"It's Like Slogging Through Mud"
Another day in the West Bank – this time near the village of
Bidu near Givon Hachadasha. we arrived, unloaded 50
saplings, and began to dig…within a short time the bus with
the American group arrived and we exchanged enthusiastic
greetings when they remembered me from last week.
And sure enough – never to fail us, the authorities showed up.
This time there was, luckily, no physical scuffle, but a verbal
one. The soldier from the Border Patrol, who was well-
acquainted with the area and with the people from Yesh Din
who were with us, but demanded that we leave immediately or
be arrested for planting trees on land the ownership of which
was in question. Video cameras whirred and words were
exchanged. He explained that if the Palestinians could show
documents of ownership, we would be allowed to continue
work.
I asked myself why the ownership of the land was in question.
Did any of these people have 60-year-old deeds in their
pocket to show? I wondered under what circumstances other
than this people were expected to go out to work every
morning with documents showing that they owned their land in
their back pockets.
It soon became apparent that the officer in charge had a
certain amount of leniency towards the locals as well as the
organization, but had to – as the familiar phrase goes – follow
orders. In response to my question of why he was questioning
the ownership of the land, he protested that he had been in
Gaza during the disengagement, been called a Nazi, been
cursed and beaten by settlers, and had to put up with a lot of
abuse. He assured us that he was not there to deliberately
make trouble for us. Like many soldiers, he was stuck doing
something that he did not totally believe in. Rabbi Ascherman
took him aside and evidently a quiet deal was made: we had
15 minutes to plant the rest of the trees and then leave.
Everyone grabbed the few tools that we had, and rushed to
dig, distribute trees, and cover them with soil as quickly as we
could. The last holes we dug were a bit of a filibuster and we
did stretch that quarter of an hour more than a bit, but we
managed to get the last of the trees planted. As we left they
were still pouring over the maps, still contesting whether the
land really belonged to Bidu’s residents.
Rabbi Ascherman related the following story to the American
visitors in the field. He explained that the place was of
particular significance to him because not far from there, he
had been involved in a particularly harrowing incident. Several
years earlier he had been working in the area when he
received a call that a 13-year-old Palestinian youth was being
beaten by soldiers and he should come immediately. When
he arrived at the spot he found that the boy and another man
were tied to two jeeps and were being severely beaten. The
boy, who was shaking with fear, still has nightmares about the
incident. When he reached the jeep Palestinians began to
throw stones and he ended up serving as a human shield
standing in front of the boy to stop the soldiers from continuing
their abuse. Later on in court when the traumatized youth
related the incident, he ended his testimony by saying “A tall
man wearing a kippa came and protected me.”
Rabbi Ascherman emphasized to the American visitors just
how difficult it is to get things done in the West Bank with the
army and police constantly trying to hinder their efforts and the
settlers constant harassment. “It’s like slogging through mud,”
he said. “We get beaten up, we get stones thrown at us by
settlers, but it’s very important that we be here because there
is so much to do. We realize that Israel has a right to protect
herself and that these types of incidents don’t just happen in
Israel. But we are Zionists, we are non-violent, and we feel it is
important to stand up for human rights because that is what
the Torah teaches us. Hearing that boy say: ”A tall man with a
kippa came and protected me” is why we are here.”
Several of the people from the American group asked me what
I thought they should do when they returned to the States. I
told them I felt it was very important for them to get the
message across that there were Israelis who are deeply
distressed at what is going on in the West Bank, who are
Zionists but are working against the occupation. I told them I
was very afraid that all people hear about are the settlers and
that these were in reality, a minority. The Americans departed
and Mohammed, a local teacher from Bidu, invited us to the
village. We were left off in front of the baladiyyah, or city hall,
and entered a large room. I walked in and stopped short.
Directly ahead of us on the far wall was a large banner:
We asked Mohammed to tell us what life was like in the village
and what difficulties they were experiencing. He explained that
the people had come from a village in the area of Lod in 1948
and settled there (then Jordan of course). That, perhaps,
explained the banner...
The fence now separates the village from its land and people
are only allowed to go in and out of their fields when the gate
is opened, and on certain days. If those days are rainy, the
period is not extended. If the soldier shows up a half hour
early to open the gate, he does not wait for them and closes it
and leaves, and the farmers lose the day’s work because they
simply cannot get to their fields. If they finish early they can
only go back to the village at 4:00 when the gate is opened
again, so they must remain in the field for the entire day
anyway. The village also suffers from shortages of water,
since they receive water from a tank shared with the Jewish
neighborhood of Har Adar, and if the water runs low in the
tank, the village, which gets its water from the upper part of the
tank, goes without.
Once again I contemplate how totally helpless people are
under the occupation – most of whom have probably not done
anything to endanger Israel’s security, but are subject to strict
supervision and control of every minute of their lives
nevertheless – control that is determined by the order of an
officer, the whim of a soldier at a checkpoint, the wave of a
hand. I find it amazing that we joke about the inefficiency of
Israeli bureaucracy – but the occupation runs like a well-oiled
machine. Each time we arrive in the fields, the army is there
within minutes. Regulations are enforced to the letter. Gates
are opened and closed. People’s lives are controlled
mercilessly – far beyond what is necessary to ensure Israel’s
security, both in terms of the extent and means, and in terms
of the people themselves. As in Gaza, many innocent people
suffer because of a few guilty ones.
And at the end of the day, for Palestinians, also figuratively
slogging through mud just to try and eke out a living, I wonder
what will make more of an impression on them in the end – the
Israelis who come out to help them plant trees and harvest
their olives and shield them from the aggressive settlers, or the
soldiers who control so many aspects of their everyday lives. It
is a double message we are giving them: we rule you, but
some of us want things otherwise. And the pleasant, warm
reception of tea and cakes with the banner calling for the right
of return on the wall above us, also conveyed a double
message: We are extending you our hospitality, but we
remember what was done in the past and we want you to
know that. I wondered if the banner, in Arabic and English,
remained hanging there all the time - or whether it was put
there especially before we arrived for us to see. (looking at
the picture, it now appears to me that there is something
behind it, as if it were hung there temporarily and would then
be removed after we left...) Mohammed asked if we were paid
for the day's work. We explained to him that we were
volunteers.
Still, this incident in the village made me feel very
uncomfortable. I now feel somewhat critical of hanging up a
banner like that in front of Jewish guests who have - after all -
come to help. It was a bit of a slap in the face, like the boy
sent out to the olive groves to work with Jewish volunteers with
the Hamas T-Shirt described in an article by Seth Forman
earlier. But I guess that is what we can expect: meanwhile the
animosity still outweighs the trust, and judging upon what I
have seen, not for lack of a reason.
It makes me wonder which message is the stronger one being
broadcast and absorbed by both sides.
18 November, 2008
Another day in the West Bank – this time near the village of
Bidu near Givon Hachadasha. we arrived, unloaded 50
saplings, and began to dig…within a short time the bus with
the American group arrived and we exchanged enthusiastic
greetings when they remembered me from last week.
And sure enough – never to fail us, the authorities showed up.
This time there was, luckily, no physical scuffle, but a verbal
one. The soldier from the Border Patrol, who was well-
acquainted with the area and with the people from Yesh Din
who were with us, but demanded that we leave immediately or
be arrested for planting trees on land the ownership of which
was in question. Video cameras whirred and words were
exchanged. He explained that if the Palestinians could show
documents of ownership, we would be allowed to continue
work.
I asked myself why the ownership of the land was in question.
Did any of these people have 60-year-old deeds in their
pocket to show? I wondered under what circumstances other
than this people were expected to go out to work every
morning with documents showing that they owned their land in
their back pockets.
It soon became apparent that the officer in charge had a
certain amount of leniency towards the locals as well as the
organization, but had to – as the familiar phrase goes – follow
orders. In response to my question of why he was questioning
the ownership of the land, he protested that he had been in
Gaza during the disengagement, been called a Nazi, been
cursed and beaten by settlers, and had to put up with a lot of
abuse. He assured us that he was not there to deliberately
make trouble for us. Like many soldiers, he was stuck doing
something that he did not totally believe in. Rabbi Ascherman
took him aside and evidently a quiet deal was made: we had
15 minutes to plant the rest of the trees and then leave.
Everyone grabbed the few tools that we had, and rushed to
dig, distribute trees, and cover them with soil as quickly as we
could. The last holes we dug were a bit of a filibuster and we
did stretch that quarter of an hour more than a bit, but we
managed to get the last of the trees planted. As we left they
were still pouring over the maps, still contesting whether the
land really belonged to Bidu’s residents.
Rabbi Ascherman related the following story to the American
visitors in the field. He explained that the place was of
particular significance to him because not far from there, he
had been involved in a particularly harrowing incident. Several
years earlier he had been working in the area when he
received a call that a 13-year-old Palestinian youth was being
beaten by soldiers and he should come immediately. When
he arrived at the spot he found that the boy and another man
were tied to two jeeps and were being severely beaten. The
boy, who was shaking with fear, still has nightmares about the
incident. When he reached the jeep Palestinians began to
throw stones and he ended up serving as a human shield
standing in front of the boy to stop the soldiers from continuing
their abuse. Later on in court when the traumatized youth
related the incident, he ended his testimony by saying “A tall
man wearing a kippa came and protected me.”
Rabbi Ascherman emphasized to the American visitors just
how difficult it is to get things done in the West Bank with the
army and police constantly trying to hinder their efforts and the
settlers constant harassment. “It’s like slogging through mud,”
he said. “We get beaten up, we get stones thrown at us by
settlers, but it’s very important that we be here because there
is so much to do. We realize that Israel has a right to protect
herself and that these types of incidents don’t just happen in
Israel. But we are Zionists, we are non-violent, and we feel it is
important to stand up for human rights because that is what
the Torah teaches us. Hearing that boy say: ”A tall man with a
kippa came and protected me” is why we are here.”
Several of the people from the American group asked me what
I thought they should do when they returned to the States. I
told them I felt it was very important for them to get the
message across that there were Israelis who are deeply
distressed at what is going on in the West Bank, who are
Zionists but are working against the occupation. I told them I
was very afraid that all people hear about are the settlers and
that these were in reality, a minority. The Americans departed
and Mohammed, a local teacher from Bidu, invited us to the
village. We were left off in front of the baladiyyah, or city hall,
and entered a large room. I walked in and stopped short.
Directly ahead of us on the far wall was a large banner:
We asked Mohammed to tell us what life was like in the village
and what difficulties they were experiencing. He explained that
the people had come from a village in the area of Lod in 1948
and settled there (then Jordan of course). That, perhaps,
explained the banner...
The fence now separates the village from its land and people
are only allowed to go in and out of their fields when the gate
is opened, and on certain days. If those days are rainy, the
period is not extended. If the soldier shows up a half hour
early to open the gate, he does not wait for them and closes it
and leaves, and the farmers lose the day’s work because they
simply cannot get to their fields. If they finish early they can
only go back to the village at 4:00 when the gate is opened
again, so they must remain in the field for the entire day
anyway. The village also suffers from shortages of water,
since they receive water from a tank shared with the Jewish
neighborhood of Har Adar, and if the water runs low in the
tank, the village, which gets its water from the upper part of the
tank, goes without.
Once again I contemplate how totally helpless people are
under the occupation – most of whom have probably not done
anything to endanger Israel’s security, but are subject to strict
supervision and control of every minute of their lives
nevertheless – control that is determined by the order of an
officer, the whim of a soldier at a checkpoint, the wave of a
hand. I find it amazing that we joke about the inefficiency of
Israeli bureaucracy – but the occupation runs like a well-oiled
machine. Each time we arrive in the fields, the army is there
within minutes. Regulations are enforced to the letter. Gates
are opened and closed. People’s lives are controlled
mercilessly – far beyond what is necessary to ensure Israel’s
security, both in terms of the extent and means, and in terms
of the people themselves. As in Gaza, many innocent people
suffer because of a few guilty ones.
And at the end of the day, for Palestinians, also figuratively
slogging through mud just to try and eke out a living, I wonder
what will make more of an impression on them in the end – the
Israelis who come out to help them plant trees and harvest
their olives and shield them from the aggressive settlers, or the
soldiers who control so many aspects of their everyday lives. It
is a double message we are giving them: we rule you, but
some of us want things otherwise. And the pleasant, warm
reception of tea and cakes with the banner calling for the right
of return on the wall above us, also conveyed a double
message: We are extending you our hospitality, but we
remember what was done in the past and we want you to
know that. I wondered if the banner, in Arabic and English,
remained hanging there all the time - or whether it was put
there especially before we arrived for us to see. (looking at
the picture, it now appears to me that there is something
behind it, as if it were hung there temporarily and would then
be removed after we left...) Mohammed asked if we were paid
for the day's work. We explained to him that we were
volunteers.
Still, this incident in the village made me feel very
uncomfortable. I now feel somewhat critical of hanging up a
banner like that in front of Jewish guests who have - after all -
come to help. It was a bit of a slap in the face, like the boy
sent out to the olive groves to work with Jewish volunteers with
the Hamas T-Shirt described in an article by Seth Forman
earlier. But I guess that is what we can expect: meanwhile the
animosity still outweighs the trust, and judging upon what I
have seen, not for lack of a reason.
It makes me wonder which message is the stronger one being
broadcast and absorbed by both sides.
18 November, 2008
Wednesday, November 19th
 |  |  |  |  |  |
More on the Olive Harvest: November 11th - Jitt, Area C November 18th - Kfar Bidu north of Jerusalem |
Planting near Kfar Bidu
north of Jerusalem. I
don't find these days
physically tiring as much
as I find them emotionally
draining and
overwhelming.
north of Jerusalem. I
don't find these days
physically tiring as much
as I find them emotionally
draining and
overwhelming.
Arguing our right to
plant and bargaining
for more time: If the
land is state land,
we'll be arrested for
planting trees. Prove
it belongs to Bilu and
we'll let you stay.
plant and bargaining
for more time: If the
land is state land,
we'll be arrested for
planting trees. Prove
it belongs to Bilu and
we'll let you stay.
Still trying to figure out
whose land it is? No
matter, we got all the
trees planted!
whose land it is? No
matter, we got all the
trees planted!
Olive saplings on Zakkaria's
truck ready to be planted. It
soon became apparent that
we had to do so - in record
time, under threat of arrest.
truck ready to be planted. It
soon became apparent that
we had to do so - in record
time, under threat of arrest.
Left: the banner that greeted
us at the baladiyyah.
Hospitality with a clear-cut
message hanging over our
heads. Looking at this picture,
I get the eerie feeling that it
was put up temporarily for our
benefit, covering other pictures
underneath.
us at the baladiyyah.
Hospitality with a clear-cut
message hanging over our
heads. Looking at this picture,
I get the eerie feeling that it
was put up temporarily for our
benefit, covering other pictures
underneath.