You Say You Want a Revolution? -A personal reflection on yesterday's terror attack

Well You Know, We All Want to Change the World

In Washington, the leaders of the United States are trying to mediate peace talks between Israel and Palestine. In Israel it is 10:15 am. Seder boker, the morning learning period, has reached mid-session, and the entire Beit Midrash (study hall) has quickly and completely emptied of both students and staff. Outside everyone is reaching down to tuck in their tzitzit (the fringes worn ritually by Jewish males) in deference to the dead who can no longer perform this commandment.

Only yesterday I found myself performing the same ritual as I toured Chevron with a group from Herzog, my teacher's college. Throughout Chevron (Hebron) are various graveyards filled by settlers of Chevron who gave their lives in order to maintain a Jewish presence in the city of our forefather. Yesterday, in the Hebron Hills area that surrounds the historic city, Palestinian terrorists killed four more innocent civilians, in an effort to "torpedo" the current peace talks.

Otniel, the yishuv (settlement) that I learn in provided the service of the tahara, the ritual "final cleaning" of the body before it is returned to the ground, for last night's vicitims. Throughout the day, students and other volunteers held half hour shifts next to the deceased, reciting tehillim (Psalms) and serving as an honor guard. Mid-morning, we all left our respective places of learning to escort Yitzchack and Tali Ames, Kochava Even-Chaim, and Avishai Schindler out of Otniel to their final resting places. All four lived fifteen minutes from Otniel, in the neighboring yishuv of Beit-Chagai.

Arms crossed, lips moving in prayer, and eyes welling with angry tears, I waited with my friends for the bodies to be moved to the escort vehicles, and began to think back to my second year in yeshiva. That year Yossi Shock, a father of three, was shot on the same road while driving home to Beit Chagai. I was reminded of the infamous question of the Angels to G-d upon witnessing the deaths of the asara harugei malchut ("The Ten Righteous Martyrs"- a prayer said on Yom Kippur detailing the death of ten of Judaism's greatest rabbis) "This is Torah, and this is its reward?". Innocent people slaughtered on their way home. When will we know an end to these deaths?

Last night, PA president Mahmoud Abbas condemned the shooting stating that he " condemns all acts that target Palestinian and Israeli civilians," and that the attack was meant to "disrupt the peace process and can't be regarded as an act of resistance." True, the murders last night were not sanctioned by the Palestinian Authority, but that only makes it even more disturbing that we are still trying to arrange an agreement. The murders last night were carried out by members of Hamas, a terrorist organaziation that doubles as a leading political party in the Palestinian world. If they refuse to adhere to the lines set by the PA, then what difference does it make if we manage to strike an agreement with Abbas and co.? The Palestinians will have received their state, which we will be "at peace" with, while terrorists roams free and independent of their government. What then have we accomplished?

When it Comes to Destruction, Don't You Know that You Can Count Me Out

The close range drive by shooting left the six Ames children orphaned. Kochava Even Chaim's eight-year-old daughter is motherless, her husband is a widower, and her kindergarten class is without their teacher. Avishai Schindler's young wife is alone in their new home in Beit Chagai.

With regards to the PA and their response, Yarden Frankl of HonestReporting wrote in his blog this morning (http://www.crossingtheyarden.com/2010/09/lives-not-statistics/):
"When you can look at this act with same gut wrenching horror as a six year old who just lost his teacher, you will be ready to make a real peace."

I echo the sentiments. I am a peacenik, meaning that I believe in peace. But not the peace that they are discussing in Washington. The concept of peace that we have been fed for all of these years is nothing more than conditions for a large-scale cease-fire.

Golda Meir, Israel's only female Prime Minister, once said:
"We can forgive you for killing our children, we cannot forgive you for turning our children into killers."

When both sides can feel this way, when both sides are looking for a solution so that they do not have to kill anymore, then we will be ready to have peace. Until then, Israel is merely looking for a way to protect her children from being killed, and the Palestinians are looking for a way to advance their cause for an independent state. At best, both sides are looking for security.

It's Gonna Be Alright?

For the reasons stated above, I cannot believe in a land for "peace" trade anymore. The Palestinian side has once more proved itself divided, its leadership unreliable. Negotiations in my mind can only end in a loss of land for Israel with nothing to gain.

What is the price of security? Or, for that matter, the saying "Im eshkachech Yerushalayim tishkach yemini?" ("If I forget thee, oh Jerusalem, may my right hand forget its skill"). Is a secure Israel without her holy sites and cities truly Israel?

Yesterday's victims and Yossi Shock, along with those in Chevron whose murders I learned about yesterday, died while settling the land. Nobody believes that this side of the "Green Line" is completely safe. No tremp (ride) leaves a yishuv without reciting tefillat ha'derech (the traveler's prayer) as soon as it reaches the main road. The act of hitchhiking is approached with caution and warning. Many, if not most, of the settlers are armed, and well trained in the use of a firearm. Every yishuv has a kitat konnenut, an emergency response squad, ready for any emergency. We are all aware of the dangers of living here, yet people continue to settle here. The stories that exist in the ground and the brick, the character that walked on the streets of Chevron and her surrounding hills- Kalev ben Yefuneh (Caleb the spy), David Ha'Melech (King David), and of course, our forefathers and mothers buried in Chevron- are the foundations of our religion. This land is priceless.

I do not confess to have a solution. It is clear to me though that the price being set in Washington is too great. Is it going to be alright? Will this be the last time that my friends and myself abandon our learning so that we may honor the deceased? My heart prays yes, but logic tells me no. And as much as I know that family and my friends worry, for now all I can do is increase my precautions; travel by armored bus, increase my vigilance, and pray, because the alternative in my mind is far worse.

May we know only smachot and a new year of happiness,
Yoni

Post Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaAtzmaut

Even before Yom HaZikaron (Memorial Day) this year my mind began to fill with the imagery. Flashbacks to that night in Bir Zeit; the houses, the sound of the gunshot. A panicked sprint back to the armored vehicle, with me shooting glances behind my shoulder every other second to make sure that there was nothing going on behind the squad. Elad, the Company commander speaking to us as we gathered around him in between the three armored transports, his voice on the verge of breaking as he somehow managed to keep his cool and explain to us what had happened.

In my first year in Israel I woke up late for the high-school's tekes (memorial ceremony). I managed to make it on time to ride with everyone to Har Hertzl, the national military cemetery in Jerusalem. As the siren went off, I stood with my friend in the entrance to the cemetery in silence, trying to connect; trying to appreciate what it was that these soldiers who we talked about in States year after year had done for the country I was finally leaving in. My teeth were still cracking from the strain of the new language that I had not yet mastered, and connecting was not an easy task. I walked around Har Hertzl trying to find a grave out of the thousands on which to lay the flowers I had been given at the entrance.

Six years later, but not quite a year after the events in Bir Zeit, my efforts to connect stopped. One of the most painful realizations is when you realize that you no longer need to try to connect- Yom HaZikaron has become a day where you must actively participate whether you want to or not. Going to Hartman for the high-school tekes, the traditional gathering of the alumni, is no longer the appropriate option. The "holiday" that the country declared in memory of the fallen becomes a full day off- so that you can travel the five hours round trip that you need in order to stand by the grave of your fallen friend and brother in arms.

Beginning with the songs of remembrance that I sang with my friends on Sunday night, Noam Levi Z"L, HY"D, was the only chalal (fallen soldier) that I could think of. While others read passages from over the years- eulogies, articles, other people's memories- I spoke about the friendship that was stolen from me just as it was beginning to bloom. Somehow, the little American with broken teeth had entered into the black bereaved military family of Israel, while most of his Israeli friends had not (which is something to thank G-d for-that there have been relatively so few deaths in recent years). There are some memberships that you never want to have.

Graveside, I was quiet and morose. But Noam Z"L's family is one that understands the value of life after tragedy. His mother invited us all back to their house after the ceremony for both physical and spiritual refreshments. We reminisced, telling stories and looking at pictures of our fallen hero. Friends from his community, school days, and of course the army. "Everybody here loves (Noam) and everybody here hurts," said his mother . His father told us about how Noam learned to speak Hebrew on the basketball court behind their newly built house. "Noam learned a lot about Hebrew and being Israeli on the court, but we had to clean him up a bit after every game. Not everything that you learn on the court is appropriate to bring back home with you."

Israel celebrated her 62nd birthday today, and you can be sure that I celebrated, but celebration in this country always comes with a price. In one week I will be back up North in Mitzpeh Netufa to commemorate the passing of the first year since Noam's death- a reminder that the war began in 1948 has yet to end. This year the move from "Evel l'yom tov," "Mourning to holiday," that happens between the two juxtaposing days (Memorial day in Israel is the day before Independence Day) was especially difficult, but the extraordinary loving embrace of the Levi family and of all of Noam's friends gave me the strength to move on.

As the last of the grills are extinguished, while the final bits of hamburger and beer from the traditional BBQ are digested in my stomach, I pray to G-d that we only know the good days from now on, and thank him for the few moments that I had to know someone like Noam Levi, who sacrificed his life so that we could celebrate today.

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I realize that this is a heavy post. These were things that sat on my heart over the past couple of days and I did not yet have the chance for catharsis. Yom HaAtzmaut was of course meaningful and beautiful, and I would be remiss if I did not actively thank G-d for this gift, despite the tragic costs. Next year in a rebuilt and peace-filled Jerusalem!

love,
yoni