Here’s a quick look at the work of three potential Ashoka Israel fellows I’ve been researching. One of the things I really appreciate about Ashoka is that they’re serious in their search for “new solutions to old social problems.” Someone asked me the other day if new solutions are actually possible. Hasn’t everything already been tried or at least thought of? Not really. In fact, not even close.
Abbas Abbas: AlManarah (http://www.almanarah.org/eng/)
A blind Arab from Nazareth, Abbas is focused on transforming the position of the blind – and more generally Arabs with disabilities – in both Israeli and Arab society. His organization, AlManarah (the Lighthouse), tackles this onerous task with a comprehensive three-pronged approach: awareness, education, empowerment. On the awareness front, AlManarah conducts workshops for parents and professionals. It uses the Israeli court system (filing appeals and lawsuits) to advocate on behalf of the blind. Awareness and education of course go hand in hand, and the organization disseminates educational materials to both the blind and the general public. It recruits volunteers to serve as personal guidance and reading assistants for Arab blind pupils and university students. Its “audio library” project is a new initiative for the establishment of an Arab Blind library, providing learning, scientific and artistic materials, some of which are recorded, and other printed in Braille, and in a large print.
Shai Reshef: University of the People (http://www.uopeople.org/)
An Israeli entrepreneur and businessman, Reshef has been the prime mover of several large online and educational ventures. He is now chairman of Cramster.com, an online study community offering homework help to college students. He is also the founder and president of the University of the People, potentially the first free online university. It is this latest incarnation that alerted Ashoka to Shai. The University of the People’s website claims its place as “the world’s first tuition-free, online academic institution dedicated to the global advancement and democratization of higher education. The high-quality, low-cost and global pedagogical model embraces the worldwide presence of the Internet and dropping technology costs to bring collegiate level studies to even the poorest and most remote places on earth.” So far, the venture has the backing of the UN (http://www.un.org/apps/news/story.asp?NewsID=30848&Cr=ict&Cr1).
Yehudit Carmon: Read and Play, Ltd. (http://www.readandplay.co.il/indexE.htm)
Through her research and passions, Dr. Yehudit Carmon, an expert on literacy education for young children and a musician herself, realized that the decades of conventional wisdom concerning reading acquisition was wrong. Instead, she has pioneered a new approach to teaching literacy to children, called Toy-Musical-Notes (TMN), as well as a company devoted to its development and dissemination, Read and Play, Ltd. The method is simple, based on 8 notes, and is accompanied by both human and virtual (computer) instruction and time spent playing instruments. According to the website, “Read and Play's vision is to change the existing method of learning to read throughout the world, so that children will be assisted by music as an intermediate language on their way to acquiring verbal reading…We believe that music is a beloved international language breaking all barriers. It enriches many basic skills and faculties in addition to reading capabilities: social and emotional skills, cognitive processes, mathematical cognition, musicality, verbal abilities, etc. We believe that with the assistance of music, children can grow to love and enjoy reading from a young age.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Can I Name-Drop for a Moment?
Thursday evening I accompanied Nir to an event at the Rabin Center, which our group visited before on our one-day tour of Tel Aviv. The event was surprisingly meaningful – especially for me as an American University student. I had no idea but apparently there is a 25 year-old partnership between the American University Washington College of Law (WCL) and the New Israel Fund. Called the Israel-US Civil Liberties Law Program, it is “a two-year program which includes a year of studies at the American University Washington College of Law, internships with leading US civil and human rights organizations and a year working with a public interest organization in Israel.” Founded and spearheaded by Professor Herman Schwartz, it has launched 55 students in careers as civil rights lawyers and advocates of social justice. The event at the Rabin Center was a three-fold celebration: first, to honor the program’s quarter-century birthday; second to honor Professor Schwartz for his mentorship and unstinting service; and, third, to present the first annual Human Rights Prize, given in Professor Schwartz’s name, to an outstanding graduate of the program.
I hate to name drop, but I guess in a blog entry it will do no harm. The guest of honor (so much honoring going on!) last night was US Ambassador to Israel James B. Cunningham (gotta put that B. in there). Fun fact: I went to middle school with former US Ambassador Martin Indyk’s son, Jake. We were friends in passing. But back to last night. Ambassador Cunningham gave a very decent speech – and a very diplomatic one – weaving together America’s protracted battle for civil rights and Israel’s nascent struggle. He spoke of the Israeli Declaration of Independence and its parallels with the US Declaration. He chronicled some of the highlights of the American civil rights movement, including the Dred Scott case, the women’s suffrage movement, the “separate but equal” doctrine and its dismissal by Brown v. Board of Education. He quoted President Obama several times, once – a kind of quote within a quote – mentioning the words of Martin Luther King’s as used by Obama: “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” He used these words as a kind of touchstone for the rest of his speech. In Cairo, President Obama spoke of those universal rights that all human deserve. Ambassador Cunningham, though cognizant of the fierce and often bloody fight, ended his speech by saying that it is these ideals – justice, equality, human rights and civil liberties – that ultimately succeed.
Ambassador Cunningham was followed by former Meretz party member of Knesset Zahava Gal’on. She spoke in Hebrew so I was not able to understand her speech. I did, however, pick out the name Tzipi Livni, leader of the Kadima party, as well as a word that sounded something like “oppositsia.” Perhaps it means “opposition”? For certainly Kadima is now the opposition party in Israeli politics. Anyway, Ms. Gal’on was followed by two graduates of the civil liberties program, Dan Yakir, Chief Legal Council for ACRI, and Hassan Jabareen, a Palestinian fellow and founder/director of Adalah. The latter’s speech was particularly moving since Jabareen told a personal story of Professor Schwartz’s mentorship – how Schwartz advised Jabareen to become an advocate for his people instead of pursuing a career in academe.
Larry Garber, CEO of the New Israel Fund, spoke next, dropping the phrase “social change” several times, along with explaining the thinking behind the annual Herman Schwartz Law Fellow Alumni Prize. Instead of presenting Professor Schwartz his own prize, which everyone agreed that he richly deserved, his associates decided upon a prize in his honor. The first such prize was awarded to (I believe I got her name) Dr. Neda Aziz. Professor Schwartz spoke briefly, on the genesis of the program, which he said was intended to cultivate Israeli lawyers focused on specifically Israeli problems. He also said that he designed the program with only one basic requirement: one woman must be admitted every year. So it seems fitting that with the first recipient of the award happened to be a woman. Dr. Aziz did speak, briefly, upon her acceptance, but she didn’t speak much about her current undertakings, but rather thanked all those involved in bringing her to this place. Another “musical interlude” – and then we departed.
Oh – but I did forget one interesting aside that took place during the event. I was approached by a reported for the “Epoch Times” – not a periodical I had previously heard of – and was asked some questions about the WCL – NIF partnership, about Ashoka, etc. Apparently the newspaper has reporters in some 30 countries or so, but their main emphasis is China. They were founded by persecuted Falun Gong practitioners, who had fled to the US and decided to create a newspaper devoted to truth-telling – unlike the Communist newsweeklies that were strictly Party-line. Admittedly, a newspaper founded by the Falun Gong sounds a bit “out there,” but I’ve checked out their website and their reporting and all of it, so far, seem legit. We’ll see whether I get quoted or not.
On the internship front, Nir was in Nazareth yesterday to talk to Abbas Abbas, the blind Arab who wants to change the way blind and other disabled people are treated in the Arab world, more particularly in Israel. Tonight I need to do some research and writing, comparing other Ashoka fellows working on disability/blind rights with Abbas’s work to see if he truly has an original idea/methodology. Tomorrow or the next day I’ll meet again with Nir to further hone our still nascent collaboration. Amazingly, it’s already been two weeks and I only have four more to go. I wonder how in-depth I’ll be able to go with Ashoka in this short time. In any event, the association, for what I’d potentially like to do in life, is invaluable.
P.S. Here’s a link to the Epoch Times – http://www.theepochtimes.com.
See for yourself.
I hate to name drop, but I guess in a blog entry it will do no harm. The guest of honor (so much honoring going on!) last night was US Ambassador to Israel James B. Cunningham (gotta put that B. in there). Fun fact: I went to middle school with former US Ambassador Martin Indyk’s son, Jake. We were friends in passing. But back to last night. Ambassador Cunningham gave a very decent speech – and a very diplomatic one – weaving together America’s protracted battle for civil rights and Israel’s nascent struggle. He spoke of the Israeli Declaration of Independence and its parallels with the US Declaration. He chronicled some of the highlights of the American civil rights movement, including the Dred Scott case, the women’s suffrage movement, the “separate but equal” doctrine and its dismissal by Brown v. Board of Education. He quoted President Obama several times, once – a kind of quote within a quote – mentioning the words of Martin Luther King’s as used by Obama: “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” He used these words as a kind of touchstone for the rest of his speech. In Cairo, President Obama spoke of those universal rights that all human deserve. Ambassador Cunningham, though cognizant of the fierce and often bloody fight, ended his speech by saying that it is these ideals – justice, equality, human rights and civil liberties – that ultimately succeed.
Ambassador Cunningham was followed by former Meretz party member of Knesset Zahava Gal’on. She spoke in Hebrew so I was not able to understand her speech. I did, however, pick out the name Tzipi Livni, leader of the Kadima party, as well as a word that sounded something like “oppositsia.” Perhaps it means “opposition”? For certainly Kadima is now the opposition party in Israeli politics. Anyway, Ms. Gal’on was followed by two graduates of the civil liberties program, Dan Yakir, Chief Legal Council for ACRI, and Hassan Jabareen, a Palestinian fellow and founder/director of Adalah. The latter’s speech was particularly moving since Jabareen told a personal story of Professor Schwartz’s mentorship – how Schwartz advised Jabareen to become an advocate for his people instead of pursuing a career in academe.
Larry Garber, CEO of the New Israel Fund, spoke next, dropping the phrase “social change” several times, along with explaining the thinking behind the annual Herman Schwartz Law Fellow Alumni Prize. Instead of presenting Professor Schwartz his own prize, which everyone agreed that he richly deserved, his associates decided upon a prize in his honor. The first such prize was awarded to (I believe I got her name) Dr. Neda Aziz. Professor Schwartz spoke briefly, on the genesis of the program, which he said was intended to cultivate Israeli lawyers focused on specifically Israeli problems. He also said that he designed the program with only one basic requirement: one woman must be admitted every year. So it seems fitting that with the first recipient of the award happened to be a woman. Dr. Aziz did speak, briefly, upon her acceptance, but she didn’t speak much about her current undertakings, but rather thanked all those involved in bringing her to this place. Another “musical interlude” – and then we departed.
Oh – but I did forget one interesting aside that took place during the event. I was approached by a reported for the “Epoch Times” – not a periodical I had previously heard of – and was asked some questions about the WCL – NIF partnership, about Ashoka, etc. Apparently the newspaper has reporters in some 30 countries or so, but their main emphasis is China. They were founded by persecuted Falun Gong practitioners, who had fled to the US and decided to create a newspaper devoted to truth-telling – unlike the Communist newsweeklies that were strictly Party-line. Admittedly, a newspaper founded by the Falun Gong sounds a bit “out there,” but I’ve checked out their website and their reporting and all of it, so far, seem legit. We’ll see whether I get quoted or not.
On the internship front, Nir was in Nazareth yesterday to talk to Abbas Abbas, the blind Arab who wants to change the way blind and other disabled people are treated in the Arab world, more particularly in Israel. Tonight I need to do some research and writing, comparing other Ashoka fellows working on disability/blind rights with Abbas’s work to see if he truly has an original idea/methodology. Tomorrow or the next day I’ll meet again with Nir to further hone our still nascent collaboration. Amazingly, it’s already been two weeks and I only have four more to go. I wonder how in-depth I’ll be able to go with Ashoka in this short time. In any event, the association, for what I’d potentially like to do in life, is invaluable.
P.S. Here’s a link to the Epoch Times – http://www.theepochtimes.com.
See for yourself.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
When Will the Personal Become Political?
I’m not sure what I’m feeling at the moment. Yesterday was wonderful. I went to two art museums – the Reuven Rubin House and the Tel Aviv Museum of Art – and thoroughly enjoyed spending as much, or as little, time with each painting as I liked. The Rubin House was something special. His paintings are indeed reminiscent of Marc Chagall, Rousseau, even Frieda Kahlo or Diego Rivera. There is a sense of folk art, primitive even, like the drawings of a child who has lived a hundred years. Like the painting of an old and very wise soul who does not need fancy adornment to tell a very compelling story. I especially appreciated the short film about Rubin, using documentary footage, still photos and video clips, all narrated by the artist’s own voice. Through his use of language, you could tell that here was not a mere decorator, a purveyor of paint and canvas, but a human being who was attempting to express something innate and ageless, something Biblical yet very modern – the building of a nation, formation of a community, the crystallization of identity around core beliefs and precepts.
I struck up a conversation with the young man working at the front desk of the museum, who I guess is like an associate director or events coordinator or something. Like the spontaneous chat I had at a used bookstore the other day, it just reminded me of how much people are looking for a connection – and how hard it is to find.
In any case, after the gallery I went home to plow into my work. It’s a bit frustrating right now, to tell the truth. I mean, I have things to work on, things to research, but I know I could be even more productive if I just spoke Hebrew! Or Arabic. Undoubtedly I could do more outreach with the appropriate language skills, so instead of “fieldwork” I find myself going back to what I know best (but wish I could escape at times): writing, research, online networking. I’m still torn over whether a virtual or an actual office is the right place for me. The pros and cons are pretty evenly distributed. Being self-sufficient and portable (me and my laptop, that’s pretty much it), allows me the time and space to go to galleries, markets, events. But I don’t have the benefit (and/or frustration) of coworkers. I haven’t been able to meet too many new people, and that really disappoints me. I’ve emailed Nir about how I can become more involved, on a people-to-people (person-to-person?) level, with Ashoka Israel. I hope to get answers shortly.
…
I spent the rest of my afternoon at Windows for Peace, the organization both Shoshanna and Kelly are working with. It really doesn’t get much more grassroots – or more personally affective – that this. They were in the middle of a 10-day workshop involving about 19 kids, ages 14-17, from Jaffa, Tel Aviv, and Bethlehem. There were Israelis and Palestinians, Muslims, Jews and Christians in the mix. Some of them have been meeting regularly (perhaps 3-4 times per year) for about three years, while others are newcomers. It was wonderful to see these gorgeous young people (seriously, they were all so beautiful!) having fun and being friends and even getting angry at each other, but all in a safe, constructive space. I would have loved to get to know them better, and I think Kelly and Shoshanna are really lucky to have this opportunity.
Still, I know myself and I know my aspirations. When I asked Kelly about “scaling” (i.e. is Windows planning to create more such groups, in other areas?), she sighed and said one word, “Money.” There just isn’t enough funding – yet, at least – to make Windows a larger and more pervasive presence on the peace front. These friendships are amazing and individuals do have the power to chance societies – as Ashoka also believes. But I wonder at the impact, sometimes. Not personally, of course. The impact there is obvious. But systemic impact, impact hitting many layers at once. I’ve read so many times about peace groups and dialogue groups and even a group of Israeli and Palestinians women who lose weight together – and I get frustrated thinking about how many amazing people are actually making peace but how we can’t seem to transcend the personal and make it political.
Politics is so often an ugly word, but when you think about it, humans are innately political creatures. In fact, sometimes I have trouble distinguishing between politics and society, they seem so entwined. Perhaps we just haven’t given the peace process long enough for all these tiny but significant grassroots efforts to reach a tipping point, when all the individuals they’ve affected do indeed become a political movement, one powerful enough to shape policy and reverse decades of zero-sum thinking. In Jerusalem, my roommate and I talked about the need for a generational shift, something we’re building toward but haven’t quite achieved yet. In Israel and Palestine, many of the top leaders are still those with memories stretching far back to the nexus of the conflict in 1948. Once these leaders and perhaps even their successor have passed, and a new and more globally educated cadre takes hold, perhaps the peace process will finally bear fruit.
But until the personal and the political manage to merge, peace will never be attained. Neither top-down nor bottom-up work well on their own. Both are needed. Hence the need for both track I (official) and track II (citizen) diplomacy. Hence the need for a bridge between grassroots and government. Hence my ideal career – bridger, boundary-spanner, someone who works at the crossroads of peoples and nations. Some homeless and at home at the same time. A stranger and a friend.
I struck up a conversation with the young man working at the front desk of the museum, who I guess is like an associate director or events coordinator or something. Like the spontaneous chat I had at a used bookstore the other day, it just reminded me of how much people are looking for a connection – and how hard it is to find.
In any case, after the gallery I went home to plow into my work. It’s a bit frustrating right now, to tell the truth. I mean, I have things to work on, things to research, but I know I could be even more productive if I just spoke Hebrew! Or Arabic. Undoubtedly I could do more outreach with the appropriate language skills, so instead of “fieldwork” I find myself going back to what I know best (but wish I could escape at times): writing, research, online networking. I’m still torn over whether a virtual or an actual office is the right place for me. The pros and cons are pretty evenly distributed. Being self-sufficient and portable (me and my laptop, that’s pretty much it), allows me the time and space to go to galleries, markets, events. But I don’t have the benefit (and/or frustration) of coworkers. I haven’t been able to meet too many new people, and that really disappoints me. I’ve emailed Nir about how I can become more involved, on a people-to-people (person-to-person?) level, with Ashoka Israel. I hope to get answers shortly.
…
I spent the rest of my afternoon at Windows for Peace, the organization both Shoshanna and Kelly are working with. It really doesn’t get much more grassroots – or more personally affective – that this. They were in the middle of a 10-day workshop involving about 19 kids, ages 14-17, from Jaffa, Tel Aviv, and Bethlehem. There were Israelis and Palestinians, Muslims, Jews and Christians in the mix. Some of them have been meeting regularly (perhaps 3-4 times per year) for about three years, while others are newcomers. It was wonderful to see these gorgeous young people (seriously, they were all so beautiful!) having fun and being friends and even getting angry at each other, but all in a safe, constructive space. I would have loved to get to know them better, and I think Kelly and Shoshanna are really lucky to have this opportunity.
Still, I know myself and I know my aspirations. When I asked Kelly about “scaling” (i.e. is Windows planning to create more such groups, in other areas?), she sighed and said one word, “Money.” There just isn’t enough funding – yet, at least – to make Windows a larger and more pervasive presence on the peace front. These friendships are amazing and individuals do have the power to chance societies – as Ashoka also believes. But I wonder at the impact, sometimes. Not personally, of course. The impact there is obvious. But systemic impact, impact hitting many layers at once. I’ve read so many times about peace groups and dialogue groups and even a group of Israeli and Palestinians women who lose weight together – and I get frustrated thinking about how many amazing people are actually making peace but how we can’t seem to transcend the personal and make it political.
Politics is so often an ugly word, but when you think about it, humans are innately political creatures. In fact, sometimes I have trouble distinguishing between politics and society, they seem so entwined. Perhaps we just haven’t given the peace process long enough for all these tiny but significant grassroots efforts to reach a tipping point, when all the individuals they’ve affected do indeed become a political movement, one powerful enough to shape policy and reverse decades of zero-sum thinking. In Jerusalem, my roommate and I talked about the need for a generational shift, something we’re building toward but haven’t quite achieved yet. In Israel and Palestine, many of the top leaders are still those with memories stretching far back to the nexus of the conflict in 1948. Once these leaders and perhaps even their successor have passed, and a new and more globally educated cadre takes hold, perhaps the peace process will finally bear fruit.
But until the personal and the political manage to merge, peace will never be attained. Neither top-down nor bottom-up work well on their own. Both are needed. Hence the need for both track I (official) and track II (citizen) diplomacy. Hence the need for a bridge between grassroots and government. Hence my ideal career – bridger, boundary-spanner, someone who works at the crossroads of peoples and nations. Some homeless and at home at the same time. A stranger and a friend.
Why "Slouching"?
I don't want to assume that everyone is familiar with the phrase "slouching toward Bethlehem." If you are not, it comes from the poem, The Second Coming, by William Butler Yeats, one of my favorite poets. For this blog's purposes, I turned "slouching toward" to "slouching through" - denoting my travels throughout the region so many pilgrims (and now tourists) are forever turning their minds and hearts toward.
Here is the original poem. It requires reading.
The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert.
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
- W.B. Yeats
Here is the original poem. It requires reading.
The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert.
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
- W.B. Yeats
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
What Will I Make of It?
Monday I met with Nir, Ashoka Israel’s mover and shaker. I’ll be working with him over the next six weeks or so, (note: working with, not for; Ashoka is highly un-hierarchical), helping him launch several key programs. What was amazing about the meeting, and the sense I’ve gotten throughout all my dealings with Nir, is the degree to which I am a modified free agent – a free agent with caveats. This is not to say that I don’t have deadlines to meet, set goals and projects to accomplish. I most certainly do. I have profiles to write, organizations to contact, research to complete. But after that, after I do what Nir absolutely must have at any given moment, he’s given me much latitude to explore, innovate, to make of this internship what I will.
For many students, this might be an invitation to, shall we say, go swimming. I don’t foresee this as being my problem. I am so invested in the idea of Ashoka, in learning their model and making it my own, that I want to use my time as productively as possible. I’d like to work on building partnerships between Ashoka Israel and other citizen-sector organizations, businesses, and individuals. I especially want to focus on Youth Ventures, Ashoka’s program for young leaders and entrepreneurs. Nir has already made in-roads with several Israeli youth groups and I believe some local high schools. I’d like to get to know these contact points, perhaps work with future facilitators, hone the curriculum to best suit Israel’s needs, etc.
Of course, just as I’ve been working on my own internship, I’ve been hearing about the other group members’. Surprisingly, quite a few people have been unhappy – especially the girls at Neve Shalom. I’m going to start visiting some of my friends’ offices, hopefully tomorrow, and then I’ll have a better picture of how my own internship stacks up. Though really, I guess, there’s no comparison – and there never should be. By the end of this trip, I think everyone is going to have had a very different experience. And difference – diversity –is always a good thing.
For many students, this might be an invitation to, shall we say, go swimming. I don’t foresee this as being my problem. I am so invested in the idea of Ashoka, in learning their model and making it my own, that I want to use my time as productively as possible. I’d like to work on building partnerships between Ashoka Israel and other citizen-sector organizations, businesses, and individuals. I especially want to focus on Youth Ventures, Ashoka’s program for young leaders and entrepreneurs. Nir has already made in-roads with several Israeli youth groups and I believe some local high schools. I’d like to get to know these contact points, perhaps work with future facilitators, hone the curriculum to best suit Israel’s needs, etc.
Of course, just as I’ve been working on my own internship, I’ve been hearing about the other group members’. Surprisingly, quite a few people have been unhappy – especially the girls at Neve Shalom. I’m going to start visiting some of my friends’ offices, hopefully tomorrow, and then I’ll have a better picture of how my own internship stacks up. Though really, I guess, there’s no comparison – and there never should be. By the end of this trip, I think everyone is going to have had a very different experience. And difference – diversity –is always a good thing.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Saturday, June 20, 2009
All Together? Or "Alone Together"?
I’ve learned yet another valuable life lesson on this trip – or at least come to a deeper appreciation of something I already knew. It’s ok to be alone sometimes. Really, I promise it is. But the stigma can be harsh. Yesterday, for example, on the beach with some of our “groupies” (how else can you refer to students traveling together on a group trip?), I happened to mention that I was going to go out in the evening to explore the city. “With a guy?” one of the girls asked expectantly. “Nope, by myself.” Immediately, a rush of sympathy. “Awww. By yourself? Want company?” In fact, I didn’t. In fact, exploring Tel Aviv alone has been one of the real pleasures of this trip. Getting to know the city, getting to myself. Trite, but true. (I hope, at least.)
Aloneness (not loneliness, a different beast) is treated by much of the Western with caution, disdain, even fear. As we avoid talking about death or disease, we avoid discussing aloneness because somehow it indicates failure. If you’re alone, you don’t have friends, right? If you don’t have friends, you’re a loser, right? Sadness, solitude, quiet space – all these make for a fuller, not a diminished life. As much as I enjoy being “happy together,” I also appreciate being “pensive alone.” A life spent perpetually dodging oneself is the real sorrow, just as empty as a life spent without fellowship or love.
But how does this relate to my experiences in Israel, which, ostensibly, this blog is about? Well, my time living in Israel as a child was generally a time of unease, filled with distrust and anxiety. Now that I’m back, I’m trying to make peace with that legacy in a constructive way, trying to determine what parts of myself I’m truly comfortable with, what parts still need work. And Israel itself is the perfect place to have such an existential dialogue, mostly because it’s been having its own such debate for the past millennia or so. Israel is so many different things to so many people that the conflict here is not just about land or refugees but about identity itself – the identity of the people, of course, but more so the identity of the place. Part is ancient, holy, historic. Part is conflicted, ghettoized, tortured. Tel Aviv is like Miami while Hebron is like Northern Ireland with religious zealots mixed in. Haifa attempts citywide “coexistence” while Neve Shalom is a bit like summer camp for PhDs. The settlements are bubbles with wide streets and tennis courts while Bethlehem is more or less an open-air prison. It’s a land of confusion and contrasts, so if you’re going to have a crisis of self, this is the place to be.
I have yet to absorb the reality that this land of crisis is my adopted homeland - my land is the Holy Land. What a curious statement! I find it equally curious that the Holy Trinity of conflict, identity and existence is perfectly reflected in both the microcosm (me, person, individual) and the macrocosm (Israel/Palestine, culture, society). But the feeling of aloneness persists despite being connected to this bigger reality. In a group, in society, are we really “all together”? Or is there always an aspect of being “alone together”? How can we be friends if we remain strangers to ourselves? And how can we stop being strangers without some good long doses of alone time?
Aloneness (not loneliness, a different beast) is treated by much of the Western with caution, disdain, even fear. As we avoid talking about death or disease, we avoid discussing aloneness because somehow it indicates failure. If you’re alone, you don’t have friends, right? If you don’t have friends, you’re a loser, right? Sadness, solitude, quiet space – all these make for a fuller, not a diminished life. As much as I enjoy being “happy together,” I also appreciate being “pensive alone.” A life spent perpetually dodging oneself is the real sorrow, just as empty as a life spent without fellowship or love.
But how does this relate to my experiences in Israel, which, ostensibly, this blog is about? Well, my time living in Israel as a child was generally a time of unease, filled with distrust and anxiety. Now that I’m back, I’m trying to make peace with that legacy in a constructive way, trying to determine what parts of myself I’m truly comfortable with, what parts still need work. And Israel itself is the perfect place to have such an existential dialogue, mostly because it’s been having its own such debate for the past millennia or so. Israel is so many different things to so many people that the conflict here is not just about land or refugees but about identity itself – the identity of the people, of course, but more so the identity of the place. Part is ancient, holy, historic. Part is conflicted, ghettoized, tortured. Tel Aviv is like Miami while Hebron is like Northern Ireland with religious zealots mixed in. Haifa attempts citywide “coexistence” while Neve Shalom is a bit like summer camp for PhDs. The settlements are bubbles with wide streets and tennis courts while Bethlehem is more or less an open-air prison. It’s a land of confusion and contrasts, so if you’re going to have a crisis of self, this is the place to be.
I have yet to absorb the reality that this land of crisis is my adopted homeland - my land is the Holy Land. What a curious statement! I find it equally curious that the Holy Trinity of conflict, identity and existence is perfectly reflected in both the microcosm (me, person, individual) and the macrocosm (Israel/Palestine, culture, society). But the feeling of aloneness persists despite being connected to this bigger reality. In a group, in society, are we really “all together”? Or is there always an aspect of being “alone together”? How can we be friends if we remain strangers to ourselves? And how can we stop being strangers without some good long doses of alone time?
Friday, June 19, 2009
Patriotism or Justification? (Cherries or Plums?)
Sometimes I ask myself, Am I making the most of my time here? What would the savvy world-traveler do? What would the urban sophisticate do? What would the party girl do? Of course, I always compare myself to these one-dimensional types, especially the types I bear little resemblance to (party girl, for instance). If I was a party girl, I would be out club-hopping tonight, instead of staying in, writing my blog. If I was a foodie, I would be sampling the local delicacies. If I was a surfer, I’d be hitting the waves. If I was a beach babe, I’d be finding sexy new ways to invite skin cancer. But I’m none of those things (what am I exactly? Against type, whatever that type is), so I do none of those things.
Here’s a reality check: I am making the most of my time here, because I’m spending it doing what I find more or less fulfilling. Granted, I also seek comfort and security, so sometimes I’m not as adventurous as my ideal self would be. But generally I feel I’ve tried to explore, tried to push myself. Heck, I’m abroad! A year ago, this would have been in the flightiest, most absurd realms of fantasy. So give yourself a break girl.
Wednesday was a very full day – a very “making the most of my time here” kind of day. I worked from home in the morning, then around noon headed out. I’m slowly orienting myself to the city, each day choosing a new niche to navigate. I also feel very much alive to the city, very present and attentive. This has not always been the case, since in the past I’ve usually relied on my parents or friends to help steer me through major metropolises. This time the onus is on me, and I’m truly enjoying the independence.
Using the Lonely Planet guidebook instead of a GPS (refreshing and also strangely empowering) I found my way down Dizengoff again, taking a right on King George Street to find the Jabotinsky Institute and Irgun Museum. It was an odd mix of patriotism, “video indoctrination,” and genuine history. A guard led me to the basement, where an introduction movie told me about the Irgun and their brave insurgency against the British during World War II. The main floor was a timeline display, while upstairs two more movies attempted to personalize history – but in a very campy, quasi-Disney way. The first was a dramatization of Jewish illegal immigration in the WWII period, complete with intrigue, love interest, and even specks of “sea foam” (misting water) when waves wet the decks of the ship and its human cargo.
I found the whole enterprise a bit disconcerting, not least because of all the narratives left out, the blanket characterization of the Arabs and Brits as enemies, and the disconcerting mix of terrorism and freedom fighting. In today’s world, this equation would be suspect. But in the annals of state history, it seems, the “winners” gloss over their own brutalities, using euphemisms to justify behaviors they decry in others. And it’s certainly not just Israel that displays this double standard. Look at the US! Our modern preeminence and technological prowess somehow justifies the initial subjugation of the “native” populace. I’m not saying that I don’t honor the Jewish experience, that I don’t understand the reason and existence of Israel as a Jewish state. I just think that, in the words of the woman at the Rabin Museum, we must at least acknowledge that our existence came about by negating or marginalizing other existences. Those “other” people must also be written into history. Into state history. Into the official rather than always the unofficial narrative.
After the museum I decided to go to the Carmel Market, kind of mix between an old time shouk and a farmer’s market. After walking through the initial stalls of clothing, knickknacks, cosmetics, and candy, there was row up row of fresh produce, cheese, bread, meat, more fruit, more herbs, piles of gleaning eggplants, cherries, plums….I didn’t buy anything but it was fun to talk through, take pictures, act the total tourist. If I go back I’ll pretend to be a local, but I don’t want this trip to go by without capturing the memories in image and word. That way I can make good on my promise: that Mom is with me on my travels, that I’ve somehow managed to fit her expansive spirit into my pocket and she’s seeing everything I’m seeing, sharing everything. That I actually get to talk to her and be with her, something I haven’t been able to do, not really, not as adult-to-adult, since I was 15. Too much illness and stress and disease. Too many life changes. I wish she could be here with me. Dad too. But that’s my collective soul talking. I have a personal soul too, and I guess this is my chance to know that part of myself better.
Here’s a reality check: I am making the most of my time here, because I’m spending it doing what I find more or less fulfilling. Granted, I also seek comfort and security, so sometimes I’m not as adventurous as my ideal self would be. But generally I feel I’ve tried to explore, tried to push myself. Heck, I’m abroad! A year ago, this would have been in the flightiest, most absurd realms of fantasy. So give yourself a break girl.
Wednesday was a very full day – a very “making the most of my time here” kind of day. I worked from home in the morning, then around noon headed out. I’m slowly orienting myself to the city, each day choosing a new niche to navigate. I also feel very much alive to the city, very present and attentive. This has not always been the case, since in the past I’ve usually relied on my parents or friends to help steer me through major metropolises. This time the onus is on me, and I’m truly enjoying the independence.
Using the Lonely Planet guidebook instead of a GPS (refreshing and also strangely empowering) I found my way down Dizengoff again, taking a right on King George Street to find the Jabotinsky Institute and Irgun Museum. It was an odd mix of patriotism, “video indoctrination,” and genuine history. A guard led me to the basement, where an introduction movie told me about the Irgun and their brave insurgency against the British during World War II. The main floor was a timeline display, while upstairs two more movies attempted to personalize history – but in a very campy, quasi-Disney way. The first was a dramatization of Jewish illegal immigration in the WWII period, complete with intrigue, love interest, and even specks of “sea foam” (misting water) when waves wet the decks of the ship and its human cargo.
I found the whole enterprise a bit disconcerting, not least because of all the narratives left out, the blanket characterization of the Arabs and Brits as enemies, and the disconcerting mix of terrorism and freedom fighting. In today’s world, this equation would be suspect. But in the annals of state history, it seems, the “winners” gloss over their own brutalities, using euphemisms to justify behaviors they decry in others. And it’s certainly not just Israel that displays this double standard. Look at the US! Our modern preeminence and technological prowess somehow justifies the initial subjugation of the “native” populace. I’m not saying that I don’t honor the Jewish experience, that I don’t understand the reason and existence of Israel as a Jewish state. I just think that, in the words of the woman at the Rabin Museum, we must at least acknowledge that our existence came about by negating or marginalizing other existences. Those “other” people must also be written into history. Into state history. Into the official rather than always the unofficial narrative.
After the museum I decided to go to the Carmel Market, kind of mix between an old time shouk and a farmer’s market. After walking through the initial stalls of clothing, knickknacks, cosmetics, and candy, there was row up row of fresh produce, cheese, bread, meat, more fruit, more herbs, piles of gleaning eggplants, cherries, plums….I didn’t buy anything but it was fun to talk through, take pictures, act the total tourist. If I go back I’ll pretend to be a local, but I don’t want this trip to go by without capturing the memories in image and word. That way I can make good on my promise: that Mom is with me on my travels, that I’ve somehow managed to fit her expansive spirit into my pocket and she’s seeing everything I’m seeing, sharing everything. That I actually get to talk to her and be with her, something I haven’t been able to do, not really, not as adult-to-adult, since I was 15. Too much illness and stress and disease. Too many life changes. I wish she could be here with me. Dad too. But that’s my collective soul talking. I have a personal soul too, and I guess this is my chance to know that part of myself better.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Recharging? Regrouping?
Yesterday was one of those pensive, moody, explorative days I’ve missed – and I hope today will be somewhat similar. I began the day writing and researching, partly for the trip (this blog) and partly for my internship. Then I went out, walking to the David Ben Gurion Museum – his old house on the aptly named Ben Gurion Avenue, about three minutes from our flat. It was nearly empty, except for one other quiet visitor, so I took my time, wandering the rooms, reading quotes. There were actually few placards describing what I was seeing, but I appreciated the fact that I didn’t feel compelled to read, and could just soak in the ambiance. It was very austere, very simple. Functional. The upstairs I enjoyed most, for that was where three rooms connected to form his library. In fact, both his bedroom/office and his library were filled, wall-to-wall with books. There is something so mysterious and magical about row upon row of bindings. What’s inside? What secrets? What insight?
After the museum, I walked up Dizengoff, which I’ve done several times, but this time I actually paused at a few of the more interesting shops (i.e. bookstores). In the first, I meandered through art books and philosophy before finding, in a little stack, something that took me way back to childhood. It was the “Mr. Smiley-Face” series. Mom used to read them to me when I was about three, and I would always correct her, “No Mom, MISS Smiley-Face.” I haven’t seen these books in ages and it was so ironic, one of those cosmic coincidences that here, in Israel, as I’m attempting to find my own womanhood, that I stumbled upon the first instances of my budding feminism. Interesting indeed. I bought two.
I kept walking. I needed some gym shorts since I think I left three pairs at the Meridian Hotel in Jerusalem (reminder: call!). Before I arrived, I had packed every, every conceivable thing I thought I might not be able to get in Israel. I remembered from living here before that although Israel has tons of shopping, some products are hard to find. Tel Aviv, though, is shopper’s paradise. I found a Nike store at Dizengoff Center – which had exactly the shorts I couldn’t find anywhere in the States.
But enough of banalities. The rest of my afternoon was far more productively spent. I walked back home and spent the long, hot afternoon doing writing and research. Our flat is wonderfully quiet, despite its being on one of Israel’s busiest streets. Even at night, when I read out on the balcony, there is hardly any street noise, neighbor noise, nothing. When all the girls are here it’s a different story, of course. But I have so much freedom and alone time, it’s nice to have others to interact with too. My preliminary research for Ashoka has focused on determining whether or not two potential fellows (Israel’s first) have truly unique, potentially revolutionary ideas. Ashoka calls this the “knockout test” and without it, there can be no funding. The reason behind the test is simple: basically, since Ashoka aims at pervasive social change, a fellow must demonstrate first that their entrepreneurial idea could generate such change if connected with funding and resources. The numbers back the method –
Late afternoon, just as the girls were trickling in from work, I headed out again. I wanted to do a bit more exploring. At first I headed to the beach, but I didn’t quite feel in the mood for sand and sun, so I walked back up to Ben Yehuda Street. I walked down, down, past lots of little shops and restaurants, more sedate than Dizengoff, but still plenty of local flavor. All my friends know that I have a terrible sense of direction, but I didn’t want to turn around and retrace my steps to get back home, so I decided to take a chance and see if one of the little side streets didn’t lead me back to Dizengoff. It took a while, but just when I was about to turn around, I saw a sign for Dizengoff Center. It was a good feeling, following my nose and finding my way back home.
I was quite tired by this point, but I can never pass up an opportunity to browse books, and there were several tables set up on the sidewalk to ensnare bibliophiles like me. I stopped. I had to. Most of the English offerings were sci-fi (I learned later from the shop clerk that the store specializes in sci-fi, and in fact has its own publishing company), but casually tossed to the side was The Rubayat of Omar Khayam. Fate, of course. What else could it be? For some reason, I have a knack for finding the right books for those times in life when you need a certain kind of guidance. Or inspiration, confirmation, encouragement.
I didn’t have any money with me, otherwise I probably would have bought it. Instead, I spent several hours reading the entire thing while surrounded by the bustle of Tel Aviv shoppers. Partway through, I went into the shop and sat on a stool, book in one hand, journal in the other. Some lines I had to copy down. Others I glossed over, enjoying the words and not concerned too much with deeper meanings. Engrossed as I was in poetry, I didn’t register the sound of Hebrew coming at me, growing persistently louder. Finally I turned around. The clerk was asking me something. I shook my head. No Hebrew. In a blink, she switched into fluent English. What are you reading? And with that we spent a good half hour or so talking about language (she speaks bits and pieces of nine).
By the time I got back to the flat (I can’t quite call it home yet), it was after seven. I wrote and researched some more, talked for the longest time yet (since being in Israel) to Mom and Dad, wrote, researched and read for the rest of the night.
Today hasn’t been quite so eventful, but I did take an incredible talk along the beach, listening to my favorite music and trying, trying to absorb all that’s happened over the past month, year, decade. I’m giving myself the rest of the week to hole up – retrench, reorient and then branch out once again. I’m looking forward to meeting some of my old friends, doing more for my internship. Most of all, I’m looking forward to Haifa. I wonder what that will bring…
After the museum, I walked up Dizengoff, which I’ve done several times, but this time I actually paused at a few of the more interesting shops (i.e. bookstores). In the first, I meandered through art books and philosophy before finding, in a little stack, something that took me way back to childhood. It was the “Mr. Smiley-Face” series. Mom used to read them to me when I was about three, and I would always correct her, “No Mom, MISS Smiley-Face.” I haven’t seen these books in ages and it was so ironic, one of those cosmic coincidences that here, in Israel, as I’m attempting to find my own womanhood, that I stumbled upon the first instances of my budding feminism. Interesting indeed. I bought two.
I kept walking. I needed some gym shorts since I think I left three pairs at the Meridian Hotel in Jerusalem (reminder: call!). Before I arrived, I had packed every, every conceivable thing I thought I might not be able to get in Israel. I remembered from living here before that although Israel has tons of shopping, some products are hard to find. Tel Aviv, though, is shopper’s paradise. I found a Nike store at Dizengoff Center – which had exactly the shorts I couldn’t find anywhere in the States.
But enough of banalities. The rest of my afternoon was far more productively spent. I walked back home and spent the long, hot afternoon doing writing and research. Our flat is wonderfully quiet, despite its being on one of Israel’s busiest streets. Even at night, when I read out on the balcony, there is hardly any street noise, neighbor noise, nothing. When all the girls are here it’s a different story, of course. But I have so much freedom and alone time, it’s nice to have others to interact with too. My preliminary research for Ashoka has focused on determining whether or not two potential fellows (Israel’s first) have truly unique, potentially revolutionary ideas. Ashoka calls this the “knockout test” and without it, there can be no funding. The reason behind the test is simple: basically, since Ashoka aims at pervasive social change, a fellow must demonstrate first that their entrepreneurial idea could generate such change if connected with funding and resources. The numbers back the method –
Late afternoon, just as the girls were trickling in from work, I headed out again. I wanted to do a bit more exploring. At first I headed to the beach, but I didn’t quite feel in the mood for sand and sun, so I walked back up to Ben Yehuda Street. I walked down, down, past lots of little shops and restaurants, more sedate than Dizengoff, but still plenty of local flavor. All my friends know that I have a terrible sense of direction, but I didn’t want to turn around and retrace my steps to get back home, so I decided to take a chance and see if one of the little side streets didn’t lead me back to Dizengoff. It took a while, but just when I was about to turn around, I saw a sign for Dizengoff Center. It was a good feeling, following my nose and finding my way back home.
I was quite tired by this point, but I can never pass up an opportunity to browse books, and there were several tables set up on the sidewalk to ensnare bibliophiles like me. I stopped. I had to. Most of the English offerings were sci-fi (I learned later from the shop clerk that the store specializes in sci-fi, and in fact has its own publishing company), but casually tossed to the side was The Rubayat of Omar Khayam. Fate, of course. What else could it be? For some reason, I have a knack for finding the right books for those times in life when you need a certain kind of guidance. Or inspiration, confirmation, encouragement.
I didn’t have any money with me, otherwise I probably would have bought it. Instead, I spent several hours reading the entire thing while surrounded by the bustle of Tel Aviv shoppers. Partway through, I went into the shop and sat on a stool, book in one hand, journal in the other. Some lines I had to copy down. Others I glossed over, enjoying the words and not concerned too much with deeper meanings. Engrossed as I was in poetry, I didn’t register the sound of Hebrew coming at me, growing persistently louder. Finally I turned around. The clerk was asking me something. I shook my head. No Hebrew. In a blink, she switched into fluent English. What are you reading? And with that we spent a good half hour or so talking about language (she speaks bits and pieces of nine).
By the time I got back to the flat (I can’t quite call it home yet), it was after seven. I wrote and researched some more, talked for the longest time yet (since being in Israel) to Mom and Dad, wrote, researched and read for the rest of the night.
Today hasn’t been quite so eventful, but I did take an incredible talk along the beach, listening to my favorite music and trying, trying to absorb all that’s happened over the past month, year, decade. I’m giving myself the rest of the week to hole up – retrench, reorient and then branch out once again. I’m looking forward to meeting some of my old friends, doing more for my internship. Most of all, I’m looking forward to Haifa. I wonder what that will bring…
Monday, June 15, 2009
What's Next?
My last entry was a recap of sorts – a retrospective – so here’s a prospective look at what may be in store for me over the next six weeks. This entry is supposed to address several questions – so I actually have the treat of providing answers instead of searching for them (though admittedly, my answers are quite hypothetical and more interrogative than declarative in tone).
Where am I?
This question is oh-so-broad and I will attempt to answer it from every applicable angle. Firstly, I’m in Tel Aviv. More specifically, at 179 Dizengoff Street, apartment 28. And without any purple prose, let me tell you, this is the place to be. Yehuda tells us that this is the most famous street in Israel and after having strolled the blocks, I don’t think he’s exaggerating. Everything’s here – shops, restaurants, cafes. The beach is literally – literally! – a five minute walk from our front door. Need I say more? The only downside I foresee is that given our central location, I will be hard-pressed to shed my home-body persona and explore farther afield. But force myself, I will and must. What an adventure!
In another sense, I am not only located in a city, but also at an organization, namely, Ashoka. I sometimes find it hard to say in a word what Ashoka does, but their mission is very straightforward (I tend to complicate things unnecessarily, so let’s quote directly from their website):
“Ashoka is the global association of the world’s leading social entrepreneurs – men and women with system changing solutions for the world’s most urgent social problems. Since 1981, we have elected over 2,000 leading social entrepreneurs as Ashoka Fellows, providing them with living stipends, professional support, and access to a global network of peers in more than 60 countries. With our global community, we develop models for collaboration and design infrastructure needed to advance the field of social entrepreneurship and the citizen sector. Our Fellows inspire others to adopt and spread their innovations - demonstrating to all citizens that they too have the potential to be powerful changemakers.”
I need an “elevator speech,” a thirty-second spiel that gives the essence of Ashoka without too much jargon. So, in my words, Ashoka is the world’s leading organization of social entrepreneurs. It envisions a world in which everyone can effect systemic and sustainable change. Ashoka funds, connects, educates and mobilizes these social entrepreneurs in fields are far-ranging as health, education, ecology, gender equity, culture and the arts.
The reason I care so much about capturing the mission of Ashoka without relying too heavily on industry argot is that I truly believe in what they are trying to accomplish. Unlike many other organizations in Israel/Palestine who address the symptoms of the conflict through a mixture of aid, policy, and people to people interaction, Ashoka tackles the roots. Its message of personal and collective responsibility, innovation, and most of all, the impact of human potential when paired with appropriate resources, is so relevant in a region where not even perpetual war has staunched progress and creativity (witness Palestinian graffiti on the security wall, or Israel many high-tech parks).
What do I want to get from this experience?
Again, this question can be taken in so many directions. From the experience of living in Tel Aviv I want to gain a certain urban sophistication – the know-how of navigating a rather large metropolis by myself, the easy confidence of a young woman coming into her own. I’d like to shed the part of childhood that is fearful and unsure, the tentative girl who would rather have someone holding her hand. So much of me is independent, self-assured, especially when it comes to school and work. I’d like the rest of me to catch up and I think living in a city with other students but predominantly on my own is a good first step.
On the work/career front, I have the incredible opportunity of working for a very well-established and globally recognized organization, while at the same time getting in “on the ground floor” – being only the second person hired to work for Ashoka Israel. This job will be a mix of the tried-and-true (all Ashoka’s strategies and materials are “market-tested” and “results-driven,” to use a bit of industry slang), but they’ve just started operations in Israel, so this is virgin territory and a lot of exploration and experimentation must take place. This is ideal for someone like me who thrives on challenges and prefers leadership roles, but who also is extremely wary of the non-profit sector and understands that more start-ups fail than succeed.
That said, I hope to gain several things from working with Ashoka Israel. First, since I am more or less able to make my own hours and telecommute (they have not secured office space yet, primarily because the director, Nir Tsuk, would rather funnel all money directly into the hands of fellows rather than wasting it on expensive real estate), I’d like to see if this flexible, independent work style is for me. My last internship was completely desk-bound and I hated it. Here’s my chance to be a free agent while at the same time completing my tasks punctually and creatively. I have much experience working this way (having completed high school online, as well as working on a number of independent study research projects) and I foresee a lifelong trend.
Second, I want to see if working in for an NGO really allows one to generate direct impact, or if, as many burned-out veterans profess, it is mainly paper-shuffling and good intentions that bear little fruit. So far, from what I’ve seen and read, Ashoka demands results and is very good at assessing both the qualitative and quantitative impact of its programs. I also appreciate its cross-sector and multigenerational approach – forging relationships with business, government, schools, and fostering leadership and social activism from childhood to old age. Of course, it’s very easy at times to drink the “change the world kool-aid,” so to speak, but it’s equally easy to be a hard-bitten cynic for whom idealism is a euphemism for naïveté. Ashoka mixes its idealism with pragmatism – a combination that not only inspires trust from savvy politicians and businessmen, but that actually delivers on the promise of systemic change.
Finally, I hope this job inspires and guides me as I continue to ponder the next leg on my personal and professional journey. Reading about Ashoka fellows, I feel that there is an idea waiting inside me that might indeed push the world toward greater justice and equity. Don’t laugh (or gag). I too am highly skeptical of starry-eyed idealism. But I’d like to think that all the knocks I’ve taken in life have given me a bit of credibility on that front at least. I hope that through my work – vetting potential fellows, perhaps liaising between Ashoka and various schools/universities, working on Ashoka Israel’s “coming out party” with its “Change Your City” campaign – whatever potential is inside me will start to take shape and materialize.
Where am I?
This question is oh-so-broad and I will attempt to answer it from every applicable angle. Firstly, I’m in Tel Aviv. More specifically, at 179 Dizengoff Street, apartment 28. And without any purple prose, let me tell you, this is the place to be. Yehuda tells us that this is the most famous street in Israel and after having strolled the blocks, I don’t think he’s exaggerating. Everything’s here – shops, restaurants, cafes. The beach is literally – literally! – a five minute walk from our front door. Need I say more? The only downside I foresee is that given our central location, I will be hard-pressed to shed my home-body persona and explore farther afield. But force myself, I will and must. What an adventure!
In another sense, I am not only located in a city, but also at an organization, namely, Ashoka. I sometimes find it hard to say in a word what Ashoka does, but their mission is very straightforward (I tend to complicate things unnecessarily, so let’s quote directly from their website):
“Ashoka is the global association of the world’s leading social entrepreneurs – men and women with system changing solutions for the world’s most urgent social problems. Since 1981, we have elected over 2,000 leading social entrepreneurs as Ashoka Fellows, providing them with living stipends, professional support, and access to a global network of peers in more than 60 countries. With our global community, we develop models for collaboration and design infrastructure needed to advance the field of social entrepreneurship and the citizen sector. Our Fellows inspire others to adopt and spread their innovations - demonstrating to all citizens that they too have the potential to be powerful changemakers.”
I need an “elevator speech,” a thirty-second spiel that gives the essence of Ashoka without too much jargon. So, in my words, Ashoka is the world’s leading organization of social entrepreneurs. It envisions a world in which everyone can effect systemic and sustainable change. Ashoka funds, connects, educates and mobilizes these social entrepreneurs in fields are far-ranging as health, education, ecology, gender equity, culture and the arts.
The reason I care so much about capturing the mission of Ashoka without relying too heavily on industry argot is that I truly believe in what they are trying to accomplish. Unlike many other organizations in Israel/Palestine who address the symptoms of the conflict through a mixture of aid, policy, and people to people interaction, Ashoka tackles the roots. Its message of personal and collective responsibility, innovation, and most of all, the impact of human potential when paired with appropriate resources, is so relevant in a region where not even perpetual war has staunched progress and creativity (witness Palestinian graffiti on the security wall, or Israel many high-tech parks).
What do I want to get from this experience?
Again, this question can be taken in so many directions. From the experience of living in Tel Aviv I want to gain a certain urban sophistication – the know-how of navigating a rather large metropolis by myself, the easy confidence of a young woman coming into her own. I’d like to shed the part of childhood that is fearful and unsure, the tentative girl who would rather have someone holding her hand. So much of me is independent, self-assured, especially when it comes to school and work. I’d like the rest of me to catch up and I think living in a city with other students but predominantly on my own is a good first step.
On the work/career front, I have the incredible opportunity of working for a very well-established and globally recognized organization, while at the same time getting in “on the ground floor” – being only the second person hired to work for Ashoka Israel. This job will be a mix of the tried-and-true (all Ashoka’s strategies and materials are “market-tested” and “results-driven,” to use a bit of industry slang), but they’ve just started operations in Israel, so this is virgin territory and a lot of exploration and experimentation must take place. This is ideal for someone like me who thrives on challenges and prefers leadership roles, but who also is extremely wary of the non-profit sector and understands that more start-ups fail than succeed.
That said, I hope to gain several things from working with Ashoka Israel. First, since I am more or less able to make my own hours and telecommute (they have not secured office space yet, primarily because the director, Nir Tsuk, would rather funnel all money directly into the hands of fellows rather than wasting it on expensive real estate), I’d like to see if this flexible, independent work style is for me. My last internship was completely desk-bound and I hated it. Here’s my chance to be a free agent while at the same time completing my tasks punctually and creatively. I have much experience working this way (having completed high school online, as well as working on a number of independent study research projects) and I foresee a lifelong trend.
Second, I want to see if working in for an NGO really allows one to generate direct impact, or if, as many burned-out veterans profess, it is mainly paper-shuffling and good intentions that bear little fruit. So far, from what I’ve seen and read, Ashoka demands results and is very good at assessing both the qualitative and quantitative impact of its programs. I also appreciate its cross-sector and multigenerational approach – forging relationships with business, government, schools, and fostering leadership and social activism from childhood to old age. Of course, it’s very easy at times to drink the “change the world kool-aid,” so to speak, but it’s equally easy to be a hard-bitten cynic for whom idealism is a euphemism for naïveté. Ashoka mixes its idealism with pragmatism – a combination that not only inspires trust from savvy politicians and businessmen, but that actually delivers on the promise of systemic change.
Finally, I hope this job inspires and guides me as I continue to ponder the next leg on my personal and professional journey. Reading about Ashoka fellows, I feel that there is an idea waiting inside me that might indeed push the world toward greater justice and equity. Don’t laugh (or gag). I too am highly skeptical of starry-eyed idealism. But I’d like to think that all the knocks I’ve taken in life have given me a bit of credibility on that front at least. I hope that through my work – vetting potential fellows, perhaps liaising between Ashoka and various schools/universities, working on Ashoka Israel’s “coming out party” with its “Change Your City” campaign – whatever potential is inside me will start to take shape and materialize.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
A Mess or a Masterpiece?
Despite the turmoil of opinions we’ve been privy to over the past ten days, it was positively refreshing – not to say clarifying, unexpected, and motivating – that our last lecture provided hope and closure in a very artful way. The topic was “Israeli and Arab/Palestinian NGO Efforts and Coexistence Projects.” Ok, I thought at first. It will either be a bland catalogue of all the enriching but minimally-impactful grassroots initiatives to bring the two sides together. Or it will be a jargon-ridden attempt to provide the not-profit sector a more technical and quantitative (and less soft and qualitative) gloss. I am happy to report that I was wrong on both fronts.
Dr. Raviv Schwartz of Ben Gurion University of the Negev spoke first. Although I typically dislike Powerpoint-heavy presentations, his slideshow really broke down the Israeli NGO sector, organizing and analyzing its structure, character, ideological features, and impact. He emphasized the fact that while Israeli civil society is expanding and gaining in prominence, it is still very beholden to the government. In terms of future relations with the Palestinians, most NGOs advance a vision of separation (“divorce”) over any kind of political or cultural “togetherness.” He also delineated three main types of peace NGOs: those focused on policy development; service providers; and the classic peace/protest groups. In the pre-Oslo period, protest groups were the most dominant form. Interaction between Israelis and Palestinians usually took place abroad with strong third party support. Post-Oslo, the emphasis shifted to regional, bilateral talks, while policy development organizations took the lead. Finally, after the outbreak of the second Intifada in September 2000, there was a reemergence of the pre-Oslo pattern – interaction abroad, third party support, and protest group involvement.
Next, Dr. Walid Salem, Director of the Center for Democracy and Community Development in Jerusalem, spoke about the Arab/Palestinian peace NGO sector. Interestingly, he took the long view – beginning with pre-1948 history, when Palestinian culture was more dynamic and not yet under the stultifying effects of prolonged occupation. While civil society usually interacts with the state, in the case of Palestine, civil society actually emerged in the absence of a state. This endowed it with a double burden – NGOs had to fulfill both state and civil society functions. 1919 to 1948 represented the “Liberal Age” of this Palestinian civil society. Even the 1936 Arab Revolt began as a united non-violent protest. After 1948, all previous institutions disappeared. From 1967 to 1976, NGOs adopted an ideology of “steadfastness” with a focus on charity not sustainable development. Over time, civil society expanded to include service delivery, bottom-up state building, and professionalism.
But this is just a basic description of the content of the lecture. More intriguing was the question and answer session. Both men asserted the difficulty of integrating the work of peace NGOs with the more conservative religious elements of their respective societies. In Palestine, of course, you have a spectrum ranging from the extremes of Al-Qaeda on the right, to the slightly more mainstream Hamas, to moderates and centrists, to the secular left. In Israel, it is the ultra-Orthodox Jews who typically espouse the most hawkish and anti-peace sentiments, though ardent Zionists often promote peace as a way to preserve the Jewish state from the Arab/Palestinian demographic threat. Dr. Salem also suggested that to bridge the divide between secular civil society and religious society, a blending of terminology and tradition is in order. Instead of speaking of a “peace agreement,” perhaps some spokespeople should speak of “hudna” (cessation of hostilities within a given time period).
But peace is more than the absence of war. One group member commented on this distinction, vocalizing a confusion with all the parsing of “war” and “peace” until both blur into each other and become functionally meaningless. Dr. Raviv picked up on the frustration embedded in the question. “Everyone wants peace, so why is it so elusive?” he asked, putting words to the thought foremost in all our minds. “But peace is not what we are talking about. In this conflict, when either side speaks of peace, they are speaking of it conditionally – peace with caveats.
“For the Israelis, peace is always coupled with security. We want ‘peace and security,’ or, if I may put it more crudely, ‘peace and quiet.’ The Palestinians talk about ‘peace and justice.’ There is no peace, period. There is only ‘peace and…’ Israelis are usually more committed to security than to peace, and Palestinians often care more about justice than peace. The problem is not with peace. The problem is with security and justice and how the two often clash.”
I remember hearing this (and my quotation is a paraphrase of Dr. Schwartz’s comments) and glancing around the room to see if anyone else felt as enlightened as I did. Finally, here was a description of the core problem that was simple, profound, and straightforward. I had always been frustrated by the demand for absolutes by both Israelis and Palestinians, but the division between security and justice had never been so radically – and calmly – laid out.
So thus ends a very preliminary account of my first eleven days in the Holy Land. Politicians, ideologues, zealots, academics, journalists, activists, parents, professors, executives, soldiers, students, historians, curators, negotiators, guides. It would be hard to get a more comprehensive and balanced look at the conflict. It’s really been like living inside a prism for two weeks, with every color, every gradation enhanced. Imagine living red for a half a day, then switching to purple. You wake up blue and go to sleep green. Sometimes you get the chance to mix hues – what do yellow and orange make? Or black and vermillion? Right now, I’m not sure if we’ve made a masterpiece or a great bloody mess. But whatever it is, the experience was priceless.
Dr. Raviv Schwartz of Ben Gurion University of the Negev spoke first. Although I typically dislike Powerpoint-heavy presentations, his slideshow really broke down the Israeli NGO sector, organizing and analyzing its structure, character, ideological features, and impact. He emphasized the fact that while Israeli civil society is expanding and gaining in prominence, it is still very beholden to the government. In terms of future relations with the Palestinians, most NGOs advance a vision of separation (“divorce”) over any kind of political or cultural “togetherness.” He also delineated three main types of peace NGOs: those focused on policy development; service providers; and the classic peace/protest groups. In the pre-Oslo period, protest groups were the most dominant form. Interaction between Israelis and Palestinians usually took place abroad with strong third party support. Post-Oslo, the emphasis shifted to regional, bilateral talks, while policy development organizations took the lead. Finally, after the outbreak of the second Intifada in September 2000, there was a reemergence of the pre-Oslo pattern – interaction abroad, third party support, and protest group involvement.
Next, Dr. Walid Salem, Director of the Center for Democracy and Community Development in Jerusalem, spoke about the Arab/Palestinian peace NGO sector. Interestingly, he took the long view – beginning with pre-1948 history, when Palestinian culture was more dynamic and not yet under the stultifying effects of prolonged occupation. While civil society usually interacts with the state, in the case of Palestine, civil society actually emerged in the absence of a state. This endowed it with a double burden – NGOs had to fulfill both state and civil society functions. 1919 to 1948 represented the “Liberal Age” of this Palestinian civil society. Even the 1936 Arab Revolt began as a united non-violent protest. After 1948, all previous institutions disappeared. From 1967 to 1976, NGOs adopted an ideology of “steadfastness” with a focus on charity not sustainable development. Over time, civil society expanded to include service delivery, bottom-up state building, and professionalism.
But this is just a basic description of the content of the lecture. More intriguing was the question and answer session. Both men asserted the difficulty of integrating the work of peace NGOs with the more conservative religious elements of their respective societies. In Palestine, of course, you have a spectrum ranging from the extremes of Al-Qaeda on the right, to the slightly more mainstream Hamas, to moderates and centrists, to the secular left. In Israel, it is the ultra-Orthodox Jews who typically espouse the most hawkish and anti-peace sentiments, though ardent Zionists often promote peace as a way to preserve the Jewish state from the Arab/Palestinian demographic threat. Dr. Salem also suggested that to bridge the divide between secular civil society and religious society, a blending of terminology and tradition is in order. Instead of speaking of a “peace agreement,” perhaps some spokespeople should speak of “hudna” (cessation of hostilities within a given time period).
But peace is more than the absence of war. One group member commented on this distinction, vocalizing a confusion with all the parsing of “war” and “peace” until both blur into each other and become functionally meaningless. Dr. Raviv picked up on the frustration embedded in the question. “Everyone wants peace, so why is it so elusive?” he asked, putting words to the thought foremost in all our minds. “But peace is not what we are talking about. In this conflict, when either side speaks of peace, they are speaking of it conditionally – peace with caveats.
“For the Israelis, peace is always coupled with security. We want ‘peace and security,’ or, if I may put it more crudely, ‘peace and quiet.’ The Palestinians talk about ‘peace and justice.’ There is no peace, period. There is only ‘peace and…’ Israelis are usually more committed to security than to peace, and Palestinians often care more about justice than peace. The problem is not with peace. The problem is with security and justice and how the two often clash.”
I remember hearing this (and my quotation is a paraphrase of Dr. Schwartz’s comments) and glancing around the room to see if anyone else felt as enlightened as I did. Finally, here was a description of the core problem that was simple, profound, and straightforward. I had always been frustrated by the demand for absolutes by both Israelis and Palestinians, but the division between security and justice had never been so radically – and calmly – laid out.
So thus ends a very preliminary account of my first eleven days in the Holy Land. Politicians, ideologues, zealots, academics, journalists, activists, parents, professors, executives, soldiers, students, historians, curators, negotiators, guides. It would be hard to get a more comprehensive and balanced look at the conflict. It’s really been like living inside a prism for two weeks, with every color, every gradation enhanced. Imagine living red for a half a day, then switching to purple. You wake up blue and go to sleep green. Sometimes you get the chance to mix hues – what do yellow and orange make? Or black and vermillion? Right now, I’m not sure if we’ve made a masterpiece or a great bloody mess. But whatever it is, the experience was priceless.
Who Am I? (Who Are You?)
Haifa. I would have liked to enter the city alone, quietly, perhaps on foot. Starting up Ben Gurion street, walking through the German colony, pausing at the new shops, pausing longer at the old. Old thoughts, old smells, old memories. Memories. They fluttered in and out of my thoughts as the bus climbed Mount Carmel, passing through Ahuza and the Mercaz, through Carmelia and French Carmel: the Horev Center. Pasto restaurant where I once found a fly in my soup. The place I got my hair cut. Ophira’s antique shop. I was asked to give a little introduction to the Baha’i Faith before we reached the Terraces. I did, but again, I wish I could have been quiet and absorbed the homecoming. Because a great part of my heart did feel – despite my mental protestations – that I was, in fact, home.
That was yesterday. Today, sitting in a classroom in Neve Shalom – Wahat al-Salaam (Oasis of Peace), we were asked to reflect, share, decompress after the riot of the last nine days. I didn’t want to speak (again, feeling the need to be quiet), but as we began talking about identity and conflict, I felt compelled to put words to my feelings. For me, Israel entered my life violently, as a hostile force imposed from the outside. Well, actually that’s not completely true. I first encountered Israel on pilgrimage, the most sublime experience for a ten year old, for anyone really. It was only a year later, when my parents decided to move to Israel, that the country took on an oppressive pall. When we moved, my identity was still nascent, raw. Israel pressed down on me – the aggression, sirens, dust, anxiety, sleeplessness; the holiness, beauty, longing, loss – and as my identity hardened, Israel was left, like a leaf impression in wet concrete, or an insect in amber. I’ve tried for seven years to make peace with myself, with this foreign entity embedded in my Self, but I haven’t succeeded. This trip, this experience is another chance, not only to learn about “the conflict,” but about my conflict, about existential conflict – and how the two inner and outer conflicts are linked.
In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that if I can find the link, I will have gone a long way toward a true solution. How can we possibly impose peace on others if we aren’t at peace with ourselves first?
That was yesterday. Today, sitting in a classroom in Neve Shalom – Wahat al-Salaam (Oasis of Peace), we were asked to reflect, share, decompress after the riot of the last nine days. I didn’t want to speak (again, feeling the need to be quiet), but as we began talking about identity and conflict, I felt compelled to put words to my feelings. For me, Israel entered my life violently, as a hostile force imposed from the outside. Well, actually that’s not completely true. I first encountered Israel on pilgrimage, the most sublime experience for a ten year old, for anyone really. It was only a year later, when my parents decided to move to Israel, that the country took on an oppressive pall. When we moved, my identity was still nascent, raw. Israel pressed down on me – the aggression, sirens, dust, anxiety, sleeplessness; the holiness, beauty, longing, loss – and as my identity hardened, Israel was left, like a leaf impression in wet concrete, or an insect in amber. I’ve tried for seven years to make peace with myself, with this foreign entity embedded in my Self, but I haven’t succeeded. This trip, this experience is another chance, not only to learn about “the conflict,” but about my conflict, about existential conflict – and how the two inner and outer conflicts are linked.
In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that if I can find the link, I will have gone a long way toward a true solution. How can we possibly impose peace on others if we aren’t at peace with ourselves first?
What Will It Take?
The longer we’re here, the more I feel that this conflict is beyond the scope of mere politics and politicians. This is not to say that they have no role to play, but the areas where the disagreements run deepest are those secret spaces untouched by compromise and caveats and official cooperation. One of the most refreshing opinions I’ve heard so far was yesterday at the Rabin Center. One of the students asked whether justice has to come before peace, and Dr. Ron Pundak, Executive Director of the Peres Center [and yes, he was giving his presentation at the Rabin Center; I was not just over-tired and confused] said no. Justice – in the sense that is being sought by the ideologues on both sides – is a poetic construct and a practical impossibility. He said that justice is something taken away that cannot usually be returned. The dead child or soldier cannot be brought back to life. The seized home or field may be transformed into a skyscraper or an airport or covered over by an asphalt road. Peace should be fair, in the sense that it must recognize and legitimate all sides. It should be as equitable as possible – but just? Is peace ever just?
As we continue to meet with politicians, journalists, activists and representatives from many points on the conflict spectrum, absolute justice is only ever demanded by those tending toward the extremes – and mainly by those advocating a more conservative or right-wing solution. Touring the settlements with settlers, there was a clear sense of black and white, right and wrong. Jews were fulfilling the prophecy laid down by the Old Testament and Arabs were acting at bet as an obstacle. When we toured the settlements the next day with Dror Etkis, the former Peace Now activist, his left-leaning views allowed at least for nuance, and an approximation but never a realization of justice. I found the same contrast when I listened, on the one hand, to the official line as professed by the ministers and ambassadors and representatives of either the Palestinian Authority or the Israeli government, and on the other, to the “facts on the ground” – the actual people effected by the conflict.
Going to the Israeli Ministry of Foreign Affairs and listening to three very articulate, very moderate speakers, I felt almost exactly as I did when we were presented by the official Palestinian line in Ramallah on Monday. I was semi-convinced, quite optimistic – left wondering what all the fuss was about really. And then I reminded myself of where I was and who was talking. First, Mr. Haim Asaf from the Palestinian Desk told us some of the following (from my notes):
• Obama’s latest speech in Cairo has changed the direction of US and hopefully Israeli policy regarding the conflict.
• Netanyahu is to propose a new peace plan next week. He has professed an intention not to implement a two-state solution, but with the new administration in the States pushing for it, as well as a total freeze on settlement activity, everything is up in the air.
• Asaf’s personal opinion is that a two-state solution is the only way.
• Some of the settlements must be removed but not all. For those not removed, a land exchange will be agreed upon, probably composed of a land bridge between Gaza and the West Bank.
• The Israeli security wall does not interfere with the Palestinians’ access to the underground aquafers. Any problems on the water front are due to mismanagement on their side.
• The Palestinian Authority has limited if not severed communication between itself and the Israeli government since the Gaza war of late 2008. This makes it difficult to move forward on issues of mutual concern.
This last point is a perfect instance in which both sides profess exactly opposite storylines. When we met with the Palestinian Negotiations Department, their story was that Israel was the recalcitrant party – that Israel was the one not talking to them. Can they both have official policies of non-communication with the other side? I think it’s more like an official policy of mis-communication.
In terms of water resources, I am amazed by the Israeli continued insistence that their wall is not interfering with Palestinian water rights. In the first place, with or without the wall, Israel controls nearly all water in the conflict zone. The wall is just a physical manifestation of their continued dominance. While there may indeed be mismanagement on the Palestinian side, their infrastructure is so stunted and their capacity-building so limited that water management is probably rudimentary at best. This is not to excuse Palestinian corruption, but it is so some extend to complicate the situation with a few mitigating circumstances (i.e. continued occupation).
So far, I have been most impressed by the shortage of nuance and the scarcity of real recognition and understanding of the other side’s viewpoint. The people who have stood out for these two traits have been (and here I’m excluding all government officials, who seem balanced, but whose true colors may or may not be hidden): Gershom Gorenberg, journalist, historian, author (The Accidental Empire), and senior correspondent (American Prospect); Dror Etkis, former Peace Now “Settlement Watch” coordinator and current member of Yesh Din; Karen Oren of the Yitzhak Rabin Museum; and Ron Pundak, Executive Director of the Peres Center for Peace and one of the Oslo Accord negotiators.
I know I’m supposed to have more questions than answers at this point, so here are a few of the most pressing: Why are people so afraid of being wrong? Why do we try so very hard to harmonize all cognitive dissonance, even when our strategies and solutions prove counterproductive? Why are do we find solace in dogma and security in homogenization? Why do we project our own darkness onto others?
What will it take for the next generations born into this conflict to stop accepting conventional wisdom and to start ferociously seeking truth? For when independent thought trumps dogma, and “thinking together” (to solve collective dilemmas) implies something other than “group think,” that’s when we will have reached a new level of maturity: an ability to think on more than one level at once, a blending of opposites that does not presuppose chaos but rather a richer and more variegated whole.
That’s what I mean by “third way” – it’s never one or the other but both.
As we continue to meet with politicians, journalists, activists and representatives from many points on the conflict spectrum, absolute justice is only ever demanded by those tending toward the extremes – and mainly by those advocating a more conservative or right-wing solution. Touring the settlements with settlers, there was a clear sense of black and white, right and wrong. Jews were fulfilling the prophecy laid down by the Old Testament and Arabs were acting at bet as an obstacle. When we toured the settlements the next day with Dror Etkis, the former Peace Now activist, his left-leaning views allowed at least for nuance, and an approximation but never a realization of justice. I found the same contrast when I listened, on the one hand, to the official line as professed by the ministers and ambassadors and representatives of either the Palestinian Authority or the Israeli government, and on the other, to the “facts on the ground” – the actual people effected by the conflict.
Going to the Israeli Ministry of Foreign Affairs and listening to three very articulate, very moderate speakers, I felt almost exactly as I did when we were presented by the official Palestinian line in Ramallah on Monday. I was semi-convinced, quite optimistic – left wondering what all the fuss was about really. And then I reminded myself of where I was and who was talking. First, Mr. Haim Asaf from the Palestinian Desk told us some of the following (from my notes):
• Obama’s latest speech in Cairo has changed the direction of US and hopefully Israeli policy regarding the conflict.
• Netanyahu is to propose a new peace plan next week. He has professed an intention not to implement a two-state solution, but with the new administration in the States pushing for it, as well as a total freeze on settlement activity, everything is up in the air.
• Asaf’s personal opinion is that a two-state solution is the only way.
• Some of the settlements must be removed but not all. For those not removed, a land exchange will be agreed upon, probably composed of a land bridge between Gaza and the West Bank.
• The Israeli security wall does not interfere with the Palestinians’ access to the underground aquafers. Any problems on the water front are due to mismanagement on their side.
• The Palestinian Authority has limited if not severed communication between itself and the Israeli government since the Gaza war of late 2008. This makes it difficult to move forward on issues of mutual concern.
This last point is a perfect instance in which both sides profess exactly opposite storylines. When we met with the Palestinian Negotiations Department, their story was that Israel was the recalcitrant party – that Israel was the one not talking to them. Can they both have official policies of non-communication with the other side? I think it’s more like an official policy of mis-communication.
In terms of water resources, I am amazed by the Israeli continued insistence that their wall is not interfering with Palestinian water rights. In the first place, with or without the wall, Israel controls nearly all water in the conflict zone. The wall is just a physical manifestation of their continued dominance. While there may indeed be mismanagement on the Palestinian side, their infrastructure is so stunted and their capacity-building so limited that water management is probably rudimentary at best. This is not to excuse Palestinian corruption, but it is so some extend to complicate the situation with a few mitigating circumstances (i.e. continued occupation).
So far, I have been most impressed by the shortage of nuance and the scarcity of real recognition and understanding of the other side’s viewpoint. The people who have stood out for these two traits have been (and here I’m excluding all government officials, who seem balanced, but whose true colors may or may not be hidden): Gershom Gorenberg, journalist, historian, author (The Accidental Empire), and senior correspondent (American Prospect); Dror Etkis, former Peace Now “Settlement Watch” coordinator and current member of Yesh Din; Karen Oren of the Yitzhak Rabin Museum; and Ron Pundak, Executive Director of the Peres Center for Peace and one of the Oslo Accord negotiators.
I know I’m supposed to have more questions than answers at this point, so here are a few of the most pressing: Why are people so afraid of being wrong? Why do we try so very hard to harmonize all cognitive dissonance, even when our strategies and solutions prove counterproductive? Why are do we find solace in dogma and security in homogenization? Why do we project our own darkness onto others?
What will it take for the next generations born into this conflict to stop accepting conventional wisdom and to start ferociously seeking truth? For when independent thought trumps dogma, and “thinking together” (to solve collective dilemmas) implies something other than “group think,” that’s when we will have reached a new level of maturity: an ability to think on more than one level at once, a blending of opposites that does not presuppose chaos but rather a richer and more variegated whole.
That’s what I mean by “third way” – it’s never one or the other but both.
Friday, June 5, 2009
What Is Truth?
The contrast between Monday, hearing the mainstream Palestinian viewpoint and Tuesday, hearing very right-wing Israeli views, was stark – and perhaps unfair. We didn’t hear radical views on the Palestinian side, which of course exist, and weren’t exposed to more moderate, left-leaning Israelis. Fortunately, this situation was rectified today (Thursday), when Dror Etkes, of Settlement Watch, took us on a tour of the same settlements we saw yesterday, but from a completely different perspective. What I was most impressed with was that his outrage was tempered by fairness toward the other side. He consistently repeated that
So far, I think everyone in our group is more frustrated, more confused, and above all increasingly more enlightened. More than the touring, the lectures and seminars – which are, of course, remarkable in their immediacy and relevance – the interaction with my fellow students is giving depth and analysis to the barrage of new information hitting us daily. Last night, for example, my roommate and I talked about the need for a generational shift in conflicts of this depth and magnitude. Until we talked, I had been quite hopeless about the conflict, especially after encountering the settlers’ intractability. I felt that no solution would ever be reached. The element I was missing, however, was time. Yes, this conflict needs even more time. While we think of the present situation as age-old, in truth it is a relatively recent affair and one whose memory is still fresh. Once the first and second generation of the Israeli Independence/Nakbah become less prominent in culture and politics – and we keep educating and challenging the views of the youth – the next generations may be poised to take actions and make concessions not previously entertained. After all,
Thursday, June 4, 2009
What Is Home?
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I come from there and I have memories
Born as mortals are, I have a mother
And a house with many windows,
I have brothers, friends,
And a prison cell with a cold window.
Mine is the wave, snatched by sea-gulls,
I have my own view,
And an extra blade of grass.
Mine is the moon at the far edge of the words,
And the bounty of birds,
And the immortal olive tree.
I walked this land before the swords
Turned its living body ianto a laden table.
I come from there. I render the sky unto her mother
When the sky weeps for her mother.
And I weep to make myself known
To a returning cloud.
I learnt all the words worthy of the court of blood
So that I could break the rule.
I learnt all the words and broke them up
To make a single word: Homeland.....
There is a line in the book "Steppenwolf" that says that the only guide we have in life is the sense of our own homesickness. I consider this one of my great truths. For really, I only know I'm on the "right path" when that path is leading me home. But what is home? That is the question that I've been struggling with ever since I landed at Ben Gurion airport yesterday. It dogged me as we ploughed our way through
Before I try to answer this question for myself, though, I'd like to relay some of the sights we toured today, because I think they might hint at some possible solutions.
Our first stop, after a brief interlude on
This same face was visible as we continued on to the Al Aqsa Mosque and the Dome of the Rock. I was sad, as I know most of the group was, that we were unable to enter the mosques due to heightened security (apparently only Muslims can enter now). Still, after the most intensely enclosed atmosphere of the Basilica, walking around these structures in the bright light and fresh air was strangely intimate. I felt I was conversing with the architecture, the white
Another face of “home” I encountered on the second leg of our trek, through the
I know there is more to this concept of home I am searching for. But I didn’t find it in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, where the whole place was permeated with what seemed like ritual tourism. It was so frenzied, so confusing and fraught with its dozens of warring Christian sects that the sanctity was marred somehow. Or at least diminished. In contrast, at the Wailing Wall, despite the crowds and the glaring heat, the ancient significance was more than of historic interest. The Wall was a living reminder – stuck full of the most precious scraps of our prayers and pleas – of the meaning of
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