The rapist

A friend is trying to convince me that my voluntary work in Barta'a is wrong. He says that though I think I am doing good and positive work, it is actually negative and harmful.

He uses an example to illustrate his point. "Suppose a rapist keeps re offending, what do you do? I would have him executed or incarcerated for ever, he says. You on the other hand would want to treat him, heal him, am I right he asks? I suppose so, I answer. Well, this is exactly my point, he says. You are naive and trusting and by thinking you have done good, by thinking you have helped the rapist, you have done great damage to the many women he would certainly rape in the future".

What's the connection between this and my work in Barta'a I ask? Can't you see, he says? The people you are working with are nice to you because you help them and they agree with you politically. But they want to destroy us and as soon as they are able to, they will do it. You are helping the enemy, he concludes his argument.

Nothing I say to him can convince him to explore his prejudice and reexamine his thesis. Nothing he says to me can convince me there is even a seed of truth in what he says.

I suggested we try to swap perspectives. I will try to see reality from his point of, in effect adopting his world view, stepping into 'his shoes' and seeing the world through his eyes and vice versa. Maybe this way we could at least understand where the other is coming from....

On interconnectedness and Universal Love ('every single particle just the same')

Jenin refugee camp with 'Physicians for human rights'.

Mohamed the Physio and me

Harry called me on Thursday asking me to join and help the mobile clinic of Physicians for human rights on Saturday. He said that they were expecting around 70 'orthopedic' patients and needed some extra hands to help with the workload.

We arrived at the meeting point in Taibe, a town on the Israeli side of the 'green line'. A crowd of some thirty people arrived: doctors, nurses, pharmacists, translators, Harry the chiropractic, myself the Chinese medicine man and a crew of two doing a story for BBC world service and the 'Guardian'. There was a real buzz in the air.

Physicians for human rights send out the 'mobile clinic' (http://phr.org.il/phr/) every Saturday, to the most needy places in the West Bank, where health care provision is lacking due to travel restrictions, underfunding and poverty. A team of specialist doctors, nurses and pharmacists (with a truck load of pharmaceutical drugs) are accompanied by translators and coordinators. Salah Haj Yehye from PHR oversees the whole operation, liaising with local health officers (identifying the most acute needs) then gathering the medical and support team and deciding on which route will have the least amount of road blocks.

The journey was relatively quick and trouble free and we managed to sail through all 3 checkpoints without hassle. The winding road went through sleepy villages, the hilly terrain dotted with cultivated fields and terraces. It felt like time has stood still in this part of the world. I embarked on this journey with a mild anxiety, anxious of the unknown and the violent reputation and history of Jenin refugee camp.

We were met on the outskirts of town by Omar, the local doctor who coordinated the visit. Dozens of patients were already waiting at the clinic and we got to work as soon as the short greetings ceremony was over. Harry and I were taken next door to the disability rehabilitation center where the corridors were lined with people, waiting patiently for their appointment. Within minutes, we were treating several people simultaneously. Local medical staff were there to help with translation and keep things calm in the hot corridors, where 150 people had gathered by now. Everyone we saw had either acute or chronic pain from injury or disease.

My first patient, Abu Suleiman, a man in his late sixties, walked into the room limping, complaining of severe back and leg pain. At first it seemed like a straight forward case of 'sciatic pain', but as his story began to unfold I realized how harsh and complex life is for the people of this refugee camp. He spoke to me in English Arabic and Hebrew interchangeably to which I was grateful as I hadn't been assigned a translator yet. 'Where are you from?' he asked me. A little place near Haifa, I replied. 'I am from Haifa' he said. 'We still have a house there'. I asked him if he was able to visit Haifa, which is only 30km north west of Jenin. But for many people in this part of the world, the 30km journey is something they can only dream of. 'Inshalla one day we will be able to have coffee together in Haifa', he tells me.

As I was palpating and examining Abu Suleiman's back I asked him about the onset of his back and leg pain. He paused for a moment then started telling me his story: 'In 2002 the Israeli army came into the camp. Heavy fighting broke out, there was gunfire and missiles everywhere. Suddenly, my friend who was sitting next to me was shot dead. I was shocked and grief stricken but thought that nothing worse could happen now. I was wrong. The next day, without warning, a D-9 bulldozer leveled my house with everyone inside. We somehow managed to clear the rubble with our bare hands to create an opening for air. I was trapped in an awkward position for days before we were rescued. My back has been hurting ever since'. I mentioned that the pained expression on his face suggests this is still a very vivid memory. 'As much as I want to, I cannot forget this', he said. After the treatment I suggested that he come to Barta'a for follow-ups every Monday, as he would need a course of treatments. 'I will not get a permit to cross the checkpoint into Barta'a'(15km from Jenin). 'When are you coming back here'? he asked. We shook hands and agreed that meeting in Haifa for coffee, one day soon, will be good.

This encounter left me drained and wondering how I will manage to go through the day. Outside there were 150 people waiting for treatment. Harry and I realized there was no way we could see everyone in the 4-5 hours we had left. The three local physiotherapists who were helping with translation started treating patients as well and the room we were working in soon looked like a makeshift hospital overflowing with patients. At some point I moved into the prosthetics department where I had a bed and three chairs. I was treating 3-4 people simultaneously, with the help of Mohamed, a final year physiotherapy student interested in acupuncture.

I was asked to design and run an acupuncture course for the medical staff at the refugee camp, to use as an adjunct for the therapies already employed there. I am trying to figure out a way to do this. That would be a more effective way to help, as the impact of a single encounter is limited.

Every person I met on that day was warm and welcoming. I admire the resilience of these people.

Mohamed told me that they are exhausted and overworked, treating 200 children with cerebral palsy every week. The incidence of CP in the refugee camp is 10 times higher than other places in the western world.

The rate of academics in the refugee camp is very high. Every school leaver goes to university, and everyone I met between the ages of 21 - 40 had at least one degree. They explained that they don't have land or own property and have no status. The only thing left to them is to invest in their education. The anxiety I felt at the beginning of this inspiring day turned into a feeling of gratitude. I am grateful for having had the chance to both contribute somewhat towards alleviating the suffering of a few people and making peace with the 'enemy', external and internal. From now on, the Jenin refugee camp will no longer represent violence and hatred but a place where people with names and faces live.

Clinical Depression, Clinical Oppression

After the talk at the clinic in Barta'a, we went to the local high school with the group of Rabbis. The buildings and surroundings were run down, dirty and the lack of facilities and resources evident. The Head Teacher spoke of chronic underfunding from the Palestinian ministry of education and the possible need for external funds. The group's Israeli guide, Ya'akov, came up to me and very passionately insisted that the local teachers and students could and should keep the place clean and maintained. He argued that the kids could paint the walls and have a cleaning rota ('it wouldn't cost much'). He couldn't understand why they don't take action to improve their lives and why they are so dependent on external sources and resources. I was taken aback by his argument and the way he delivered it. I told him that he has a point but I don't have an answer.
After thinking about it for a while I saw a parallel between clinical depression and clinical oppression. Someone who is chronically depressed cannot summon up the energy for basic daily activities such as keeping themselves and their environment clean and tidy. Maybe the impact of prolonged oppression has similar consequences? I am aware that this is just one way of looking into a complex issue and that there are cultural and other factors but I believe this is a central and dominant aspect.

Rabbis for Human Rights

A group of Rabbis from the UK came to Barta'a today. They are touring Israel and the West Bank looking into human rights and coexistence issues. Whilst Abu Rami was giving an introductory talk at the clinic and I was translating, I had a thought. How can we introduce interfaith work into the mainstream in this part of the world? Whereas in the UK, interfaith activities are well attended, here it is still very much on the 'fringe'. My friends at Jerusalem Peace Makers http://jerusalempeacemakers2008.jerusalempeacemakers.org/ are doing a great job but their meetings are attended by few people.

So, over to you religious leaders. Teach about our shared destiny and common humanity, highlight the common denominator in the religions, focus on the unique spiritual path your religion offers and what in means. Encourage both intellectual learning and activities of the heart. The people have given up on the politicians, I hear it over and over from Israelis and Palestinians. But they go to Churches, Synagogues and Mosques. So, get together religious leaders, show a commitment to your path and your people, continue to grow and develop and sow peace in the hearts of your congregants. The politicians job is to work out a deal and sign a contract. They will eventually do it. But what next?

Early Spring / Drought

Early spring is here. Unseasonably high temperatures, coupled with the fifth consecutive drought year, has brought forward the traditional 'carpet' of wild flowers to the local mountainside.

Drought is everywhere. Drought of new politicians and ideas following the latest general elections here in Israel; which means that the general climate of political discourse mirrors that of Israel's water resources: a critical low level which is threatening existence. Only creative, fresh and innovative thinking will bring about solutions to our profound deficits.

But we try to still enjoy and learn from our environment as the pictures show:

Peace demo we joined last week

Jews and Arabs Join Hands for Peace

I went with Clare, the children and friends to this silent demonstration for peace. Or rather a demonstration of peace. While we stood in silence by the roadside, the children played on the hill. My friend Aviva, a journalist, covered the story:

By Marlene-Aviva Grunpeter
Epoch Times Staff Jan 21, 2009

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Arabs and Jews hold hands along a street. Despite differences, they have made an attempt to start a dialogue. (Tikva Mahabad/The Epoch Times)

KFAR KARA—At the junction of the Arab village of Kfar Kara, Arabs and Jews stood in a peaceful demonstration, wearing white scarves and holding olive branches. They held hands together, standing silently and solemnly. Passing vehicles cheered their support for peaceful co-existence in Israel.

The symbolic chain of Arabs and Jews standing hand in hand, was initiated by Amana Kna’an, an Arab resident of Kfar Kara village, a mother of three and CEO of a society for women’s advancement. Kna’an established “Green Carpet,” a movement for promoting the social fabric of Jews and Arabs living side by side and developing tourism in Wadi Ara, a narrow ravine in the north of Israel that is home to both Arabs and Jews.

Her aim was to create a space where both sides can speak of the confusion, fear and frustration they experience during the war. Kna’an stood against the bombing of the South-Israeli town of Sderot, and before this war began, she went with other women to express their identification with the people of Sderot.

But such events don’t make the news, she said.

Eva Brenner, an artist, arrived from Austria days earlier. When friends told her about the demonstration, which was held last Saturday, she immediately decided to come along.

A woman holds a sign that reads 'For good neighborliness,' written in both Arabic and Hebrew. (Tikva Mahabad/The Epoch Times)

“The TV networks in Austria and Europe never broadcast the phenomena of Arabs and Jews who wish to peacefully co-exist side by side,” she said.

“They only broadcast the destruction and killing going on the Palestinian side. I believe peace can be made here, but they don’t show that in Europe.”

Neomi Geffen, a resident of the North-Israeli city Nahariya, isn’t usually politically active, and she never participates in demonstrations. But this time she did.

“I am angry with both sides for not stopping the bloodshed and for not thinking of creative ways to achieve peace”, she said.

Geffen believes that Israel should help the people in Gaza rebuild and condemns the bombing of innocent civilians.

“Arabs and Jews have a lot in common, but they prefer to stress the differences and to blame each other for starting first,” she said.

Living Together Despite Disagreements

Arabs and Jews hold hands along a street. (Tikva Mahabad/The Epoch Times)

Taki Jacoub, an Arab from Kfar Kara Village and Offer Haramati, a Jew from the Israeli town Katzir, disagree about whether the war was necessary, but that didn’t stop them from holding hands and meeting.

Both their children go to the Jewish-Arab school named “Bridge over the Ravine.”
Jacoub said that war is not the solution, and history can testify for that. He thinks this current war is not justified. But he also thinks Hamas should account for firing against Israeli civilians for eight years.

He believes the current situation is a result of a leadership vacuum in Israel and in the Palestinian authority.

Haramati, meanwhile, is certain something had to be done to stop the missiles firing on the Israeli south, but he also admits that the scenes of killing in Gaza are not easy for him.

“We know very well how to die together. We should learn to live with one another,” said Haramati.

Jacoub said that the people in this area are sane, and will keep demonstrating how the two peoples can live side by side. He hopes that the right leaders will turn up and lead the children of both nations towards a peaceful future together.

Amana Kna’an, organizer of the activity. (Tikva Mahabad/The Epoch Times)

The two principles of the Jewish-Arab school at Kfar Kara, Husain Abu-Bakar and Tal Kaufman, were also at the event. Abu-Bakar explains that the purpose of the school is to create a new community of living in coexistence and peace. “It is the time for round tables and an open dialog between Arab and Jews,” he said.

Kaufman said the children had a rough time at school. “On one hand they met their classmates, and on the other is the harsh reality at home and harsh sights on TV. We worked hard with the children and their parents in order to strengthen the message this school carries, and mainly to denounce any kind of violence.”

At school, activities are held with children and their parents to allow them to speak freely about their feelings concerning the war. Parents speak freely about their anger and frustration, and in the end everyone feels strengthened.

Parents admitted that even among family and friends they don’t feel as free as they have felt during those school meetings.

Arabs and Jews hold hands along a street. (Tikva Mahabad/The Epoch Times)

The silent demonstration ended with a minute of silence to mark the mutual grief among both nations.

Before the Cease-Fire

Even before the guns ceased fire, academics, politicians, and activists got together for a panel of talks on “Jewish-Arab Relationships in the Shadow of War in the South” at the Jewish-Arab Center in Jaffa. Parliament members, both Arabs and Jews, were present. The atmosphere wasn’t peaceful, and differences were felt. But by merely agreeing to speak to each other, they showed tolerance, despite their differences during the talks.

Parliament member Rabbi Michael Malkior, who is chairman of the Education Commission at the Knesset, made it clear that discrimination towards Arabs does exist in the country: “A country that allocates financial resources six times more to a Jewish kid comparing to an Arab kid isn’t democratic and can neither be called a Jewish state.”

A’ida Toma Saliman, CEO of the “Women against Violence” association, and nominee of the left wing political party Hadash, said that Jews and Arabs in Israel cannot reach a mutual narrative, because they do not experience the same reality: “They had different experiences of the events that took place since 1948 until today,” she said.

Arabs and Jews hold hands along a street (Tikva Mahabad/The Epoch Times)

There is an allegation that Arabs did not condemn the rockets launched on Sderot. An audience member remarked: "A few months ago Arab Members of Parliament visited Sderot and were not very welcomed. The police had to assist them to get out from there. The media didn't report the incident."

At the last panel difficult questions arose. Are the Jewish narrative and the Arab one so different that a clash is inevitable? Is it a must that in every war between Israel and its neighbors most Arab citizens in Israel identify with the Palestinian side? What should be done to bring both Jews and Arabs to listen to each other’s narratives? There is no consensus during these difficult days.

Against the tide

The last three weeks have been some of the most difficult and challenging I have ever faced. Peace work during war time, I found out, feels like swimming against the tide. And the tide here in Israel is like a fast flowing current, dragging with it the vast majority of people, good people, into a broad consensus supporting this madness called 'war'.

I feel exhausted by my efforts to talk to everyone around me, to convince them that maybe there is another way; to see the suffering of people in Gaza as at least equal to the suffering of people in southern Israel. But I have been labeled 'extremist' for holding such views and Clare has noticed that we are not invited into many friends' houses any more.

My time in Barta'a is also draining: Working with people's increasing pain, physical and mental, sharing and listening to their anguish and despair and feeling guilty that my government and army are the main cause for this pain. I feel ashamed to write about my difficulty when the real suffering is happening some 70 km from here. I will continue to swim against the tide until the current changes direction.

I have included a couple of Blog entries from Gaza:

At least if I die, I will die with a little hope -- Tuesday, January 13, 2009

This morning I heard people chanting outside, I wondered what it was, and then, the lights came on – the electricity had come back on, hurrah! I immediately turned on the television, charged my phone, checked emails. For a moment, I felt somewhat liberated. These things that we often take for granted have become so precious of late.

We have no clean water left. Our water tank is empty. My father could not turn away the increasing amount of people knocking at our door with empty jerry cans in hand. He did not realise how much water he had given out until it was too late. Shops are running out of clean water; we were not able to find any in our neighbourhood. We can use the untreated water but we should really boil it first to avoid getting sick, but we face another obstacle; we have very little gas left. We will just have to drink the unsterilised water so that we can save the rest of the gas for cooking food. By the way, if you have never cooked with a gas burner, I can tell you, it makes the food taste of gasoline, the coffee taste of gasoline, we now even smell of gasoline.

I received a call from a good friend in Jabalyia, he was telling me how awful life has become for his family; sonic booms from F16 fighter planes constantly shake his home - there is no chance of his six children and wife getting any sleep. His sister has already evacuated and he wants to leave as soon as he can. He has a small bag packed and ready to go. I told him to bring his family and to stay with us - I am expecting him to arrive at any moment.

The news is getting more and more horrific as the situation here deteriorates. The latest report I saw was of a child clutching on to her dead parent’s bodies for four days before anyone was able to come to her rescue, dogs are starting to eat the corpses that no one has been able to bury…this reality does not seem to be reaching some parts of the world…is it censored because people cannot cope with the truth of what is happening to us? If the truth did get out, would it make a difference?

Fortunately, we have a lot of solidarity and trust in our community, we share what we have - I guess this is why we have just about managed to feed ourselves. Some shopkeepers are allowing people to buy food on credit; people’s debts are quickly mounting up. But solidarity and trust will not feed us now that food and everything else it seems, is running out.

I applied for a scholarship in the UK several months ago. I was expecting to find out in early January whether or not my application was successful. I have been waiting impatiently for days. I could not wait any longer so I finally called the British Council; I wanted to know the outcome to put my mind at rest. They told me that they would call back in two minutes. During those two minutes I almost stopped breathing – this scholarship is the only hope I have at the moment for a better life. The lady called back and said, “ I am afraid we do not have an answer yet for you”. To which I responded, “ Please be honest with me, is it that you really do not have an answer or that you do not want to give me bad news at this point in time?”

The possibility of going to the UK is giving me the hope I need to live. My wife thinks I am crazy, as I talk to her as if we are definitely going; I describe the friends we will have, the restaurants we will go to, the walks around the parks…
…at least if I die, I will die with a little hope, the hope that I will have the chance to live a better life, even if for now it is but a dream.