Reflecting

I've given myself almost two weeks to contemplate and try to develop a coherent reaction to this recent adventure.  I've had many chats with friends at church and school and in the work environment, all of whom want to know more about it.  Processing the photos from the trip has given me a chance to review the events day by day, and I find myself being reminded of little things that I'd already started to let slip away.

I've explained over and over again to friends and family that I never felt in danger, was never particularly concerned for my own well being during the rising unrest in Egypt.  The people of Israel and Palestine seem to have a pragmatic approach to such things; on several occasions people casually remarked to me that with the current military technology, there was no place in Israel which was not within rocket range of the border.  The automatic weapons being toted around by innocent-looking young women and men are ready evidence that Israel fully expects danger to continue on a regular basis, and has determined to deal with it as it comes.  Going through airport security on my way home was another reminder of the routine vigilance of life as an Israeli, where security questions could range from the name of your yeshiva to the ethnic origin of an unfamiliar name to the name of the store where a piece of luggage had been purchased.

In the US, complaining about the TSA has become something of a game, with each person trying to top the last with quips about Thousands Standing Around and so on.  In Israel, I had the unpleasant sensation that saying the wrong thing could easily cost me a missed flight and an uncomfortable questioning session.  Even prior, one of our local hosts mentioned that Israel's internal security included secret interrogation facilities and a McCarthy-esque tendency towards keeping lists of potential dissidents.  I was reminded of the movie Tea with Mussolini, where one of the English ex-patriot ladies remarks how well-kept and orderly things had become in Italy after the brown shirts had taken over.  What price for security, and who gets to decide it?

At the same time, I am entirely cognizant that I am thoroughly spoiled by a lifetime of relative security living in a country which is well-insulated from most of the world and enjoys the reputation of a powerful and trigger-happy military.  Even during my time in the military, I very seldom had any hint that I might actually have to fight for my country's safety.  The Israelis appear to believe firmly that their safety is never a given; from the pogroms to the holocaust to whatever might come next, theirs is a cultural belief that they are fated to continually fight for mere survival.  Israeli laws state that every home must have a bomb shelter, and that any steps taken for the good of national security are beyond question and exempt from compensation.

And what of the Palestinians?  They clearly are getting a raw deal at present.  Their lands and personal freedoms are being stripped away, they are being emotionally and economically crushed, and the world doesn't seem to care.  They enjoy an international reputation, skewed by partisan newspapers and politicians, of a heartless group of terrorists.  Admittedly, there is a certain number of such people in any crowd (including our own United States).  But the people I met were just trying to maintain their economic stability and enough peace and security to raise their families and find a modicum of comfort in their own homes.  Sacrificing their lands, their livelihoods, and their freedom for the benefit of their oppressors is a bitter pill to swallow.  They make me feel like a small child who points and yells, "That's not fair!"

I began this conversation by saying I had no solution for peace and was deeply concerned that such a solution might be impossible.  That opinion has not changed, although I can now put faces on the problem.  Perhaps humanizing the situation will help - giving you, gentle reader, the chance to see what I have seen and empathize for yourself with all sides.  To that end, I will post a comprehensive album of photographs within the next few days.  I also urge you to take the journey yourself if at all possible, and form your own opinions rather than relying on those of strangers.  One little girl mentioned that Americans almost never talk to the locals in Bethlehem, preferring instead to ride the bus to the Church of the Nativity, buy some olive wood souvenirs, and then take the bus straight back through the wall.  If you go, instead of just visiting the dead stones, I urge you to see the living situation for yourself.  Perhaps you are that brilliant person who can come up with the solution which has escaped me thus far.