Security Issues and You: If You're Not With Us, You're Against Us

Last weekend, we attended a Security Issues conference in Jerusalem, including a visit to the security barrier that divides the West Bank (Judea and Samaria in the parlance of lots of people) and Israel. Our group from Tikkun Olam in Tel Aviv-Yafo was told that there would be a variety of opinions presented and that it would be an opportunity to critically analyze the security situation faced by Israel. It has been amazingly refreshing and challenging to be in Israel and participate in conversations with Israelis from across the generational and political spectrum and hear an incredible variety of opinions on how Israel should form and execute its domestic and foreign policy. There is oftentimes a pressure, sometimes voiced and sometimes not, in the Diaspora to stand behind Israel, no matter what, which in my experience leads to extremes of opinions and very little middle ground to hold a civil, much less analytical, discourse. There certainly are some great exceptions to this and some amazing people doing amazing work, but this weekend was not an exception.

Our weekend opened with a bus tour of Gilo and an overlook of Bethlehem. The unnoticed passage of our bus over the Green Line was surprising to most of us. There wasn't a checkpoint and there wasn't a guard: we were simply in a Jewish neighborhood that had been constructed after the Six Day War in 1967. This is definitely not territory most tourists cover, and is generally considered "out of bounds" for participants of MASA programs. The overlook we went to showed us the road that is often referred to as an “Apartheid Road” to Gush Etzion, a large settlement block in the West Bank.

Ah, the “A” word: “Apartheid.” Before I get into the actual details of the weekend, it is interesting to relate what my friend and roommate Amy has said about Israel as an Apartheid state. Amy's parents left South Africa before the end of Apartheid due to fears about their safety as anti-Apartheid activists. Talking with Amy about her family’s experiences in South Africa has led me to believe that equating Apartheid South Africa with Israel’s currently policies is unbalanced and illogical. An Arab can still vote and have citizenship and Arabs are not forbidden from doing business with or socializing with Jews, however difficult those interactions might sometimes be. Segregation and racism certainly exist here, but it is not a legally mandated policy of the state as was in South Africa. In short, using “Apartheid” in conversations dealing with Israel is counter productive to actually moving forward in understanding the conflict. You can call Israel a segregated society, with notable exceptions such as Haifa and Yafo, but it is not an Apartheid state.

Living and volunteering here has shown me that viewing Israel in black and white terms is unhealthy, unproductive, and downright ignorant. I'm increasingly convinced that I need to spend far more time listening than talking when it comes to Middle East policy, and that was the attitude I went into the weekend with. At no point did anyone hold a gun to my head and make me go to the conference; I knew that I would probably be one of the more liberal people in the room, that I would disagree with speakers, and that I might be intensely offended.

With that said, the overwhelming theme of the weekend was that there is no partner for peace. The military, policy and journalistic backgrounds of the speakers allowed for no argument with their expertise and experience. Truly probing questions were generally met with evasive answers that ducked the question entirely, reframed it so that it was a completely different statement, or a rant about a different topic. At one point, I privately asked a speaker if Jews in the Diaspora, particularly America, should be allowed to publicly criticize Israel's policies. I was told that of course, everyone has a right to their own opinions, but that we should keep our mouths shut in order to stand together in unquestioned solidarity with Israel.

I could not have been prouder to call myself a participant of Tikkun Olam in Tel Aviv-Yafo during the course of the weekend. Our group spoke up against racism and discrimination. Our group raised the issue of school segregation and unequal access to services in Israel. Our group questioned seemingly non-plussed and inappropriately morbidly humorous statements about death and warfare. Our group was also the only contingent that volunteered with Arabs, Christian and Muslim alike. I'm ashamed to say that I kept my thoughts to myself more than I thought possible during the weekend, but I really wanted to be engaged as an observer and I did not feel comfortable raising my voice in an environment where my friends and comrades were continually shot down and met with vitriol. At one point in the weekend, a participant in our group was told by another conference attendee that the way we think is dangerous. I have never been prouder to have Nate as a best friend and husband-to-be as when he stated that we must care about Gaza, and that racism is simply unacceptable. Of course, he is a traitor to the Jewish people, so that shows what I know.

I could give you all a play by play of the weekend, or I could leave you, gentile and Jew alike, with this question: does it make you dangerous and traitorous to ask the hard questions and to not accept the status quo?** If it does, then I'd like it labeled on my forehead, thank you very much. Israel is the historic homeland of the Jewish people. Israel is supposed to be a light unto the nations. Israel should be held to a higher standard. I am continually impressed by the ethical code of the IDF. With that said, asking probing questions is a cornerstone of my religious and cultural identity. I'm not saying you need to start donating to J-Street or to Peace Now. I am saying that as a community, we should hold ourselves to a high intellectual standard, instead of resorting to emotional appeals that cannot be argued with. Dealing with the Israeli-Arab conflict is always deeply emotional, no matter who you are or what you believe in. This does not mean that a civil, inclusive dialogue cannot be conducted.

As a participant in Tikkun Olam in Tel Aviv-Yafo, I am privileged to affiliate with Bina and the Secular Yeshiva. One of the best examples of what this means is that I've gotten to go on a program sponsored tour that was co-led by an Arab Israeli and a Jew, providing an immediate example of the differences in the Palestinian and Israeli narratives. I am constantly surrounded by people who push me to define how I stand in relation to Israel in terms of Zionism, social justice, and religious identity. While this weekend provided a view of the military perspective of Israel's policy, and fascinating examples of persuasive, professional and brilliant public speaking, what I really walked away with was a better appreciation and understanding of my program. Civil discourse, a variety of opinions, and a variety of perspectives are cultivated in my program. Even when I disagree with my fellow volunteers, I still feel respected by them. Pro-Israel, pro-peace, and pro-Palestine are not mutually exclusive in my program and for that, I feel that I will walk away from this year with a clearer understanding of Judaism and Jewish peoplehood. Being anti-war isn't brushed aside as naive by my program. It is accepted. For that, I am intensely grateful. Listening to security experts discuss Israel's situation in the Middle East was a great opportunity, but because simple, emotional arguments peppered with factoids had been favored over nuanced dialogue, the opportunity for a serious conversation was squandered.

*I'm defining racism in the simplistic terms of "discrimination plus power," just to ease any confusion.
**Also, do we really need to hear from another military man? Where are the women?! WHERE ARE THE WOMEN?!