As promised, here are the next two radio pieces by reporter and medical student Seema Jilani. She culled these from tapes she made traveling around the West Bank with the Jewish American Medical Project. There is a weath of amazing source material here - Palestinian and Israeli voices direct from the heart of the conflict, talking about things that are not discussed in media reports. I hope that readers will take a few minutes to listen to the reports - they are unique and wrenching…
Archive for the 'Israel-Palestine Trip' Category
Most Americans see the Occupied Territories through the lens of the media. It’s hard to connect with the Palestinian people, or to grasp what it’s really like to live from day to day under an oppressive military occupation.
That’s why I’m very proud to be able to present this series of audio reports from the West Bank and Gaza by Seema Jilani. Seema is a medical student at Baylor University in Houston, and also a reporter for radio station KPFT there. She travelled to the Occupied Territories in January of 2005 with the Jewish American Medical Project. The group lived and worked in the territories for two weeks - visiting clinics and hospitals, seeing patients, collecting stories and information.
Everywhere we went, Seema had her tape recorder. She recorded at checkpoints, clinics, city streets, playgrounds and cemeteries. Her tapes capture the sounds and voices of Palestinian life: casual conversations, heartrending stories, expressions of fear, anger and hope… |inline
My mom and I were on WAMC this morning, talking about the West Bank trip. If you happen to live in Western New England or Eastern New York, you know that the Roundtable is THE program to listen to every morning - so it was really an honor to be on the show. Susan Arbetter and Joe Donahue are as nice in person as you imagine they are when you’re driving to work. You can hear the interview as an mp3 stream here - or go to the audio directory, here. I hope you’ll check it out. It’s about a fifteen minute segment. My mom is great. Let me know what you think.
Crazy they call me. Sure, I’m crazy. I’ve been trying to talk my synagogue into allowing me to make a presentation on my West Bank trip. I think they’re going to let me do it, too. But in the process I find myself confronting the question, whether implicit or explicit: why should we, as Jews, care about the experiences of the Palestinians? Why are you "for" them? Does that mean you are against Israel?…
To me, now, it seems very natural to be concerned about the awful conditions of Palestinian life under the Israeli occupation. But, not too long ago, I was as pro-Israel and anti-Palestinian as the next guy. It was learning about the health and social disparities created by the occupation that began to change my mind. Seeing it first-hand has strengthened my views.
At any rate, I’m preparing for the synagogue talk; and also for an interview on our local public radio station, WAMC (I’ll be on - with my mom, I’m proud to say - on June 16 around 11:00 a.m. est, in case you want to tune in). And I thought I should try to summarize the reasons why we Jews ought to be working for justice for the Palestinians.
This goes beyond supporting the disengagement (which is controversial enough among American Jewry). It means stepping away from the positions of Israel’s leaders and seeing the conflict from the other side altogether. Which, I suppose, is a radical posture. But it is not anti-Israel and it is, I think, entirely Jewish to dissent from Israel’s policies when they are wrong and inhumane. Brad, by the way, has written very eloquently about this already, here.
Lockstep has never been our specialty, has it?
So, with due regard for David Lettterman, here they are: The top ten reasons American Jews should support a Palestinian state.
- It is simply wrong to disenfranchise an entire people. The Palestinians, like all human beings, have a right to control their lives and destiny - individually, and as a nation. No interest of ours - not even Israel’s security - can justify maintaining them in what is essentially a condition of bondage without rights, freedom or territorial sovereignty.
- Jews have been in the forefront of the international human rights movement. We ought to understand that human rights cannot be adequately safeguarded in a situation where one party has total power over another for a prolonged period. The facts of the occupation have borne this out.
- The moral integrity of Judaism itself is threatened by our behavior toward the Palestinians. Can we continue to think of ourselves as a just and righteous people while holding others in bondage, under deplorable conditions?
- Our treatment of the Palestinians violates our own history and religious traditions. Our Torah tells us we were, ourselves, slaves in the land of Egypt. Redemption - freedom - is at the center of our religion. We were herded into ghettos and camps. We swore it would never happen again. Did we mean, only to the Jews? Our rabbis tell us that while any human being is in bondage, no Jew can be free. How can we repeat these words without a pang, thinking of Palestinian villages walled in on all sides and surrounded by gun towers?
- We have dreamed of Israel as a representative of all that is best in Judaism - a light onto the nations. Because of the occupation, and all that must be done to maintain it, respect for Israel in the international community is fast eroding.
- The injustice of the occupation, and the daily wrongs against individual Palestinians that are well covered in the Arab media, fuel radical anti-Western sentiment throughout the Arab world. This sentiment poses a threat to both Israel and the United States.
- We envision a future of peace and prosperity for Israel. Israel cannot attain this goal without finding a just settlement to the problems of the Palestinians and the occupied territories.
- Conversely, Israel’s best guarantee of a peaceful future would be a stable, democratic Palestinian state on friendly terms with the Jewish state. Among other things, the process of state-building and the hope it would bring to the Palestinian population would strengthen the Palestinian civil society movement and weaken the attraction of radical anti-Israel parties.
- The occupation is sapping the morale of Israel’s youth and of the armed forces. Conscripted to defend the state, they find themselves party to oppression, sometimes atrocities, in the territories. Read, for example, the accounts collected by the veteran’s group Shovrim Shtika. At one time, to be a pilot or a commander was a great honor for any Israeli youth. Now, with the exception of the radical Orthodox of the settler movement, a good share of Israelis hope to carry out their service in desk jobs far from the horrors of the territories.
- In the face of international condemnation, Israel has become ever more reliant on American political and economic support. The resources of the American Jewish community are increasingly devoted to defending Israel, at the expense of other causes such as social justice and religious equality. We are losing ground in these areas. In addition, the narrow focus on Israel is alienating a good portion of American Jews, who are chosing a path of assimilation over participation in Jewish affairs.
I was in the West Bank in February with the Jewish American Medical Project to lecture at Al Quds Medical School. While I was there, I spoke with a lot of people and took tons of pictures. I’ve finally put it all together as a powerpoint presentation. I’m posting it here for readers to view. You can click here to look at it it online in your browser. If it doesn’t open properly in Firefox, you might need to (choke) use Internet Explorer. If you want to download the presentation in powerpoint format, click here.
Readers who have never been to the occupied territories might get a sense of what it looks and feels like by flipping through the slides. I’ve commented most of them. From those who are old hands there, I’d appreciate any feedback and corrections.
Although this is perceived as a time of hope because of the Disengagement and the end of the Intifada, Israel has created tremendous obstacles to peace by the settlements, the wall, the checkpoints, and its other actions in the West Bank. I hope some of this comes across in the presentation.
P.S. - feel free to copy any of the photos and slides if you can use them.
I know my own activity on this site have been a bit sparse recently. Thank goodness Brad has taken up the slack. Check out his posts, which are terrific, if you haven’t already. I’ve been busy with the aftermath of my trip to the West Bank with the Jewish American Medical Project (JAMP). I gave my first presentation on Monday, along with my mom and Howard Lenow, who were also on the trip…
The group was mixed, Jewish and non-Jewish - mostly pretty progressive -and sympathetic to what we were saying. They asked if we planned to make this presentation to more specifically Jewish audiences. The answer is, "if they’ll let us."
After the last JAMP trip, Howard contacted almost every synagogue in Boston. Only one, out of perhaps twenty, allowed JAMP members to give a talk - and the Rabbi was reportedly fired because of it. Several people on Monday night avowed that talking to the Jewish community on this issue was a lost cause - American Jews are not willing to hear criticism of Israel.
I refuse to believe that this is true. A lot of Jews are concerned and disturbed by Israel’s actions in the territories. I know this from emails I get about the site, and from people I meet.
Here’s an example. To my delight, I ran into an old friend from high school at the presentation. She had gone back to school as an adult and earned an undergraduate degree - from Smith College, no less. She studied Islamic history. Somehow in the process she became quite interested in Judaism. She married a Jewish man and converted.
She feels Judaism is a beautiful religion - but can’t understand how other Jews who embrace it can support the sort of discrimination and violence that is directed at the Palestinians.
I’ve heard the same things from Jews who were raised in the tradition and attended yeshiva. And surveys confirm that there is a diversity of opinion in the Jewish community on this issue. It’s especially true for Jews under 40. They find meaning in the religion, want to be a more active part of the community, but find themselves locked out if they express dissenting views on Israel.
So why the do we hit a wall when we approach the synagogues? My sense it that this policy is coming from above, not from below. The organization leaders are more conservative than the congregants and the general Jewish population. The message is coming down that local Jewish entities should not give a platform to groups that criticize the occupation.
I also believe this wall can be broken if we keep at it. We will not be disengaged. I am active in my synagogue; and I will not be quiet about Palestinians’ right to self-determination and a viable independent state. If enough of us refuse to be ignored - if we keep recruiting others - we will eventually reach a tipping point, and the position of the American Jewish community will have to change.
Thats what I believe. I’m very curious to hear what readers think. Experiences? Strategies? Suggestions?
I’ll post my power point on this site as soon as I’ve had time to annotate it, in case anyone out there can make use of the slides.
Note: this is an account by my mother, Stephanie Schamess, of her day at a mobile clinic in Bidya on the West Bank.
I am sitting at my computer in a warm room, sheltered from the blistering New England cold outside, a room that feels so far removed from the sunny courtyard of the Municipal Building in Bidya that I was sitting in last Saturday, that I am having trouble wrapping my mind around the disconnect. But I keep going back to that noisy, chaotic yard, filled with old Palestinian men wearing keffiyahs and long robes, women — young and old - with their head scarves and traditional embroidered dresses, mothers holding babies, toddlers clutching their mothers’ skirts and looking out anxiously at the passing scene, older children running and shouting and playing. This was the day of the Mobile Clinic, and as a non-medical participant I had decided to observe, record, take pictures, hang out and see what I could find to do. The night before the Clinic, Alice had talked to the JAMP group about our mission: one of the things we want to do, she said, is to “build bridges.” So I sat in the courtyard, wondering how I might use this time to build some bridges.
I started the morning walking around the corridor of the Municipal Building, weaving through the throngs of people crowding into the narrow hallway waiting to be seen by the PHR, JAMP and PMRS doctors. Invariably when I smile at a baby, the mother points to my camera and holds the baby up for a picture.
A child, probably about five or six years old, tugs at my bag, begins to tell me something. “American,” I say helplessly. “English.” He repeats himself, this time enunciating each word very slowly and distinctly. I shake my head and shrug. Patiently he tries yet again, this time talking very loudly. I feel utterly stupid. Fortunately a young man standing nearby, who speaks a little English, offers to translate. “He tell you his brother very sick, in hospital.” “Tell him I am sorry, I hope his brother gets better.” The child nods and runs away.
An old man with a cane approaches me. Jeff had remarked that most of the old men use canes: he wondered if this was a symbol of age and dignity. For this man, however, it seems to be a physical necessity; he points to his knee. “Bad,” he says. “Bad.” He wraps his hands around his knee and moves them outward, showing me (I think) that his knee is swollen. I too am using a cane, for the arthritis in my hip. My elderly friend points to my cane with a questioning look. I point to my hip. “Bad,” I say. “Bad.” We nod in mutual recognition of the pains of age.
I go outside now to the courtyard where the overflow of people are sitting. I find a chair and plunk myself down, take my camera out, and - as always happens when a camera appears - am immediately surrounded by several boys who begin hamming it up. They look to be around 9, 10 years old. “American?” one of them asks. I nod. In the silence that follows, one of the boys suddenly begins to say the alphabet. “A,B,C,D.” Another chimes in. “L,M,N,O,P.” I get a piece of paper out of my notebook and write the alphabet on it. They are delighted, leaning over my shoulder to read it with me. Inspired, I draw a picture of a cat and label it: CAT. One of the boys points at my camera, and then at the paper, motioning me to draw it. I sketch a camera, label it. Within a couple of minutes, they have requested “banana,” “car,” “boy,” and “girl.” I have added “tree,” “flower,” “tv set.” And of course, each boy wants his own paper, so I make four more copies. Each one takes his paper and proudly, happily marches off. I go back into the building for a while but when I come out again, one of the boys is still there. He runs up to me, pulling the piece of paper out of his pocket with a big smile. He puts it back into his pocket and pats it firmly, as if to let me know that he will take good care of it. “Shukran,” he says - the one word in Arabic that I do know - “thank you.”
Bridges. I guess I’ve built one: a bridge constructed of baby pictures, sympathy for a sick brother, mutual complaints about the infirmities of age, pieces of paper with English words. But it’s such a fragile bridge: when, a few hours later, I leave Palestine and go to Tel Aviv for a short visit to my relatives there before boarding a plane for the US, I wonder if the bridge will ever even reach the three kilometers from the village across the roadblock to the highway to Tel Aviv.
