marriage seems too confining a commitment. Anyway, I would only marry with a legal contract. The church is very corrupt. It’s far from being a moral beacon. I won’t support that system and I don’t think it will ever change. Right now, I’m concentrating on my career, financial success and fun in that order. If I ever do have children, I’m not sure I’d raise them in Israel. Life’s very tense here. Every time you approach the border there’s stress and anger. When will I be able to smile at a check point ? I’d love to work as a lawyer in the States. Life there, in many respects is similar to life in Israel. Europe’s definitely out though. I don’t want to learn another language. I have a problem with people who don’t strive to change attitudes and situations they know are wrong. I loose patience with people who follow tradition blindly, or are inflexible or conformist. But then, there is no perfect place and no perfect human being.”
REEM MAKHOUL
Reem : Can you guess?
Until my 19th birthday, I lived in Makhoul village. Like Amid, we triplets finished grade school in Piquiin and then transfered to Tarshiha High School. We had an amazing English teacher. That’s when I learnt to love the language and knew that I wanted to study English literature and linguistics at university. To improve our oral skills, my parents found an instructor from London who gave us private lessons after school. We’re a very close family but my sister Lubna is my best friend. We have the same hobbies and interests. You can count on her, no matter what. We were always together and even had a secret language. We loved to confuse people and, since we’re practically identical, we took each others tests and changed seats back and forth during class. No one ever noticed. We both enjoyed reading and playing the guitar. You might say, Lubna and I were treated as one person. In only two things could you tell us apart. We didn’t enjoy dressing alike and Lubna is more adventurous ,while I’m quieter and a bit shy. We didn’t really connect to our friends, although we were very sociable. There’s always been a magic bond between us. It was weird sometimes, Manar, our triplet, is a boy and had his own circle of chums. Maybe it bothered him that his eternal job was to watch out for us. Growing up here, we didn’t feel any religious tension. It was a beautiful, fun time. Everyone knew us. Christians,Jews and Moslems all met on a harmonious, cordial basis. My parents encouraged us to develop a sense of independence. In some things they were conservative and in others liberal. We liked that and have always trusted their judgement. My mother is an amazing woman. She always told us ‘work hard to achieve your goals’. From eighth grade on, I interned in dad’s law office to perfect my Hebrew and English language skills. That was the best training possible for the future.
During vacations, we also traveled to other European countries. Best of all were France, England and Rumania. Lubna and I always knew we would make our future lives abroad. We were positive we would raise our children in Europe. Our interest in language, journalism and exploring other cultures made that a sure bet. Every year, we also worked harvesting olives in our family’s groves. Modern technology is fantastic but it’s also important to return, to follow our traditions and renew our connection with the land. We invite friends to celebrate the picking season with us and hope they thus gain a better understanding of our oriental culture. Both Deema and Amid graduated from Hebrew University. Lubna and I were excited at the prospect of studying there too. For us, it would be an experiment in total independence.....; coping with the larger world away from family pressures and suggestions. We spent two years in the dorms and the last years in a rented apartment in Jerusalem. At first, it was very challenging and difficult. I’d never experienced the Israeli/Arab conflict before; but I was drawn into it. You can’t live here without being involved in politics. It was a shock to realize the consequences of belonging to a minority. Up North, everyone lives and tries to work together. Jerusalem is a city of contention. Through history courses and family discussions, I developed a sharper, stronger sense of identity. I was a Christian, so I started wearing a large crucifix around my neck to proclaim my faith. But I was also Arab, Israeli and Palestinian. In fact, I had four identities - always a minority within a minority like a Russian matiushka doll. The other thing is that I’m really a hundred percent secular person. I question many of the church’s rites and rulings, although I do believe in Christian ethics. My first experience of discrimination occurred in the Old City. I had entered
(White antelope): Born May 14, 1980
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a restaurant to order a pizza. The cook began rolling the dough but then he heard me speaking in Arabic. He stopped, turned and said ‘Sorry, we don’t serve Arabs here.‘ I was hurt and humiliated. It reminded me of those German signs I’d seen in our history books. ‘No dogs, no Jews.’ Most absurd of all, this man was an Orthodox Christian! Extremists are quick to speak and very slow to think. So many situations are provocative. The rude way suitcases are inspected at bus stations or air terminals, the extra attention your I.D. card gets because it marks you as ‘Arab’, are common flash points. At university, I was active in peace movements and participated in many cross-cultural discussion groups. I belonged, informally, to the Labor party and to Meretz, because it’s important to establish that Arab/Israelis are equal citizens of this country, with a right to participate in government. We aren’t the enemy. Throughout my university years, I made many more Jewish friends than Christian or Moslem ones. I didn’t choose them with a particular motive in mind. It just happened that our interests and personalities coincided. Besides English literature and linguistics, I studied art, photography, Jewish history and the Armenian genocide. I enjoyed learning about different cultures and exploring their points of view. This was very important time in my life because I came into contact with people from every ethnic group in Israel. In order to earn spending money, I worked as a translator and as a waitress. Jerusalem is a fascinating city. There are so many opportunities here. I didn’t want to return to the North, after graduation. Our village seemed too quiet compared with the excitement of the capital. Besides, job possibilities are very limited there and I adored my new independence. Once university ended, I traveled on a one month YMCA exchange program called ‘Moderate Voices for Peace’. In our group of twelve, six were Arabs and six were Jews. We stayed with our host families in North Carolina (I’m still in touch with mine), while meeting with senators and other community leaders. It felt good to be in a neutral place discussing the problems of Israel, in a neutral language. After I returned to Jerusalem, an intense job search began. It ended when a private school here, impressed by my fluency in English, offered me a full time position teaching third grade, as well as high school Hebrew. All subjects, math, science, English and Hebrew had to be taught in English. I was extremely excited. I’d never considered a teaching career, but I knew that this job would definitely improve my chances for a journalistic position. It was a good choice. I’m happy to have worked at it for a year. My English improved and I became a more patient person. Now I’m working as a researcher/translator/journalist for the New York Times, I’m also taking a course in photography and video to increase, as you would say, my marketability. Maybe, I should live abroad for a year to learn another language. My biggest concern is not being able to find full- time, stable, well-paying employment. That’s a general problem in Israel for young graduates. We have to make lots of compromises along the way. It’s awful to have graduated as a lawyer, or architect, or biologist and then be obliged to work as a bartender, to pay your rent. I’d like to stay here and struggle. People say ‘this is your fight, your country’. I don’t think I have to fight to remain in Israel. But I don’t feel any deep connection to Israel, either. I don’t want to raise children in this contentious atmosphere. I’m not evading my responsibilities. I see living abroad more as a progression. Perhaps I’ll return one day, as a stronger person.
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MANAR MAKHOUL: Born May 14, 1980 As a small boy, I had no worries. We lived a rich and colorful childhood. Every September 14th., our whole village would celebrate Saint Helena’s discovery of the true cross. Weeks before, we’d start searching for old tires to burn. Then, on the night of the 14th, bonfires would be lit all over the hills and valley. When the Oslo Agreements were signed (Sept.13,1993), there were no more bonfires. Everyone knew that a peace process had begun. We were happy because we understood this was a positive thing, although we didn’t grasp its revolutionary dimensions. Most children up North weren’t even aware that a Palestinian/Israeli conflict existed. As we matured, the Oslo accords shaped our political orientation. We hoped to live in a better place, a country of greater opportunities and friendlier inter- religious relations. I’ve completed my B.A. in International Relations and my M.A. in contemporary Middle Eastern studies at Hebrew University. Now, I’m applying to different American and English universities for a PhD in Political Science. Meanwhile, I’m translating information from the Palestinian news media Al Quds and Al Ayam for the Japanese paper Asahi Shinbun. These channels make it clear that many Palestinians and Moslems perceive the leaders of rightist regimes in Saudi Arabia, Egypt, The Emirates, Jordan and Pakistan as illegitimate, because of their close alliance with the West. They feel they have the right to revolt if their interests are not represented, or if their grievances are ignored. Somehow, it all comes back to education, economics and oil. In international relations, we understand there are no fast friends, only temporary, convergent interests. The credibility of a new Palestinian State depends upon disarming Hamas and forming a government of consensus. Nothing is as it seems. The Palestinian Authority (Fatah) is unwilling to confront Hamas, both because of long term internal corruption and because the younger generation believes that Hamas deserves credit for precipitating Israel’s withdrawal from Gaza. Once I’ve finished my studies, I’ll have a better knowledge of the Middle East’s problems and how one might structure serious reforms. Gandhi and Martin Luther King both advocated non-violence in their pursut, of de jure and de facto equality. These men should serve as our examples. I owe it to myself to return to Hebrew University as a professor of political science. Now, most of the faculty is Zionist. I’d like to represent another view point to Arab and Jewish students. Further along, perhaps, I’ll enter politics. Unfortunately ,Israeli politicians are perceived as hypocrites..... indecent people. I’m not like that. I’m honest and generous. It would be a difficult test, but real change will only come within this legal process of compromise. One important innovation that I favor is to make both Arabic and Hebrew mandatory in all government schools. Israel is such a small country. How can we hope to understand each others’ cultures and work together effectively if we don’t speak one another’s language?
Reem and Manar harvesting olives in the family’s grove.
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AWAKA GIVAT OLGA
Top: Tanat’s most persistent themes: love, procreation and the fragility of beauty. When a young Ethiopian girl marries, she is given a small bowl. Inside which is a couple making love. If the cover is removed, it means that she is not menstruating and invites sexual relations.
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Elisa, Myriam Tanat holding Nathaniel and Rivka. Although they live less than fifteen minutes away, in Givat Olga, they had never visited this extrordinary Roman city built by King Herod to honor his benefactor, the Emperor Agustus Caesar.
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Reluctant to be photographed, grandma Rachel worries about Tanat and Nataniel.
Three generations, a mixed blessing.
Despite her adventures and travails, Rachel’s face mirrors the beauty of her flowers.
Tanat’s life is as complex as the convolutions of this olive tree.
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Sarah, Tanat and Nathaniel
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Tanat’s sculptures, always in black clay, refer to themes of friendship, nurturing and water as a source of sustenance.
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Top: Tanat is proud of her ancestry, grateful to live in Israel but dubious about the future.
Rivka considers her future.
Bottom: A portrait of Elisa.
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ZERI AWAKA: 85 years “I’m 85 now. My mind has absorbed so many changes. Life has been long, sometimes troubled, but always blessed. We were born years ago in a Jewish Ethiopian village surrounded by Christians. Rachel and I came here during Nitzam Moshe (Rachel is a universal Jewish name from the Bible. It was her birth name. Not a new name given to her in Israel). We traveled northwest through Ethiopia, the Sudan and finally, by airlift, to Israel. We walked all night and hid by day. Some of us were killed by Sudanese soldiers. Others were trapped and butchered by Ethiopian Christians. It was dangerous to trust any stranger. Our first shelter in Israel was the Acre Army Base. After 13 days, we were transferred to the absorption center in Tiberias. As new immigrants, we received a grant to purchase an apartment. Rachel and I worked at the school cafeteria and were taken on a tour of the whole country. I rejoiced at Israel’s beauty; such fertile soil, even the desert bloomed. I was amazed by so many modern roads and tall buildings. Truthfully, I wept when we left our village but it was so difficult for Jews there to secure a prosperous future. I miss our old home, our landscape. A thousand pictures drown my heart. Certain aromas, warm bright colors, unlock the doors of memory. In Israel it’s different. Here you see real progress every day. I was sick and never learned Hebrew at Ulpan (language classes for new immigrants). My children and grandchildren speak Hebrew fluently. They will reap the benefits of so many opportunities. I often dream of returning to Ethiopia for a visit; but I’m diabetic and can’t travel. Besides, who knows if I would recognize any of those old places now. Years ago, people doubted the existence of black Jews. Nonetheless, we’re an ancient community. For us, as for all Jews, the center of our life is the family. It is what gives meaning to our existence.”
TANAT AWAKA: 43 years
“They stalked us as relentlessly as a leopard hunts the zebra. We were Beta Israel (Falasha). We were fleeing and they could sense our fear. It was forbidden, then, for Jews to emigrate directly from Ethiopia to Israel; so we followed a dangerous, circuitous route through the Sudan. Wait, let’s start again at the beginning. I was born in Olaka, a very small village, but my earliest memories of home are in Gonder where my parents moved. That‘s where I graduated from sixth grade and where I first imagined becoming an artist. Later, I was enrolled in Ort (the Israeli school system with many branches abroad), and earned a high school diploma in art. For seven years I taught that subject; each year in a different city. While on assignment to a Christian school, my parents wrote that they and my five brothers and sister would begin a long journey towards the Sudanese border and eventually to Israel. How could I join them? I decided to ask our principal for permission; just to visit my family, but she insisted I submit this request in writing. Weeks were wasted before I received approval for a short leave. By the time I finally reached home, almost all my relatives had left. My great-aunt said they had started out for Sudan without having received my reply. What could I do? I sold everything, cheaply, in a great rush, and began my journey, on foot, at night. Each dawn, I clambered up a tree to sleep until darkness fell again and no human sounds were
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audible. It was winter and the nights were cold. Floods rushed down across the plain, erasing many of the already faint tracks. I became more terrified each day, feverish, shivering and hungry. Whom could I trust? It took me four months to reach the Sudanese frontier. By that time, my family was long gone and had in fact already reached Israel. Worst of all, Sudan suddenly closed it’s borders. Most of the refugees were herded back towards Ethiopia. My fate was different. Although I didn’t speak their language, I was quite fat and the police mistook me for Sudanese. My problem was which way to turn. The fear of been kidnapped, raped or imprisoned rattled my judgement. Luckily, God set a Good Samaritan across my path. This border trader escorted me all the way back to Gonder and literally saved my life. I reached Gonder, very ill, with a skin infection. My skin kept sloughing off like a snake’s and our home was occupied by strangers. My great-aunt again spoke wisely. She insisted I enter the hospital, where I remained for three months with acute sun poisoning. Once recovered, I met and married my husband. We had both studied at Ort, but he was already a qualified teacher. I received no news whatsoever from my parents. We simply lost touch. I remember, I was pregnant with our first child, Sarah, and just about ready to deliver when a representative from the Jewish Agency arrived. He knew my parents and told me that they were worried and trying in vain to locate me. Sarah greeted the new world in a traditional birth hut. The Joint gentleman
Zeri is the incarnation of patriarchal dignity.
Left: Nathaniel is protected
by Tanat and her spirits. Right: An exhibit of traditional Ethiopian dress and basketry in the Israel Museum, Jerusalem.
was so emotional. He cried, photographed the entire event and handed me eight hundred shekels. He returned to Israel with our phone number and pictures for my parents of their new grand-daughter. When my parents finally called us, I sobbed so much that my husband had to speak for me. They begged us not to leave Gonder until immigration regulations were eased. So we stayed in Gonder for four more years. I didn’t want more children. All our family lived far away in Israel, or in America like my in-laws. Who would help me raise them? Then, my parents advised us that it might be easier to emigrate from Addis Ababa. We packed up and moved there. One year later Operation Salomon brought us on Aliyah to Israel. Just before the trip, my left leg became paralized. I was also pregnant with Rivka, our second child. I hadn’t seen my family in seven years, but we were first sent to the old mystical city of Tsfad. It was very difficult there. The cobblestone streets are very narrow and steep. It wasn’t easy for a lame person. The cooking odors repulsed me. I desperately craved Ethiopian food, but where could I find the ingredients? Only my parents understood. They brought me specially prepared meals, all the way from Petah Tikvah. After Rivka’s birth, we were given a caravan near Nahariya, facing the Lebanese border. Our stay there lasted eighteen months and was marked by the arrival of our third daughter Myriam. Until then, I had been working and teaching art; but three young children changed many things.
In Ethiopia, my husband taught school. At Ort schools in Israel, Klimn couldn’t find work. He completed a three months electrician’s course but lost his job. So for now, he’s a gardener in Kibbutz Magal. The language was also a barrier, at first. Hebrew’s difficult, the letters, as well as the sounds. It’s not like Amharic or English. I learned by just living here, with kind friends. I was too busy for Ulpan classes. Four years after Aliyah, we managed to buy this apartment in Givat Olga. Life’s so strange. Ethiopian houses have one big sleeping area. Parents take the bed and children lay mats about the floor. Here, everyone gets their own room, even baby Elisa, born just as we moved in. Life seemed better. Though what was really missing was a son. That’s so important in our culture. Some months after Nathaniel was conceived, the doctor’s diagnosed him as having Down’s Syndrome. They explained to me that there was no cure. They emphasized all the difficult problems we would have to face and suggested that I might prefer an abortion. But how could I reject this gift from God. He’s eight months old now. He’ll always be limited but his smile is pure honey. During this last pregnancy, my body went limp. I had no energy. I slept all day but thrashed about at night. Seven days later, after a complicated cesarean, my stomach and legs swelled up like a balloon. Three operations followed without any improvement. Then, unconscious, I was rushed to the hospital where the surgeons performed a hysterectomy. Why? What’s wrong with me? I can’t urinate properly. It hurts. I am diabetic and asthmatic. I keep loosing weight. I’ve never been this thin, even as a child. All these blood tests, ultrasounds and MRI’s. The doctors insist I need another operation. I‘m afraid. If I die what will happen to my children? At least I don’t use a cane anymore. My husband is young. He can’t be without a woman. He says he wants to leave me. How will I survive alone? My parents don’t know anything. I’m going crazy. We hardly manage as it is. Who am I? I’m a sculptress, an artist. I use black clay from Holland because black is our skin color and our identity. My figures are always in groups or pairs, never alone. Maybe two women carrying water, a husband and wife embracing, a twin birth... Themes of family and friendship. My career is stalled now. I’d like to continue sculpting and teaching children’s art classes. It’s a shame, dutch clay is so expensive and it’s so difficult to find a teaching post. My friend Yehudit Barshalov is also an artist. She’s really a second mother. She helps me arrange exhibits, publicize them and find interested buyers . It might have been smarter to live in Jerusalem or Hertzliya. Somewhere with wealthy people, a university and lots of tourists. I always try to participate in group shows. But sales are erratic. This apartment’s wrong too. It’s small. I can’t have a workshop here. It’s not on the ground floor, so passers by don’t see my pieces.
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NAKASHIAN
Arpi, Saro and Arpine on their rooftop, within the solid embrace of St. James’ medieval walls.
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Father and daughter, imbued with the past but looking toward a broader future.
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Left: Snack time. Right: At recess,
informality and friendship.
Left: This is the only class that Nanar attends outside the Armenian enclave. Right: For these buding Pavlovas,
enthusiasm counts as much as grace.
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Entrance to the Armenian Heritage Museum, Jerusalem.
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Entrance to St. James Convent, Complex and Cathedral, Armenian Quarter, Jerusalem.
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The altar at St. James.
St. James altar with old armenian ceramic tiles, Maundy Thursday.
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A solemn choice…a leap of faith.
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St. James Cathedral, Jesusalem. The ordenation of new priests begins.
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At the Easter footwashing ritual Patriarch Manoogian ministers to a priest.
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Bishop Aris Shirvanian. A meditaional pause.
The Armenian Patriarch, Torkom II Manoogian. St. James, Jerusalem.
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Lay officials, acolytes, noviciates, priests and prelates. The entire Armenian community joins in on Easter Sunday.
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Candles, incense and solemnity.
Hallelujah!
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A trio of Crowns.
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ARPINE (Sun) NAKASHIAN: Born 1930, grandmother
“Can you believe it? Van was still part of the Ottoman Empire when my parents were born (1906, 1909). They emigrated to Bacuba, which became a refugee hub during the Armenian genocide (1915); and were brought to Jerusalem under the auspices of the Armenian Benevolent Society. The sexes were strictly separated. Men were housed inside the Monastery; while women lodged at the Holy Cross Convent. An orphanage, set up to care for the youngest victims, was closed in 1926. Those children were sent to Cyprus and entrusted to the care of local Armenian families. My mother was sixteen, and my father, Arshag, just twenty. He and his brother Kachig were cobblers, having been apprenticed to that trade as boys. But Arshag was also a musician. He’d joined a forty piece band and was scheduled to begin a long tour of Ethiopia. Then his destiny took a different turn. He met my mother and was enchanted by her grace. He preferred to drop out of the band rather than be separated from her. In quick succession, they fell in love, married and moved to Jaffa, settled at last, or so they thought. Arshag opened a shoe factory producing both men and women styles. At that time, Armenians had large families. Many children were conceived in an attempt to compensate for the hundreds of thousands massacred by the Turks. Jaffa’s Monastery, the first port of entry into Palestine, was bringing in young Armenian boys from Lebanon to work and settle here. Many became employees at my father’s factory. Israel was declared an independent nation in 1948. At that time, the Armenian community in Jerusalem and Jaffa numbered about eighteen thousand people. The Jerusalem Monastery had over one thousand rooms, where Armenians from Baka and Katamon fled for safety. These refugees were lodged one family to a room. From 1948 to 1967, it became impossible to exit the Old City... even to bury the dead. During those years, everybody was interred in plots near our museum. I had just turned eighteen when the fighting began. Arshag’s main concern was our family’s safety. (By this time, I also had a younger sister and brother). He decided we should sit out the war in Lebanon. So, with only two suitcases, we made our way through Jordan to Beirut before settling provisionally back in Amman. My parents were convinced, it would be a short conflict and they wanted to remain close to Jerusalem. I began teaching at the Armenian School. Later, my brother traveled to Aden as a surveyor. My father and uncle rebuilt their shoe factory and even opened a community center. ‘Nothing can defeat the Armenian spirit’. Hrant, my future husband, was one of five siblings born in Sebastia. His father and four uncles were killed by Turkish soldiers, for helping an Armenian patrol escape. The family left Sebastia in 1914, but returned, tragically the next year hoping for peace. Along with his sisters and two brothers, Hrant was first evacuated to Lebanon. From there, the AGBU (Armenian General Benevolent Union) brought them all to Cyprus. Hrant was an excellent student and sportsman. He lived for a while in Jaffa. At that time, my parents’ house doubled as a club for Armenian orphans. Hrant’s brother and sister-in-law boarded with us; so Hrant became my teacher for history, literature, music and sports. By 1949, Hrant had joined his sister and brother-in-law in Gaza. He began working for UN-UNRWA as a photographer (a skill he acquired at the orphanage in Cyprus) and traveled extensively to document the refugee camps in Jordan and Lebanon. We met again in Jordan, in 1955. A serious discussion was held about marriage but nothing was resolved for four years, while Hrant continued his work abroad. Finally in 1960, we married. He had composed a song for me, which 264
Our history is impressive but bittersweet.
I learned to play on the violin. Afterwards, for every wedding anniversary, he always performed that tune. Hrant had a Lebanese passport. His UN duties obliged him to travel frequently to Cairo and Jerusalem; but we continued to make our home in Gaza until 1967. The Six Day War was short but horrible. With each bomb I felt as if my lungs were exploding. I was sick and our children were small. At that time, I was also teaching Armenian orphans in Gaza’s hospital. Once the Six Day War ended, we came to live, at last, in Jerusalem. The UN wanted to transfer us to Vienna, but I refused. I wanted my children to grow up with Armenian traditions and an Armenian education. For me, heritage is everything. Just after returning, our Patriarch Yeghise Derderian proposed that I teach co-ed secondary school classes. Hrant had begun teaching literature and history again, so our careers complemented each other’s well. Two years later, a wealthy New York Armenian visited our school. He caught the spark of my enthusiasm and resolved to sponsor a program to teach the Armenian language and culture.
From 1969 to 1976, one hundred and twenty-one students (poor village boys, age eleven through sixteen) were escorted via Turkey to Armenia by Hrant. Many graduated from the Seminary and eventually became priests. One is now the Primate of New York. Another, after serving as the Primate of Switzerland, is now the Patriarch’s Legate in Washington, D.C. A third is currently Primate of Argentina. Today, we have large, dynamic communities throughout the world, principally in the United States, France, Australia, Canada and Brazil. Los Angeles alone is home to six hundred thousand Armenians; while another fifty thousand live in Aleppo. I’m happy here because I’m achieving something important. I’ve worked in Armenian schools and clubs for fifty years. I never had a desire to live abroad. Although we took family vacations every summer to Jordan, Aleppo, Latakia, Armenia, Europe and the States, my world was always within the Old City walls. As luck would have it, the world came to us. Famous foreign artists and authors continually visited here. If an Armenian pilgrim arrived in Jerusalem, he was always told “you must visit the Nakashians”. Frequently, I address Armenian students abroad. I’ve been invited to teach in New York, but I believe the purpose of my work is best fulfilled in Jerusalem. Eight thousand Armenians have immigrated to Israel to Israel from the former Soviet Union. All are well educated and most live in Tel Aviv or Petah Tivkah. But their presence doesn’t enrich Jerusalem’s Armenian community. The children don’t speak Armenian. They aren’t religious because they were sent to study in secular schools. This is a great loss for us. I’m optimistic about the future. I may be seventy-four, but there are still many projects ahead. One is to publish my husband’s unedited manuscripts. The other is to finish my autobiography. I want my grandchildren to grow up with pride in their heritage and their family. I want them to take the same pleasure I do in listening to Armenian songs and poetry because these things sustain the bond of all generations. We have no relationship with the Jewish community. Armenians are self-contained, in-bred. We aren’t open to outsiders. We want to keep our community alive and authentic, so we have to incubate it. Many prosperous families have emigrated to the U.S., Canada or Australia. Some young people leave. They don’t value the richness of our spiritual life. Just think, in Saro’s class of fifteen students, only two still live here.”
SARO (Romeo): 1960 “I was actually born in Gaza though we emigrated to Jerusalem in 1967. Our community has always been very welcoming to new Armenian immigrants, so I do consider this to be my home. There were never any adaptation issues, no ‘culture shock’. It was an amazingly smooth transition. Within this complex, we had twenty-two neighbors and lots of children my own age. Today ninety eight percent of my friends are friends I made here. This environment was a positive experience. It was very nurturing. But later on, it made networking more difficult. We weren’t exposed to other lifestyles. Our society has always been very insular. We lead very sheltered lives. We had no understanding of other ideas and traditions of how to approach people from different backgrounds. This is a very safe place. We don’t have drug or alcohol problems. Shame is a major deterrent. Bad behavior disgraces the family and the community. My father once said ‘try everything but don’t get hooked. Know when to stop. Understand what’s good and what’s bad’. I could never imagine harming others. Cruel abusive behavior is alien to our culture. Family is the cornerstone of our lives. It’s the channel through which core values, like respect for others, are transmitted. During our last two years of high school, we had some parties with the upperclassmen from Palestinian schools (in Shaufat and Beit Hanina) but my classmates were all Armenians. My parents also had Palestinian business associates. Nervertheless they weren’t our friends. As well as being a teacher and a photographer, my father also dealt in rare coins and antiquities. Originally, I wanted to study archeology. Then, in 1976, Anoush and I attended an Armenian summer camp. One thousand two hundred students arrived from around the world (six hundred from the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe) to participate in a month-long program. It was fascinating to meet teenagers from so many different countries, all of the same religion and 265
bound by a common cultural heritage. That summer I made a friend, Nassar, from New Jersey. He attended my high school graduation and invited me to live with his family in the States, so I might have an opportunity to study there. At first, I couldn’t get a student visa. My SAT scores were only average, so I didn’t have a firm college offer. Then, on September 15th, Saint Peter’s College in Jersey City accepted me. They function on a trimester basis; and I agreed to take a twenty-six-hour course load in each of two trimesters, starting December 19, 1977. It was my biggest adventure. Nassar and his family became my second family. They welcomed me into their home for six years. I had cousins in New York who said ‘why don’t you stay with us?’ Believe me, with them I wouldn’t have lasted six months. Nassar’s family had very solid Armenian values. I never felt like an outsider. They owned a gas station where we helped out on weekends. I returned to Jerusalem for Christmas and summer vacations. My parents also visited New Jersey twice. By the end of my college years, our two families had bonded into one extended clan. I graduated with a BA in Business; and 1982 earned my MBA from Farleigh Dickenson in Marketing. If money had been my primary objective, I would have stayed in the States. I received many interesting job offers then, including one from Johnson & Johnson for a position in the Middle East. Completing my MBA, immediately after undergraduate studies, opened up many more work opportunities back in Jerusalem. Now I’m studying for a PhD in Entrepreneurship with the Maastricht School of Management. They offer an Executive Program specifically designed to train Palestinian businessmen. I completed all my coursework and I’m now writing my dissertation. I always intended to return to Jerusalem. Family means much more to me than economic compensation. When I left for the States, my mother agonized ‘what have we done? He’s just seventeen’. My dad, however, had a very pragmatic attitude. He said ‘learn English well. You can’t progress without it’. So for my university years I did nothing but study. In 1984, I approached some companies in the West Bank, but there were no opportunities. Then, I received an offer to lecture at Bir Zeit University where I taught organizational development and business consulting until 2001. I also worked with the UN Industrial Development Organization (UNIDO) as a consultant. Unfortunately, they were unable to employ me full-time since I don’t speak Hebrew fluently. During those years, I met Professor Ritchie of Brigham Young University. We collaborated on research for joint management projects and he subsequently introduced me to Omar Kader, who heads Paltec Planning and Learning Corporation. Omar, born and raised in the U.S., is of Palestinian descent. In 1998, we developed a venture to manufacture hand-made gift paper and greeting cards for export. It was bad luck that the Intifada disrupted those plans and that just then our Israeli partner suffered a heart attack. Now, Kader has submitted a bid for a USAID maternal/child care project. Phase two of this process will soon be completed and he wants me to represent him. So now, I’m faced with a choice similar to the one that my father struggled with years ago. If he had accepted the UN’s offer to relocate to Vienna or Canada, his opportunities would have been immeasurably greater. How ironic, today I’m wrestling with the same dilemma. I have the opportunity to work with Kader’s company in Washington, D.C. I don’t want my children to regret my decision. However, this is a very sensitive issue. We’re closely connected to the Arab countries. If we obtain Israeli passports, our travel within the Middle East will be severely restricted. On the other hand, income wise there’s a big difference between working here or abroad. What kind of a job should I accept and where in order to maintain our living standard? 266
Things have become very difficult here and I’m constantly concerned about our children’s future. I don’t want to limit their opportunities. Americans take so much for granted. There it’s perfectly normal and easy to apply for a student loan or even for a scholarship. Here, competition is fierce and options are limited. The best decision I ever made was to study in the States. It taught me to be self-reliant and selfconfident. For the moment, I’ve established myself in Jerusalem. Times seem to be improving. Our project plans to spend over twentysix million dollars in the West Bank, over a three-year period. People associate me with this endeavor. It provides me with a platform for networking and searching out other opportunities. Most importantly, it gives me great satisfaction to be helping people right here. My grandfather and father always hoped for peace. In ’36, ’48, ’67, ’73, and ’91. My father died with his dream unfulfilled. I honestly don’t see peace becoming a reality in the near future. There’s too much extremism. Religion has become a political weapon. All three monotheistic faiths have a strong moral basis, but very often, the behavior of people who call themselves observant is negative. There’s an obsession with dominance that encourages hatred and fanatacism. That’s an abuse of religion. I’m living in a city where diversity breeds suspicion and antagonism, even within different branches of the same faith. Intercommunal relations are deteriorating. I’m not sure if I can continue to live in such a violent, intolerant environment. From a Christian point of view it’s difficult to reconcile diversity with exclusivity. I’m very interested in trying to understand what motivates other cultures. The beauty of Jerusalem is precisely a result of it’s very eclectic religious heritage. There are many more factors involved here than are evident at first glance. Extremist minorities intimidate the general population so that they are reluctant to embrace moderate positions. Religious communities are too polarized. How many generations will it take before children of different cultures accept each other as equals? Instead of emphasizing commonality, we should respect diversity. People behave today in ways that would have been unthinkable fifty years ago. Harming children and civilians intentionally, or unintentionally, is not acceptable. Everyone wants their families to thrive. The situation, today, forces us into inappropriate behaviors. When you politicize religion the only outcome is violence. Religions profess tolerance. But people taking phrases out of context, distort their meaning and provoke intolerance. For this country, the only solution is the creation of two separate States. If concrete steps aren’t taken soon things will turn uglier. Despite all our expectations, nothing is ideal. No truce will last. History has taught us that treaties are broken. Goals are distorted over time. Human nature changes slowly. Let’s forget about fantasies and strive instead for justice.
Anoush is a sensitive and creative poet, largely underestimated by the Armenian community.
ANOUSH (Juliet) NAKASHIAN: Born November 1961, sister
“I’ve always been a romantic introvert, even after we moved from Gaza to Jerusalem. I was six then. What I remember most, was a big cross, all lit up and shinning, set in front of our new house. Absolutely everyone spoke Armenian. They cried and laughed and kissed one another like a huge, suffocating family. What’s it like living here? Well, every imaginable activity takes place within these walls: school, sports, social clubs, professional societies and, of course, religious celebrations. It’s supposed to make you feel secure, to reinforce your Armenian identity. But if you’re the least bit different or independent minded, so much togetherness is hard to stomach. Sometimes, I would just take my dolls and sit playing alone against the church walls. Actually, that was where I wrote my first poem. My fascination with Armenia began on my first trip there in 1976. The country completely enchanted me. Its smells, colors and music seemed magical. I also met my first love there and ever since I’ve been spinning in its orbit. Returning to Jerusalem for high school I did ‘all the right things’. I joined the choir and a dance group. I took piano lessons and began to write more serious poetry. People remember me as a cheerful adolescent. But I felt terribly lonely
and unappreciated. Friends laughed at my romantic ideas. I was just too different, which in a closed community is never good. After graduation, I enrolled in the University of Yerevan. Since Armenia was then still under Soviet rule, living conditions were pretty grim. The shops were empty and forty of us shared a single bathroom. For sure it wasn’t the Ritz, yet those five years were the happiest ones of my life. I never knew my grandparents; but I’ve read lots of history and always imagined exploring our family’s roots. In Yerevan, I was at the center of our traditions. There, the past became alive and vibrant. Every church, every worn down cobblestone, every melody touched my heart in a very special way. I published a few poems then, but I was too shy to describe my most personal feelings. So my communication was incomplete... insincere. By the time I returned to Jerusalem most of my close friends had left. I had very little in common with those that remained. It was a lethal environment. So, as a constructive escape, I entered Pitman’s College, London, to study English Drama. There, I gave a recitation in Armenian which received good reviews. My future husband read them and traveled all the way from Marseille to hear my second presentation. What a romantic beginning! He was a writer, twenty years my senior, poor and unemployed. Not exactly the ideal prospect. But no matter. We fell in love. I felt rich and we were married that same year in Jerusalem. 267
On stage, we appeared to be the perfect couple. That first year, we gave twenty-four recitations in France, Switzerland, England, Canada and the United States. We shared our thoughts and our writings. Yet in truth, the honeymoon was short. He became very jealous and could never relate to me as a grown-up woman. After the birth of our son Arpiag (Eye of the Sun), I returned to my parents’ home. Believe me, it was terribly difficult to swallow my pride. I understood how negative the community’s reaction would be. But a brief attempted reconciliation in Paris led nowhere. I’ve been back in Jerusalem since 1987. It’s uncomfortable. Relationships here curdle with jealousy and resentments of long forgotten origin. People are narrow-minded. One faces so many limitations and biases. I feel out of place. At first, I taught school; but when I recited children’s poems in class, the director disapproved. ‘That’s not part of our program’, he said. Three years later I stopped teaching. My work was being sabotaged. To earn money, I began selling jewelry at a local shop. Every year I traveled abroad to give readings and lectures. That boosted my self-esteem... but only for a while. Eventually, I became so depressed, I couldn’t get out of bed. My mother literally saved my life. She gave me some schekels and said ‘I don’t recognize you. Take this money and register for your PhD at Hebrew University’. Arpine is so wise. She knew how to revive my spirit and show me a new horizon for my talents. My tragedy is that I have so few real friends. Only my first love has been constant. He appreciates my work, critiques it and encourages me to publish. Also, he never, ever forgets my birthday. As my doctoral studies progressed, I again transferred to Yeravan University. After a nine-year absence it was amazing. I actually felt that I could breath freely again. A 13th century Armenian poet, whom I chose as the subject for my dissertation, wrote ‘before anything, love existed’. I’m a hopeless romantic, so he was an perfect choice. When I showed Yerevan friends my first book, they didn’t understand why I hadn’t published sooner. I think I had been afraid of a negative reaction from our Jerusalem community. I’m a divided soul. You know, it’s the clown syndrome ‘Ridi Pagliaccio’. I can laugh, but the loneliness is very powerful. Even my eyes are so Armenian. They smile with sadness. ‘God created the world with love but there’s too much sorrow in it’. I’ve done a number of TV and radio interviews and recitals. I’ve been awarded two gold medals for cultural contributions. I also received an honorary doctorate in Armenian Culture from the International Armenian Academy of Social Sciences. My life today? I’ve had chances to remarry, but no... I love my freedom. I travel abroad as a representative of the Armenian Writers Union and of the Ministry of Education. Over the past two years, we’ve strengthened the ties between Armenia and our Jerusalem community. I hope I’ve helped revitalize the spirit of our young people through my plays. My family is totally supportive of these efforts. Still... people here can be very narrow-minded, very cruel. Small societies breed petty sentiments and deep envies. I’m writing a new book. ‘The Little Girl with a Big Dream’ speaks of realities that are very hurtful. Someday, people will be proud that I lived here; but it will be too late. You need patience to discover the pearl.” Among the many activities Anoush has helped found and support are orphanages in Armenia. In this she continues her parents’ work. “Armenia was poverty stricken during the ’90s. Now, life there is much improved. People understand that hard work is the key to success in their new capitalistic economy. Armenians are very enterprising. They also know that in order to receive, they must also give. 268
For those Armenians who immigrate to Israel, life is stressful. They face a difficult language barrier, as well as the threat of terrorism. Many young adults leave. They feel they’re facing a dead end. Even when things improve momentarily, we remember the saying ‘a single blossom doesn’t herald spring’. Our community needs to re-energize its young people. It needs new books and new teaching methods. Using plays as a didactic tool is very effective. We’ve seen that in many schools abroad. Where skits and plays are part of classroom activities, students become more eager to participate in discussion groups. During the summers of 2002 and 2003 I traveled to Istanbul to attend teacher’s seminars. We were concerned with developing new ways to awaken our students’ interest in the Armenian language as a cultural manifestation. There are now sixty five thousand Armenians living in Turkey. Yet students are not taught about the 1915 massacre of their ancestors. At the first meeting of teachers of the Armenian Diaspora, I introduced a number of new texts with colorful, engaging presentations. No one was interested. I’m tired of suggesting new ideas and being ignored. I’m through and through Armenian. I sent my son to university abroad because I want him to be well prepared and to have a good job. But I never pushed him towards a specific career. I gave him a good, modern education and a solid Armenian foundation. For me, he comes first in everything. Love of Armenia is a special feeling. It’s like a precious diamond you’ve been lucky enough to inherit. You want to keep it safe for your children. Most of what passes for culture today is just costume jewelry.”
ARPI (Sun) NAKASHIAN:
Born July 14, 1990, granddaughter “I’m a Bastille Day baby (just a few centuries later, ha, ha). Now that I’m in tenth grade, my favorite subjects are science, art, history and music. I really love music. You know we’re a very musical family. My grandmother Vartouni (Rose) plays the accordion. My uncle is a pianist. Grandfather Hrant played the violin and my instrument is definitely the piano. I studied solfege and have been composing small pieces since I was nine. From kindergarten on, we learned four languages: Armenian, English, Arabic and Hebrew. It’s fun. The more languages you know the more you understand. After school, I play tennis (gold medalist for singles in the 2005 Navasartian Games) or hang out with my friends inside the convent grounds. It’s safe. No one can hurt us here. We feel uncomfortable and sometimes frightened outside. If we do go about in Jerusalem, we all take cell phones. Often, we eat at McDonald’s or Pizza Hut. Otherwise, we shop at Kenyon Malcha (Jerusalem’s mega mall), see a film or just people watch. Traveling to the States is always so different. The first thing we notice is how safe it is. Here, there’re so many rules about where not to go. American houses are open; not ancient stone buildings with tiny windows. They have large glass windows and wide, light-filled rooms. You can ride your bike almost everywhere. It’s like traveling to a different planet. When we fly there for summer vacation, the best part is shopping and making new friends. My cousins live in San Francisco. Our plan is to study at the same university and, maybe later, to open a restaurant called ‘Cousins’.” Saro observes “those are contrasts that make a deep impression. People here say ‘Wow, there are so many opportunities in America’. The level of violence there is so minimal. It makes them restless for change.”
Arpi says “I can’t imagine living my entire life here. I guess, if I stayed in Jerusalem things would never change. I’d always be worried. I don’t see a future for me here. Even when I was younger and someone would ask me about college I always imagined myself in the States. Our family is like a tree. Its roots are in Armenia. Its trunk is in Jerusalem but as it grows its branches spread out to new continents. We’ve visited Washington D.C. and Virginia. If my father accepts a job there, it would be incredible. Thinking ahead, I might like o be an archeologist or a plastic surgeon, to help burn victims or children with birth defects. Interior design is also a possibility because I’m good at drawing. Anyway, it’s too soon to make a choice. Of course I’ll miss the convent and my friends. It’s such a warm feeling to be at home with my family. I like joining the community clubs and social activities. That’s part of my identity. But I also look forward to the future, to making new friends, in a new place, and becoming a more complex person.”
Walking toward St. James, Jerusalem.
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FISHER-FREUND
Heinrich as a young child, with his parents and older siblings in Berlin.
Heinrich’s dreams of heroism became a reality during World War II.
Heinrich seated in the first row, at the extreme left, with his elementary school classmates - Berlin
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Heinrich with his schoolmates at the Grosse Hamburger Schule, Berlin.
Heinrich and his wife Yehudit outside their home in Rehavia, the tradirtional ashkenazi quarter of Jerusalem.
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The Headquarters of Yad Sarah, Jerusalem.
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HEINRICH (CHAIM) FISHER: Born 1919, Berlin “I retired fifteen years ago and since then I‘ve been working at Yad Sarah (Sarah’s Hand). Yad Sarah has one hundred and three branches, 200 full time employees and over 6,000 volunteers countrywide. Close to half a million people utilize our services each year. We repair and loan medical and rehabilitation equipment, such as oxygen concentrators, orthopedic and electronic equipment, cardiac apnea monitors, vaporizers, crutches, walkers, and hearing aids, so that the disabled or elderly can become more self-sufficient. We run out-patient rehabilitation centers and geriatric dental clinics. We provide transportation for wheel chair patients, legal aid services for the elderly through Yad Riva, mobile workshops to make expedient home repairs, meals on wheels and a laundry service for the incontinent. Now we also offer an array of devices that permit handicapped people to use computers and a free service, Da’at (knowledge) that connects the patient needing surgery or specialized medical treatment with physicians, bio-chemists, therapists, nurses and psychologists. This service is available by phone or e-mail and a response is given in simple, layman’s terms to insure optimum understanding. In 2002, I received an award for outstanding volunteer performance from Jerusalem’s Mayor. In 2004, I was honored as Israel’s best volunteer. The thing is, I’ve been endowed with great mechanical ability and enormous patience. But my life began quite differently. I was the youngest child of an upper middle class, Berliner family. One of my two brothers is still alive. My sister died in the States. We owned a textile factory that employed six or seven goyim. I don’t remember exactly. I belonged to the Bar Kochba, a Zionist sports club. My father was a fervent Zionist, so we were all raised with that ideal. He placed enormous importance on the need to lean Hebrew and was always in touch with Palestine. My elder brother Nathan was the leader of a Jewish youth group and a true Zionist in his own right. He worked for Siemens as an electrical engineer; and died in 2004, at the age of 97. In 1929-30, Nathan was sent by Siemens to supervise the construction of an ice factory in Ramle (British Mandate of Palestine). At the outset, he was given a two year contract and was still employed in Palestine during 1932. Then, his contract was abruptly cancelled and he was peremptorily summoned back to Germany. The decision seemed absurd, as the ice factory had not yet become operational. Nathan sensed that something was seriously amiss. He, therefore, resigned from Siemens and decided to work independently in Jerusalem. Meanwhile, I was attending a Jewish secular school ‘Die Grosse Hamburger Schule’. We were conservative Jews. Mother kept Shabbas and father attended Synagogue on holidays. By 1931, life in Berlin had become difficult. Executions were common place. We Jews were spat upon, verbally insulted and physically assaulted. Some kid knocked my cap off and I ran. I didn’t understand what was going on. I didn’t know any other home besides Berlin. I thought, Germany is such an educated nation... Heine, Mann, Bach, this can’t be true. At home everyone felt that something ominous was about to happen. We were even forced to quit our Boy Scout troop. Nathan wrote letters urging us to emigrate. He also obtained a certificate from the British Authorities attesting to our family’s economic solvency. By 1933, my brother and sister had joined him in Palestine. Nonetheless, my parents and I remained in Germany. Information about Hitler was filtering through the Jewish community. But, at first, my father refused to emigrate. He had earned an army medal during the First World War.”I can prove my loyalty toward Germany. No one will harm me”, he said.
I, however, had serious doubts. I was connected to the Youth Aliyah Movement ‘Henrietta Soldt’, and in October 1934 a certificate arrived from the British Authorities which permitted my mother and I to journey from Switzerland, through Trieste, to Jaffa. My father hung on in Berlin until 1938. Then, one of his factory employees (a Nazi party member actually) urged him ‘leave everything TONIGHT... run’. So, early in 1939, my father finally reached Palestine. Of course, he had long entertained Zionist sympathies. Yet before Hitler, my family wasn’t so ardent as to have considered the possibility of emigrating. Besides, we were quite well off. Are there still Zionists in Israel? Today’s youngsters are far too selfindulgent. Russians and North Africans aren’t enthusiastic about rural labor. They’re for the most part a disruptive criminal element... hooligans. Of nearly one million recent Russian immigrants, three hundred thousand have either returned home or relocated to the USA or Canada. When we docked in Jaffa, some Arabs spoke to me. But of course, I couldn’t understand a word they said. The port was like a Wild West set... everything a jumble. So much dirt and mud. The houses were shabby and in disrepair, though the tradesmen seemed quite friendly. What confounded me most was that both men and women were so completely robed, you couldn’t tell them apart. The market smells sickened me. On top of everything, I was dressed in trousers and a blazer, so naturally people thought I was ‘meshugge’. We were transported first, by bus, to Jerusalem. Next, I was sent off to an agricultural school in Ben Shemen, near Tel Aviv, to learn Hebrew. After three months, I became pretty fluent. Frankly, I didn’t have a chance to speak anything else. I didn’t like it there. I didn’t want to be a kibbutznik or live on a Moshav. I was more technically oriented and needed more independence. Mr. Lehman, our director, suggested I worked in the repair shop, which I enjoyed. Fortunately, after a year, my brother came to the rescue and enrolled me in a technical school. That’s what I like... working with my hands. I’ve continued the same way all my life. Three and a half years later, I graduated as an electrical mechanic. It was 1938. I was eighteen and found a one-year job, teaching at ORT’s Technical Institute. Afterwards Soleil Bonet, a construction firm, offered me a contract in Abadan, to work for a year with the British Iranian Oil Consortium. It payed sixty pounds per month. We were bused through Damascus and Bagdad to Basra. The heat was unbearable. The hotel lodged us, four to a room, where we wrapped ourselves up like mummies in torn mosquito netting, to protect our skin. Next, we sailed in small boats to the Iranian coast of Shatt El Arab. Our crew of twelve worked by night and slept by day. The transition from Berlin’s temperate climate to 40°C was hellish. We wore cork helmets with cloth backing to avoid sun-stroke and had a team of coolies, whose sole job was to fan us with palm fronds. During that entire year, our task was to repair ship’s compressors. When World War II broke out in 1939, there was a flood of propaganda to enlist in the Jewish Brigade. Some of my friends were already members of Hagganah. I was a good technician, so I headed straight for the RAF Recruiting Center ‘Notre Dame de France’, thinking that with my technical skills and broken English I could be of some use. Honestly, I had really hoped to join the Air Force. I showed my certificates and was accepted to start work the following day. At first, I was sent to Egypt and stationed forty kilometers from Cairo, with the maintenance unit. There were only two Jews in our group, so our commanding officer asked us ‘why did you volunteer?’ (volunteers in military jargon were called DOPES – duration of present emergency). ‘Duty? Excitement? Adventure?’ I replied, ‘as a German Jew, this is my way of settling accounts.’ Our workshops were tunneled into the desert’s hills, to avoid detection 273
from land or air. We worked on Spitfires, stripping and repairing engines. I’d never seen these machines before, so the job was very challenging. I also had no choice but to speak English, which greatly improved my oral skills. The following year, I got transferred to the Western Desert near El Alamein and the Egyptian/Libyan borders. Our airfield there was built on sand and required constant wetting down. When a Spitfire landed, we had to remove its engine and fit it out with a new one, which the pilot then tested. Our six man unit remained stationed there for two years. During the El Alamein push, the base got shifted around to prevent direct hits from German Stukas; and despite fire from the Italians’ trenches, our forces remained out of enemy range. I also got married during the War. My wife, Yehudit, is of Sephardic-Spanish origin, a ninth generation Jerusalemite. Her family’s cemetery plot on the Mount of Olives dates back 450 years. We both belonged to a youth group that met every Shabbas weekend.It was love at first sight or, more accurately, love at first dance. I wore my British uniform, with its shiny brass buttons, to our wedding. Yehudit’s grandfather was a Rabbi. He didn’t approve of our marriage at all. In fact, he died without ever acknowledging our union or speaking to me. When the war ended in ’45, I received my discharge and resumed teaching at ORT’s Technical Institute. But by ’48, we were embroiled in a difficult conflict. I joined the Hagganah. Jerusalem was cut off from the rest of the country; although Hagganah convoys managed to bring in water. Arabs bombed our munitions factory with mortars positioned inside the Old City. Ration books were issued. A strict curfew was being enforced. But at home, we were out of milk for our infant son. I could see the British Army patrols and knew that passing on foot would be impossible. So I jumped from roof to roof until I reached the grocery store. I smashed through the ceiling, crammed some milk bottles into my rucksack and exited the way I’d come. At last our men broke through the firing on Mamila Road, as the Arabs exited the city. Hagganah fighters shot from the Generali Building, at the Russian Compound corner. Police, garrisoned in the Jaffa Road Post Office, neither fought nor emerged. Their only concern was to leave Palestine... if possible alive. What tension! No one could be sure in which direction they’d decide to attack. Finally, the police officers led a sortie into the Arab sector. We sealed the walls where the new David Apartments now rise, and a standoff was created. I really think that’s what saved Jerusalem. On entering the Jaffa Road Post Office, we found a complete, beautiful workshop. Just what Hagganah needed to repair engines and Sten guns. Capable mechanics, lathe and grinder operators were in high demand. We dismantled all the machines and succeeded in relocating them to a cellar underneath the Woolworth store on Bezalel Street. We thought this would offer protection from shelling, since mortars aimed from the Old City fell in an arc trajectory. There, we fashioned Davidka mortars from water pipes we’d dug up around Jerusalem. We also produced our own timers and fuses. Unfortunately, although the Davidka made a lot of noise, its heavy nose caused it to spiral and so made precision aiming almost impossible. Needless to say, we eventually suspended its production. As our factory expanded and suffered some direct hits, we suspected the presence of a spy. The person fingered was an electrical engineer employed by the British Electric Company. Their offices occupied the second floor of our building. Hagannah operatives picked him up, court-martialled and executed him. However, the Sachnut eventually came to a financial settlement with his sons, for though the evidence against him was compelling (bombs only hit us in his absence), it was only circumstantial. Once the Hagganah had blown up the German Consulate, to the right of the King George – Jaffa Road Intersection, we relocated our factory there. Later, new 274
installations were built in Beit HaKarem. Among other projects, we would disable abandoned Arab equipment and cannibalize any serviceable parts, for our own use. In all, I worked for what you might call the ‘Defense Industry’ for forty years. As Production Manager, I was responsible for a staff of 300 technicians, before retiring in 1988. I never had any interest in returning to Germany. In my mind, that life was definitely over. Then in 1994, an invitation arrived from the Lady Mayor of Berlin, subsidized by the Green Party. German-born children and their spouses (our group numbered 35) would to be lodged, dined and entertained for a week. I was amazed. How had the Germans managed to keep such accurate records for all those years and through so much destruction? We were flown from Ben Gurion Airport to Tempelhof. As we deplaned, a group of German policemen with sub-machine guns and dogs, encircled the plane facing outwards to protect us. What a sad and ironic twist. Like a sentry, the entrance to our old house still stood, though the building itself no longer existed. Our school, however had survived the bombings. I saw more beautiful buildings then, than I had as a fourteen-year-old boy. But the difference between Berlin’s Eastern and Western Sectors disconcerted me. In East Berlin, some facades had been repaired; but just beyond these, war rubble lay everywhere. We received an unbelievable welcome. A new nation with theaters, opera and beautiful shops is emerging. Unfortunately, basic attitudes are more difficult to reshape. The street cleaners are Turkish. Their children are German born. Most have never visited Turkey and don’t speak the language; but they remain for ever ‘Turks’. Again, only the subjects of discrimination change. Germany had five million guest workers at that time. Each family was offered 10,000 Marks to return to their country of origin. None accepted. What lessons can be learned? When I arrived in Palestine, we were organized into youth groups. Our doors were never locked. Theft wasn’t a problem. Juvenile delinquency didn’t exist. We socialized, talked about history, literature, philosophy, life and the future. We gathered in friends’ homes. Today’s social centers are the pubs and discos. The new immigrants, Russians and Moroccans, are aggressive, dissident elements. Many go about armed and provoke fights. Army service helps bridge socio-economic gaps. Then, everyone is in the same boat. They learn to make friends across ethnic and cultural lines. The only real division is between those who serve and those who don’t. Today, people are more money-conscious, more materialistic. Most either can’t afford to do volunteer work or aren’t interested in helping their community. People laugh at the Boy Scouts now. Our educational system is disintegrating. About two thousand six hundred teachers were recently dismissed. Subjects like art, music and Arabic aren’t compulsory. That’s short-sighted. Israelis must learn Arabic to understand ‘the man on the street’. We made a big mistake in ’67. We thought we were Kings of the Middle East. How many Arabs fled abroad and abandoned their land? Why didn’t we return it to the Palestinians then? They would have kissed our shoes. Three hundred million Arabs surround Israel. It’s imperative that we learn to live with them. We might start by mutually establishing the conditions that would lead to a return of some Arab lands. Our mentality has got to change. The Arabs have lived here for four hundred, maybe five hundred years. In Gaza, almost 1.5 million of them surrounded Israeli settlements which housed three thousand Jews. On the average, an IDF Force of twenty thousand men were protecting this enclave. The Government should never have allowed settlements to be built in Gaza. If the religious Jews insisted that it was their land by Biblical right... fine. They should have lived there and suffered the
consequences, alone. Disengagement was a good political gambit. It created favorable international reaction and showed that we are willing to return land for peace. Jewish settlers in Gaza lived well. In twenty five years, they also made the desert bloom. Each family was offered US$250,000 to relocate and take advantage of new opportunities on other kibbutz or Moshavs, inside Israel. Many refused until the last minute. Some hoped to relocate as a community. Others thought it would never happen. The Orthodox insisted it was their biblical heritage to remain. They were wrong. We offered to sell all the buildings and infrastructure to the PA. Out of pride, they refused. So everything was demolished except the Synagogue. That was the first building the Palestinians blew up. Now, Hamas launches an incessant barrage of missiles from Gaza. New smuggling tunnels are discovered every day. Hamas and the PA are quite literally at each other’s throats. The whole strip is a mess. And for the first time, Israel has ample justification to retaliate with tanks. Once we withdrew from Lebanon, Hezbollah had six years in which to rearm. Funded by Iran, they purchased very sophisticated antitank missiles. That surprised us. We didn’t know they had missiles capable of penetrating forty centimeters of steel. Our tanks are the backbone of the Israeli Army. They are considered the world’s best. This problem needs a thoughtful yet rapid solution. During the first five days of the Second Lebanese War, the IAF bombed Hezbollah’s large outdoor missile launchers. These had the capability of targeting Tel Aviv. However, much of our other intelligence was flawed. The unexploded missiles that fell on Israel were taken to Russia. At first, the Russian government denied any responsibility. Once confronted by the actual missile casings, however, it was discovered that Russia had indeed sold them to Iran. Iran smuggled them into Syria from whence they were transported onwards to Hezbollah. Oil is running the world, so many countries turn a blind eye towards Iran’s support of terrorism. The enemy we should be most concerned about is Iran. The army went into combat with very poor intelligence. You could say they went in blind. In Bet Jebel missiles and portable launchers were found in over ninety percent of the dwellings. Soldiers’ morale suffered. The troops complained they hadn’t been fully informed about what they would encounter. There was no plan B, no firm direction and poor logistical support. Often uniforms didn’t fit. Daniel’s unit was ordered to hold..., to advance..., to retreat. What incredible indecision. The Lebanese bombed our roads to stop the supply convoys. Water was so scarce that our soldiers took the canteens of dead Hezbollah terrorists. We
had relatively few casualties (one hundred and seventy dead); but the infantry units were relying on their tanks. They didn’t know Hezbollah had armor piercing missiles. One thing I can guarantee, the next war will be a missile war. Israel’s Gavriel anti-missile shield is designed to intercept and explode incoming weapons within a three hundred to four hundred kilometer range, flying in an arc. But this provides only a partial defense. I’ve lived through seven wars: World War II (’39), Israel’s War of Independence (’48), the Suez Canal Incursion (’56), The Six Day War (’67), The Yon Kippur War (’70-’71), The First Lebanese War (’82), The Second Lebanese War (’06). To avoid another war, the only solution I see is to create two separate States. Religion should be disconnected from government. Israel needs to become a complete democracy. Why should we subsidize twenty eight thousand ‘yeshiva buchers’ to study Torah? The country gains nothing. They don’t enlist. They don’t work. They marry young and sire more children. The cycle of poverty will be endless. They think they’re performing a holy blessing for the Jewish people. The truth is, they’re a heavy burden on our entire society. Most of these Haredim won’t accept hospital work or social service jobs as an alternative to army service. They don’t become doctors, engineers, scientists or agronomists. After forty-five, when they’re exempt from army duty, they become religious teachers or Rabbis. Unprepared to function in modern society, they end up as ‘handlers’, small shopkeepers in Mea Shearim. The diamond industry in 275
Hard at work in Yad Sarah, Heinrich repairs whatever piece of machinery crosses his desk.
Ramat Gan is run by Orthodox Jews, but scarcely any of the stone cutters there are Haredim. In Yad Sarah, Jerusalem, we have five hundred volunteers. Not one is an Orthodox Jew. I don’t know why. They’re brainy but they won’t work with their hands. Maybe it’s a Jewish sickness that’s specific to Israel; because in other western countries, many are gainfully employed. Shas (a religious right-wing party) only knows how to suck money out of the government. Jerusalem’s Haredi population is thirty five percent and rising. Nation-wide, Haredim account for twenty percent of the population. But they think the secular citizens should work for them... support them. I’ve never liked being told what to think or what to do. I used to drive on Shabbas. I’ve lived here for seventy three years. Now, the Orthodox throw up road blocks and stone my car. They scream at me. When a Rabbi of theirs dies, they barricade the streets and paint a black stripe down the center. It’s hateful. What makes their way better than mine? Intelligent young people are leaving Jerusalem. There are no factories or research laboratories here. Every third or fourth house is a Yeshiva. These Haredim drain resources from the State. Whatever the Rabbi says, they do. They’re fanatics who live with blinkers from birth to death. I’m against communism; but Karl Marx said one true thing. Religion IS the opiate of the people. It’s poison. Right now, our political position’s no good. The country’s divided. Some Ministers want to topple the Government and call new elections. It won’t make a bit of difference. As Finance Minister in 2003, Netanyahu improved the Israeli 276
economy. He gave foreign investors incentives to open business here, so more money circulated. He also cut government allowances for children after the sixth birth. But now, pensions for the elderly have been trimmed, and there is an issue of which children will receive free school lunches. Here in Jerusalem, privately run soup kitchens feed two to three thousand people, daily, by collecting leftover food from restaurants, market vendors and the army. It’s disgraceful. The gap between rich and poor Israelis is widening. Today, the left and the right are too polarized and extremist. No one really wants to compromise. Yet, if eventually we can elect a strong democratic government that doesn’t depend upon support from the extreme right to survive, there may be hope. We’ll have to return more land. Not up to the ’67 borders, but surely some parts of the West Bank where small, unauthorized settlements have sprouted, amidst large Arab areas. Those will have to go. Israel is a small country, with few natural resources except for the inventiveness and acumen of it’s citizens. We’re surrounded by three hundred million Arabs, sitting on large reserves of oil and petrodollars. They can easily overrun us. The ‘world’ wouldn’t give a hoot! Young people don’t see a future for themselves very clearly. We live from day to day. If I were 19 or 20, with the knowledge I have now, I’d entertain serious doubts about the course Israel is taking. Many industries in southern Israel (shoe and textile factories) have been dismantled and sold to Jordan. Production costs here are too high. One good example was Delta, which made men’s and women’s underwear. It employed
five hundred workers. To lower costs and save jobs, its owners proposed cutting salaries by ten percent. The Unions refused to negotiate. So it now operates out of Amman. Israel lives on ‘schnorerei’. If America and American Jews don’t support us, we won’t survive. We have no minerals, no gold, oil or large reserves of water. It’s only our strategic location and technological expertise that sustains our existence. I worry about the future of my grandchildren. Michael, the eldest, served in a combat unit. Daniel, the youngest, enlisted in the Pathfinder Tank Corps. He’s angry. Suicide bombings have made Jewish youths vengeful. They hate the Arabs. ‘I’ll mow them down’ is a frequent declaration. In my opinion, the Arabs don’t want peace. But ‘mowing them down’ is no solution. The only solution is patient dialogue. Learn Arabic. Be creative. I don’t see war; but I see ‘unruh’, non-silence, intranquility and barely controlled turmoil.”
RUTH FISHER FREUND: BSN, MPH
“I’m a socialist. My father, a government employee, was always financially strapped. My grandparents died when I was two. Fortunately though, uncle Nathan’s children, a boy and girl, were enough company for Amnon and me. We cousins all looked after each other, and enjoyed it! Despite our meager cash reserves, I attended the Rehavia Gymnasia, a private school for Ashkenazi kids. There, we didn’t even study Arabic. No one thought it necessary. My parents, however, were pretty free spirits so we socialized with many groups of people, although never with Arabs. That came later, when we reached adulthood. As a child, the Old City held a tremendous attraction for me. Sometimes, through a crevice in the walls, I’d see Jordanian Army patrols with their smart uniforms and red keffiyahs. After ’67, when it was no longer forbidden, we’d cross into the Old City through the Jaffa Gate. I was so curious. The market fascinated us with its marvelous colors and exotic shoppers. We went there every single weekend. By 1967, I’d become a high school student. Amnon was serving in a tank patrol. He’d be absent for two months at a time. There were always blackouts and our homes were ringed by sandbags. Once, my father became so concerned for Amnon’s safety that he tore out to search for him in the Sinai Desert. After the war, Israelis lived in a complete euphoria. ‘Now that we’ve won, things will most certainly improve!’ We thought so too, as Amnon entered the Technion to study engineering. Meanwhile, by 1970, I’d earned ‘my wings’ as a parachutist. I felt very proud and patriotic. We believed we were in the right; though that conviction was somewhat shaken over time.
After my army service, I traveled through Europe for three months. Then, I enrolled in Nursing School (1972) for a three-year program. During my final year, I married a South African Zionist who’d quit medical school there, to enlist in the Israeli Army. Once graduation was over, we traveled to South Africa and then settled for five years in Honolulu. My now ex-husband had lots of difficulty learning Hebrew. As a result, he became convinced that his future really lay in the States, not Israel, and he enrolled in a PhD program on Honolulu. My parents loved him like a son but he blew it. We divorced and I remarried an old love, a doctor who practices at Hadassah Hospital. He’s now Chief of Surgery at the Mount Scopus Campus. We’ve all moved on. I have two sons from my first marriage. Michael, the eldest, spent time with his father in Hawaii. There are hardly any Jews there. The parents of my ex died. His sister lives in Australia. So now, once again, he feels his place is in Israel. How absurd! Some people never find themselves. Israelis are special. I’m not rich. I don’t drive a Volvo; but I love it here. I’ve got lots of friends, as well. My brother lives in the States. He’s a mechanical and computer engineer. He worked for the Israeli Military Mission in New York City, married an Israeli and moved to Boston. Now they’ve relocated to Silicon Valley. As a CEO, he’s become quite rich... big cars, and a big house. Yet every three months, he’s back in Israel. His roots are tugging at him. No matter how long you live abroad, Israel is like a 277
magnet that constantly pulls you back. Now, my nephew wants to take his MA here. As usual, the dichotomy is financial security versus emotional security. My husband and I also had the option of remaining in the States, to work in Cincinnati. Economically, we would have been ten times better off. Yet, we chose to live here, in order to give our children a good, Sabra education. My husband is involved in Israeli politics. He’s a member of the Board which sets National Health Policy and heads the Scientific Commission of the Israeli Medical Association. These positions would not have been open to him in America. Just as surely, I’d never have become National Head Nurse and Medical Administrator for the Division of General Medicine. I’m obsessed by the Holocaust. We organized a group of twenty eight nurses from Hadassah Hospital to visit the Polish Concentration Camps. An Israeli guide accompanied them. My uncle Nathan was a prophet. Our family only survived thanks to his foresight. As I warned you, I’m a socialist. I believe in exchanging land for a lasting peace. The Arabs are the victims of victims. But we Jews have no other country.
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Despite the suffering our presence may cause, we are justified in defending our State. The demographic issue worries me a lot. We’ll never achieve peace if the Palestinians continue to feel oppressed and insist on ‘the right of return’. Most of the Arabs living today in the West Bank or Gaza weren’t originally from Israel at all. They emigrated here, between the two World Wars, from Lebanon, Jordan and Egypt, looking for better paid work. At Hadassah-Mount Scopus, our patients are mostly Arabs, whose birth rate is quite high. In school, they’re taught to hate us. Their entire educational and religious system nurtures this sentiment. I’m an optimist. I wish we could be good neighbors and live in peace. Yet, I’m also a realist. Perhaps we won’t be able to sustain this country’s fragile equilibrium. Michael was traveling through South America. He didn’t want to take his university degree in the States. He said ‘I’m an Israeli. So many lives have been sacrificed for this country. How can we give it up? How can we justify living abroad?’ Military service leaves a deep impression. Israel is a Jewish state. It has
Ruth exhibits an exquisite sense of form and color.
a right to exist. We want to discover the path towards honorable, peaceful coexistence. But if not, we will defend it, by force. The military is catering more to the religious. Twenty years ago, kibbutzniks set the tone. All our commanders were secular. I’m worried that the right wing has gained so much influence. We were expecting some casualties when we pulled back from Gaza. Sharon had said that any soldier who felt unable to enforce evacuation orders could request re-assignment from his unit commander. But obviously, the consequences would have been severe. Jews forcibly evacuating Jews was reminiscent of the Kapos brutality, during World War II. We’re a wounded nation. We didn’t wake up one morning and decided to kill Arabs. WE HAVE NO OTHER PLACE TO GO. The uniquely horrific experience of the Holocaust has demonstrated to us the necessity of possessing and defending our homeland. Of course local Arabs, living and born here are entitled to the same rights as we are. We also have some very close Arab friends. In fact, I’m almost more worried about extreme right-wing Jews than I am about the Moslem fundamentalists. That
said, they’re both irrational. If prosperity prevails and job opportunities multiply, people will earn good salaries. They’ll have access to better healthcare and education. They’ll also see a more promising future for their families. These conditions would negate any justification for terrorism. I hope someday we’ll all become more tolerant and civilized. Maybe then, we can live without borders. My primary concerns are family and friends. My strength comes from the people who love and surround me. I trust them. I believe we should help and support each other. I don’t need a bigger house or a fancier car. My job is interesting. I love it. I’m productive. I work ten to twelve hours a day. Life is exciting. I’m involved in my community. I enjoy painting. I do my best for the present. I focus on the here and now. I just carry on. I’m not religious. I don’t believe in God; but I believe in goodness. Religion isn’t the issue. Judaism is a culture, wherein we relate to others on an ethical basis... a basis of goodwill.”
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Michael Freund, Ruth’s eldest son, perched high on a peak in the Andes after completing his military service.
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MICHAEL FREUND: Born 1982 “I’m drawn to nature, to it’s colors and contrasts. I’ve finished my army service, so soon I’ll begin a year-long trip, hiking and backpacking through South America (Colombia, Venezuela, Chile and Argentina). I belonged to a special forces unit that did technical reconnaissance, navigation with very advanced equipment. None of my Jerusalem friends joined my unit. The hardest part was understanding exactly what was expected of me. Today, though, training methods have improved. There’s no physical abuse and much more careful trainee supervision. A new emphasis is being placed on honing mental skills and developing positive attitudes. It’s a matter of soldiers believing that ‘there’s nothing they can’t do’. In the army, you get your orders and follow them. Sharp critical analysis isn’t really required. Then suddenly, after your discharge, you’re faced with all these serious decisions. Choices like: ‘What should I study? What kind of life do I want? Which path will lead me there?’ In such a short time, life becomes confusing and complicated. I play the piano, as well as guitar. I enjoy sports like soccer, basketball, running and weight lifting. Throughout my school years, I always excelled in science and math. I guess I’d say I was pretty motivated. I’d like to take a degree in law and business. Of course, I’d be looking out for good opportunities along the way. Israelis’ attitudes and behavior are heavily influenced by America. We all aim for a good job, a nice house and an enjoyable life. There’ll always be some soldiers fighting a localized conflict, somewhere along our borders. Generally though, I hope for better, more peaceful times. One summer, I worked at a vacation camp in the States. Those kids were so spoiled. They complained non-stop about the most ridiculous things: bad food, uncomfortable beds. Israelis of the same age are hardier, more mentally mature. We aren’t pampered like that. Milluim is an extension of our army service. No one’s exempt. No one likes it; but for two months a year, until the age of forty-five, it’s a fact of life. It’s not easy to throw off your civilian role... your family, your job. It’s necessary though, so you do it. I’m committed to this country. Some people leave. Making money here isn’t easy. I’d guess you’d say, those who stay are mature pragmatists. We don’t believe things are impossible, just difficult. Rabin’s assassination unleashed a whole chain reaction. Israelis elected a right wing Prime Minister. People became acutely aware of what extreme actions and words can lead to. Now our lives are suspended in a very fragile balance. Serving as an army officer and participating in politics demand similar abilities: intelligence, integrity and strategic planning skills. I think it’s safer to have a military man, like Sharon, as Prime Minister. I support evacuating Gaza. So do seventy percent of our population. Everyone who’s actually been there understands that while Israel must control its borders, the settlements are strategically indefensible. I think the disengagement process should go fairly smoothly. Once a border exists, there’s no longer a question of guerrilla warfare. Having no clearly established frontier has been a big problem. In urban fighting, the army loses its advantage. With defined borders, anyone crossing illegally gets shot. I’m not a big fan of taking human life; but in the case of Gaza, it absolutely works. With a clear border, you don’t care much what happens on the other side, ‘out of sight, out of mind’. 2007 I spent nine months in Peru, Bolivia, Argentina and Brazil. We traveled through Patagonia as far as Tierra del Fuego. I started out with my best friend. We
didn’t speak any Spanish and had no clear idea about what things might cost. To orient ourselves, we connected with other Israelis through youth hostels and the Internet. But that didn’t help us meet the locals. We trekked across the Peruvian Andes, up the Huayguasi range. The altitude there is about 4,138 meters, just over 14,000 feet. At night, the temperature fell to -10°C (15°F). We were oxygen deprived and our guide spoke only Quechua. Clearly, we hadn’t understood what we were getting into. Once in Bolivia, we worked for a while as volunteers at a center for abused animals, in Cochabamba. It’s purpose was to care for captured monkeys and release them back into the wild. Most of the staff there were other young, foreign volunteers. Suddenly, I asked myself what am I doing here? Why am I volunteering with animals, in Bolivia, instead of helping disadvantaged children in Israel? I also began to miss the comforts of civilization: indoor toilets, clean running water, good food and a decent mattress. So, Buenos Aires was a welcome change. I stayed there for a month, began to speak Spanish and meet Argentinians. Once I gained confidence in my ability to travel alone, I parted company with the Israelis, used the intercity buses and made many interesting new acquaintances. Sometimes, I’d partied till 6 a,m., normal for BA, and enjoyed more intense experiences than I had ever anticipated. Patagonia was so extreme. It’s what I was searching for. The most beautiful place on my trip? Rio Salvador. Back in Israel, I decided to study medicine rather than law. I moved to Tel Aviv and took a job bartending, to earn money for my university fees. Unfortunately, my scores on the psychometric exam (40% Hebrew, 40% Math and 20% English) didn’t qualify me for medical school. I’m in Jerusalem now at Hebrew University, Mount Scopus, studying law. I’m happily surprised. I didn’t think it would be so interesting. If I do go into practice, I’ll aim for a judgeship. I like the idea of people listening to me and valuing my opinions. Life in Jerusalem suits me well. Tel Aviv’s teens are growing up without values. They’re moral drifters. I didn’t like all the clubbing and drugs there, partying late every night. Sure, I had a great time, earned good money and went to fun places. The beaches are beautiful but impossibly crowded. It’s all too superficial. I wouldn’t want kids of mine growing up there. I’ll tell you something else. Israel’s reasons for going to war with Lebanon (2006) were right. Unfortunately, we encountered major problems. I think the army’s greatest failure is not being able to retain it’s most capable officers. The higher ranks are plagued by a total lack of charisma and creative thinking. Generally speaking, they wouldn’t survive in the every day civilian world for more than a week. Education is mediocre and values are weak. There’s little willingness to take personal responsibility or show initiative. Once an officer reaches a certain level, he becomes complacent. We also stumbled because of poor intelligence. No one really knew what to expect. We didn’t imagine that Hezbollah would be so well armed. You can’t defeat an enemy unless you know him. You have to become the enemy. You have to get inside his head. You also have to be willing to die. We achieved a check-mate. We discovered what’s out there. This was a very different kind of war. Mobile rocket launchers were everywhere, hidden in civilian apartment blocs. As a result of post-war evaluations a number of ineffective commanders are being retired from active service. But will we learn from our mistakes? We’re still a young country. Historically, sixty years is a very short time. Human life is valuable. In Israel we have a low tolerance for fatalities, especially because in this war, many perceived us as the aggressors. Routine is our worst enemy. If we don’t respect our enemies’ potential, we become over confident and careless. To survive, we need to stay focused. The good news, though, is that the more time passes, the less the chance of another war.”
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DANIEL FREUND: Born 1986 “I’m Israeli born and grew up in Jerusalem. A few years ago during the second Intifada, life was scary. We’d hear bombs explode near by. Going to meet friends became complicated. We couldn’t ride on public buses. Every week, another one would be blown up. But somehow, you get used to it. Our parents also made a tremendous effort to drive us everywhere. After a ‘pigua’ (suicide attack), the real fear lingers for two or three days. Then you have to carry on. You try to keep things in proportion. When I visited Amsterdam, I realized how much strain we actually live under in Israel. The Dutch don’t have armed guards in restaurants. You don’t see army patrols along the streets. My connection to Israel is very special, very physical. Here, we’re all committed to the country’s survival. Hardly anyone is a parasite. By serving in the army, you know you are doing something purposeful and important, something of benefit to everyone. We are building the future here. At school, we learn about Zionism, about the wars that shaped our heritage and the sacrifices we, as Jews, made. We are taught about how hard the Holocaust refugees fought to establish the State of Israel. That motivates you to do more than just study or work. Life here isn’t easy, but I wouldn’t trade places with anyone, anywhere else. This fall, I’ll be serving in the Armored Scout Unit which patrols the Lebanese-Syrian borders. It’s a combat unit. We took our physical and written exams in the Negev. They test your endurance, how clearly you think and how efficiently you perform under stress. After the army, I’ll work and travel awhile. I enjoy science, so, at university I might decide on a degree in bio-chemistry. Definitely, I’ll study here in Jerusalem. Many people that make Aliyah don’t succeed. Taxes are high. The government’s education budget is insufficient and the academic level varies widely from school to school. But the Bagrut (SAT) exam is the same nation-wide. Anyone can pass it, if he studies. We’re faced with a difficult situation in Gaza. Most settlers there are good, religious Israelis. They don’t believe the evacuation will actually happen. I’ll do as I’m ordered, but many families will be hurt and not only because they’ll have
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lost their homes and business. There’s a religious issue at stake, as well. Settlers in Gaza are spiritually attached to the biblical geography of Judea and Samaria. Everyone should keep an open mind and listen to different ideas. I’m not religious at all. Yet, seeing how others live their religion changes your thinking positively. It’s very moving to witness their resolve, though that won’t make me a religious person. I really believe these settlers would prefer prison to displacement. But withdrawal is a logical step. It’s basically a question of numbers. This is a trial measure that is worth the gamble. Personally, I don’t think it will work. Hamas won’t stop attacking because three thousand Jews relocate. Every day there are fatal incidents, missile attacks and bombings. You may not hear about all of them on the news, but I’m telling you the truth. So far peace is all talk. The Fence gives us a sense of security and it will make some difference. Unfortunately, terrorists can always enter Israel through another border. I won’t see peace in my lifetime... a truce, maybe. The Arabs’ hatred of Jews is too deeply rooted. It’s fostered by what young children learn in school. Tanks patrolling the streets inflame that hatred. The war here has no beginning and no end. We’ll need generations to change people’s attitudes. The Oslo Accords, with all those impressive ceremonies, may have been a historical milestone. In my opinion, they led to nothing except Rabin’s murder. Right now, I can’t imagine things getting much worse. I’m proud to do my army service in a place that counts, a critical area. Everyone should serve in a fighting unit and do their share to make Israel secure. If I have to kill in order to protect our people, I’ll do it proudly. The army values honesty and integrity above all other qualities. Discipline benefits everyone. If you lie or shirk your duties, you endanger your buddies and the country. I don’t have time for hobbies now. I don’t have a life... just the army. I look forward to phone calls from my family and visits home every three or four weeks. Then, I go back... to hell.” 2007 “Every soldier in a combat unit feels badly about himself and all those situations that escape his control. I’ve gone through hell. I’ve also met a lot of different people here. They’re all my brothers. But under normal, civilian
Michael and friends research an obscure point of law in the library at Hebrew University, Jerusalem.
circumstances, our paths would probably never have crossed. Similar ideals brought us to the same place. We’re all volunteers in the Armored Corps. The IDF is a prisoner of monetary constraints. They do what is costeffective. After all, we aren’t the US Army. So, absurd decisions are made. For example, on the shooting range every bullet is counted. There’s absolutely no waste. Nevertheless, with all the things we think are wrong, the army’s tactics still work; so I guess we’re doing something right! Now I’m angry at least ten times a day... for petty things. I’m in the ‘couldn’t care less’ phase. When I first enlisted, I went from a state of shock through an adaptive process, to an active mode. That’s when you do exactly as you’re instructed. You stop thinking idealistically and carry out your duties with precision. Then, during the Lebanese War, while we were in the midst of explosions and combat, civilians just carried on with their normal lives. We got the feeling they were taking us for granted. In the past, all Israel supported its soldiers. We don’t feel that solidarity now. You can’t help but think that others don’t really care. Nonetheless, I’m lucky to have such a supportive family and group of friends. Every phone call or message makes a huge difference. I appreciate every gesture.
On a short leave from his army duties Daniel chills out.
A lot of high school graduates avoid military service. It’s not a political decision. They just consider it a waste of three years. They’d rather travel and study. You’re never prepared for death. The army would rather deploy soldiers of eighteen to twenty two, than call up reservists and disrupt their normal lives. But that’s an expensive decision. Young soldiers have less training and less combat experience, so their casualty rate is higher. Every day, we prayed the war would end. Rumors of a truce echoed around us. Rumors, that’s all simple soldiers ever hear. Media coverage created big problems during this war. The wrong things got publicized. War shouldn’t be another TV special. Hezbollah is a fully equipped army, extremely well financed and trained. Their fighters are fanatical, very crazy. They justify every attack they commit with religious quotations. I’m happy so many of them are dead. The army is an important learning experience, especially at our age. It makes us more self-aware, more mature and better Israelis.”
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ABU FREIH RAHAT
Located just north of Be’ersheva, Rahat is the
only Bedouin settlement with city status in Israel. It is also the world’s largest Bedouin community. Founded in 1972, Rahat obtained recognition as a municipality in 1994. This was part of an ongoing effort to attract these seminomadic tribesmen to urban areas, where government services, such as electricity, water, sanitation and primary health care could be easily provided. Rahat’s fifty-three thousand plus inhabitants, half of whom are younger than eighteen years of age (2010), are divided into thirty three neighborhoods, thirty two of which are organized strictly by clan. Only one is a mixed district.
Rahat
relief.
in
Arabic
Unfortunately,
means the
comfort
high
or
incidence
of crime there, principally car theft and drug trafficking, belies that name.
This
circumstance is attributable in large part to cultural dislocation, to the fact that less than half (forty six percent) the city’s teenagers graduate from high school and that, if they fail to enlist in the army, job opportunities are immesurably restricted.
The transition to a sedentary life has been
fraught with conflict. Bedouin society is patriarchal, a fact which has created substantial conflict especially as regards female education. Women’s right to work also challenges traditional male supremacy and, as a consequence, eighty one percent of working age Bedouin females are unemployed. In 2007, the Center for Jewish-Arab Development launched an entrepreneurial program for Bedouin women. Forty enrollees were coached in computer operation and small business management skills. Subsequently, twelve graduates started
up
their
own
ventures
in
hairdressing, groceries and restaurants.
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dressmaking,
Today an industrial park, Idan Ha Negev, is under
construction in Rahat. Harvard also has plans to open a campus there, which will be administered by Ben Gurion University of the Negev. The hope is that more wellpaying jobs will be created, thus reducing the overall unemployment rate from today’s thirty five percent level.
Bedouin tribesmen living in the Ottoman vilayet of Palestine 1907.
Abu Freih family tree. From top to bottom: Azziza, Rana, Mohammed, Allah Manal & Suar.
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A safari vest and legings but….no Addidas!
The Bedouin market in Be’ersheva. Traditional dress and mores aren’t immune to the insidious attractions of 21st. century consumerism.
Opposite page: The price of gold.
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AZIZA ABU FREIH: Born KFar Kassim, age 40 “I graduated from 12th grade. I was raised to learn and work with what I knew. In my family, we are 13 brothers and sisters. Two brothers are dentists, one is a doctor, another is a lawyer who lives in England and the fifth is a mechanic. Three of my sisters are teachers. These are intellectual professions, not agricultural or construction jobs. I was married at 19. My husband’s uncle asked my family for their permission to wed. Our marriage was difficult at first. We had two different lifestyles. They were Bedouin. I wanted to continue my education and attend university; but twenty years ago, women weren’t allowed such independence. My husband, Jomah, is ten years older than I. Our first child, Rana was born when I was 21. After the first three children (five in all), I saw all my sisters learning and working. I told my mother-in-law that I wanted to study and get a job too. That caused a big discussion. Our backgrounds and ideas were very dissimilar, but my family advised me to obey my in-laws’ wishes. Now, because of circumstances, I’ve become a pioneer, a role model for others. I’m working to hold our family together since my husband’s accident. I’m trying to teach them correct principles... good behavior. With fewer children, each will have better opportunities in the future. Sometimes I don’t feel feminine... like a real woman. I must be both father and mother, now. I play more the father’s role of protector. I panic if I can’t solve our economic problems. I’m always worried about bills: phone bills, electric bills, tax bills, food and clothing bills. It’s very hard. Since my husband’s accident, I am always going to the bank, the garage, the courthouse, to sort out our construction company’s entanglements. I deal mostly with men. It’s easier for me to communicate with them now. We all have the same problems. My day starts very early (6:30 a.m.). I wake up the children and get them dressed and fed. I take Mohammed to school at 7 a.m., in Be’ersheva, together with Jomah, who goes to rehab. I return to Rahat and drive Rana and the other children to school in town. By 8:30 a.m. I‘m back in Be’ersheva again. I work as a pre-natal care volunteer at the hospital; but this coming November, I’ll receive half pay. This job involves explaining how to care for and protect infants. My work ends at 1 p.m. I pick up Suar from kindergarten, buy food, come home, prepare a meal and volunteer, three afternoons weekly at the Be’ersheva hospital. After my husband suffered his cerebral hemorhage, I became the first woman to drive a car in Rahat. I also earn money as a driver, taking people back from the market or to their doctor’s appointments. I work all the time with Jewish people. The problems with Palestinians in Gaza don’t really affect me, directly. We hear the news but don’t judge. We’re all human beings. Sometimes though, I’m worried about Mohammed’s safety since he studies in a Jewish school. I call him at least once, during the day. There used to be great generosity among the Bedouins. A man’s word was his sacred pledge. This trait is fast disappearing. Before, a girl was asked whether she wished to marry a particular suitor. Now, she is rarely consulted. Years ago, women were more sheltered. They wore traditional, embroidered robes. Now, girls are all fashion crazy and wear the most inappropriate clothes. Children aren’t raised with principles. No one helps others unselfishly. Everyone has some ulterior motive. There is no disinterested cooperation. Holidays used to be a time for happy, harmonious, family reunions. Now, families are divided. Each family receives a certain sheckel allowance per child. In many homes there are four wives, but usually only two. Numerous children bring problems. If they work, they don’t learn. If they learn, they don’t work and contribute to the family’s income. 338
In his first marriage, the man is educated and the wife has little or no schooling. After some years, the husband wants a younger, more educated woman with whom he can enjoy his life and money; someone to help him in his work. Today though, there are some positive changes that are due to outside influences. Five or six years ago, Bedouin girls only studied up to 6th grade. Now, they stay in school longer. Families used to live in tents. They were nomads and moved around from one place to another. Now, more people live in nice houses with phones, electricity, gas and water. Their children can attend school and whole families have easier access to good healthcare. Unfortunately, there are negative changes too. Job opportunities are limited, especially in the South. Unemployment among young adults is significant. The emphasis on high technology careers makes Bedouins feel inferior. Many sell drugs or steal to buy the luxuries they long for.
Azziza has be honored by many Israeli organizations for her dedication and outstanding work with young burn victims and family health programs.
For an income, as well as pleasure, Azziza has developed an extensive network of friendships within Rahat’s bedouin community.
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The economic decline has meant budget cuts in subsidies to low-income families, so women need to earn money through hospital work to pay for their children’s medical care. My mother wasn’t educated. I had twelve siblings, but we weren’t as close to my mother as Rana and I are. My mother wasn’t involved in her children’s lives, outside the home. But if we got low grades, both our parents would hit us. We all slept together (boys in one area, girls in another). Now everyone has their own room. I’m connected to my children’s lives. I try to help them solve their problems by always talking with them. I sense when Rana hasn’t done her homework. I talk to Mohammed’s teacher so that he’ll be encouraged to study harder. I am protective; like a mother cat of her kittens. In the old days, the head of one Bedouin clan would fight the head of another clan to resolve problems between their children. Now parents intervene directly. I have a genetic liver condition and type O- blood. I may need a liver transplant, but it will be very hard to find a match. So I hope for good health for myself and my family. I want my children to be well – educated and successful in their careers. I hope they will all live near me so that I can stay connected to them and so that they continue to feel tied to their traditions, no matter how modern their lifestyle may become. I hope my children won’t learn bad behavior from their friends. Boys getting involved with drugs is my greatest worry. This environment can sometimes exert very negative influences on teenagers. I take social work courses to learn how to protect my own children, as well as the children of others. Today, our lives are slowly improving. Jomah’s illness has brought our immediate family closer together. Every week, we sit down and talk about what has happened. What was good and what went wrong. We discuss our financial problems, homework and friendships. When their father suffered his accident, I asked all the children to write down the things that bothered or worried them. That way, we could understand how our future, together might evolve.” Azziza also works with Beterem Israel in Rahat, an organization devoted to the safety of children world-wide. In 2005 she won an award from the Israeli government in recognition of her excellent work with burned and injured children. Azziza died in 2007, still waiting for a liver transplant.
Manal and Rana at lunch with their father, Jomah.
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RANA: 16 1/2 years old “Growing up, I was closer to my mother, but whenever my father came home from work we laughed a lot. My mother and father worked together, so I was responsible for running the house. By ten, I had learned to cook and care for my baby sister. Every weekend, it was a treat to visit my mother’s parents in Tel Aviv. I was always very serious. I never played a lot. I observed others but felt older. I thought my friends and classmates were too childish. They couldn’t understand my sentiments so I always turned to adults... teachers... mother. It was impossible to share many thoughts with my brothers. Boys and girls are so different. I felt lonely. In school, I liked studying English, but our teachers kept changing. We had a good headmaster, though, in general, the students’ parents weren’t supportive. They didn’t participate in planning school activities. Today, our school has four hundred pupils but only twenty or thirty parents attend school meetings. The Bedouins are generous and caring. Everyone’s particular problems are shared by the extended family. But jealousy always bubbles below the surface. My father’s brothers always disagree among themselves. One uncle is now running for mayor but the family is not supportive. Money creates rivalries. My father was my hero, a role model, someone to imitate and respect. His accident was a situation I couldn’t accept. Our economic state became very difficult and my grades dropped. This is how his accident happened. It was during Ramadan. My father isn’t very religious but he fasted and was working in the heat. Another construction company had begun competing with his and the business was failing. On his way home after work, father stopped by the post office. He found two letters from the bank notifying him of an overdraft and demanding immediate payment. He was so upset and confused that he crashed his car into a tree. He wasn’t taken immediately to the emergency room. Instead, he remained at home for five days. When his condition worsened, he was finally rushed to the hospital. Doctors there found that he had suffered a cerebral hemorrhage. He was completely paralyzed on one side and didn’t recognize anyone. I was in sixth grade. It was terrible. We all went to therapy sessions with a community service psychologist. My mother didn’t care about herself. She learned to drive and took many courses to qualify for work. She sold different products. She drove people on errands. She taught. She distributed cards for shopkeepers and received commissions from them. Nothing was too difficult for her, if it could help our family. Now Azziza works with Bedouin mothers whose children are suffering from burns, electric shock or serious bruising. She teaches them how to hold and handle babies, how to keep them away from gas stoves and boiling pots and how to avoid other household accidents. She also teaches them basic first aid procedures. My mother tries her best to encourage father to speak. Sometimes, he says a word, but often he becomes violent and screams or hits out blindly. It doesn’t matter we’re all happy when he says something. I’m not looking for big things, just a normal quiet life for myself and the people I love. I never make plans. Everything is written. Father could have worked without borrowing money and he would have been successful. We make decisions with our mind. When our sentiments interfere with these decisions, our direction becomes confused. I have a sixth sense about people. That’s been a big help.
behavior or cruel words. Our society is paying the price for that. I try to imagine what other people think and feel. I exchange places with them, in my mind. What happens to someone today could happen to me tomorrow. If we don’t understand that we can never care for others. Looks sometimes hurt as deeply as words. The attitude of ‘take it or leave it’doesn’t lead to friendship. We should think more before we speak. With a close friend, one who cares, you can laugh or cry together. I want to lead a normal life. I’m not anxious to be rich or famous. I hope my future husband will have a good character and a warm personality. I hope he has a kind heart and is understanding and supportive. Honesty is much more desirable than money. Good looks are not so important either. Very handsome men betray their wives. They are spoiled and think they can get whatever they want. You must know what you want from a man in order to be happy. And you must also know what his expectations are from you.”
MOHAMMED: 15 1/2 years old
Rana is sensitive, perceptive and mature beyond her years. She worries about her family’s future but hopes that her own married life will bring he years of harmony and understanding.
I want to study and get married; but when our children are born, I won’t leave them alone. Here, girls usually marry at nineteen. You don’t always know the boy or his family (if a relationship between a boy and girl is not kept secret, there is no chance of it progressing to marriage). Education is coed until the sixth or seventh grade. When a girl gets hurt, all the shame falls on her. Then, her father or brothers may kill her to revenge their dishonor. Girls must be virgins when they marry. So, after sixth grade, parents hope that separate schools will protect a girl’s honor and teach boys respect. To further ensure this, Bedouin tents are partitioned by sex. Everyone eats together but men and women sleep apart. I think, today, people have lost their feelings. They have forgotten their humanity. No one cares about another person’s pain. No one regrets hurtful
“I grew up in Rahat, on the outskirts of Be’ersheva. I dislike Bedouin culture. I don’t approve of taking four wives. The men can’t remember the names or ages of their children. They can’t give them individual attention and care. Often, fathers remain with the youngest wife and desert their other families.” In Rahat’s schools, the educational level is low. Mohammed attends the Jewish school, Eshel Hanassi, in the suburbs of Be’ersheva. It’s motto is ‘support and teach all’. “The entrance exam and interview took four hours. They want to so see what kind of a person you are, not just what you know. ‘I think I might like to study law or ecology. Law is a good way to understand this country and our society. But I’m also very concerned about toxic waste and it’s effect on the environment. Maybe there’s a specialization in environmental law. I feel very independent. I don’t like Rahat’s smog. I wanted to board at school but my mother was afraid I’d become disconnected from the Bedouin community. Here families are united. They close ranks to fight against outsiders. Otherwise, internally they’re very divided. Only threats bring them together. I don’t like this closed society. It’s too reserved and too exclusive. If I visit a friend, my parents want to know what tribe he’s from. They want to make sure there aren’t any conflicts between their clan and ours. I’m more open minded. I don’t ask for approval. That’s why I prefer Be’ersheva. Bedouins measure themselves against the Jews. Israeli attitudes foster that competitive attitude. If we don’t serve in the army, it’s very difficult to find a good job... maybe any job. Serving in the army will give me money to pay for university. I can get a driver’s license and hope for a decent career. Otherwise, there’s only the Bedouin help squad that finds people gardening or driving jobs. My best friend is a Jewish Yemeni boy. He hopes to be a judge. Plans are important, but we have so much school work, we really need to stay focused on the present. How can we achieve peace? All politicians care about are their own careers. Arafat only valued money. The army should leave the occupied territories. Young people are the key to a better future. I personally think the political system should be different. There shouldn’t be separate cities or schools for Arabs and Jews. In Germany, all Jews were stereotyped. In Israel, all Arabs and Bedouins are also stereotyped. Is Israel a Jewish country or a country for everyone? There must be a place here for us too.” Morris Kahan, an American, founded and sponsors the Israel Youth 341
Mohammed has become a surrogate father to his siblings since Jomah’s illness. This is especially important for Suar, the youngest child. Their two floor villa in Rahat is beautifully built and decorated, but as in most bedouin homes, a tent is always a prerequisite on the grounds.
Development Program. Three Bedouin boys are now participating. Mohammed is the youngest team member in the Southern region. This group seeks out young people with leadership potential. Nine Bedouin schools were invited to participate and fifteen hundred youngsters were interviewed. One hundred candidates were finally selected, among them Mohammed, who was in 9th grade at the time, but guiding eleventh grade students. The program director phoned Azziza to request her permission. She agreed and Mohammed accepted. “Afterwards, I completed a seven day leadership course in Masada”. “Everything comes from the home. That’s the basis of all education. Fear of new ideas and experiences is just ignorance. We learn prejudice from textbooks and from family attitudes. These ideas are not natural. In all the Ministries there is a prejudice against Bedouins and Arabs in general. Whether it is to get a driver’s license or a building permit. The plan is to force Bedouins into cities. Healthcare is poor for Arabs and Bedouins. In any case, they only go to a doctor or a hospital when the situation is critical. In Arab schools, students never finish their math book lessons by the year’s end. In Jewish schools, students always cover all their class material. I studied Hebrew in Rahat. I always try to see TV and read the newspapers. I learned lots of difficult words but I saw that news of Arab-Israeli problems were not fairly presented. Jewish people undervalue the Bedouins. They see them as smugglers and thieves. I will always live on this same land. Maybe I’ll marry at twenty eight or thirty but I won’t have more than five children. I hope that no matter what happens, our family will stick together. Many people here still help and advise each other., with good intentions. No quarrel lasts more than a day.”
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ALLAH: 14 years old Allah also participated in the pre-selection for the same leadership program as Mohammed. He is among the forty semi-finalists, twenty of whom will be chosen during the last competitive round in Tel Aviv. This is a two-year program to learn positive behaviors, values and leadership skills. He is now in ninth grade. “My best school subjects are English and math. Soccer is my favorite sport. I like music and dancing and would really enjoy learning to play the piano. I admire my uncle (maternal). He’s a successful London lawyer. I think criminal law would be interesting and exciting. I’m a pacifist. I don’t want to fight on either side. War doesn’t solve anything. In school we discuss different family traditions and cultures. We learn about each others lives in order to understand other people better. I think that’s the way towards peace. I am worried about my father’s health. It’s such a big change since his accident. He’s a different person. I never know what he is thinking or what he is going to do. At school, the Director is from one of Rahat’s tribe. The children from that tribe all attend school because they feel protected. They fight with the students from different clans and take advantage of their situation. I’m always very cautious. I try to avoid confrontation. But the Director is fair. He expels anyone who starts a bad fight in class. I hope to attend university. I know I’ll have to work hard but nothing happens if you’re sitting down. Afterwards, I’ll like to travel and see new places. Next year I’ll be attending the Israeli school near Be’ersheva where Mohammed studies. The qualities that I most admire in a person are the same ones that I hope to attain: fair-mindedness, perseverance, loyalty, curiosity about the world and helping others when they need you.”
Manal has a talent for art. She’s full of fun and looks foward to each new day with unbound exhuberance.
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