Reflections by Michael Zucker
Tel Aviv: November 4-6
It’s our last stop on this amazing
journey and I’ve heard about how fabulous Tel Aviv is—modern and hip, where my
people made the desert into a center of culture and commerce—New York City in
the Middle East. We left Tsfat with its
narrow, twisting streets and steep stairs up hillsides. Nature made a show for us with pounding rain
and gusty winds but as we approach Tel Aviv, I see that the natural world has
been reduced to an occasional nuisance, perhaps, and modern humankind is in
pretty much full control. Broad
boulevards lined with tall buildings with no variance of altitude—I suppose it
was easy to level out the sand dunes that once shifted daily but are forgotten
under what is now permanent, stable, hardened concrete.
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| Tel Aviv on the Beach |
We’re
rushing to make it to the hotel before Shabbat starts—such a contrast of place
from a week ago. Jerusalem, landlocked
and choked in an atmosphere of deep, somber spirituality and Tel Aviv, an
outlet to the sea along its entire western shore and still bustling into the
night. So I take a walk out on the
cement boardwalk that skirts the beach and things just don’t feel right. I can hear the Earth crying underneath these
massive constructs of steel and cement.
The screeching of all the tires of these many cars zipping around so
close to the shore overpower any of that familiar comforting sound of breaking
waves. It isn’t until I get my feet into the Mediterranean
that I a feel a little relief. The image
of the “Creation of Adam” on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel comes to
mind—the outstretched finger of God just barely touching the shore here in Israel. His long arm is the vast expanse of the rest
of the Mediterranean and, of course, it
connects to the rest of his body—the great oceans that touch all the other
lands—distant and different. But here
and now, I feel trapped. This, “my holy place”
(the shoreline), is so trampled upon—an overbuilt unsustainable hodge podge --
that as I walk back to the hotel I can’t help but scoff at the notion that this
is what is considered progress?! Why
would we as a race want to achieve this—what value, what joy, what peace do we
get out of it?
Shabbat
morning is beautiful—the pace a bit slower probably than other days. The automatic sliding doors in the hotel lobby
are blocked by a couch so my exit for the morning walk is done manually through
the side door. Surfers are out in force
as, for them, this is an above average day for waves. I watch for awhile
knowing that I wouldn’t even dream of going out in such poor quality waves back
in Santa Cruz. Get talking to a woman surfer who has just
come in—the percentage of women surfers in the water is much higher than at
home. As we talk a large military cargo
plane, capable of carrying tanks, takes off and heads south—Gaza is less than an hour away and who knows
what the mission might be. She comments
that in Israel something happens all the time—“one day Shalit comes back to us,
the next day we’re bombing Gaza, the next day there is a peace overture and the
next there are rockets. It’s like there is an earthquake everyday.” She tells me that she is moving to Hawaii to
surf and live with her brother but to, more importantly, live her life without
worrying about what will happen today or tomorrow in Israel. We say goodbye and I have really nice time
out in the ocean, my element, bodysurfing the small shorebreak. Briefly the thrill of wave riding allows my
mind to just feel that pleasure and forget about all the things that we’ve
heard and experienced over the last two weeks.
I’m grateful for that but acknowledge that it is a luxury—a luxury that
can only be a fleeting moment for just about anyone who lives here. And, of course, this dip in the cleansing
ocean, only an hour away, is something that no one in the West
Bank is even allowed to do.
Our
afternoon is spent together, guided by Morgie and driven so ably by Makmoud,
learning about the founding of Tel Aviv and how it was a reaction to the
squalor of Jaffa. I leave the group after lunch and make my way
alone down to the harbor area in Jaffa. The quay and docks are alive and
thriving—people are fishing (and catching! I ask and find out that they catch
sargo here—my favorite fish to catch in Baja—why I am surprised I don’t know as
it’s the same latitude and remember the oceans are all connected), strolling,
touring and getting married! I happen
upon a wedding party of persons of African descent in truly regal garb—curses
that I don’t have my camera—the entourage is just incredibly beautiful. This feels much better—there are no
skyscrapers blocking out the sun or redirecting the winds—the earth can handle
structures that are two or three stories high. And the obvious mixing of diverse types
makes the whole atmosphere seem welcoming and inclusive.
As I approach
the strip of skyscrapers again, on the long walk back to the hotel, I’m
overpowered again with the feelings like I had yesterday afternoon. The line of massive resort hotels is still a
bit remote from where I am but I feel their imposition on the landmass—and I
have an unsolicited vision of them falling down—an apocalyptic vision of
something showing the impermanence—maybe the sand dunes start to shift again to
throw off their burden…. or maybe it’s something much worse.
Upon my
return to the hotel, I take another dash to the Med with my bathing suit and towel—a quick cleansing bodysurf session
before our scheduled group reflection session.
What strikes me most is Emmy’s vision that she shares about what she
sees here—that this might all have to fall and be reborn in another way. I believe she also uses the word “earthquake”—I’m
sure she does because I think of the Spanish word terramoto. Why does that word keep coming up today? And it doesn’t stop there as we head out
together to Rabin Square
for the commemoration of Yitzhak Rabin’s assassination sixteen years ago
today. (There are hardly any Israelis
there which disappoints me—it isn’t until I return and read in Haaretz that
because of the difference in the Hebrew calendar the memorial wasn’t held until
Wednesday.) With great sadness, Morgie
describes to us the events leading up to that night’s murder—as we know, a
murder that changed everything to follow.
We stand on the very spot where it happened and Morgie uses me as the
“stand-in” for Rabin—I feel chilled and somewhat shaken as she describes the
shooting at point blank range. Next
Morgie shows us the sculpture that is placed nearby—a jumble of large basaltic
rectangles placed at varying angles in a chaotic manner suggesting—yes Morgie uses
the word again—“an earthquake.” Beneath
the rocks is an reddish-orange glow from lights placed around the perimeter,
all of which is enclosed by a square metal border. Morgie says that it symbolizes the
containment of the everlasting light but that’s not what I feel. To me it looks like the iconic image of
hell—of malevolent forces beneath being released by a horribly tragic human
action—an evil act of choice made by one man (though approved of and
undoubtedly instigated by others); a single action that impacts an entire
country, if not the entire world, still today. Did this horrible event prevent
what should have been the natural sequence of events from releasing the
tensions of this conflicted land? Has it
allowed the coercive forces to continue to build until they are too much and a
huge rupture occurs….like the sudden grinding slippage of tectonic plates? The Great Quake that no one can prepare for?
I take in a
deep breath and exhale and try to shake this feeling. A very pleasant dinner with five travel
companions does the trick and I’m relieved and ready for sleep. On the taxi ride home the driver tells us
that “Israel
must protect itself so it can remain a refuge for Jews all over the world if
something happens again….” I can’t help
but think that Jews are so much safer in most other countries than they are
here and that the actions of the Israeli government have had a negative effect
on the way Jews are viewed around the world.
It may not be fair but these are the facts on the ground.
Sunday is
our last day of our tour. Most of us are leaving late tonight though there is
talk of a general strike that might disrupt our flight—that wouldn’t bother me
a bit.
On my morning walk to the best surf spot that is close by, I
meet a young urban professional (an accountant, maybe 28 years old) and we get
talking. First, about his dog on the
beach, which is one thing I really like about Tel Aviv, dogs run free on the
beach.
Then I tell him about our group and the purpose of our trip
and he’s really interested to hear about it.
After listening to my account, he says something that strikes me. “You know those of us who live here just feel
like this situation is normal. We wake
up every morning and it is just how things are.
It’s going to take somebody from the outside, maybe someone who might be
like your group to help us out of this—things just aren’t going to change from
within.” In a way, that is inspiring and
optimistic—and a direct counter to a criticism that I’ve often heard from
others in America
who are staunch supporters of a militant stance by Israel.
After
another refreshing bodysurf session, it’s back to the hotel and on the
bus. The first stop is at Sadaka Reut,
an Arabic-Jewish Youth Partnership. The center is located in Jaffa and the presenter does a wonderful job
of describing their program while giving us glimpses into her own life and how
it has informed her work. This is
something really good though, of course, it is limited to youth who are in Israel proper.
Still this is great bridge building between the different
communities. Then it’s lunch at the
Kapish Café at the Nalagaat
Center which is an
amazingly progressive institution. In
their words, “Café Kapish is one of the three outstanding experiences offered
to the visitors of the “Nalaga’at” Center. The Center - the first of its kind
in the world, seeks to promote interaction between deaf-blind, deaf, and blind
individuals and people able to hear and see, regardless of cultural or social
distinctions.”
Two very
different and very progressive initiatives experienced back to back are just
what I need to renew my faith in the people who live and work in this region of
the world. There is such a contrast
between those who work for justice here in Israel and Palestine and those who want something else—I
don’t know what to call this “something else”—the status quo or all of Israel or all
of Palestine. It’s as if two states have already been
established but along completely different borders than envisioned by the
“negotiating” parties involved. These aren’t geographical borders,
obviously…and more importantly and hopefully they aren’t borders at all but
places where people can get a glimpse of “the other” and the majority can see
that coexistence is possible and desirable and inevitable and necessary.
We head
back to the hotel and have precious little time to get packed, relaxed and
ready for our last group reflections session.
So…why not? David Wellman and I
head to the beach and take a last cleansing in the Med with fun little waves to
enjoy. David jokes that it took a swim
in the Mediterranean to wash off the last of
the dust from Hebron! Our
reflections session focuses on how much we have all appreciated the guidance
and leadership of David, Paula and Morgie and what an extraordinary group
experience this has been. There is no
doubt that this has been a very special sharing of feeling and experience for
us all—much more that anyone could have anticipated. And that is further emphasized by a wonderful
last dinner all together in Jaffa
with great food and beautiful singing—lead by Lori and Paula.
As we pull
up to the hotel, goodbyes too short (but too long for the cars behind the bus)
are said and we head to the airport with only nine of us left for the trip home
together. It already seems like
something less than an established whole but then again two weeks ago, hardly
any of us knew each other. As were
driving through the night to the airport, Morgie gives us our last instructions
on how to handle questions from the officials at security. She says that we just give them general
answers and leave out specifics like our trip to Hebron or maybe picking olives with
Palestinians in the West Bank. As I get close to the airport, I find myself
involuntarily putting words to the chorus from Arlo Guthrie’s tune, Coming Out
of Los Angeles,
Flying out of Tel Aviv
From Israel
I’m gonna leave
Don’t ask me where and why I grieve
Mister Customs Man.
So I try to
think clearly about what we’ve learned from the trip and, as I expected, the
questions would multiply and the answers would be elusive. Probably the best example of that was Aryeh’s
repeated question: “Have we reached the tipping point beyond which the
two-state solution is no longer viable?”
I’m sorry, Aryeh, that there wasn’t an answer to your question but I’m
glad that there wasn’t and I suspect you are too. Because the lack of a
definitive answer still leaves open the possibility and still leaves a space
for us to help out—to direct our efforts toward a peaceful solution that is
accepted internationally and internally by most of players and people involved
in this complex, almost epic, process.
Thanks to
everybody and everything that made this journey happen as it did.
Peace now…..someday.
Michael Zucker
