A young Palestinian boy poses for my camera beside the occupation wall in East Jerusalem
At the time
of writing I am due to fly to Tel Aviv in 15 days. It was always my intention
to try to record at least some of my thoughts before my visit so as to aid the
reflections and the write ups I plan to do on my return. Though I didn’t expect
to be writing as early as this, given that the Israel/Palestine conflict has recently
burst back onto our screens, I think now is as good a time as any to explain my
thoughts and indeed fears before I go to live in the West Bank.
The 6’o’clock news has provided some uncomfortable viewing at home in the
last couple of days. In light of the apparent abduction and murder of three
Israeli teenagers in the West Bank, and not least the subsequent revenge
killing of a young Palestinian in the last week, the Western media has since
decided that tear gas tinted bulletins are back on the agenda.
For Mum there is no worse sight. Knowing that I’ll be living and working around these areas of tension for four weeks later this month has sent her imagination into overdrive, and of course that maternal nagging asking whether I’ll be safe is now a daily ritual. Ultimately, she asks, why do I have to go there of all places this summer?
For Mum there is no worse sight. Knowing that I’ll be living and working around these areas of tension for four weeks later this month has sent her imagination into overdrive, and of course that maternal nagging asking whether I’ll be safe is now a daily ritual. Ultimately, she asks, why do I have to go there of all places this summer?
But the latest events in Israel and the occupied territories, and
importantly how they have affected other mothers now grieving for their sons
have helped in articulating my answer to that
same question.
At the start of this week, a flurry of reports stated how tensions in
the West Bank were mounting since the discovery of the bodies of three Israeli
teenagers who had been abducted, shot and then buried in the village of Halhul.
Gilad Shaar and Naftali Frankel were both sixteen years old, Eyal Yifrach was
my age, nineteen years old. Their untimely deaths have since stoked a plethora
of different reactions amongst Israelis. On the one hand, we’ve seen somber
mourning at their joint funeral whilst at the other end of the reaction
spectrum, air strikes have rained down on Gaza since Sunday night.
Amidst the strong but somewhat predictable rhetoric of their Prime
Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, Israel as a nation has closed ranks in light of what
they perceive to have been a merciless attack on their people. Indeed, the
killings have provided Netanyahu with an open goal with which to undermine the
newly formed unity government between Fatah and Hamas in the Palestinian
Authority.
In effect, the atrocities committed by those believed to be associated with Hamas act as a vindication of the Israeli government’s rhetoric. The oft quoted assertion that Abbas and the moderate Fatah are cooperating with unpredictable and bloodthirsty terrorists is now presented as immediately more conceivable.
In effect, the atrocities committed by those believed to be associated with Hamas act as a vindication of the Israeli government’s rhetoric. The oft quoted assertion that Abbas and the moderate Fatah are cooperating with unpredictable and bloodthirsty terrorists is now presented as immediately more conceivable.
Entangled by his various pressure groups, not least an Israeli public
keen to see justice done, Netanyahu has himself tragically contributed to the
cyclical surge of violence in the West Bank and Gaza. The air strikes are only
one aspect of what seems to be a broader phenomenon of the collective
punishment of Palestinians by Israel. Alongside the rioting that is so
unfortunately familiar to the region, the IDF has this week continued its infamous
tactic of house demolition. Houses disappear, civil liberties are restrained
and lives are lost all for little more than simply being Palestinian. Human
empathy seems like a distant concept in the West Bank.
Horrible enough in itself, this broader theme of collective punishment
culminated in a more personal, tragic crescendo this morning. It has been
reported that a Palestinian boy, Mohamed Abu Khadair has been found dead in a
suspected revenge killing that has now added another worrying dimension to the
fraught situation. Khadair was, like some of the Israeli victims, only 16 years
old. What hope can there be for a region in which young boys like these are
used as pawns, tragically caught up in a cyclone
of nationalist paranoia and retribution?
Behind these harrowing stories, however, there lies a shred of humanity.
Responding to the suspected revenge killing, the uncle of Naftali Frenkel,
himself this week stricken with unimaginable grief has condemned the murder of
Khadair. His words reflect an oasis of calm and tremendous humility in a week
where ethnic and religious divisions have explicitly resurfaced:
‘’There is
no difference between (Arab) blood and (Jewish) blood. Murder is murder’’
Reading this made me think that for all the bluster on this week’s news,
behind the tear gas and the clunking of stone missiles, four mothers are waking
up this morning without their sons- an emotional bond so basic to our human
condition that no sentiment of nationalism or ethnicity could ever rival it. Grief
is universal and all pervading; it does not stop at arbitrary borders or
military checkpoints. People are mothers and sons before they are Arab or Jew.
So what do I tell my mum, a fifth mother, who unlike the others still
has her son? I tell her that I have travel insurance. I have the support of the
organisation I’ll be working with. Most of all, I have a plane ticket home. I
can leave the West Bank and the problems it faces. I can come back to my
peaceful Lancashire village and forget the burdens which all citizens of the
West Bank have to carry every day, not least at this moment of tension. Yet
where can fellow teenagers growing up in that region, like those found dead
this week, escape to? That is how I explain to my mum why I want to go
Whether I can ever really connect with the experience of people in the
West Bank is indeed doubtful, but this won’t stop me trying. If I can begin to understand even just a fragment of what it must be like to live in that most
unique of areas, then my trip will be worthwhile.
**This
entry was written before travelling to the West Bank. Reading this on my
return, I recognize the potential inadequacies and half stories in light of all
the insights I gained whilst away. However, it is included here as an example
of how my perspective may have changed when compared with later writing.**
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