Movement

The Good Ones Don't Make The News by Sophie Schor

Sitting over a glass of cheap red wine in Paris two weeks ago, I shared my life with my old friends from when I lived there. “How are you?” they asked me. Full, I said. I’m leading a full life—full of food and friends and coffee and meaningful work and challenging projects. “But what’s it like to live there?” they ask.“There’s a violent conflict going on,” I answered while shrugging, “It becomes normal...” I sat with one of my mentors. He asked me earnestly, “Sophie, tell me…is anything good happening there?”

The night after the attacks in Jaffa, I went out and it felt like a ghost town. Even the traffic of cars on the main boulevard had lessened—I felt like a specter gliding down the street on my bike alone. But I went out with a purpose: to sit at the local bar with my Palestinian friend from Building Bridges; to toast our glasses of beer together to life, to health, and to the continuation of friendships which are more important now than ever. While it seems small and futile in the face of terror and extremism coming from all angles, these little and powerful moments happen quite frequently in my life. But I've begun to realize that this reality doesn't reach the "outside" world and media. 

Good people are working hard and trying to carve out futures together amidst the madness of this place, and that is constantly overshadowed by hate and fear on all sides.

Like today. Today I went to a march of Jews and Arabs in solidarity against the occupation. This march is taking place the first Friday of every month.

 The march was organized by Combatants for Peace, an organization of both Israelis and Palestinians who have put aside violence in the name of community building and activism, and another group called Standing Together. The march was the fifth organized event that walks alongside the highway of Route 60 to the Tunnel checkpoint near the Palestinian town of Bayt Jala and the Jerusalem neighborhood/settlement Gilo. February’s march ended in arrests of two Israeli organizers. Over 500 people showed up in March to walk alongside the wall and traffic in honor of International Women’s Day. Today we were around 300.

 I walked with friends and held a sign that said: "Standing together against the occupation" in both Hebrew and Arabic. The verbs were conjugated to be feminine. The drum circle was out in all their glory and there was a mix of Israeli and Palestinian flags. As we marched, many people honked their horns and shouted nasty things. But I strolled with a good friend who waved with a big smile to every person who yelled, "Go die" at us and returned a big thumbs up to each and every middle finger that was gestured in our direction. As we stood by the junction, a religious man driving by began yelling at us and we responded in Hebrew and wished him “Shabbat Shalom!” [The colloquial wishing of ‘Happy Friday’ in Jewish Israeli society, which is connected to the religious observance of the Sabbath.]

Soldiers from the Israeli army followed along by the side of the road and at the back of the protest for protection against the oncoming traffic and also to surveil a group of 300 people walking in the West Bank. The few who followed at the back of the protest were wearing balaclavas over their faces. One man walked on the other side of the road waving a huge Israeli flag in opposition to our presence and our voices shouting in unison, “Jews and Arabs refuse to be enemies.”

It has been months since I've attended a march or protest. Tensions have been so high and things here have actually been quite scary with the methodical demonizing of human rights organizations that criticize the occupation, you don't want to draw attention to yourself as someone who supports an end to the occupation.  It has not been optimal timing to wave signs and hold hands and say words like “Peace.” See this article by David Shulman that captures all that has been happening recently here.

But in March, I joined this group for the protest in honor of International Women Day, and I promised myself that I would be back every first Friday. The day was incredible. I saw a lot of different people I know from activist circles, powerful women from Women Wage Peace who I interviewed for my research, sweet, sweet Palestinian activists who I have met at various meetings (like Tiyul Rihle) and programs (like Global Village Square), people who joined us in Susiya last year, and more. I asked an old acquaintance “How are you?” He said, “Today? Right now? Right now I am good” and gestured at the crowd. “But when I’m not here, when I’m not with my people…hard. It’s hard.”

In March, for International Women’s Day, everyone was holding balloons. On the count of ten, with numbers flowing naturally from Arabic to Hebrew, the balloons were let go. Within moments, a perfectly timed gust of wind had blown the balloons right over the wall. Tied to them were invitations to the march each month. The sight of the brightly colored balloons in stark contrast with the grey and bleak concrete of the wall was overpowering. And seeing them freely glide over the barrier was incredibly moving. It seemed so simple: the power of the people and the cries for justice could just as easily overcome the walls and everything they stand for.

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Today, the march culminated in the planting of olive trees. The symbolism is cliché; the discourse of peace is dead. But, the action of breaking dirt and leaving something behind that will grow is not to be overlooked. The march ended and I was left floating on (maybe unreal) hopes and (some say naive) optimism.

I’ll be there again May 6th. It’s good for my soul.

While in Paris people may have gained a new sense of what a violent attack on civilians can do to your personal psyche and your daily life and empathize more with my reality here, it’s not the full story. Here, while many people are promoting policies of hate every single day, there are also those who are building hope. 

Over 500 Israelis and Palestinians took part in march to mark International Women's Day and to call for an end to the occupation and violence, March 4, 2016.

Up and Up: Haifa by Sophie Schor

Just keep climbing...
Just keep climbing...

I spent the day walking up flights of stairs in Haifa.

After glancing at the map and seeing that it was only a 30-minute walk to my destination, I told myself that I was up for the adventure. But as the hill kept getting steeper, I felt more like someone climbing the mountain in order to learn the meaning of life from a monk; I was not disappointed.

I met today with an amazing woman at the Haifa Women's Coalition Center, the building that several feminist organizations call home. Sarai Aharoni  had become my “academic crush” while I researching women’s peace and feminist movements in Israel. Aharoni has written a lot on feminism, women, peace and security, and the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. She put into words perfectly my discomfort with the academic boycott of Israel (read it here). To my pleasure, she responded to an email I had sent and invited me to Haifa to visit her and peruse the Women and Peace archives. It was a treat. She's part of the group that is establishing the Haifa Feminist Institute--giving an "official name," she explained to me, to something that already exists.

The center is home to organizations Kayan and Isha L'Isha, two of the most interesting feminist groups in Israel and Palestine. Isha L’Isha is one of the first feminist grassroots organizations and was founded in 1983. Kayan emerged from conversations amongst women in Isha L'Isha and is the Arab Feminist Center in the North working for equality of Palestinian women in Israel. The two organizations pursue many different activities, educational projects, and initiatives to promote women’s rights, women status, and women’s equality in Israel and Palestine. The Coalition is special because it is a space where Jewish and Arab women work together under one roof supporting women and victims of sexual abuse and domestic violence.

So here I was, sitting in this space that has been created for women by women and sharing methodological challenges of feminist theories with this brilliant woman sitting across from me surrounded by books and archives, an academic-dream-come-true.

Me excited to ride the funicular. Public transportation is fun(icular)! 

Me excited to ride the funicular. Public transportation is fun(icular)! 

Haifa is a fascinating city in the North and one that I have not explored enough. It extends all the way to the seacoast and then the city rises up to the hills and the Carmel Mountain. I left the meeting and wandered around the rest of the day, heading to destinations that my friends had recommended to me. I stumbled upon a café where the waiter was originally from Lebanon and settled myself into a corner: cozy and happy with my laptop and my work. It is what is called a “mixed” city, one that has a vibrant Jewish and Arab population. As I sat in the café, I felt like I could breathe deeply. People were just living and being people here. It didn’t matter what your ethnicity was, where your allegiances lie, or where you were from originally. This may be too idealistic and just all assumptions and superficial judgments. It is definitely a city that I want to know better. My mom lived in Haifa for a stint when she lived in Israel and as I was trekking up and down the stairs and venturing out to find the funicular (called the Carmelite!), I felt strangely at peace with my life. That feeling that I am exactly where I am supposed to be right now.

Update from Israel and Palestine: attacks inside Israeli borders have slowed down with the arrival of the rainstorm and winter .Yet things sound far from calm within the West Bank, a young soldier, who was stabbed at a famously tense junction (Tzomat Tapuah) in the territories, died today. Six other Israelis were  injured in other attacks in the West Bank in the last several days including a particularly nasty drive-by. Settlers supposedly opened fire on farmers near Nablus. Soldiers killed a 72-year-old Palestinian woman after an alleged car attack. Clashes have erupted near Ramallah, protests in Gaza continue, shots are fired, people are dying, and from the perspective of Tel Aviv it feels like it’s being swept under a rug.

As Aharoni and I were talking today, a question left unanswered is haunting me. War and violence can be used as a catalyst to transform a society (with negotiations and compromise on the other side of the spectrum). The question facing us now: how much more violence is necessary to transform this one?