Posted in Palestine & Israel, tagged gaza, israel, palestine, rocket, sderot, shelter on April 28, 2011 | Leave a Comment »
Sderot in Israel (built over a former Arab village) and the Gaza Strip in the Occupied Palestinian Territories lie less than one kilometer from each other. Yet they differ. Here’s one look at how they differ, December 2010.
A movie by Skip Schiel and Teeksa Photography
Posted in Palestine & Israel, Photography, tagged airplane, ben gurion airport, eric yellin, flight, gaza, israel, nomika zion, palestine, rocket, sderot, shelter on February 26, 2011 | 2 Comments »
Excerpts from my journal during a recent 6 week journey to Gaza—now back home in the United States.
Today we say: ENOUGH! It is our turn to take our destiny into our own hands and to ACT to stop the cycle of bloodshed.
Other Voice is a grassroots group that has no political aspirations. We are citizens of the Sderot region and the Gaza region. We are interested in finding creative ways of hearing a new voice from the region and for promoting hope and non-violent actions for the benefit of the locals who live here in Sderot and in the Gaza Strip.
Other Voice includes diverse men and women from all political backgrounds, professions, and beliefs. We all agree that joint civil action is needed in order to create a new sustainable option for our lives in this region
—Other Voice
לחצו כאן לקריאת מכתב מקול אחר לראש ממשלת ישראל הקורא לסיום המצור על עזה
שמונה שנות קאסמים ועשרות ביקורים מתוקשרים של פוליטיקאים מכל המפלגות, קציני צה”ל בכירים מהעבר ומההווה ומציאות של חיים בצל האימה, ללא מיגון, ללא תוכנית ללא כיוון המלווים בהבטחות שווא, עוררו בתושבים רבים באזור הזה ספקות ותחושה שפשוט אין להם פתרון.
עד עכשיו ביקשנו, זעקנו, הפגנו, על מנת שיעשה משהו להפסיק את המציאות הלא נורמאלית בה אנו מנסים בכל כוחנו לקיים את השגרה.
כל רעיון צבאי, קטן כגדול נוסה במהלך השנים האלו. ללא הועיל. אנחנו יורים. הם יורים. אנחנו מגיבים הם מגיבים וחוזר חלילה במעגל אינסופי.היום אנחנו אומרים די! תורנו לקחת את גורלנו בידינו ולפעול להפסקת מעגל האימים.קול אחר הנה התארגנות אזרחית, לא פוליטית, של תושבים משדרות ועוטף עזה ושל תושבים מרצועת עזה המעוניינים לחשוב באופן יצירתי ולהשמיע קול חדש של תקווה תוך פעולה בלתי אלימה למען תושבי האזור כולו.
קול אחר כוללת אנשים מכל קשת הדעות. מגילאים, תחומי עיסוק, אמונות ורקעים שונים, כאשר הבסיס המשותף הוא ההבנה כי הפעולה האזרחית המשותפת נחוצה כעת על -מנת להוביל לשינוי אמיתי וארוך טווח.
אנו מזמינים את כל תושבי שדרות והאזור להצטרף אלינו ולהיות שותפים בהשמעת הקול האישי ושמיעת הקול האחר.
Sderot in Israel (built over a former Arab village) and the Gaza Strip in the Occupied Palestinian Territories lie less than one kilometer from each other. Yet they differ. Here’s one look at how they differ, December 2010.
January 1, 2011, Saturday, in an Air France Airbus, somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean
Working on my computer as long as the battery power lasts—current estimate is 2 hours, 31 minutes, which is almost the time remaining before landing in Boston after a very long flight—5 + hours Tel Aviv to Paris, short layover there, and another 7 or so home. It’s been a long day.
Not only the flight time but the prelude: Eric Yellin so generously drove me from Sderot to Ben Gurion airport, a 60 minute ride at 6:30 pm yesterday [December 31, 2010], then the evening and night at the airport, working on my next blog (about the buffer zone), sleeping or sort of sleeping on an unpadded single bench (nothing like the Paris airport with its cushy chairs) from about 11 pm to 3:30 am, morning chores, eat something, one hour for security, board the plane at 8 in the morning.
Ben Gurion airport, Tel Aviv
Near Tel Aviv
At the airport in the morning, after passing security, I relaxed and wrote friends who’d written me—Sue MC offering me an airport pickup, Rick, Elaine, Y earlier with news about her impending trip to Japan, notes about gigs, and the like—but didn’t take the time to complete the buffer zone blog I’d begun during the evening. Too bad—a fast wireless connection and the joy of writing about Israel-Palestine from Israel. I discovered the airport wifi system had blocked Ken O’Keefe sites (reporting from Gaza), also the International Solidarity Movement and others of that nature (but nothing of mine, suggesting how little impact I’m having).
So much for the minutia of my travels, a matter of grave concern to me and of little concern to the wider world.
About Sderot: Nomika Zion was too busy for the interview I’d requested. She was caught in a whirlwind of last minute, last of the year work—proposals and reports due, she claimed, at midnight last night, Dec 31, 2010. She also planned to attend the party at Eric’s.
Near Sderot
During the airport ride Eric asked me about my understanding of the situation and what might help. I began with the topic of providing security for all endangered people by building international institutions, including and most especially the international court system. We differ about BDS, Boycott, Divest, Sanction—he favors a selective approach, I the more general. Perhaps his mind is more nuanced than mine. I admire that, I think I tend to favor more extreme and conclusive views. Of course, being Israeli, living in Israel, he wishes for more understanding of the existential fear of annihilation many Israelis talk about. But he is also aware of how this fear is wrongly used to justify violence and oppression.
Sky over Sderot (from the ground)
We agree that one key to the solution is partnership, reconciliation, pairing, intimately knowing others from different sides and with divergent perspectives. By now I consider Eric and Nomika extraordinary friends of mine, unusual friends of mine, rare friends of mine. I think we respect each other deeply, I them for sure.
My interview of Eric on camera went very well. He is smart and articulate. I found a good site for the interview, his home with the street as background. I rested the camera on a food carton, moved it periodically. I asked him about Other Voice, the organization he cofounded to help people speak out with other views of what is happening in Israel and Palestine and about how he became who he is. Also the effects on local people of Operation Cast Lead, the devastating Israeli assault on Gaza from December 27, 2008 to January 21, 2009. He concurred with what I’d learned on my previous trip that the trauma in Sderot is widespread. On a long walk I made earlier into the town center, I’d photographed numerous protected rooms under construction in apartment buildings. Each floor gets one small room with thick walls and steel plate window shutters. Eric had told me about this, costing the Israeli government millions of shekels, perhaps much of that part of US aid to Israel, and anticipated my question about whether they were actually needed by telling me about the gas masks. When the government required these, people were skeptical, and then Iraq fired missiles in 1990. The construction of bomb/rocket shelters also, I believe, anticipated the later rocket attacks.
My walk was generated in part to see and photograph the safe rooms, in part to feel better the life of Sderotians, and in large part to find the ultimate falafel. Nomika had told me some of the best are found in Sderot. I’m not sure I ate what she meant, but what I ate—along with a much needed and appreciated beer (no beer for Skip in 6 weeks living in Gaza)—was excellent, muntaz.
On the airport ride he also told me about helping some Gazan families stuck at Erez as they entered with much luggage. The passport woman treated them poorly, yelling and demanding they limit what they brought in to 2 parcels. When Eric tried to intervene she called 2 men with big guns. Later he set up an interview with the commander and explained the situation. The commander apologized and agreed to try to humanize procedures.
Gaza to Sderot is night into day, day into night. Radically different, and yet both are aspects of the human. Few stare at me in Sderot, I’m not worried much about attacks from external or internal forces, I can drink the tap water, flush toilet paper, appreciate the greenery, ride the regularly scheduled public transport. But I can’t speak the language, can’t find a city map in English, can’t feel bonded with the people as I do in Gaza. Night and day, day into night.
Boston
JOURNAL ENTRIES TO BE CONTINUED
LINKS
Israel’s Lonesome Doves by Tim McGirk / Sderot, Jan. 21, 2009
Gaza and Sderot, Moving from Crisis to Sustainability
“Sderot conference hosts Gaza residents” by Hanan Greenberg
“War Diary from Sderot,” by Nomika Zion
Posted in Love, Palestine & Israel, Photography, tagged eric yellin, gaza, israel, nomika zion, palestine, sderot on January 27, 2011 | 1 Comment »
Rocket shelter in a playground
December 31, 2010, Friday, Sderot Israel, Nomika Zion’s home-part one
…And right action is freedom
From past and future also.
For most of us, this is the aim
Never here to be realised;
Who are only undefeated
Because we have gone on trying…—T. S. Elliot, “The Dry Salvages”
Once again in Sderot, with friends Eric Yellin and Nomika Zion, overnight, dinner with Eric and family, lots of conversation with Nomika and Eric, deep and satisfying.
Passage thru the Erez crossing into Israel was relatively easy, except for the mess inspectors made of my luggage. They spilled out everything that I’d carefully sorted and packed. I will now need to redo the packing today before heading to the airport with Eric later. Why complain? They confiscated nothing, so I’ve safely leaped the first of 2 security hurtles on my way home, Erez and then the airport, all photo and video files intact, at least as far as I know.
I went thru with a young woman from the UK working with Oxfam and a man who appeared Palestinian. Waiting to enter Gaza was what looked like a large extended Gazan family. Nomika said she’d heard that Israel allows more Palestinians to pass. Is this part of the easing of restrictions after the humanitarian aid ship convoy debacle of May 31, 2010? Palestinian security, aka Hamas, was not a problem either, altho I’ve heard that some Palestinians who’ve left Gaza to meet with Israelis are questioned by Palestinian security upon entrance. Collaboration is a major problem.
A quiet period in Sderot: Eric reports that altho there have been hundreds of rocket attacks on Israel since Operation Cast Lead [the brutal Israeli bombardment and invasion of the entire Gaza Strip for 22 days beginning on December 27, 2008, Gaza’s Day of Infamy], killing one worker from Thailand, and numerous violent and often lethal confrontations along the border, Sderot itself has suffered minimal attacks since Cast Lead. However, residents experience continuing anxiety about the resumption of those Qassam rocket attacks and by Israel on Gaza. While discussing this he received a robo call about exchanging gas masks. All are required to store masks in their homes. They are periodically collected, cleaned, and returned.
Rocket shelters
Now snippets of the rich conversation I’ve had with both:
Nomika, busy at the end of the year with proposals and reports, was horrified at some of my stories. The buffer zone—why did you go there? she asked, and risk your life?
To support Palestinians afflicted by the buffer zone.
The Samouni family. [massacred by the Israeli army during Cast Lead]! You actually met them? Please show me some photos.
What do you do in Gaza?
I teach photography and make photos.
Teach to whom?
Young adults.
Can you show me some photos of them?
She also requested links to an English translation of the Gaza youth manifesto that she’s read in Hebrew. Plus the video showing the bullet whizzing by the International Solidarity Movement and Palestinians in the buffer zone. And she’s heard of the Qattan Center for the Child and its director, Reem Abu Jabber, and requested a photo.
Photo courtesy of Nomika Zion
She was amazed when someone had earlier reported the presence of fancy hotels in Gaza. That life continues, that a few people are rich, that goods and services are available to some, while highly restricted to most because of rampant poverty. She bemoaned the practices of Hamas, especially—I would assume, knowing what a powerful woman she is—stricken by the treatment of women in Gaza.
She confirmed what I’ve been reading about Israel tending toward fascism, and certainly becoming more openly racist. She recently completed a series of meetings or workshops about the Nakba [Palestinian catastrophe coincident with the formation of the Israeli state] provided by Zochrot, and either did or soon will visit a destroyed Arab village. She also confirmed the growing suspicion among Israelis that another attack on Gaza is imminent. I’ve reported that one major finding in Gaza is the widespread fear of another attack, and this one more ruinous than Cast Lead—the final solution?
Ah, one of the intrigues in this Palestine/Israel dynamic is mirroring (along with symmetry: radical Palestinians and radical Jews, both right radical as with Hamas and some settlers, and left radical as with the Palestinian Popular committees of resistance and people like Eric and Nomika and the organization he co-founded which seeks reconciliation with justice, Other Voice). Mirroring is the phenomenon of Jews treating Palestinians like Nazi’s treated Jews, using some of the same techniques. Ethnic cleansing as a form of genocide. Cast Lead as a form of pogrom. Checkpoint harassment as a form of ghetto treatment. And the separation wall as a ghetto wall.
No doubt many Jews would be sensitive to the claim that they’re acting like Nazis. Too close, and, in some cases, too true. Of course there is no comparison in numbers: 6 million Jews annihilated by Nazi’s, vs. upwards of 5,000 Palestinians killed since the Second Intifada or Uprising began in 2000.
Another mirroring phenomenon might be Jews using the Jewish holocaust to justify the treatment of Palestinians, as Germans used the outcome of World War 1 to justify their militarization and as they used selected incidents related to Jews and Jewishness to justify The Final Solution. With many differences obviously, important ones.
Altho she was busy with her work—her main job is with the Center for Social Justice in the Van Leer Institute based in Jerusalem—she’s made time for me, and not begrudgingly or only slimly so. Ample time for conversation, heated and deep conversation. She is a woman of passion and conviction. Asking her again why she is different from many other Israelis, her first response was, I’m asked that a lot. When I mentioned Eric’s answer related to his family upbringing, she nodded yes, true with me also. She added, I’m afraid of the alternative, which is to become blind and numb to other people’s suffering. She comes from a strong left Zionist family, her grandfather one of the founders of an early radical left Zionist movement in Israel.
Nomika is single, has said nothing about children altho some of her walls display child-made art. I’ve not seen photos of her with kids. She is a connoisseur of art including some of my favorites like Monet and Egon Schiele. She is elegant in clothing, home, speech, and being. A woman of majesty and mystery. I’d love to know her better, her history, her destiny. I am gifted by her willingness to receive me and be one of my friends in Israel. I believe we support each other.
Eric Yellin
Eric: a casual sort of fellow, with a strong dedication to justice thru partnering. Also able to nuance dynamics and give a well reasoned, fair-to-many-different-views analysis. For instance, Zionist and anti Zionism. When I told him about the International Jewish Anti Zionist Network (IJAN) conference that I attended last summer in Detroit, he offered this: if Zionism means the right of Jews to a safe homeland, I’m a Zionist. If it means a homeland that disregards the rights of others living there, I’m an anti Zionist. And about BDS, Boycott, Divest, Sanction, I see how blanket condemnation of all things Israeli cuts off many avenues for reconciliation and justice. For instance, many of the people I work with in Other Voice are Israeli academics. A full academic boycott would prevent meetings with them.
Eric and Other Voice are planning a conference called Gaza and Sderot, Moving from Crisis to Sustainability. To be held February 14 – 17, 2011 in Sderot. A local progressive-leaning college, Sapir, will host it. One of Eric’s main directions is linking people so he is attempting to get permits for Gazans to enter Israel and take part in the conference. The organization invited Dr. Eyad Serraj, founder and director of the Gaza Community Mental Health Program, who replied that he supports the conference but because of the academic boycott can’t participate. John Ging, retiring director of the UN Relief and Works Agency in Gaza, has agreed to appear—Nomika told me that she admires him as does Eric, and he’s been several times to Sderot giving lectures. She hosted him for a large meeting in her home.
Eric is not sure yet about conference funding, which would determine whether they could bring international presenters. He asked me for suggestions. Friends of the Earth Middle East was one of my suggestions because one theme of the conference will be the environment and FoEME seems to have lots of money. Also the Open Society Foundation founded and funded by George Soros. I promised to think further about this matter and to promote the conference. I wish I could attend.
As I wrote earlier, Eric’s family background is liberal. He lived in the United States until age 5, then in Israel, then one teen year in the States before finally moving to Israel permanently. He married an Israeli whose grandparents, he told me, left Poland in the 1930′s when the Nazi party started gaining power. All family that remained perished. He added, I believe most of my liberal education came from the kibbutz education and upbringing.
He and his wife have 3 sons. During our meal together last night (with food we picked up from the community kitchen—Eric reports their urban kibbutz is doing well, Nomika was one of the founders) we discussed a recent youth program journey to Poland by the eldest son, Yuval. Yes, we were told to be worried about what others might do to us because we are Jews, but it was not an extreme scare (I mentioned the movie Defamation, which Eric had seen). And while at the death camps we were instructed to believe never again, not only to Jews but never again to anyone.
This son is also taking part in optional physical training, a sort of preparation for the military. Eric told me his son is willing to become a soldier, probably would prefer an elite combat unit, succumbing to the temptations so irresistible to youth that age—I remember my impulses at that stage well—but that he might be more moderate because of sharing most of Eric’s political views. The 2 young sons, twins, were returning from football practice. All were very engaged in our conversation. My credential of having visited Gaza might have provided incentive for their interest in me.
Shelter and bus stop
I ventured that the son’s experience of Auschwitz was probably much different from mine. He would identify with the Jewish victims, I with the Nazi German perpetrators. I thought hard about revealing one of my major discoveries of not only my visit to the death center but generally: that with my German and Austrian heritage I could have been a Nazi perpetrator. Had I been born 10 years earlier and in Germany I might well have been seduced by Nazi ideology and thought working in the camps not only tolerable but noble. Kill the Jews! I stated some of this, and I believe I was respectfully heard.
Eric, despite a veneer of casualness and distance, is very generous. Not only did he volunteer to repair my ailing power unit for my Apple computer—it failed yesterday at the Gaza Quaker office, as I was completing what I could of transferring files. I smelled smoke, thought first one of the office appliances had malfunctioned, then realized to my horror my cord had burned finally thru, the cord I’d worried about during my entire trip, finally and perhaps permanently. No more power once I drain the battery—but he offered to drive me this evening to the airport, a ride of about 1 hour each way, this the last day of the year, a party at his home looming in front of him with all the preparations necessary. This will save me some hours waiting in the airport. Earlier he’d contemplated driving me in the early morning tomorrow so I could arrive by 5 for my 8 am flight. Remembering the party and the drinking, he wisely changed his mind.
We’d considered other transport, bus and train. Because of the Sabbath beginning today at sunset, all public transport stops. Where else but in Israel? I love being here, despite the problems it creates for me.
He succeeded in the repair, for now. I have power. For how long I’m not sure, enough to travel home? I could use the computer tonight at the airport as I sit trying to get thru the long night.
The powers provide, when called, sometimes. Eric and Nomika are angels. I mark their friendship as a vital part of my long-term journey to the region.
TO BE CONTINUED
LINKS
The Center for Social Justice in The Van Leer Jerusalem Institute
Gaza and Sderot, Moving from Crisis to Sustainability
“Sderot conference hosts Gaza residents” by Hanan Greenberg
“War Diary from Sderot,” by Nomika Zion
Whizzing bullet video with Kevin O’Keefe
Zochrot (in Hebrew and English)
Posted in Palestine & Israel, Photography, tagged baton rouge, gulf coast, israel, louisiana, middle passage pilgrimage, palestine, photograph, Photography, quakers, schiel, sderot, slide show, slidell, south, teeksa, tour, veterans' on December 10, 2009 | Leave a Comment »
Excerpts from my journal while touring the southern United States with new photographs and stories. The main shows are Gaza Steadfast, Bethlehem the Holy, The Hydropolitics of Palestine/Israel, and Quakers in Palestine/Israel. (I’ve completed the tour and I’m now happily at home in Cambridge Massachusetts for the foreseeable future.)
November 8, 2009, Sunday, Slidell LA, home of L, in the dining room:
Some confusion about the remaining big plan: which of the few remaining gigs are confirmed, where will I stay at night, what will be the transport? Last night’s show scheduled for a church in Biloxi MS had to be shifted to the home of one of the organizers, G, because someone had slipped and not actually booked the church—so we couldn’t get in. The afternoon Hydropolitics show was in a classroom on a nearly empty campus—so few attended. In short: dismal times.
Partly this seems to reflect the political climate here, sodden, conservative, quiet, at least in the region of the Gulf Coast other than New Orleans itself (which is said to be highly politically active). As one man said, the Egyptian at my Gaza Satori coffee house show (which was well attended), there is no one to argue with here, dead.
I respond: so what? One of the main reasons Dave and I chose to move into this zone was exactly its relative backwardness compared with other parts of the country. Backward only in the sense of awareness and involvement in progressive politics.
Surprisingly I’m not worried. I trust that good things will eventually happen. Church locked? Use someone’s home. Few upcoming gigs? Use the time to explore New Orleans and Birmingham. No housing around the time of Birmingham? Use Couch Surfers and Hospitality Club [2on line systems for finding hospitality worldwide, I used it in Israel] to find alternative housing in that area. Worst case is perhaps shift to Atlanta and reside in the Japanese Buddhist dojo and join the immigrants’ rights march, or ship myself home early. I have choices.
At the end of this road is the prospect of a full month of relaxation and concentrated photo work. December: enjoy the onset of winter, plunge into processing the photos from the summer, maintain blog and website, visit family, perhaps establish a deeper friendship with a few good souls, put together a New England tour, and photograph in New England.
About hurricane damage, the aftermath of Katrina, I’ve noticed open land where buildings once stood, foundations, building relics, and other markers of habitation. The Long Beach Mississippi University of Southern Mississippi Gulf Coast Campus for instance. Driving in past boarded up buildings my impression was of dereliction. Abandonment. Loss and no recovery. Driving further, following signs for “Event parking,” we entered the renovated part of the campus. I learned from an English prof there that the university is slowly rebuilding, from the back of the campus to the front, in part using insurance money.
Casinos seem to have been rapidly rebuilt, altho some construction was frozen because of the economic crunch. Workers have removed the tons of sand blown in by the storm. In places they were distributing new sand to reconstitute the beaches. Oddly, in most parts of the beach we drove along between Ocean Springs and Gulfport few people were on the beach, only one or 2 in the water.
Our Middle Passage Pilgrimage in November 1998, about this time of year, had walked along this stretch. I believe I spotted the Lutheran church were we resided, and I noticed the beach area where we’d stopped for prayer in a circle, which I’d photographed. Later I’d like to check my records to determine the exact route, and to read what I may have written about my experience on the way to New Orleans and eventual departure from the pilgrimage to construct my own.
My Slidell Louisiana host, L, is the only person that I’ve queried about knowing about the Middle Passage Pilgrimage that actually remembers it. She attended a church event on the topic, but did not herself participate. She thinks we headquartered in the Unitarian Universalist church in New Orleans. I might check that when I’m there.
To meet the threats posed by violent storms, buildings now must be built on stilts, at least the residential buildings. I’m not sure what changes in building codes have been instituted for large buildings. Sitting square and huge along the water I muse about their vulnerability.
Slidell Louisiana
Unfortunately photographing this is tough. In a car, whisked from spot to post, by friendly hosts, I’m not able to walk, find vantage points, consider the light, and make decent photos. And since so much seems viewable from ground level, I float the thought that to photograph this topic well—aftermath of Katrina—a helicopter might be a useful tool.
About the folks hosting me: D and D, exceptionally kind and thoughtful, my every need considered, jewels of humanity. Initially meeting in high school, they now seem utterly compatible. They’ve strewn their tables with unfinished projects. D showed me his garage with wood tools he’s not used in 3 years. His computer books are all out of date. Before retirement he worked as a chemist, she a secretary. I love them and hope to know them better on my next trip. They appreciated my work, invited me back.
My main host, G, aging, falling asleep at odd moments (said to fall asleep while on the internet), hunched over because of back problems, lost his wife recently, her 4th marriage (widowed twice). Dave thinks he’s a good organizer but judging from the turnout maybe not.
Another host, L, about my age, speaking very slowly with a southern accent, lives alone with her cat in a house that resembles that of someone living inches above the poverty line in the early 20th century—lace, old fashioned furniture, thin rugs, spare kitchen. But she rallied, met me in Gulfport, drove me to her home, is hosting me for 2 nights. Her part time job is shelving books and she complained about once being married to the “world’s worst husband.’
No wireless Internet where I’m staying in Slidell with L, but I can use her computer. Once again I’m handicapped—but not for long
November 9, 2009, Monday, Slidell LA, home of L, in the dining room:
I found this powerful poem that I’m now using as my footer.
A thunderclap under the clear blue sky
All beings on earth open their eyes;
Everything under heaven bows together;
Mount Sumeru leaps up and dances.
—Yuelin Shiguan
Being close to the traditional Veterans’ day, which I thought was either the first or second Tues in November (the first was election day, does this replace Vets’ day?) yesterday, a Sunday, I happened upon a parade thru the center of Slidell which included lots of vets, lots of Junior ROTC marchers, and one armored personnel carrier manufactured locally at Textron. I’d been out walking, surveying this somewhat dismal town—observing the Amtrak station (which if I’m lucky I might pass while on an Amtrak bound for Birmingham), noticing a small internet café at the station that I might have used had I known about it, the town’s center and in it a church with a huge attendance, L’s neighborhood consisting mostly of one story, flat housing, much of it looking ramshackle, hardly able to stand up against floods and winds, a park along a bayou, missing trees in its midsection (L explained that Katrina had destroyed many trees and most would probably not be replaced), another park with a name like Hound or Pig Hollow, many small closed antique and boutique shops, a few other people out walking, plenty of cars, and a few other points of interest.
I photographed houses set about 8 ft up on stilts, learned from L that many of them have been raised to offer some protection from flooding. A few abandoned houses. Not much to photograph. Until finding the parade. Then, how to show it compassionately? The announcer repeatedly called for the crowd to “put your hands together and honor…,” a Korean war vet, a major who’d made some contribution, performing cheer leaders, a marching band, etc. All American, and I’m on the outside. I don’t hate this exhibition of militaristic fervor but I find it repellant. To the point of imagining a conversation between me and someone who’d noticed I wasn’t “putting my hands together.”
I might respond: I’m with you on honoring courage and dedication, trying to act effectively for what one believes. I have to question the belief, the objective of the action. Is using violence to resolve conflict smart? How many innocents are injured and killed when military action is taken, what is the long-term achievement of using the military, and what are the hidden costs such as post traumatic stress disorder?
The person might pop me one as a weakling or supporter of terrorism, or might say, well, I’ve never thought about that. Let’s go somewhere after the parade for coffee and conversation.
I discovered the Ali Baba café, serving Mideast food. Tasty but slow, a gracious overworked owner, very dark skinned with a wide smile. The shelves were spotted with a few Mideast foods but empty space predominated over filled space, lending the appearance of either a start up business or one that is not exactly thriving.
Sunday was an off day, I hope not one in a growing string of off days—no gigs. I had time to edit and post on YouTube my first video of the tour, made while cruising thru a hilly golf course on my comfort bike in Miami while talking to myself, barely hearable over the wind noise. I’m curious about responses to this video, whether some might find it stupid and pointless, others innovative and courageous. Is it deep or is it a trifle? It surely was fun to make and about as fun to post.
Looking at my YouTube viewing numbers I discovered that a Walk Around Ramallah was most viewed, with over 1500 or so viewings, while some others like the workout in Portland gathered only about 60 or so views. The ratings, when people stopped to rate, were generally good.
A few more observations about my host, L. She seems to live alone, not only in her house, but in her community, rarely referring to anyone or any community. She has habits like every morning eating instant oatmeal, eating while sitting on a beach chair at the dining room table with her legs up reading the morning paper and cuddling her cat. She is very helpful and thoughtful, which I appreciate, and she likes my photos, to the extent that she volunteered to put some on her Facebook page. This may be her true community, Facebook.
I gave her a 5 by 7 of her choice, she had sharply observed remarks to make about some that almost made the cut (I’d offered one free), asked me to photograph her for Facebook, asked if I’d be her friend on Facebook, and is now trying to find me housing in New Orleans thru a friend.
Anne R is circulating a doc entitled GLOBAL ACTIONS TO END ISRAEL’S OCCUPATION, which has her mark on it. It lists various organizations and other initiatives that suggest the efficacy of Boycott-Divest-Sanction, BDS High on the list is Veolia Transportation, the company that presumably pulled out from its contract proving light rail service to Israeli settlements, running thru Palestinian territory. I’ll have to thank her for this and I’ll consider sending it to my list.
Hurricane Ida is approaching, how will this effect my plans, and what will it do to the land and people?
November 11, 2009, Wednesday, Baton Rouge LA, home of Joey and M, in their living room:
Mississippi River, Baton Rouge Louisiana
A tour of Baton Rouge with the ever hospitable M, dinner with him and his wife at home, a minor revision of Gaza, and finally contacting my New Orleans host—that about makes up my day yesterday. Not the most exciting day of the trip, but adequate.
The Mississippi river runs thru Baton Rouge (red stick, supposedly from a red stick that native people placed along the river to designate the spot), and because of the levee the river is hard to see unless one is on the levee or a bridge. A railroad line runs along the levee, past a station converted to a museum. The city built a walkway, much used at sunset yesterday when m and I promenaded along the levee and tracks. Here I made a panoramic of setting sun, opposite shore, bridge, and perhaps a few walkers. We tried gaining perspective for photos by driving as slowly as possible across the new and the old bridges, without much luck. I believe I was able to show some of the numerous refineries along the river. I believe this stretch of the river is called Chemical Alley because of all refineries.
On the Baton Rouge levee (click for an enlargement)
We also visited the government complex along the lake, centered on a tall building of about 30 stories built in the 1930s by Huey Long. He was assassinated in the main hall. The lake was gorgeous, and the grounds included an Indian mound thought to be a sacred or leadership site, a rose garden with odorless depleted roses, egrets, and the old powder magazine left over from a fort. Inside the magazine a museum explaining the history of Baton Rouge and exactly what a powder magazine is.
We cruised thru various sorts of neighborhoods, including ones inhabited by black Americans. These are spotted throughout the city and are remnants of pockets of Blacks who lived near plantations, if I understand M correctly. There is also a larger concentration of Black people elsewhere. Unlike Slidell, there has not been a permanent immigration of Katrina survivors. Some moved here temporarily and then returned to New Orleans or moved elsewhere.
M treated me to a catfish lunch at a well-known restaurant opened by a former football player, now a sort of chain in Louisiana. Good food but obsequious service. The aging “server,” Desiree, used most of the endearment terms in the book: dear, hon, honey, sweetie, love, baby… and we’d just met! M quipped that such terms in English often relate to sweet food, whereas in Arabic, the multipurpose word habibi, the terms are more focused on relationship. Habibi can range from dearest one to friend, and might even be a sort of imperative, as in HABIBI, come here!
The downtown, altho initially appearing decayed to me, is in fact, M explained, being rejuvenated. This is due to a governmental initiative to relocate government offices to the central city. as Chicago reawaked its downtown by siting colleges there, thus drawing ancillary service organizations and people, Baton Rouge appears to have done this thru legislation—a mark of good government?
Weather was warm and moist, with manifold sky creatures zooming about, mostly cumulous. M complained about the year-round heat and mosquitoes, using this to explain his lack of exercise.
The remark about Sderot from someone in the audience at the Baton Rouge show prompted a slight revision of Gaza. Indeed, I learned that Sderot is built on Palestinian land, the cleansed village of Nadj in 1951, and might have been founded to define Israel territory—another fact on the ground. It also housed refugees from North Africa, Kurdistan, Persian and other regions, so it is a town of immigrants. Unfortunately I couldn’t find any visuals to illustrate the idea of worldwide Jewish and Christian attention to the town when attacked by Gazan rockets, contrasting with the minimal attention to Gaza itself and the suffering Israel caused.
J and M have lived in this house more than 30 years, raising all their children here for at least part of the children’s lives. M and J speak of moving to Damascus, his original home, claiming that at least one child wishes to move with them. But as J, from the US, added, he’s been talking about this for 40 years. I note that I am one of the few people I know not beset by bi-regionalism. With no desire to return to the Chicago area, my original home. Perfectly content to live out my remaining hours, days, weeks, months, years in New England, if not the Boston area, if not Cambridge, if not 9 Sacramento St.
Refinery, Baton Rouge
And my New Orleans host, JS, finally emailed me, claiming he’d had the flu and was busy. He assures me of hospitality for one night, I remain presently an artist without a home for the remaining few days in New Orleans. Ditto for Birmingham. Slouching toward Atlanta where in about 12 days I board the train home. Can’t wait, not so much for this journey to finish but to be home and in my expanded December zone of work work work, with family, friends, Quakers, land all mixed in.
H wrote in response to my first video, about bicycling around a fancy South Miami golf course:
The subject says it all… this is surreal… a contrast to Gaza perhaps?… maybe an ‘opposite sketch’?… maybe you are……… ???
And from me:
all [of what you wrote] seems correct: surreal, Gaza, “opposite sketch,” and … mainly just having fun, playing, momentarily in the land of the rich. you are very perceptive.
LINKS:
Interfaith Pilgrimage of the Middle Passage: “The Modern Dance of Imperialism,” by Teresa Williams
A Spirit People: One View of the Interfaith Pilgrimage of the Middle Passage, photos of the pilgrimage by Skip Schiel
Global Actions to End Israeli’s Occupation (mostly using Boycott-Divestment-Sanctions, BDS—thanks to Anne Remley and QuakerPI.org)
Posted in Light, Palestine & Israel, Photography, tagged blog, bomb shelter, edward kennedy, gaza, israell, levant, palestine, palestinian, Photography, rocket, schiel, sderot, siege, skip schiel, teeksa on August 29, 2009 | 5 Comments »
Gaza
Sderot
Excerpts from my journal during a three month journey of photographic discovery in the Land of Troubles
Photos
August 27 & 28, 2009, Thursday & Friday, Sderot, Israel, in the home of Nomika Zion & Jaffa, Israel, on the roof of the Old Jaffa Hostel:
Yes, arrived in Israel. With much to show and tell. But first a dream, particularly powerful last night:
In one I was watching a movie in which a young man had tragically died, his family in grief. They either extracted him from the grave or were bringing him home for burial. I knew it was a film and I became very critical of the veracity of it when I saw the dead man, naked, scratch himself. What a cheap shot, I thought. And then he moved again so it became clear the intent was to show he was not dead at all. The family was amazed. Either a resurrection or a case of mistaken death.
The course of yesterday’s events unfolded in mysterious and heavenly ways. First the leave taking at the Quaker Palestine Youth Program office, a gift of my girl in hospital photo to the staff, clearing up the pay question at Al Aqsa (if I send them my bank info they promise a bank transfer of $300, this after I thought Mohammed had said no money available), waiting for Islam to finish the DVD writing of the Popular Achievement movie and my backed up photos, waiting for the taxi which I thought would be driven by the crazy and irrepressible Awni (it wasn’t, damn, someone new, without the chutzpah of Awni), final packing, bye to Hassen the building owner, then ride with Mosab, a quiet Mosab, to Erez. Rolling my black hard plastic luggage over all the gravel, rejecting an offer from one of the porters, this time unwisely, I ruined one wheel. I’ll probably have to replace the luggage or find a way to repair it or live with it till home.
Erez was fairly easy this time, the staff more polite than I recall from before. The same body X-ray device with the whirling doors, the same thorough scanning of all luggage, the same opening of most of my luggage to hand inspect—I watched them, they seemed nonchalant, didn’t look thru everything, didn’t seem to care, no one asked any questions, I probably could have brought the video tapes Raghda had asked me to bring to her brother in Ramallah—, the same series of gates and pens, and the same final stamp in my passport, “Erez.” And I’m in another world.
Gaza—on the way to Erez crossing point to Israel
Sderot, Israel
Eric Yellin, the founder of Other Voice, from Sderot, met me; we drove the 3 km or so to Sderot and there the fantastical experience began. The distance is so small, the situation so different that I gasped. Luckily I could process this with Eric who delighted in showing me around the town. He took me to several hills overlooking Gaza where we could see Beit Hanoun, Beit Lahiya, Jabalia, and Gaza City itself, places I’ve visited and photographed and heard stories about, places where I’ve met people affected by policies of Israel and supported by many in Sderot. Not supported by Eric however, or his colleague in Other Voice, Nomika Zion, in whose home I slept last night, where I’m writing now.
On the 2nd of two hill visits the sun was setting. As I photographed, using my long lens, we heard the muezzin call everyone to prayer; everyone in Gaza was at this moment sitting down to break the fast, the Iftar, just as I’d done with the Popeye crew on the previous 2 evenings, and with Mohammed and family in Jabalia camp on the first night of Ramadan. Behind us was a reservoir of about 100 meters across, round and lined, with the water level down by about 10 meters. Eric explained that this had an illustrious history, attacked by Arabs during the early days of Israel, another case of historic hydropolitics.
Gaza from Sderot
Jabalia from Sderot
Jabalia, The Gaza Strip, in the distance, water reservoir in the foreground
Comparing Gaza with Sderot (some features are a result of the occupation, some are cultural and religious differences): Sderot residents are free to go anywhere in the world, if they have the necessary means (many are impoverished, recent immigrants themselves, and those holding Israeli passports, including Israeli Palestinians, cannot enter many Arab countries). Building materials are plentiful (if they can be afforded) so the damage from rocket attacks can be swiftly repaired (I saw no damage, did see ongoing construction of safe rooms.) The Internet is faster than anywhere else in this trip’s experience, and twice I’ve found free neighborhood networks to use. I can wear shorts outside during the day and drink beer and other alcoholic beverages. Malls. Larger cars. Elegant homes. Grassy expanses, trees, well tended palms. Fairly equal women’s rights. Good educational system. Drinkable water out of the tap. On and on. But, I wonder, how do people deal with cognitive dissonance, if any—the gap between the fiction of much of the conventional Israeli narrative and the truth of the suffering of the Palestinians, largely at the design of the Israeli government, voted into power by its citizens, in the “only true democracy in the Middle East.”
Fear is similar (and could unite the two populations). Gazans obviously live in constant dread of more attacks, and suffer from their loss of freedom and the continuation of the siege—these are defining elements in Gazan experience. For Sderotians they also fear: the renewal of rocket attacks, bigger and more accurate rockets. Altho the city of 22,000 has provided much shelter—this could be an entire story in itself: safe rooms added on to older houses, the requirement of a safe room beginning in 1990 during the first Iraq war, sealable against gas attacks, concrete walls some 1 meter thick in all new construction, the varieties of street shelters, protective roofs over existing buildings like schools, complete rebuilding of some structures like some schools to be rocket proof, for some instances—and at large cost (many donations came in from people around the world), no one can predict whether attacks will resume and if they do what will be fired next.
One style of rocket shelter
Protected high school
This might be compared to a more universal fear of nuclear holocaust—or catastrophic climate change, or a total and uncorrectable economic collapse—but it is more immediate. The rockets have affected everyone. Eric was at an intersection about 50 meters from a rocket that struck a car instantaneously killing its female passenger. Nomika told me about a rocket hitting a home near her, demolishing a major portion of it. I forget the exact figures but something like 8 people have died in the last 8 or so years, with many injuries. Wikipedia claims: [Rockets] have killed 13 residents, wounded hundreds, caused millions of dollars in damage, and disrupted daily life as well as the local economy. No rockets since May 19, 2009. But the degree and type of fear these attacks induce can’t be quantified. It is significant.
Nomika described for me two cases of women, both with children, whose fear piled up so high that suddenly both decided, separately, to flee. Eric estimates about 5,000 residents left during the recent assault, some now returning. That’s 20% of the population. Furthermore, those leaving, Nomika told me, were the “stronger” elements of the population, meaning those with stronger economic means. So poor people tended to be trapped here, they and the elderly. Had I been a resident, I too might have been unable to leave, suffering greatly from not only the entrapment but my feebleness. If I lived in an older building without safe areas, without nearby large shelters, I’d have only the basement for refuge. If I lived more than a few floors up, the warning (if it occurred at all, the rocket that killed the woman in the car arrived with no alert, alerts provide about 15 seconds warning) probably would not give me enough time in my weakened aged condition to reach the basement. What would I do? Tremble and pray.
Home of Nomika Zion
As might be expected during war conditions, many supported powerful retaliation. And some, Nomika told me, tended to become more extreme. She outlined the case of a man in the neighborhood, the kibbutz—more about this tantalizing aspect of life in Sderot later—who when in his 20s, in the army, refused deployment to the territories. And was imprisoned, if I remember the story correctly. And now: wipe them out, yes all of them, including the children, if they fire one more rocket at us.
And he’s not alone. Which makes Other Voice, the organization that Eric founded and Nomika participates in even more impressive. They speak as Sderotians who deplore the use of violence to bring peace, who attempt to bridge the differences between themselves as Israelis and their Gazan neighbors across the road, the fence, the wall, the gulf created by more than 20 years of violence. Eric believes the consistent Israeli policy of violent retaliation lacks an end game, a purpose. It is based primarily on fear, not so much hatred. A fear that he says, is in the DNA of Jews everywhere, having experienced 2 millennia of persecution, climaxed by the holocaust. His wife lost many in her family. He did not.
Nomika is well known internationally, having written an article during the assault that was widely circulated (linked below). Hundreds of journalists interviewed her, she won a prize, visited NYC and DC when she received it recently (her first trip to the USA), and now is scorned by many in her town. What motivates her? I might ask her again to try to explain that most vexing of all questions to anyone daring to speak out.
Nomika Zion
Eric recently took a group of Gazan children to the West Bank, with permission of the Israeli government. He seemed thrilled when I put him on the phone yesterday to Belal in Gaza. I’d called Belal to say goodbye more personally than by chat. I know Belal loves and misses me. Since Eric was standing nearby, on an impulse hard to explain, I told Belal where I was, who I was with, and then suddenly burst out with, and would you like to talk with this guy? Of course, he said. And Belal is one of the best of my friends to do this: articulate, impassioned, obviously and publicly suffering.
Eric Yellin on the phone with Belal Badwan in Gaza
Belal Badwan, 2006
I was impressed with Eric’s response, listening respectfully, apologizing for what Israelis had done to Belal and his people, and promising to stay in touch. This might be a connection, because of Belal’s position as teacher, that could flourish in bridge building. Yet to be seen.
Eric was born in Israel, lived here to the age of 5, raised by his father I think he said, parents divorced, mother living in Green Gulch Buddhist community near San Francisco (maybe Y knows her) for decades, father in Vermont (he formerly a photographer, helping make a book about Johns sea coast island in South Carolina, a book Eric proudly showed me, also founded a blue grass band), then back to the States till he was 17 when he chose to return to Israel, serve in the Israeli army (after first being posted as a prison guard, his elder son told me, himself imprisoned for refusal to continue that assignment, and then requesting a position as military investigator in Gaza, just as the first intifada began, many stories here), marry a 2nd generation Israeli, raise boys (twins 13, another 15 who wishes to become a combat soldier despite saying he shares his father’s politics), and enter his life as activist.
He said, I’ve considered leaving the country, I might someday, but I love the intensity of living here. I couldn’t remain here without the work I’m doing as an activist. On this we seem to agree (on much we agree, I found him very compatible with my views. I also would not wish to continue living in the States, or perhaps living anywhere, if I weren’t doing the work I do thru photography and writing. That is, we are both courting despair by examining so closely the suffering of others, by living in lands of cognitive dissonance. And we might succumb if we didn’t have an action channel.)
Eric agrees that Israel is self-corrosive, and might be doomed. Yet he is hopeful. He has recently taken a part time position with an organization that does peace activism. I should get the name again, and I assume he’s active with Other Voice. Also he is part of a start up software or computer company based in the kibbutz. He is responsible for the network at the kibbutz.
Eric told me he hates the word normalization, because it is inaccurate, almost a slur on the idea of pairing. Opposing normalization, a view taken by most Palestinians I know, means that there should be no partnerships between Palestinians and Israelis, unless the Israelis agree with the call to end the occupation and act on it. He believes strongly, as I think Nomika does and I certainly do, in the value of personal exchanges, interactions, human to human. How else develop trust? This is part of a long-range strategy and I believe has been part of all justice movements. Gandhi for instance, as far as I know, never hesitated to meet with adversaries. I wonder what he’d say about normalization. Or Martin Luther King Jr? In South Africa the kononia (kononia means communion by intimate participation) movement played a role in ending apartheid—families dining together from across the political and social divisions. Also in the United States the Kononia Farm brought European and African Americans together in shared living, demonstrating (at some cost to the residents) that coexistence was possible.
Migvan kibbutz
To embody this principle of sharing experiences, both Nomika and Eric live in a kibbutz, and work to foster relations between widely divided adversaries, namely Gazans and Israelis. They suffer for this, ostracized from some neighbors who might not share their values. All buildings are duplexes, and, judging from the homes of Nomika and Eric, vary in size and quality, also how they’re furnished. Nomika’s is elegant and appealing, filled with art, plants, fine kitchenware, kept clean, a model of simple yet luxurious living. I found Eric’s to be messy, perhaps more from the presence of their 3 boys than anything native to the adults. How would my home look if I lived there, I pondered?
And so, the kibbutz: the Hebrew word means come together. This one, Migvan, is unusual in its being relatively young and in an urban environment. Founded by Nomika, Migvan moved from an apartment complex with tiny units to its present, spacious, tree lined site in 2000. (She’s lived in Sderot since 1988.)
And I’m afraid I now don’t have time to write about Nomika, maybe another time. She can speak for herself thru her powerful article “War Diary from Sderot.”
Inside Eric Yellin’s home
I just learned that Ted Kennedy, my senator from Massachusetts, died at age 77, from his brain cancer—and accolades are pouring in, rightly. Like his 2 brothers he is a great man. Too bad he wasn’t more astute and courageous about Israel-Palestine. In fact, a friend just emailed a quote from the website of AIPAC, the American Israel Public Action Committee:
Senator Edward Kennedy, A Great Friend of Israel
Sen. Kennedy was a longstanding supporter of the U.S.-Israel relationship.
AIPAC joins all Americans in mourning the loss of Senator Edward M. Kennedy, a staunch supporter of the U.S.-Israel relationship and a true and longstanding friend of America’s pro-Israel community.
During his more than four decades in the U.S. Senate, Sen. Kennedy consistently supported American assistance to Israel, particularly during the Jewish state’s most trying times, in the wake of the Six-Day War and the Yom Kippur War. He led the fight against U.S. arms sales to Israel’s enemies, spoke out forcefully against the Arab League boycott of Israel and was a fierce critic of the United Nations’ isolation of the Jewish state; he urged his colleagues to recognize Jerusalem as Israel’s undivided capital, and warned of the dangers of global terrorism.
Sen. Kennedy became the leading champion for persecuted Soviet Jewry, advocating on behalf of refuseniks and those Jews wishing to leave the Soviet Union, personally raising their issues with Soviet leaders at every possible opportunity, and demanding that the United States provide loan guarantees to Israel to absorb Jewish refugees.
Senator Kennedy’s legacy of leadership on these issues and his lifelong support for one of America’s closest allies are hallmarks of his historic career devoted to serving the best interests of the American people and our values. He will be sorely missed.
LINKS:
Israel’s ‘other voices’ go unheard
By Rachel Shabi in Israel
Kibbut Nir Am and Sderot – the human side of towns under fire
By Donna Zeff
Photos by Jessica Griffin
Generally good photography, might be working in Gaza
