The Security Wall: Part I

Okay, Okay. I know. It took me forever to update this. I apologize. The last 3 weeks have been rife with drama and intrigue, including a move into a much nicer apartment building, a nasty case of food poisoning, final exams, and a trip to Jordan.

So with that in mind, I need to catch y'all up on what's been happening here. Aside from the above list, one of the most notable events of the last month was our fellowship's tour of the security wall separating Israel from most of the West Bank--a highly controversial and deeply divisive issue.

As you may know, Jerusalem was hit by a wave of suicide bombings during the second intifada (the intifada, translated as "the shaking off," began almost exactly five years ago, and although it never officially ended, there is a de facto cease fire that has quelled the vast majority of the violence). In its campaign against the suicide bombings--which were, on many occasions, almost weekly events--Israel began building a long, contiguous fence to separate itself from the Palestinian territories, and to reduce the number of suicide bombers coming into Israel.

This, like all major policy decisions, was highly controversial. On one hand, by sealing itself off and ensuring that the only points of entry are through IDF-controlled checkpoints, the Israeli government made it markedly harder for would-be suicide bombers to carry out their missions. They can no longer slip across the border, stay in a halfway house in East Jerusalem, and get on a bus the next morning with a bomb. Because of the fence, which is 9 meters high at some points, anyone hoping to carry out a bombing would have to go to a designated checkpoint, present their papers to multiple IDF guards, explain why they're going into Israel, and have their bags searched for explosives. The number of successful suicide bombing attempts has fallen markedly since the fence went up (in conjunction with the gradual tapering off of the intifada).

On the other hand, though, is the fact that the fence oftentimes slices right through a village or neighborhood, cutting extended families off from each other and isolating workers from their jobs on the other side. The Palestinian economy has suffered greatly because of this, and many reports of clinical depression and other psychological difficulties have arisen from the fact that very few people are employed, most can barely afford basic amenities, and many are unable to see their families on the other side.

This, of course, begs the question of what is most important: safety and security, or the humanitarian issues that come from maintaining this security? Israel cannot stop suicide attacks based solely on intelligence and the intuition of bystanders who notice someone suspicious. The wall is, undoubtedly, serving its purpose, but is it creating other problems by solving the ones that have plagued the country for years? Or, on the other hand, are these new problems just not as grave as the ones that Israel faced during the intifada? If the less tangible humanitarian issues aren't as dire as suicide attacks, is the impetus to find a solution undercut by the "lesser of two evils" status?

Obviously, these aren't easy questions to answer. I've found that the more I think about it, the less I can claim to know what is right. I fully support Israel's need for security, and agree that the fence is doing a good job of bolstering the country's defenses against suicide bombers. I do think that the humanitarian issues are the lesser of two evils, but I also think that diminishing their importance risks inflaming the still-smoldering embers of the intifada. If these issues are ignored, Israel's indifference will send a message of "we really don't care" to the people whose anger they're trying to quell. If this happens, it seems quite clear that they'll blow up in everyone's face. But how do you address these issues without compromising the integrity of the fence itself? If you let someone through because she say it's her sister's birthday, do you believe her? If someone has a permit to work on the other side of the fence--but could very well spend the day sheltering and feeding aspiring suicide bombers--do you let him through? The whole thing is an ethical minefield.

Adding to the complexity of the issue is the government's plans for where the fence will be built next: in the West Bank areas surrounding Jerusalem. Since 1967, when the international borders were drawn between Israel and the Palestinian territories, both groups have been trying to block the expansion of their opponent. Many Orthodox and Messianic Jews have been establishing settlements in the West Bank, which they believe is rightfully theirs under God's decree. The settlements in the West Bank are essentially an attempt to make a major inroad into the land, thereby making it almost impossible to cut them off from mainland Israel--and thus annexing a major portion of the West Bank. However, the Palestinians are onto this scheme, and always build a village immediately adjcent to the settlement, thus making it impossible to incorporate the settlement without annexing the Arab village. To do so would vilify Israel in the eyes of the international community, and would likely provoke enough anger and political consequences to deter this course of action. But, like a chess board on a larger scale, each group builds practially on top of the other, so that it's physically impossible to incorporate one without annexing the other (or, vice versa, impossible to exclude one without cutting out the other).

The issue of the security wall, as you can tell, is deeply complex and profoundly loaded. As much as I try to hash through it, no options for compromise seem viable. Hopefully that will change someday, but the issues presented by the wall will likely be Israel's biggest challenge in the years to come.

The Shuk, Our Antiquated Stove, and the Politics of Reading a Newspaper

Against the advice of the university, I decided to go for a little schlep last weekend. You know what I'm talking about: strike out on my own for a day, try to navigate a foreign city by myself, see some sights, yadda yadda yadda.

I finally caved in and have decided that, at a quarter of the price of a cab, busses are worth the risk. I may wind up in tiny pieces, but at least I'll die with more assets in my bank account. So, after taking the bus down to Zion Square, I started wandering around Ben Yehuda Street--Jerusalem's main thoroughfare. The kitsch in the shops on Ben Yehuda, by the way, is ridiculous. Rife with cheap Judaica (we're talking mass-produced mezuzahs, yarmelukes, and shabbat candleholders being hawked by geriatric men with no teeth) Ben Yehuda is a tourist's dream. I'm planning on taking part in the kitch eventually, once I have a place to actually put it. Friends and family, be warned: you, too, might end up being the proud owner of a necklace or mezuzah that was glued together in a back alley.

I went from Ben Yehuda into the shuk, which is basically an alleyway filled with booths of fresh produce. For those of you who know how much I love food, I hit paydirt when I entered the shuk. This was, in every sense possible, the jackpot. I practically sprinted from booth to booth, buying carrots, pita bread, and basically anything I could see myself incorporating into a meal. It was totally different than anything I've experienced before: I've been to outdoor farmer's markets, but never ones that take up 8 city blocks and sell 6 plums for a dollar.

Granted, when I came home and tried to cook, our Cold War-era, Soviet-style stove proved defective once again by igniting the chicken that I was trying to saute. Swearing a blue streak while looking in horror at the foot-high flames shooting from the pan, I realized that the university never gave us a fire extinguisher. Hedging my bets and knowing that water was the only option for putting out the fire, I grabbed the handle--the only part of the pan that wasn't in flames--and threw it into the sink. Thankfully, even though you're never supposed to put water on an oil fire, it worked. However, there's no way I'm going to saute anything on that stove again. I swear, it's so old that Stalin practically pops out whenever we light the burner (which, yes, requires a lighter). One of these days I'm going to find the Red Army stirring my pasta.

Aside from cooking, one thing I miss--and yes, I know this makes me a terrible person--is Starbucks. (Insert sheepish, whoda-thunk look here.) They don't understand the concept of a venti latte here; coffee doesn't come in a cup any bigger than a Starbucks tall. Given my affinity for grande triple-shot soy lattes, the lack thereof hurts my soul. There's just something about reading the New York Times while sitting in Starbucks that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. So, for now, it'll have to be the International Herald Tribune while sitting outside the library.

However, the newspapers here do offer an incredible wealth of information. Ha'aretz, which is more liberal, and the Jerusalem Post, which is more hawkish, have covered recent events from very divergent perspectives. Just prior to the pullout from Gaza, JPost was emphasizing the opposition to the impending evacuation, while Ha'aretz was focusing on the good that will, hopefully, come from this policy. The pictures on their respective front pages said it all: JPost showed a massive protest in Rabin Square in Tel Aviv, while Ha'aretz showed Palestinians making Palestinian national flags to celebrate their first taste of autonomy. JPost, for its part, does an excellent job of illustrating the points made by the Likud party (the Israeli equivalent of the GOP), while Ha'aretz tends to be favored by supporters of the Labor party (counterpart to the American DNC). I've been trying to read both papers so I can form my own perspectives on Israeli and American foreign policies, and so far, I haven't departed from my usual stance: a staunch realist on foreign policy, and very much a liberal on domestic social policy. This may change as we work more with the IDF, but I suspect that opposing points of view will only reinforce the opinions I've already developed.

As for Hebrew, we've got two more weeks until the final exam, and we're sprinting to the finish: we have to cover 14 chapters in the next 10 days. I'm at the point where I can actually carry conversations in Hebrew, and have decided that I need to get over the fact that I sound ridiculous trying to do so, and start talking with Israelis. (Granted, these conversations are very basic and usually involve saying "I don't want to study Hebrew today.") We'll see how that goes. But hey, as the final death march to the end of Hebrew continues, if anyone feels compelled to send a box of Power Bars, my brain needs all the help it can get. Oy.

Hi, My Name's Racism. Have We Met?

Everyone knows that the Israelis and the Palestinians don't exactly have warm, fuzzy feelings for each other. Everyone knows that it extends to the larger Jewish and Arab communities, as well. So why was I so shocked to see the overt racism that marks almost every Arab-Jewish interaction here in Jerusalem?

Maybe it's the fact that even people who I know--and like--espouse this mindset. Maybe I thought people here would be a little more progressive. But when almost every interaction involving an Arab or a Muslim turns into an occasion for disparaging comments or outright discrimination, the pattern isn't hard to see.

"That Arab magazine showed a veiled woman with a baby," noted a friend of mine with disgust. "That's so wrong!" When I pointed out that a lot of American magazines show women with babies on the cover, she was only slightly less horrified. Later that day, I ran into some Muslim students. All my friends were eyeing them with suspicion, contempt or some combination thereof, and you'd think I'd just offered to do volunteer work for the Khmer Rouge when I said hello to them.

The most brazen example, though, happened on Thursday night: since Thursday is the beginning of the weekend, it's a big party night. I was out with a large group of friends consisting of American and British students, and two Arab students from France. We couldn't get into any bars, restaurants, or clubs. They'd wave us all through security, and then would physically block the Arab kids from entering. "You can't go in," I heard them say. They never said "no Arabs allowed," but it was embarassingly clear that this was their message. In this case, they make the argument that it's in the name of security. It's undeniable that the suicide bombings in Israel have all been carried out by Arabs, so an extra degree of scrutiny is warranted. If you were to search Arab patrons more extensively before letting them into a bar, that would be an acceptable tactic. But barring them entirely--especially when they're with a group of Americans and Brits--falls far short of the security argument.

It was like stories of the deep south before the Civil Rights movement: restaurants suddenly being "full" when black customers showed up; people not allowing patrons of color into any stores for no apparent reason. I was furious, as were my friends. Our Arab friends offered to just call it a night, knowing that they were considered problematic by every bouncer in the city. Thankfully, someone discreetly spoke with the manager of a nearby coffeehouse, and asked whether they could please be let in. To her credit, the manager was happy to oblige, and the evening was redeemed--but I was reeling for the rest of the night.

I have yet to become friends with any Arab or Muslim students, since there aren't many at the university. However, I'm trying to seek out students from other countries, as well as some of the few Muslim students, so I can try to get a wider picture of what's going on and how it fits in with the rest of the world. I'll be curious to see if the racism that is espoused in mainstream Israeli life is reflected in moderate, progressive Muslims as well. If it is, it can certainly be added to the long list of reasons why this conflict, unfortunately, will never be solved.