December

Winter is here. Dramatic, unpredictable and changeable, the weather is a representative reflection of life in Israel. On some days, the warm sunshine means that I can practise my Qi Gong barefoot in the garden. Other days bring thunderstorms and heavy rains causing local flooding.

We are settling into our new home, all enjoying the extra space and new location. Maya has her own room to which she can retreat in times of need (escaping her little brother and sister) and 'hangout' with her friends. Ben is happy cycling around the garden and the neighbourhood on his own and also cycling the mountain trails in the adjacent nature reserve with me (which I love too). But Clare is the happiest of all, finally living in a decent space where she can 'entertain'. We have always had an open house where friends and family drop in but Clare felt that the apartment was just too small to have people over.

I am really enjoying my Arabic studies though it's proving to be a very difficult language.

The work in Barta'a is going well and my encounters with the people there (patients, staff and others) is gaining other dimensions, transcending (but including!) the clinical aspect. Listening to my patients' stories about their daily hardships is important, often cathartic. The fact that we come from different sides in the conflict creates an interesting dynamic, breaking down barriers and stereotypes. I think that for my Palestinian patients and colleagues, having an Israeli listen to and acknowledge their suffering, often inflicted by my government and its' agents (at the local check-point for example) is significant, as it is for me, gaining a perspective on the reality created (and the pain it causes) in the name of security.

Moving again

After several weeks of looking for alternative accommodation we are on the move again, leaving our lovely but tiny 2 bedroom apartment for a house with a garden. This should provide us with a very different living experience, a change from living on the urban side of town (on a main through road) to the rural end of the village, on the edge of a nature reserve.

I had some interesting encounters in Barta'a this week. More about this when I settle in the new house (and get on-line).

New York

Just back from New York, still jet lagged and emotionally drained from the trip, having spent 4 days with my nephew Max who was recovering from his second course of chemotherapy.

After a 12 hour flight, I arrived at Sloan Kettering the famous cancer hospital. One of the toughest experiences of this trip was the pediatric department, where Max is having his treatment. Children, babies and teenagers, bald and with a lifeless grayish complexion, some gaunt others bloated by the drug treatment, all sharing their suffering and hope. But it's the hope that's keeping these brave children and their families going. And it's hope that's keeping my sister Riva and Ed, Max's parents from falling apart.

Max had a couple of bad days and one good day during my visit. He is receiving the strongest and most toxic form of chemotherapy and while he knows its aim is to destroy the tumor, he feels it's also destroying his healthy body.

I went to New York armed with hundreds of acupuncture needles, herbal remedies and other paraphernalia, hoping to be able to help ease some of Max's suffering, but he just wanted Shai his uncle, not the practitioner. We had some magical moments together, a few tears and many laughs, some chats and just hanging out.

November begins

and the heat is intense. We've just had 3 days of a winter heat wave, temperatures around 34 Celsius and very low humidity. I think this is preferable to the UK winter. Times are busy here; I started my studies at Givat Haviva (http://www.givathaviva.org.il/english/) last week. It's one full day a week of studying literary and spoken Arabic. The first day was quite tough as I am not used to being a student and the pace was dizzying.

Clare is getting a bit claustrophobic in our tiny flat, so we started looking around for a bigger place to rent, no joy so far as the typical rental contract starts in July (usually for one year).

I am off to New York on Thursday to look after Max who is starting his 2nd course of Chemo today.

The clinic in Barta'a 2

This week I finally started working in Barta'a. We were met by Harry the Chiropractic and Nazem the interpretor at the entrance to the village, after getting lost temporarily on a beautiful winding road, lush green pine forest on both sides reminiscent of a European, not Middle Eastern landscape.

Barta'a was divided after the war in 1949 into Jordanian Eastern Barta'a and Israeli Western Barta'a, separating families and friends. According to Nazem, while the rest of the Arab world were mourning their defeat in 1967, the residents of Barta'a were happy; the village was once again 'united'. Today, the reality for the people of East Barta'a is not so happy. As we were driving through the village, following the main market road on our way to the clinic, Harry pointed out the border between the two Barta'as. This is an unmarked invisible boundary for anyone coming from West Barta'a and anywhere else in Israel. The citizens of East Barta'a are confined to their side of the village as they need (hard to get) travel permits to enter Israel. Going to other parts of the Palestinian Authority (including the hospital in Jenin) is equally difficult since the erection of the security 'wall' and the presence of a military checkpoint.

Coming into the clinic I was overwhelmed by the warm reception we received. Harry and Nazem had both been away for several weeks and the local staff were overjoyed to see them again. As I started working with my first patient I began to really understand the philosophy of Middleway (http://middleway.org/English/index.html) , the charity running this project. This was an encounter between two human beings, one happy to offer his healing the other happy to receive it. An encounter untainted by politics or prejudice or fear, just two people sharing a sacred space (one happens to be Israeli the other Palestinian). And this experience was repeated throughout the day.

One of my patients, an elderly man, started giggling like a young boy as I started treating him telling me that he is so confident I will be able to help him, he will start arranging the 'Hafla' (a traditional banquet / feast) as soon as he leaves the clinic. Nazem seemed a bit worried and reminded the patient that when we discussed his prognosis I told him it would take several weeks before we could see any improvement.

The highlight of my first day was when Haj Mustafa, a 75 year old man gave me his keffiyeh. He came into the clinic complaining of being sick 'everywhere', producing a long list of illnesses, unable to decide on his treatment priorities, saying: 'just make me feel better'. Harry and I both did some work on the Haj, who emerged from the treatment euphoric (a 'side-effect' from acupuncture), put his keffiyeh on my head and walked around the clinic telling everyone how good he feels.

"Every single step of the way matters.
Every step makes a difference.
Every step is a step towards peace and reconciliation.
Every step reveals the deepest aspirations of men, women and children to live on Earth at peace with each other.
Every step confirms that the pilgrims on The Walk hear the cry of pain and grief of people in the Palestinian and Israeli community.
Every step is turning our back on fear and hate and turning our attention towards transformation and liberation for one and all.
There is no turning back. There is no sinking into the painful patterns of the past. The Walk is a movement forward, a step from the known to the unknown. The Walk reminds people of the direction to go in to resolve suffering.
Through silence, each participant bears witness to nobility, dignity and togetherness.
There are many forms of demonstration.
The Walk is the most powerful demonstration of all since it demonstrates love, inter-connection and spiritual presence.
The Walk is a deeply spiritual event having the power to turn the hearts of people towards the realisation of common humanity, common heritage and shared experiences.
The Walk is a deep expression of the Way and the fruits of the Way" (from the Middleway website)

Two months on, the children speak...

Click on the videos to see the children summing up their time here so far in their own words.

I've had a tough and tense week, gathering scraps of information about Max who was recovering from surgery and waiting to be moved to Sloan Kettering, the specialist cancer hospital in NYC. Max was diagnosed with Ewing's Sarcoma, a rare form of cancer, but for a whole (long) week we didn't know the extent (and therefore the prognosis) as the hospital in LA didn't perform any scans or examinations - they didn't want to expose Max to any unnecessary radiation as the hospital in New York would anyway do their own tests. He finally arrived in NY 3 days ago and by Thursday had full body scans. I was very glad and relieved to hear that no tumors were detected anywhere else and Max's team of Oncologists are quite optimistic about his chances for recovery. He now faces a grueling 7 months of chemotherapy (and surgery) which started today. I hope to go to New York soon to offer support to Max and my sister.

Max

On my return from the school journey I received a phone call from my sister Riva. Her youngest child, Max, her son, is very ill with cancer. My beautiful, sensitive, brilliant 16 year old nephew is lying in his hospital bed in Santa Monica, recovering from surgery on his lungs, waiting to be transfered to Sloan-Kettering hospital in New York. The shock from this news left me numb initially, now I'm hurting and worrying.

I pray and send my love to Max and his sisters, Torrie and Skye, his father Ed, his mother Riva and her husband Alan.

I spoke briefly to Max last night; he sounded strong and positive and said he was looking forward to writing a book on his ordeal once it's all over. InshaAllah.

Tiyul

Tiyul means a journey or trip. Two weeks ago, I volunteered to join and help Maya's school on their annual trip which took place on Tuesday and Wednesday this week. The theme for this year's journey was 'the relationship of humans to nature and their environment', it involved several hikes along rivers, wadis and ravines in the north of Israel. We had a great time and learnt a lot about wildlife and nature. Enjoy the pictures.

Jerusalem

A city of mythical proportions contrast and contradiction where luminous light and darkness, tranquility and aggression all combine, creating a vibrant home to people from every race, religion and creed.

We spent the last 5 days there, staying in Alan's house and it feels as though we have been to a retreat. Alan, my brother in-law is a philanthropist (running the Abraham Fund projects,http://www.abrahamfund.org/main/siteNew/index.php ) who set up a house in the beautiful neighbourhood of Yamin Moshe solely for guests. The house overlooks the walls of the old city and is one of the most beautiful homes we have ever been to.

The week of Succot is a traditional time of pilgrimage to Jerusalem, so the city was overcrowded and noisy but we had our haven to retreat to. I hope that the pictures below represent some of our impressions of the city, including a video of a Hassidic Hip Hop gig in the Jewish Quarter of the Old City.

Smoking Ants

On the way to the swimming pool this afternoon we saw something strange. Thousands of ants carrying dozens of cigarette butts.

We all know about how ants live in organized and advanced civilizations but this is rather surprising. Who would have thought that deep down in their underground cosmos the giant ants are living a decadent life, smoking and maybe even drinking. As soon as I find evidence for the drinking I will post it here. Watch this space...

Our 7th Week

The week started with a visit to the beautiful office of New Horizon in Jaffa. Thabet Abu Rass and Zeev Degani, the co-directors of this new NGO / think tank were as welcoming as they were inspiring. Their work includes employing some academic, research tools and training in the quest for peaceful coexistence in this country. They will look at other countries with a civil conflict (such as Northern Ireland, Sri Lanka, Bosnia, South Africa), the strategies employed there and whether any of it can be adapted and used here. One of the most interesting things about New Horizon is the relationship between its co-directors. Thabet and Zeev are observing and reflecting on their relationship as a microcosm for Jews and Arabs living in a shared homeland. Let us hope that the ripples created by their deeds will reach far and wide.

The children are off school now for 10 days for the Jewish holiday of Succot and we are joining the thousands of Israelis, traveling the country. We went north yesterday to the Western Galil region to visit our Friends Salah and Mofida (and their son Rami). The Galil is a beautiful mountainous area where Jews, Druze, Christians and Muslims all live close by, some in mixed communities.

Some photos from our trip (Goren Forest)

Clare, Maya Dunia and Mofida overlooking Montfort, a Crusader Castle built 1226 - 1230.
Dunia and Rami;
Cheeky (Ben) Attitude (Elah) Contemplative (Maya) Salah and Ben

Salah sends his love to Felicity and the gang at the University of Westminster!

We had a lovely dinner with Osnat, Richard and 4 kids at Kibbutz Hanita and came back home at midnight tired but happy. The drive to Hanita, which sits right on the border with Lebanon was quite eerie. We set off after sunset from Goren forest, after spending a magical day with Salah and his family. The access road to the Kibbutz is some 5 km long, a winding road and a very steep climb up to 800 meters (2500 feet) above sea level. There are signs every few meters declaring a closed military area and we even encountered a couple of armoured personnel carriers. Ben was freaked out by the proximity to the border, remembering his time in the bomb shelters (as missiles were falling nearby) last summer, when we visited Israel during the war.

Off to Jerusalem tomorrow for 5 days.

Yom Kippur

Yom Kippur or the Day of Atonement, the holiest day in the Jewish
calendar is just about to finish. What I experienced in the last 24
hours is just amazing. Everyday life and its activities slowly ground to
a halt yesterday until it all ceased and transformed into something
unfamiliar. The people, usually passionate, loud, opinionated
and argumentative - and the place often chaotic - have become serene, calm and
reflective. Not a single car on the road! But the roads are only a
little less dangerous on Yom Kippur, as frenzied secular Israeli
children go out in their thousands with their bikes, skateboards and
roller blades, taking advantage of the empty streets, avenues and roads.

The air of calm, peace and serenity has filled me with optimism. If it's
possible to get a whole nation to assume this mode of being for one day
then the potential is there for peaceful coexistence.

The silence is reminding me of a different type of silence, one I am
encountering on a daily basis. Whenever I tell people (old friends and
new, Jews and Arabs) of my plans for the year (specifically leaning
Arabic and volunteering on the Barta'a project) I get either no
response (maybe just a smile or grimace) or the customary: why would you
want to do that? you're so naive, you don't know them, it won't help,
etc. But the silent response is the most difficult to deal with. I first
experienced this in 1989 at the Serpentine Gallery, London, where I was
working as a newly arrived student. I walked into a room full of people
I was due to be working with and was introduced by the person who
employed me. When asked by someone, where are you from? I replied,
Israel. Suddenly the whole room fell silent. It took me a few moments to
realize what had happened; I was from THAT place, a place viewed so
negatively you couldn't even mention it or talk about it. People give
you the silence treatment when it's too uncomfortable to embark on any
dialogue or conversation. It's easier to stay attached to your version of reality than trying to challenge your thinking, considering other perspectives.

Driving and the pathology of a nation

Driving on the roads can reveal the pathologies of a nation.

In the UK, people's anger and aggression all surface while driving the car in the form of road rage. Normally repressed, polite and understated, the British driver assumes a license to vent all his (or her) frustrations on the road.
In Israel, aggression pushiness and shouting is commonplace so the roads reveal a different type of pathology; egocentric, the average Israeli behaves as though he or she are the only person on the road. Ignoring other drivers or road signs, driving in Israel feels like playing Russian Roulette.

Having little consideration for the 'other' (any other) and being stuck in an ethnocentric world view has many other implications for Israeli society, some, on the 'micro' to do with the way people relate to one another in general, others, on the 'macro', to do with politics and the way one nation relates to the other.

My mother was discharged from hospital today with her own oxygen cylinder! After spending the long holiday weekend (4 days) by her bed side in a run down and soulless Tel Aviv hospital, my sister, father and I are relieved and happy that she is feeling much better.

After five weeks of not working (the longest 'holiday' ever) I treated my first patient today. I am very happy to be here.

Going to Givat Haviva to enroll on the Arabic course tomorrow and hoping to meet Thabet and Zeev (from New Horizon) next week in their Jaffa office. Will start my voluntary work after the Jewish Holidays and Ramadan.

Clare is feeling much better and thanks everyone for their love and support

---

Shana Tova and Ramadan Karim to all our friends

Clare

The children have stopped crying. Now Clare's tears are touching us all.
Ten days into our journey Clare found out she was pregnant. Unplanned, (yet, as we later found, not unwanted) this threw us into a spiral of emotions, coursing a different path from the one we envisaged. For Clare being pregnant means taking part in Creation (but not as part of a belief system; she rather feels it very deeply) so termination wasn't considered. As this wasn't a viable pregnancy, Clare started bleeding last week and finally miscarried 2 days ago. Her pain and grief though still unbearable, is slowly healing.
After several clinic and hospital visits (which showed the Israeli healthcare system to be modern and efficient) I am now in Tel-Aviv with my mother who is sick with pneumonia, feeling tired and drained.
Being with one's loved ones at times of suffering is difficult; the professional skills and experience I have gained over the years don't seem to count.

Summer is Over

and life in Israel begins to take shape. Today was the third day at school (the week begins on Sunday here!). The first two days were pretty traumatic for the girls:

Elah (5) was very anxious at her pre-school, tearful and confused the first day, refusing to go on the second day. Today though she skipped to school singing and laughing and kicked us out as soon as we got there.

Maya is finding the whole experience very difficult. In England school has always been a place Maya was happy to be, excelling and finding it easy. On the first day she came home crying saying she couldn't understand anything or do any work, begging to catch the first plane back to London. The second day was slightly better as she only had Maths Science and Sport on the agenda but this morning she refused to go to school since Hebrew was back. This is the most challenging time in her life (everything comes easy to Maya) and this year will no doubt contribute to her personal development. She is happier this evening having made some friends at school and enrolling on several extra curricular activities, including choir (singing is her passion).

It's tough making decisions for your children then see them suffer.

Ben (8) is happy! He has camped out in our (tiny) bedroom and sleeping through the night. He loves everything about being here and doesn't seem to miss his life in London. At school he day-dreams during lessons (so what's new) waiting for break time when he can run around and play.

Last night the mosquitoes attacked for the first time. They won the battle keeping us awake most of the night but I also blame the wild dogs barking. This evening we had to take pre-emptive measures. I am not proud to say that it had to include mosquito hunting (I won't go into detail but it was bloody). We shall see later on who has won the war.

The Beach

Don't let the images above fool you. They are of the Kibbutz beach where we usually hang out when on vacation. It's a stretch of some 5 kilometers of untouched nature which used to be frequented by few naked souls from the Kibbutz.

Early this morning, my son Ben (8) and I went to the beach in the hope of finding a quiet spot where he could play and I could do my Qi Gong. The scene there was quite shocking: a city of tents and 4x4s with all the mod cons as far as the eye could see. The best kept secret in Israel is out and the urbanites are coming in their thousands.

The same could be said of Zichron Yaakov, the sleepy neighboring village of my childhood. Everyone wants to come and live in this bubble of tranquility and sanity and as a result the whole place seems to be under construction. How long can it retain those unique features which are attracting everyone? What is drawing so many people here? Escaping the harsh Israeli reality for a better life or wanting to be part of a community and make a difference?

Qi Gong on the beach this morning was still magical!

One week and one day

since we arrived and we are slowly finding a rhythm more in tune with the season. Summer is beautiful here, but we have been rather busy navigating the bureaucratic maze (schools for the children, health insurance, telephone and Internet services, ID cards etc.) though still finding time everyday for the beach or kibbutz swimming pool.

I have been in touch with Thabet Abu Rass from New Horizon, a new NGO and think tank working to promote coexistence in Israel and hope to meet him next month to hear more about their work.

On the whole it seems that there will be no shortage of work to do here- I keep being approached by friends asking when I'm planning on starting my acupuncture practice (everyone knows someone who needs treatment...)- the challenge will be to make sure I don't over commit myself. This is a sabbatical after all...

We have had our ups and downs already. Maya (11 years old) is missing her friends and cousins, often saying she wants to go home. All of us are gradually getting used to having much less personal space (moving from a spacious 5 bedroom house to a small 2 bedroom apartment) and the children are learning to cooperate and share more.

The Party

A few snaps from the party. Thank you Samantha for arranging and insisting we do this. Around 70 of or closest friends came to 'send us off'. One Love.