In Pursuit of Justice

I got the below in an email forward: 

Marcy Winograd is the co-founder of the LA Jews for Peace collective and a long-time anti-war activist in Los Angeles . Inspired by author Joel Kovel’s book Overcoming Zionism, she is interested in assembling and publishing an anthology entitled: From Zionism to Humanism: Personal Stories of Jews Who Dare to Speak Out.  (Scroll to see her sample narrative.)  If you know of Jews who might be interested in contributing to her anthology, please encourage them to submit their story to Marcy at Winogradcoach@aol.com. 
 
My Journey: From Israel to the Nakba by Marcy Winograd
 
It is 1978.  I sit in the bleachers in Tel Aviv, watching the blue and white fire crackers rip across the sky, as young Jewish athletes from all over the world sprint onto the track, falling in line behind the teenage leader holding an Olympic torch.  Thousands cheer.  Israeli flags wave. More firecrackers.  Unbridled applause.  I should be proud of my Jewish heritage, enjoy this Maccabiah moment, but something tugs at me — a this-isn’t-right feeling.  Why is there a Jewish Olympics called the Maccabiah Games?  Why are we segregating ourselves?  Implicit in such segregation is a declaration that Jews cannot live as equals in an integrated world.
 
I push the doubts into the back of my mind during the rest of our two-week family tour that also takes us to the cobblestones of Bethlehem, the sparkling sea backdrop of Haifa, and the air-raid sirens of Kiryat Shmona, an Israeli town built on the ruins of an Arab village on the Lebanese border.  On our first day in Israel , our angry Russian cab driver curses the damn American tourists for not moving to Israel , where the real Jews live.  He escorts us to a cavernous restaurant, orders a beer, and through the darkness studies our expressions as he drops, “A bomb went off here a few weeks ago.  Are you scared?  You never know when another bomb could explode in this restaurant.  You never know there could be a bomb under your seat.  How scared are you?”
 
Get me away from this cab driver.
 
Back at the hotel, we meet our official tour guide.  In his twenties, with a few extra pounds and a sweet smile, Ari is light-hearted, always joking and kibbitzing until he drives us to the Israeli-occupied Golan Heights, a plateau on the border of Israel , Lebanon , Jordan and Syria .  Looking down at the golden valley below, Ari reminds us, “We can never give up the Golan because without it we are defenseless, vulnerable to an Arab attack.” 
 
No one tells me the Golan Heights is part of the Jordan River Watershed, which supplies a significant portion of Israel ’s water supply.
 
We pass a wandering man wearing a felt hat trimmed with gold coins. Is he lost?  Who is he? The man is a Druze, says Ari, neglecting to tell us that the man wandered this land when it was part of Syria and still clings to his Syrian identity.  In the 1967 Six-Day Arab-Israeli war, Israel captured the Golan Heights, hoping to convince the Druze who lived there to accept Israeli citizenship—but the Duze still proudly consider themselves Syrian and reject offers of Israeli citizenship.
 
But I do not know of Druzes, only of Russian pogroms threatening to wipe out my ancestors, of Nazi gas chambers murdering my great grandparents from Minsk .  I read Anne Frank’s diary in school, where we talk about THE Holocaust.  Never mind the others.
 
Though I identify with persecuted Jews, I grow up longing to be part of the dominant culture.  I hang little red and green lights on plastic Christmas trees and rarely visit temple except to hava nagila at the boys’ bar mitzvahs or to pray on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, when we never atone for the sin of theft, slaughter, or occupation.
 
My parents consider themselves world citizens.  They establish a Washington DC headquarters for the World Federalist Society, embrace the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, invite Cold War Russians into their home, and dream disarmament dreams with best friend author Norman Cousins.  But a biography of Golda Meir sits proudly on my parents’ book shelf, along with Exodus and Jews, God, and History and dozens of other books on Judaism, anti-Semitism, and Israel .  Though we do not light the Sabbath candles, we are Zionists who believe in the sanctuary of a Jewish homeland. 
 
I am born in 1953, five years after the Nakba or what Palestinians refer to as the catastrophe, when the establishment of the state of Israel drives 700,000 Palestinians from their land.  Yet, I am 53 before I discover there is such a term – Nakba.  No one ever mentions the Nakba in synagogue.  No one talks about the Jewish militias who terrorized Palestinians, hoping the villagers would run away forever.  No one ever says Palestinians should have the right of return or the birth of Israel is the death of Palestine or that Israeli settlements are occupations. 
 
In my home town on the Jewish west side of Los Angeles , where public schools close on high holidays, I am raised on the-Arabs-want-to-drive-the-Jews-into the-sea.  And Israel-must-bomb- civilians-because-they-are-shielding-Arafat’s-guerrillas.  And Israel -was nothing-before-the-Jews-returned-to-make-the-desert-bloom.  And how-can-anyone- say-the Palestinians-were-there-first, why-the-Jews- lived-there-2,000-years-ago.  My friends sell Israel bonds.  High school classmates marry Israelis and move to Jerusalem to pray at the Wailing Wall.
 
I move to Santa Barbara to broadcast news at a laid-back album-oriented rock station.  In between reports on no-growth ordinances and beach clean-ups, come the massacres at Sabra and Shatila. Headless children.  Raped women.  No one can feel good about the 1982 Lebanese fascist massacre of Palestinians in refugee camps.  My God these camps were guarded by the Israeli Defense Forces.  Yes, Israel ’s Defense Minister, later Prime Minister, Ariel Sharon was forced to resign for his role in approving the massacre.  How many were viciously attacked at Sabra an Shatila?  Anywhere from 700 - 3,500?
 
Better not to think about the massacre because what if there is another Jewish holocaust? Where will we go, if not the Promised Land?  On television I see car bombs explode in front of Israeli discos, flooding the streets with blood and corpses.  I remember the ominous knock on the door at the Munich Olympics, the PLO murders of Israeli athletes, and shudder at the brutality of the Palestinian terrorists.
 
If only the Palestinians would recognize Israel ’s right to exist.
 
During our visit to Israel , when we travel to its northern border with Lebanon and tour the Israeli town of Kiryat Shmona , our tour guide points out the spanking new green tennis courts next to the little houses.  “A generous American donated those tennis courts to reward the brave Jews risking their lives to protect Israel ,” Ari tells us.  For a moment, I feel proud to be associated with such courageous pioneers, never once thinking these pioneers are perpetuating the cycle of violence.
 
We hear air raid sirens, warnings of Kityusha rocket attacks.  “What the hell are we doing here?” wonders my father, who berates himself for jeopardizing his family’s safety.  In a matter of minutes, we rocket ourselves out of Kiryat Shmona, back to the hotel swimming pool in Tel Aviv, miles from the border barrage.
 
How sad that these Jews cannot live in peace.
 
And so goes my thinking until 2006 when Israel , in response to cross-border violence, shuts
down Gaza ’s only power plant, leaving 1.5 million Palestinians without electricity and water.
“This is collective punishment,” I tell Congressman Henry Waxman during an emergency phone conference organized by a group of Jewish peace activists.  Do something, Waxman.  Denounce this collective punishment on the floor of Congress.  Waxman refuses to acknowledge the power plant shut down is collective punishment and says Israel must defend itself. 
 
Next, comes the Israeli invasion of Lebanon , with its indiscriminate bombing of civilians.  I write to my childhood friend married to the Israeli in Tel Aviv.  Are the people in Israel watching the hungry rats ravish Beirut , searching out the corpses in the bombed out rubble?   Do the people of Israel support their government’s invasion of a sovereign nation finally at peace?
 
She reminds me an Israeli soldier has been kidnapped, and that when one of their soldiers is kidnapped it is as though all of their children have been kidnapped.  The violence is justified, if
only to buy time against a future attack by Hezbollah, if only to destroy enough of the enemies’ infrastructure – vast underground tunnels and supply routes - to give Israel  breathing room.
 
I argue with life-long friends about the wisdom of military solutions to never-ending conflicts.  You want Jews to be safe?  Bombing innocent children, routing whole villages, won’t make them safe, but will only multiply the hate. 
 
And when I can no longer bear the violence being perpetrated in my name, in the name of all Jews, I request a meeting with the Israeli consul in Los Angeles to beg him to beg his government to wave a white flag and call off the raining cluster bombs that will blow off the limbs of Lebanese children who later mistake the shiny bomblets for toys.
 
But the Deputy Consul General cancels the meeting at the last minute.  “You’ve already made up your mind, he says.  “There’s no point in talking to you.”  Outraged Jews organize a picket line in front of the Israeli consulate, housed in a nondescript gray building on Wilshire Boulevard . We call ourselves LA Jews for Peace and ask other Jews to join our protest.  My once-Zionist mother, forever loyal to her daughter and her daughter’s ideals, stands next to me on the picket line, where signs and banners beckon to the traffic.
 
“Not in the Name of Peace or Security, Shall War be Waged.”
“Jews for Peace”
“Cease-fire Now!”
“ Israel , you are embarrassing us.”
 
Police eye us.  State department undercover agents watch from the building’s steps. Radio reporters arrive.  A journalist for a Spanish daily quotes me saying something about how painful it is for Jews to criticize Israel .  No one likes to abandon their tribe. 
 
And no one likes to become the target of random street rage, for as we pack up our pickets a big man who talks like he comes from another country, maybe in Europe, crosses the street to shout us down, you fucking traitors.  He challenges us to a fight.
 
“Do something,” I tell the police, the State Department agents, but they just watch as the big man comes closer, waving his middle finger.  Fuck you all. 
 
We get the hell out of there.  I hope I never have to return.  I pray the Israelis will agree to a ceasefire — soon.
 
But the fighting continues.  And Condoleezza Rice talks about the birth pangs of a new Middle East .
 
CNN calls.  “I thought I would have to go all the way to San Francisco to find Jews protesting the Israeli invasion of Lebanon ,” says the reporter, “but I found you.”  CNN films
another protest of ours, this one in front of the Museum of Tolerance or holocaust museum, a shrine to Jewish persecution that ignores the pain of the Palestinians.
 
Following the protests and the subsequent Israeli ceasefire, LA Jews for Peace meets in my living room to clarify our beliefs and goals, but even we can’t agree on what peace should look like.  One state.  Two states.  A confederation.  We agree to disagree, to live somewhere in limbo between those who believe in a Jewish homeland called Israel and those who believe Zionism necessitates ethnic cleansing, making it inherently inhumane.
 
Still it is painful for me to talk about this with old friends.
 
“We sent our son to Israel last summer,” says a Berkeley college roommate, a brilliant scientist in town for a rare breakfast visit.  She bites into her bagel.  “He lived on a kibbutz for a while and loved it.  I’m so glad we sent him to Israel .”
 
I taste only shame – at my silence.
 
“Do you ever want to go back to Israel ?” she asks.
 
“No.”
 
Inside I am thinking — We were brainwashed, indoctrinated, fooled.  Zionism is not the way.  You can’t steal people’s land, erect a country on the basis of religious or cultural superiority and ever think you will be at peace.  It is wrong. Zionism hijacked us, robbed us of our humanity, and conned us into thinking Israel equaled Judaism.
 
Humanism, not Zionism, is the path to peace.
 
Tomorrow, I will tell my good friend what I really believe.  Today, however, we will share the sunlight streaming down on the breakfast table; today we will reminisce about our college days of dating and laughter, today we will pretend we are as close as ever.
 
Yes, tomorrow I will go to that painful place that threatens to shred our friendship, chase away the sun, and leave us strangers in the darkness.
 
Tomorrow.

Is it just me or has 2007 been the year of amazing books on Palestinian-Israeli conflict?  I haven’t read most of them and can guarantee you I wouldn’t agree with all of them but I’m just thrilled to see so many interesting books out there that really try to look at the heart and core of the existing tragedy from so many angles, away from all the mass media trash, and find a way forward.

Below are a few of the ones that came out recently which I haven’t had time to blog about:

Dark Hope: Working for Peace in Israel and Palestine ; David Shulman.  Check out review here

Lord of the Land: The War for Israel’s Settlement in the Occupied Territories, 1967-2007 ; Idith Zertal 

Overcoming Zionism: Creating a Single Democratic State in Israel/Palestine; Joel Kovel

Actually, 2006 wasn’t bad either with Ilan Pappe’s book, Abunimah’s and Carter’s.  To me this is a sign that the truth about the Palestinian-Israeli conflict (for lack of a better term) is finally coming out into the mainstream.

Of course, knowledge is only the first step - action has to come next.

Yes!  I’ve finally found something interesting here! (Jazaks to the sis that forwarded this to me).

If you’re in the UAE, check out this intensive weekend seminar put on by Kalemah next weekend (Thur-Sat).

What is Kalemah?  Check out their site , this article and this thread.

If you’re a Muslim whose lived in the US/Ca, ur probably thinking what I’m thinking: that Kalemah ad reads an awful lot like Al Maghrib’s stuff!  It’s not as polished or high-tech, but if I were a betting gal I would bet a million dirhams that at least one of the Kalemah organizers is an Al-Maghrib junkie!

The seminar sounds interesting and I’d like to go and just check out what it’s all about.  If you have more info on who the speaker is, what the exact topic is or any more info about this whole project please leave a comment!

Jamal Juma’, The Electronic Intifada, 2 December 2007

Continue here

Let me start by saying that this post may be offensive to some although I don’t mean it to be.  I’d be happy to hear comments and criticisms but please, let’s keep it civilized (racist comments will not be published!).

 Ok, so tomorrow (Dec. 2nd) is the National Day of the United Arab Emirates.  This same day in 1971, there was an agreement signed announcing the unification of the individual emirates to form one country: the UAE.

National day has always been a big deal hear, and like in all other countries, a holiday and a day of festivities. 

I haven’t witnessed National Day in the UAE for the past 8 years, so maybe this is why I am shocked by the level of importance it is being given this year.

Even before National Day, Emaratis have been developing in the past couple of years campaigns and products to create (manufacture may be a better word) a sense of national identity.  You can imagine the difficulty of this task, since at least 80% of UAE residents (closer to 90% in Dubai) are not UAE-citizens (ie: are expats from all over the world). 

Since Sheikh Mo became the “President of Dubai” (as the One TV English evening news refers to him - a ridiculous title seeing that Dubai is not a country but a city), he has made a big deal of marketing himself, as well as Dubai and the UAE.  His photos are everywhere, and it’s not just him - it’s his son too.

Anyways, back to National Day.  I have to admit I am no fan of the UAE government: maybe it’s because of all the discrimination towards South-Asian labor (which I have to admit is slowly getting better), or maybe it’s the lack of a meaningful political role in the region…probably a combination of both factors and a few more.  So, I won’t be wearing the red, green, black and white tomorrow (colours of the UAE flag) . 

But I think what bothers me more is this huge focus on nationalism and national identity.  I guess there’s nothing wrong with celebrating national day, but back in the old days the main idea used to be celebrating the concept of unity.  That seems to have disappeared somehow and the holiday is now more of a chance for authorities to try and brainwash their few hundred thousand citizens into thinking their some special race of human beings. 

I may have become more sensitive to the issue of nationalism after my years in the US, where the focus in the Muslim community is about uniting as Muslims, not dividing as ethnicities.  Afterall, didn’t Islam come to abolish tribalism and encourage unity based on principles rather than blood?

What shocked me today was that even the faith-based volunteer organization I help out with every now and then, was making such a big deal about national day!  Why are we poisoning the minds of our children with the stupid concepts of nationalism instead of focusing on the big message of unity and brotherhood in humanity and in Islam?