Divisions

I woke up this morning to news that an Arab Israeli boy had been found dead in the Jerusalem forest. It is still unknown whether this was in retaliation for the murder of the three Jewish boys that were just buried the day before, but the timing does seem to point to that. Police had to protect local Arabs from Jewish protests after the funeral of the boys. Tensions are high here.

And yet, as I talk to people on the street, the response is often simply, "Welcome to Israel." Indeed. Welcome to the joy and the pain of the Holy Land. Welcome to a country deeply divided in almost every way: religiously, socially, historically, and on and on. Peace is elusive, even when the security forces keep terrorism at bay. Ambivalence reigns on all sides. For non-extremist Jews, the reality of a desperate need for survival and deep, historical love and attachment to this land competes with the incessant guilt of knowing their society lives because it all but destroyed another. Likewise, Arab Israelis generally appreciate their lives in Israel, knowing that in no other country in the Middle East would they enjoy the standard of living or democratic rights that accompany life in Israel; but they are resentful of the bombastic displays of Israel as a Jewish State, in which their Arab/Palestinian identity is not only unappreciated, but viewed as threatening.

Today I had the opportunity of visiting one of the great modern monuments to the deep divisions in this Holy Land: the Separation Fence built over the last decade. Now largely complete, it spans 726 kilometers from north to south, barricading the Jewish State from hostile terrorist neighbors on the other side. This fence is one of the most controversial (at least, internationally) moves made by the Israeli security sector in recent years, for various reasons: it does not follow the famous "Green Line" that marked, not a border, but armistice lines agreed to in 1948, prior to Israel's occupation of the West Bank in 1967 (and which have often been established as the starting point for border negotiations), and cuts off many Palestinians from the much stronger Israeli economy, as well as, at times, their own farms and orchards. This means that many of them have to travel some distance to a security checkpoint just to cross the fence, then travel back over to their crops just meters away from their homes on the other side.

 We were taken on a tour by the very man who oversaw the building of the fence, Danny Tirza. His explanation of the Israeli and Palestinian narratives was simplistic and even irritating, but his description of the way in which the fence (5% of which is a very high concrete wall, the rest chain link with barbed wire on top) was thought out and realized was actually extremely interesting. He showed a great deal of compassion and concern for how the fence would interrupt lives, and the process actually took all kinds of things into account, including Arab Israelis as well as and Christian churches of various denominations all of whom begged to have their villages kept inside the fence. He managed to accommodate most of them.

Palestinians and various critics have likened the fence to the Berlin Wall, and have accused Israel of being an Apartheid state because of the way the wall separates Israel proper from the West Bank and Gaza. Both are inaccurate comparisons. Twenty percent of Israeli society inside the barrier is Arab, and generally content to be Israeli. Although they do not share complete cultural equality, not unlike other minorities throughout the developed world, including the US, they do enjoy full democratic political equality. And the fence is not impenetrable. Every day tens of thousands of Palestinians cross it at 28 checkpoints to come to Israel for work. Since its creation, terrorist incidents have ceased almost entirely in Israel. Every year checkpoint guards stop hundreds of would-be bombers at the gate. Still, it is a terribly inconvenient, even crippling obstacle for hundreds of thousands of peaceful Palestinians seeking only a way to support their families, or to maintain relations with relatives on the other side of the barrier; and it is a humiliating (often daily) experience for them to have to walk through, show their ID and sometimes be subjected to bodily searches. Even the most peaceful of men and women lose patience with such a routine.

And so it goes. I can hear in the distance the sounds of explosions. I know it is almost certainly fireworks celebrating Ramadan. I saw kids setting them off just the other day. But the sound is eerily similar to gunfire and other sinister reverberations. And I pray in my heart that the blasts are merely festive, not portents of violence bubbling under the surface, waiting to explode.