Ethnic Cleaning: the fate of Arab Israelis in Israel

The Israeli Declaration of Independence declares that "[The State of Israel] will uphold the full social and political equality of all its citizens, without distinction of race, creed or sex; will guarantee full freedom of conscience, worship, education and culture; will safeguard the sanctity and inviolability of the shrines and Holy Places of all religions; and will dedicate itself to the principles of the Charter of the United Nations."


Unfortunately, it lied.


Nearly 20% of Israel's citizens are not Jews.  They are Arab.  And yet, despite claims that "Arab Israelis are citizens of Israel with equal rights,"every human rights group we spoke to in Israel (most of which were Jewish) declared that the Arab citizens of Israel are consistently discriminated against, and many live in a constant state of fear.  


Just to be clear, I am not talking about the Palestinian residents of the Occupied Territories.  I am talking about the Arabs living within the borders of Israel itself, who are supposedly recognized as full citizens by the Israeli government. 


One example of this disparity is the difference between the law of return (which makes it illegal for an Arab Israeli to return to their pre-1948 land) and the right of return (which gives every Jew, regardless of citizenship, the right to settle in Israel).


They also receive significantly less public services (i.e. money for schools, health care, road cleanup, etc.) than their Jewish counterparts, despite paying the same amount of taxes.  


One of the Jews we talked to at B'Tselem (the Israeli Information Center for Human Rights in the Occupied Territories) cited this as one of the main reasons he got involved with the organization: I have eyes, he said.  I grew up seeing the way we lived, and seeing the way our Arab neighbors lived, just across the street.  I knew they paid the same taxes, and I couldn't understand why they were treated so differently.  


But this is all just an introduction, for what I actually wanted to share, which is Max Blumenthal's article, "The 'Summer Camp Of Destruction:' Israeli High Schoolers Assist The Razing Of A Bedouin Town."


The thing that really struck me in this account of the demolition of a Bedouin village in the Negev (which took place on July 26th) is the fact that the Arabs involved were Israeli citizens.


But instead of being protected by their government and neighbors, they were surrounded by gloating volunteers, celebrating the destruction of an Arab community in their midst.

A number of villagers including Abu Madyam told me the volunteers smashed windows and mirrors in their homes and defaced family photographs with crude drawings. Then they lounged around on the furniture of al-Arakib residents in plain site of the owners. Finally, according to Abu Matyam, the volunteers celebrated while bulldozers destroyed the homes.

“What we learned from the summer camp of destruction,” Abu Madyam remarked, “is that Israeli youth are not being educated on democracy, they are being raised on racism.”

Blumenthal highlights the disturbing reality that many of these volunteers are teenagers, officially working for the Israeli police.   

Not only are they being indoctrinated to swear blind allegiance to the military, they are learning to treat the Arab outclass as less than human. The volunteers’ behavior toward Bedouins, who are citizens of Israel and serve loyally in Israeli army combat units despite widespread racism, was strikingly reminiscent of the behavior of settler youth in Hebron who pelt Palestinian shopkeepers in the old city with eggs, rocks and human waste. If there is a distinction between the two cases, it is that the Hebron settlers act as vigilantes while the teenagers of Israeli civilian guard vandalize Arab property as agents of the state.

Blumenthal's concern echoes that of the Arab Association for Human Rights, who we met with in Nazareth.  Unlike other organizations (B'Tselem, Al Haq, etc.) working for Arab rights in the Occupied Territories, these were Israeli citizens working for human rights for Arabs in Israel.  The director informed us that his great fear is that, while the situation in the Occupied Territories will eventually be resolved, one way or another, the situation for Arabs in Israel will just continue to deteriorate, because they are invisible.  

Most do not even know they exist.  The terms Israeli and Arab are thought to be mutually exclusive.   

While the individual suffering is heartbreaking, it is the trend (and legal precedence) that is truly terrifying.  As Blumenthal states, "The spectacle of Israeli youth helping destroy al-Arakib helps explain why 56% of Jewish Israeli high school students do not believe Arabs should be allowed to serve in the Knesset."   

Take a moment.  Read that again.  More than half of Jewish youth (the next generation of leaders and law makers) do not believe that Arab citizens should have a voice in the law-making of their country.  

They want the minority silenced. 

As for the present condition of Israeli democracy, it is essential to consider the way in which the state pits its own citizens against one another, enlisting the Jewish majority as conquerers while targeting the Arab others as, in the words of Zionist founding father Chaim Weizmann,“obstacles that had to be cleared on a difficult path.” Historically, only failing states have encouraged such corrosive dynamics to take hold. That is why the scenes from al-Arakib, from the demolished homes to the uprooted gardens to the grinning teens who joined the mayhem, can be viewed as much more than the destruction of a village. They are snapshots of the phenomenon that is laying Israeli society as a whole to waste.

This is America's democratic ally in the Middle East.

Rabbis for Human Rights: the voice of a God who loves

Rabbis for Human Rights is a humanitarian organization that seeks to restore true righteousness to the State of Israel.

Meeting with Rabbi Michael Schwartz, around a wide oval table in their headquarters in Jerusalem, we were told that their organization is driven by the Old Testament command to take care of the fatherless, the widow, and the stranger in the land.  That, said Rabbi Schwartz, is what true religion looks like.  

The work of the rabbis is multi-faceted, centering on Social and Economic Justice (the protection of the poor), Human Rights in the Occupied Territories, and Human Rights Education. 

Much of their work in the Occupied Territories revolves around helping Palestinians maintain physical access to the land they own.  According to the law, if Palestinians can be kept off their land (even by such unjust means as barbed wire fences, armed soldiers, or violent settlers) then the land attains the status of "no-man's land" and is legally seizable by the Israeli government.  This is one of the main techniques that has gained settlers the control of 42% of the West Bank.  

(Look at that percentage again.  Did you really see it?  42% of the WEST BANK is controlled by settlements considered illegal under international law.)

Some of their most unique work, however, is under the heading of Human Rights Education.  RHR rabbis work with religious youth preparing to serve their country in the IDF (Israeli Defense Force).  Together they look at Israel's Declaration of Independence (in the absence of a constitution, which Israel does not yet have), in combination with relevant scripture, and wrestle with questions of ethics and morality.  How does a soldier, loyal to his country and obedient to God, make decisions within the impossible situations that young Israelis are likely to find themselves in?  How do they maintain the innocence, humanity, and dignity of both themselves and their Palestinian brothers and sisters (or enemies, depending on how you want to categorize)?  

One of the reasons that this work is so vitally significant is that the IDF has their own rabbis (and here there was a trace of anger -- or was it pain? -- in Rabbi Schwartz's voice).  Rabbis who hand out pamphlets to young soldiers declaring that Palestinians are less than human; declaring that annihilating such sub-humans is the act of a holy war; declaring that killing them is not murder, but righteous victory.  

For all our sakes, Rabbi Schwartz seemed to plead, we must teach them another way.

But perhaps most important of all their work, they seek to generate hope.  There are Israeli and American Jews who have come to them, Schwartz told us, and said that the only reason they can continue to wear the kippah, or call themselves religious Jews, is because of the work of RHR and those like them.  

My favorite story illustrating this work of hope-building was the one Rabbi Schwartz left us with (a story that is briefly referenced in the New York Times op-ed article about RHR, In Israel, the Noble vs. the Ugly):

His coworker (Rabbi Asherman) once got a call about settler violence against Palestinians.  When he got there, the Palestinians, extremely agitated, began throwing stones at the settlers and the soldiers protecting them.  Unable to condone violence, he left.  Only to get called minutes later to be told that Israeli soldiers were using a Palestinian child as a human shield.  He returned to the site to find a 13-year-old boy tied to the front of a tank.  Going up to the soldiers, he asked them if they knew that such acts were in violation of the Geneva convention, and could constitute war crimes.  In response, he was head-butted, and tied to the front of the tank with the child.  When the traumatized child was later interviewed by Al Gazira, he told them that, yes, he was having nightmares, and, yes, he was terrified of the soldiers.  But he also said that a tall Jew, with a red beard and a kippah on his head, came to his rescue. 

And that, right there, is the testimony of hope.   

But although it was Rabbi Schwartz who told us that bitterness is the result of inaction, still there are elements of the situation that even he will admit are very bleak indeed.  

For instance (and this was a sentiment repeated by almost every human rights group we met with), one of the strongest movements in Israel today is the movement to de-legitimize human rights groups, and exhaust the strength of those opposing injustice.

May the day never come when they succeed.    

Travel Writing: a child born in Bethlehem

I scribbled this in my notebook while staying with a host family in Beit Sahour (next door to Bethlehem).  The family has bullet holes in their home -- a remnant from the 2nd Intifada, when standing on your balcony could be considered a crime.
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Babies, I think, may be the international language of love.

All that is needed is one glance at the large, bright eyes, the guarded smiles, the small, pudgy fingers, the wild squeals, and it would take a hard heart to not surrender entirely.

Our host grandmother kisses the fat rolls of the baby's thighs, laughing at the child's delight, cooing at his noises.  Her voice, pitched high, speaks nonsense in his ear.

We watched as the grandfather, a man of few words and severe dignity (who would barely speak in our direction), became a child himself, playing games with his grandson in his arms.  Chuckling in his satisfaction and pride.

And I wish that all the mothers of Palestine could hold all of the babies of Israel, and vice versa.  Maybe then we would not be so quick to kill.

Trip Reflections by the President's Wife

I've mentioned (I think) that my most recent trip into Israel and the Occupied Territories was taken with a group from the university where my father teaches (Bethel University in Minnesota).  Here is a concise, but beautiful, reflection on that trip by Barb Barnes, the wife of Bethel's current president (Jay Barnes).  Barb has a heart that is filled with both joy and compassion, and I was incredibly blessed by her presence on the trip

Reflections On Our Trip to Israel
Publication date: Jun 28, 2010 9:34 p.m.

Guest contributor Barb Barnes 

Five others from Bethel joined Jay and me for seven days in Israel and Palestine. While we were able to see some of the biblical sites, the purpose of the trip was to learn about the current situation there and to explore the possibility of a study abroad program for our students. I am grateful for the safety and good health for everyone while we were there and for an experience of profound learning.

While in Bethlehem (in the West Bank) we stayed with Christian families. It was good to see a faithful Christian presence remaining in spite of the hardships and the exodus of Palestinian Christians to other parts of the world because of the difficult conditions that limit employment and personal freedoms.

Here are a few initial reflections on the week, with more to follow later in a post from Jay.

Incredible conflict exists in the land of Jesus’ birth.

I believe God mourns.

The wall (pictured above) is a constant reminder of many lost freedoms.

I believe God mourns.

For more than 60 years people have lived in poverty in refugee camps.

I believe God mourns.

Apartheid has become a way of life.

I believe God mourns.

Extreme disproportional distribution of resources, such as water, exists.

I believe God mourns.

Hundreds of villages have been demolished to make room for settlements.

I believe God mourns.

Human rights violations occur daily.

I believe God mourns.

The Christian population is declining as many are leaving to avoid persecution.

I believe God mourns.

People on all sides of this conflict have inflicted great harm.

I believe God mourns.

Beth, a recent Bethel grad is working in a Palestinian village, bringing hope and God’s love to the people there.

I believe God rejoices!

I realize there are other perspectives and political realities that go beyond my statements, but our hearts were broken and our minds were stretched by what we saw. We have a different sense of what it means to "pray for the peace of Jerusalem.” We are thankful that Bethel’s reconciliation studies major prepares students like Beth to change the world.

Salim Munayer: a man who speaks like Moses

It's about a week since I returned from my recent trip to Israel and the West Bank, and there are so many thoughts I want to share, but it's hard to know where to start.

We met with some amazing people -- powerful peacemakers -- from both sides of the checkpoints.  People dedicating their lives to the pursuit of justice, mercy, and transformation.

And I am in awe. 

I hope to introduce you to some of my newfound heroes over the course of the next few days and weeks, as well as, perhaps, some of my thoughts and reflections from the time there.

After spending the night with host families in Bethlehem, the first meeting of our trip was in Jerusalem with Salim Munayer, founder of Musalaha, who've I've had the great honor of meeting once before.

The man is a powerful speaker, with a powerful story, and a powerful vision for reconciliation -- a vision he is taking concrete steps to fulfill.

I hope his thoughts challenge you and give you hope. 

[Hopefully this won't be too confusing, because the following is taken almost directly out of my notes.  However, please remember that this is my interpretation/memory of what Salim said, and not a transcription (I may be a writer, but I am not a journalist), so don't hold him responsible for what I say he said (if that makes sense).] 
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"From the land of strife to the land of reconciliation."

That is Salim Munayer's vision for his country.  Reconciliation, he says, is not compromise, and it is not win/lose.  It is identity transformation.  For identity is the first casualty of conflict -- the destruction of how we see ourselves, how we see God, and how we see others.

The heart of peace is not behavioral change but identity change.

Salim Munayer is a refugee within his own country.  Driven from their homes in '48, his family remained in their hometown of Lydda, but was forbidden from returning to their land.  Given citizenship by the Israeli government (though initially denied freedom of movement and still denied the right of return), Salim attended a Hebrew high school along with his Jewish neighbors -- a school which informed him that his history was a lie.

Palestine, he was informed, was desert, the Jews turned it green, and then the Arabs moved in.  Never mind that he could see his ancestral land from the windows of his classroom.

An Arab-Israeli and a Palestinian-Christian, his identity was in conflict, and he grew up asking the hard questions that his community of faith must still face:  What would Jesus do if forced to cross through checkpoints multiple times every day? What application does the Sermon on the Mount have to the Palestinian reality?  How does one (especially a Palestinian-Christian) resist aggressively, for justice, in the name of love?.  And, hardest thought of all, are Palestinian-Christians (members of the universal body of Christ) an obstacle for the return of their Messiah (as so much Western theology seems to teach)?! 

Teaching at Bethlehem Bible College he faced the similar conflict of his students: "We don't want to learn about the people who inflict pain upon us."  Spiritual heritage in conflict with cultural heritage.  The Bible they loved being used to justify their pain.

Years later, does he have the answers?  Perhaps not all, but he believes he has been chosen for this task.  Uniquely placed, within the conflict of his identities, to bridge the gap between Arab and Jew, Israeli and Palestinian.    

As Christians, he challenges, how do we see God?  Burning holiness that demands isolation and perfection?  Absolute sovereignty that justifies fatalism and prophetic blindness, without thought to individual responsibility or communal justice?  Or do we see the crucified God, the lion and slain lamb, the Christ who wept?

Such a God forbids our involvement as jihadists or modern crusaders.  Forbids, also, our allegiance to political agendas which destroy our sacred calling to be salt and light in society, drafted only to the love of God and neighbor.

This is the foundation of peacemaking.  And because God is a God of relationship, Salim believes we must build relationships to build peace.  Must build relationships to destroy the destructive patterns of conflict:

• Division between "us" and "them" (self and Other)
• Dehumanization (the necessary step in justifying self-protection against the "enemy")
• Failure to see plurality (all of the Other is exactly alike -- a strong basis for collective punishment, which is considered a war crime)
• Suspicion
• Self-fulfilling prophecy (treating the Other as the enemy leads the Other to behave as the enemy)
• Moral superiority
• Perceived victimization (the dangerous tendency to claim pain as uniquely ours, whether 9/11 or the Holocaust -- the refusal to see suffering as a universal human experience)
• Demonization (attributing absolute evil to the other side -- often uses religious language and labels [i.e. "terrorist"])

So this is what he does.  Taking Jewish and Arab youth into the desert -- the literal desert -- where power can be stripped away and the Other encountered as a person necessary to the very survival of self.

Salim believes that this desert encounter is integral to the process of reconciliation, because no dominant culture will choose to relinquish power.  The desert, however, strips power without the realization of the powerful, forcing people to become dependent on each other as people -- humans in need, not oppressor and oppressed.

In the Bible, he reminds us, the desert is a place of transformation and renewal.  A place where the world fades away and God is met.  But it cannot happen without pilgrimage. 

He leaves us with some challenging thoughts:

1. While peace and reconciliation are happening in Israel on the relational level, where all real change must start, full reconciliation, which must also involve structural change, is stunted by a lack of vision.  What is the end goal for Palestine/Israel?  What are we struggling for?  For S. Africa it was the abolition of apartheid.  For the U.S. it was the end of discrimination.  What is it for Israel?  No one seems quite sure.
2. It is not the American Jews (many of whom are actively seeking justice) keeping the U.S. from interceding in Israel, but the American Christians.  As an American, and a Christian, this is a sobering, convicting, and painful thought.  
3. Finally, and most importantly, as third parties who desire to be involved in advocacy -- holding up mirrors to those in power -- we must not allow ourselves to be drafted into the conflict.  We must not take sides.  Advocacy without reconciliation, states Salim, simply feeds the fire of strife, and that they do not need. 

Travel Writing: the border crossing

We began our trip in a Moumayez taxi with a Bedouin driver who spoke of Jordan as a land of peace, and King Abdullah as a man of peace.

My father agreed. "If all Middle Eastern countries had rulers like King Hussein and King Abdullah, this region would be known for its reconciliation rather than its strife."

"Indeed," said our taxi driver.
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At the Jordanian border our passports were stamped by a man who commanded us to smile.

"Why so angry?" he reprimanded our solemn faces, delighted by the picture of my grinning 17-year-old self and our occasional Arabic phrases.
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On the Israeli side we were met with small-scale changes since our last time through -- a working restroom and a new system to sort the desirous from the unwanted. The key? Smile brightly, look innocent (there are some advantages, it would seem, to still looking like a high school teenager), and wave the blue passport that marks me as one of the unthinking loyal.

The girl at the high desk asked where we were going.

"Jerusalem," we say.

"To the West Bank?" she asks.

"Jerusalem," we chorus.

"Only Jerusalem?" she presses.

"Maybe Galilee," we answer.

She nods.

And I wonder, by staying silent are we consenting? To the truth of her assumptions, to the justice of her questions?

"Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light." -Dylan Thomas
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The first sight of David's city -- the church steeple peeking over the hill -- always feels a little like traveling back in time. Back to an age when the world was built in stone, and cities grew out of the earth with flowers and arches, and the land was bathed in dusty sunlight. This is the holy land -- the land of crusader knights and holy fathers -- of tragedy and ecstasy.
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There is a secret code of sorts among those who visit Bethlehem -- a language learned of hms and hahs, evasion and misdirection.

"Where are you going?" asked the German girl in front of us at the border.

"Um, Jerusalem," was the reply.

She laughed.

"Ah, yes, Jerusalem. Smile and wink."

When asked the same question, she replied, "Oh, me too -- Jerusalem."

Asked where she was staying, she said she didn't know yet -- was planning to look around, see the sights.

Stepping off the bus, away from the scrutiny of Israeli soldiers with automatic rifles, her story changed.

"Do you know where to get the bus to Bethlehem?"

You'd think the soldiers would catch on.

The Righteous Among the Nations (or Hope in the Holy Land)

At the moment I'm sitting in a coffee shop in Bethlehem, drinking a cup of coffee and watching the World Cup.

I'm here with a group from my dad's university, doing an "alternative tour," which basically means that instead of the tourist sites, we're here to see the peace and justice sites -- to meet with those working in the areas of reconciliation, non-violent resistance, and human rights.

The trip has been mindblowing.

Yes, I've been in Israel before. Yes, I've been in Bethlehem before. Yes, I've worked in refugee camps. Yes, I've seen the separation barrier. But this is so much more. I've seen the bones and barbed wire of the conflict, but this has been a trip about the living flesh -- the people and organizations dedicating their lives to resolving the deep, complex, and tragic issues facing this region.

I have been challenged, I have been stretched, and I have been encouraged.

Someone asked our group today how we've been responding to what we've seen -- how we're holding up to the weight. For me, the answer is that for the first time in a long time, I have hope.

I don't want to minimize the suffering, injustice, and pain, of which there is much. But at the same time, there seems to be an alternative. Not yet on a national or international level -- and there are still moments where it seems that such a step would be impossible -- but on the personal level, where there are relationships forming, peacemakers coming forth, and whole networks of Palestinian leadership rejecting violence . . . maybe this is a step towards the future.

One of the rabbis we met with (a member of Rabbis for Human Rights) made the statement that if you just know the facts -- what's happening on the ground -- you're going to get bitter and give up hope. We, he said, are not bitter, because we see what's happening, and we've chosen to act. We have hope.

May his hope be ours.