Category: Journals - Page 120 - International Solidarity Movement

Hanna’s Mom In Palestine

Impressions

Genocide:
Some people use the word genocide to describe the situation in Palestine. This offends many Jews, and turns us off from listening to anything else the speaker says. We picture gas chambers, concentration camp workers, and huge piles of bodies. Some of us have learned that there were massacres of Palestinians by Israelis; others do not know. There is no excuse for killing even one person, but the enormous differences in scale make the comparisons easy to refute.

I have been to the Holocaust Museum in Washington many times. When you enter the museum you go up elevators to the 3rd floor. Off the elevators you hear then General Eisenhower talking about what American troops encountered when they discovered the camps. After that, you wind through dark hallways with the history of the increasing amount of restrictions and
discrimination against Jews in Europe. That is where I see the parallels with Palestine. We had ghettos; they have refugee camps. We had yellow stars; they have green license plates and identity cards that dictate what parts of their former land they can access. We were prohibited from working and traveling many places we went before; so are they. Daughters who
married and moved from Gaza to the West Bank can no longer visit their elderly parents. People who honeymooned at the sea, or worshipped in Jerusalem can no longer go there if they fled to the West Bank because they were afraid of the Israelis. Were they wrong to flee? How could they know at the time they made the decision? Six million Jews died because they did
not flee soon enough.

Israel’s Right to Exist:
The U.S. wants Hamas to acknowledge Israel’s right to exist. I think this is irrelevant. I doubt very many Palestinians will agree that Israel has a right to exist, but they recognize that Israel does exist. That’s recognize with a small r, not a capital R, if there is such a thing. Asking them to swallow their pride and lie about how they feel is counter-productive. We need to work out together how to share this precious land.

Right of Return:
Mohammed, a 14-year-old, told me the history of the mosque in the village the Israelis call Zacharia. I doubt the adults who live next door to the mosque know that history. I, as an American Jew, have a right to move there to live. Mohammed’s parents do not have the right to visit, and neither will he in two years. You can not convince me that they should not have the
right of return. I’m not saying that the Israelis who live there now should be evicted, but I do think that there will need to be reparations. Where houses exist, there must be an amount of money that a Palestinian family would be willing to accept to turn over their key, or an Israeli family would be willing to accept to move out.

As for the demographics, I know that allowing Palestinians to return may result in a country that is no longer majority Jewish. To me, Judaism should be synonymous with justice. This is not a just, and therefore not a Jewish state now. It is a state composed of more people who celebrate Yom Kippur than who celebrate Ramadan. To quote Isaiah, “Is such the fast that
I have chosen? ”

Jerusalem:
The old city will never cease to amaze me. It is my history, and my heritage, and it is not wrong for Jews to worship there. It is also not wrong for Muslims and Christians to worship there. It should be accessible to all.

Courage:
I was amazed by the strength of the Palestinians I met, making as good a life as possible for their children under daunting circumstance.

Tolerance:
I was impressed by the lack of hatred of Israelis, given that there is so much negative contact between Israelis and Palestinians in the West Bank. I heard a sincere desire to work things out.

Hannah’s Safety:
I am less worried about Hannah’s safety now that I have seen where she works and met the people she works with. She seems to really know her way around and have some degree of caution, although I still don’t understand why an asthmatic would intentionally go into areas where she could get tear-gassed. I guess if it made her too uncomfortable she would stop. I also saw how many people truly care about her. She would have many protectors in case of
trouble.

Spreading Rachel’s words

Because we feel Rachel Corrie’s story and message are so important, we have created “Rachel Corrie Cards” for people to distribute in their communities. We’re asking a small donation toward the printing costs, but will ship the cards to anyone who can help get them out to the public, with or without a donation. It will take all of us doing all we can to tell people the facts.

Text on Front of Card:
Rachel, we won’t forget you.
Rachel Corrie (1979-2003)
Rachel was killed when an Israeli soldier bulldozed her. She was trying to protect a family’s home in the Gaza Strip.

Text on Back of Card:
“Let me know if you have any ideas about what I should do with the rest of my life.”
– Rachel Corrie’s last email to her dad

There is a quiet battle going on for the memory of a young woman who could have been my daughter, or perhaps yours.

On one side are those who would like to erase her from history; her actions, her beliefs, her murder. If they are unsuccessful at that, they will settle for posthumous slurs on her character, falsifications of her death.

On the other side are those who feel her shining principles should be praised, her courage honored, her death grieved. On this side are those who believe that heroism is noble, bravery admirable, and compassion for others the most fundamental form of morality.

To those of us on this side, Rachel Corrie will never be forgotten. She was 23 when she was killed. We won’t forget her young idealism, her sweet bravery, her needless death. And we won’t forget her beliefs, the third of which killed her: that good would triumph, that justice would prevail, that Israeli forces would not kill her.

She was wrong on that last one. On March 16, 2003, two Israeli soldiers drove a house-crushing bulldozer over her, twice, crushing her into the Gaza dirt. With five other nonviolent human rights defenders, Rachel had spent several hours in front of a family home in Palestine, pleading with Israeli soldiers not to demolish it. They didn’t (until later); they demolished her instead.
Her friends ran to her screaming. They dug her out of the dirt. One told me that Rachel’s eyes were open; her last words were, “My back is broken.”

Far more, of course, was broken. The day was broken, the universe was broken, her sister’s world was broken, her brother’s life was broken, her parents’ hearts were broken. All the things were broken that break when someone is killed.

Since fall 2000, over 3,800 Palestinian lives, days, worlds have been broken; over 1,000 Israeli ones. We hear about the Israeli tragedies; we rarely hear about the many times more Palestinian ones; the mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, sisters and brothers who are killed and mutilated during all those wonderful periods of “relative calm” our news media lie to us about.

I wonder how much (if at all) we’ll hear about Rachel Corrie on March 16th, the anniversary of her death. Israel, as with all those it kills, claims that her death “was an accident” or “was necessary for security” or that “she was a terrorist” or that “she was protecting terrorists”… As fast as these Israeli fabrications are refuted, new ones are produced. Never mind that they’re self-contradictory – our complicit media never question.

Change is coming, however, and it is gathering momentum. Americans of every race, religion and ethnicity remember Rachel, and grieve her death. While Congress is intimidated into denying her parents’ right to an investigation of the American “ally” who murdered their daughter, people in towns throughout the country are planning commemorations and future actions. One by one, people are rising up. We are reclaiming our nation, our principles, and our souls. We won’t forget Rachel. And we won’t be stopped.

Read Rachel’s letters: www.IfAmericansKnew.org To order cards click here

Simply. Not. News.

By Neta Golan

I work in the ISM media office. On February 19th 2006 the Israeli milit1ary once again invaded Balata Refugee Camp.

I remember the first invasion that Sharon orchestrated into the camps during this intifada, in February 2002. I remember that I could not believe it was happening. Never in my worst nightmares would I believe, had someone told me, that four years later such horror would become “normal.”

IWPS and ISM volunteers called me in the office as they accompanied Palestinian medics in their efforts to give medical treatment to the wounded and sick in the camp. They called me when the Israeli military shot towards ambulances and denied them access to Balata. They called me when they witnessed unarmed 22-year-old Mohammad Subkhi Abu Hanade being shot in the chest by a sniper through his bedroom window. I wrote a press release, emailed and faxed it and then called the news agencies and journalists.

No one wrote about it. Not even the Arabic press which is always more responsive.

The next morning I looked everywhere for news of the invasion and found none.

That day Sixteen year old Kamal Khalili was shot and was clinically dead by the time he made it to the hospital. The woman that answered the phone at Agency France Press said “call us back when he dies” and hung up.

The volunteers called me when soldiers refused to let them treat ill people in families whose homes had been occupied. They called me when people in the camp ran out of food and baby formula. They called me when the youth of the camp who defended their homes with stones and makeshift barricades were shot at wounded and killed. They gave me the names and the ages of children shot at with live ammunition.

I wrote it all down even though I knew that the mainstream media did not want to know.

I wrote it down knowing that wounded, hungry and imprisoned Palestinian civilians are simply. Not. News.

Harassment of Palestinian Non-Violent activists – part one

Mansur’s Testimony

I decided to join some of my international friends and sleep in the new Palestinian houses built on the land that will be cut off from Bil’in by the wall. We were hanging out and chatting when an Israeli military jeep showed up around 8pm. After they left we went to sleep. At 3am, the Israeli jeep showed up again and I woke up to see who it was. They asked for my ID and then they left for around 20 minutes. On returning they told me to go to Ofer prison after 6 hours.

The morning came, and I start walking to the village, having to pass the construction site of the wall. Two Israeli security men stopped me and threatened that they will shoot people if we kept annoying them by coming to and from the Palestinian houses on the “wrong” side of the wall. I couldn’t argue with them because I didn’t want to be late for the interrogation in Ofer prison as it would result in a black point in my file.

I reached Ofer and waited about 1 hour outside until the soldiers called me and started searching me. They put me in a room with a camera on the wall where I stayed about an hour and a half, until they called me in. An Israeli soldier came who seemed to be nice .He informed me that his name was Captain Amjad and asked if I wanted something to drink. I replied “no thanks, I had some”,”What is your name?” he asked “Mansour Mansour” “What is your work?” “Different things” He started by pretending that he was a nice person talking in a friendly way. He said that he wouldn’t interrogate me but wanted to talk as “friends”. Of course, we Palestinians know this scenario and have much experience with these tactics. He asked me how I survive. , how I get money? what had I achieved ?.Who I was working with? Who are my friends and what was my relationship with the internationals? He asked about my group and about our relationship with Hamas. He asked what I was doing in Bil’in, in Bit Sira and in Aboud and wanted to know how we contacted internationals to join us. He asked many other questions which were intended to make me feel that they knew everything about me.

In fact I felt bored whilst he was questioning me, as both of us knew why I was there and why they wanted to interrogate me.

And some point I told him that he should be smarter than to believe his lying soldiers. He then spat in my mouth and told me to think again before they changed their “nice way”. He left the room and then two huge soldiers came in. They looked at me as if I were something disgusting and told me :” IT SEEMS YOU PREFER THE OTHER WAY OF TALKING, WE DON’T HAVE THAT NICE WAY OF THE FIRST GUY WHO WAS TALKING WITH YOU.” They held my arm and then pushed me against the wall. They hit me against the wall twice. Hard. I said “why are you doing that ?, I didn’t do anything wrong. They told me to shut up. Before long Captain Amjad came back and started questioning me about Hamas. He asked many questions, including what I would do with the new government, how I would work with them, what contact I have with them.

He told me that he would check what I said with my cousin who would be interrogated the following morning in the same place. They then gave me my stuff and led me out of the prison.

I walked calmly and didn’t look back. I expect I will be back. I headed for my house it had been a hard day and I needed to relax. I’m not trying to ignore their humiliating treatment or forget how they violated my human rights but I want to keep on doing effective work for our oppressed people. What they did to me actually inspires me to continue.

Going ‘Home’

by Hannah

I arrived at Ben Gurion airport in Lod (aka the airport in Tel Aviv) just after 5:00 am for a 7:25 flight. This is about the amount of time I had last time, when security didn’t have enough time to check me and I ended up flying without my luggage and never receiving some of it. So, I got in the first line before baggage check and the Israeli security woman asked, “What was the purpose of your visit to Israel?”

“Look,” I responded, “my bags are going to be checked by the police, so I’m wondering if you can just take me straight to security so my bags don’t get loaded onto the plane and then taken off again.”

She was a little taken aback. I don’t think people do this very often. “Why do you get checked?” she asked, seeming not quite to believe me.

“Because I go to the West Bank.”

“Just a minute,” she said, and walked off to consult her fellow security people. From that moment on, I felt totally in control, and it was great. It took about a minute before someone else came over and asked, “What were you doing in the West Bank?”

I borrowed my reply from Dunya: “My bags are going to be checked and then I’m going to get on the plane to go, and I don’t really have anything to say to you in the meantime.”

When she repeated the question, not unkindly, I said, “I was traveling around and visiting people. I’m not going to say anymore, can you just take me to the police?”

And they did.

They searched me and my bags, checked me into my flight, escorted me through all the lines (because I’m a security threat, you see, I can’t walk through the airport on my own), and everything was finished within 45 minutes! It was great – I really recommend this strategy upon exit for those in the same/similar boat as me.

Perhaps this experience made me a little too bold. Upon entering the U.S., all I wrote in the “countries visited prior to the US” section of the customs form was “Palestine.” I never really noticed before that they actually look at those things. They do.

I have to say it was gratifying for a U.S. customs official to ask, “Did you visit anywhere other than Palestine on your trip?” but other than that, it was a bit of a hassle. I got a big “S” on my form and was taken aside for my bags to be checked. The man was friendly, but a little too chatty about the political situation, Hamas, Fatah, how Palestinians view Americans, and other things that I’m usually happy to share with anyone, but in the current political climate, I wasn’t quite sure about with a US border official.

Unlike the Israeli security, who these days seriously seem to be looking more for explosives than information, this guy was definitely looking for information. He had no interest in my clothing or anything else, only paper materials. He asked me to translate Arabic posters, read every scrap of paper, every page of my notebook.

“When you wrote about Gaza here and you said ‘Jihad very small’ what does that mean?”

“It means that the Islamic Jihad movement has a very small presence in Gaza.”

He was far more intrusive than Israeli security. I said, “Can I ask you why you’re reading every paper? I think that’s unusual for security.” “I’m not security,” he responded. He was the border police.

When he opened the 10 pounds of spices and plants that a friend’s family had given me to take to her, I was a little nervous. I had just told him there were no food products in my bag and of course I had answered “no” on the customs form when they asked about agricultural products. “What’s this?” he asked. “A spice,” I responded. He called the agricultural people over, two very young women. They glanced at the bag and said, “Um, I think this is fine.” And that was that. Nothing was taken from me.

He finished searching my things, handed me my passport, and said, “Welcome home.”

And so, here I am – “home.”