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Protesting Israel-style

The email we received last week was dire. Our neighborhood was in grave danger of being ruined by unscrupulous real estate developers, it read. A massive 210-unit apartment project had been green-lighted to be built right in the middle of an already congested neighborhood.

The resulting traffic, pollution and just plain lack of aesthetics (the planned project includes two eight-story towers reminiscent of the Holyland monstrosity) demanded a response. The residents’ considerations had already been rejected by two lower committees. We were urged to attend a last chance meeting of the Va’ad Artzi, the national planning commission, to take place at 9:00 AM on Sunday.

Normally, I shy away from such events. Highly technical Hebrew with lots of architectural lingo spoken at very high volume (read: yelling) isn’t how I like to start my workday. But this seemed important, so my wife Jody and I high tailed it across town to the Chen Hotel in the Bayit VeGan quarter of Jerusalem where the committee was meeting.

Truth be told, this was our first government gathering in Israel. Back in the States, I was a regular since I held the planning and city council beat at my first newspaper job. So I was expecting something similar. A small auditorium with council members sitting on a raised stage around a long table. Members of the public would step up to a podium and speak into a microphone. The men all wore ties; the mayor held a gavel.

But this was casual Israel. We residents (about 20 of us showed up to show our support) sat around the perimeter of the room behind the opposing parties who were seated at three tables arranged in a U. On the city’s side sat various officials, the project developer and several architects. We were represented by local residents and a member of the Society for the Protection of Nature (SPNI): a burly man with a gray beard, a polo shirt and a baseball cap. At the front table was the Va’ad itself.

Despite a hustle bustle of participants getting up for drinks and noshes, chairs scraping across the floor, animated whispering and cell phones ringing, the proceedings were surprisingly efficient.

The contractor spoke first, followed by the residents. Both sides were articulate, used PowerPoint slides, and seemed genuinely interested in finding a workable compromise. The SPNI man was careful to say he wasn’t opposed to the project, just the lack of public green space and the destruction of a grove of trees that had been thriving since the British Mandate era.

The developers, in turn, showed numerous plans that they’d rejected until arriving at one that they said had the least impact on the neighborhood. Most of the trees would have to go in order to build underground parking which was of course better for the neighborhood than forcing 300 new cars onto city streets. The plan also called for setting aside 25% of the luxury project for less affluent families – a rarity among shekel-crazed developers and their cronies.

One reason the battle was so relatively amiable is that everyone agreed that Jerusalem has no choice but to become denser. When the Safdie Plan – which called for massive construction in the green belt around the city – was nixed last year after protests by the very same SPNI, the alternative was to find and build on empty urban space.

The area for this particular new development was formerly mostly empty agricultural land and fields next to the venerable Ulpan Etzion which was shut down earlier this year for budgetary reasons. It was only a matter of time.

As the meeting stretched into its third hour, Jody and I had to leave – protesting is fun and all, but we do need to work. In any case, the committee wasn’t taking a vote on the spot.

We of course hope that the project will be scaled down, although Rachel Deitcher, the resident who’d invited us in the first place warned that compromise is not generally the Israeli way. Nevertheless we appreciated the fact that there was a forum in Israel where opposing sides could meet and, to our unjaded eyes, seemed genuinely interested in solving the conflict. Most of all, our first foray into city planning politics wasn’t as painful as we’d feared.

When the verdict is handed down, I’ll be sure to let you know.

Austrians forget how Hatikva goes

People wonder why Israel is always on the defensive, when things like this explain it perfectly.
At an international fencing competition over the weekend in Austria, two Israeli teens – Dana Stralinkov, 14, and Alona Komarov, 13 – won the gold and bronze medals respectively.

However, at the ceremonies awarding them the medals, instead of playing the national anthem – Hatikva – as is the custom with every other winning athlete, there was only silence.

After standing in shocked silence for a few seconds, the two teens along with the entire Israeli delegation of 22 people, burst in to song and sung Hatikva, the teenagers’ coach Yaakov Friedman told Yediot Aharonot.

“It was a very moving moment,” Freidman said, adding that a similar incident occurred five months ago at a competition in Sweden. According to the report, the Austrian official in charge of playing the national anthems of countries of the winning participants, explained he was unable to find a recording of the Israeli anthem.

Yeah, sure. And we believe that Nidal Malik Hasan wasn’t an Islamic jihadist, but suffering from PTSD. These occurences, which someone with paranoid tendencies might attribute to European snobbish digs at Israel’s legitimacy, is becoming a bit tiresome.

Yossi Harari, chairman of the Israel Fencing Association told Yediot that he intended to submit a complaint to the European Union. Harari also advised supplying every Israeli delegation participating in competitions abroad, with a recorded disc of Israel’s national anthem.

If the Hatikva snub had happened to Yuri Foreman, he might have come out swinging. Foreman, an aspiring rabbi who mixes religious studies with work in the gym, made history in Las Vegas on Saturday night when he became the first Israeli boxer to win a major world title, outpointed Daniel Santos over 12 rounds to claim the WBA super welterweight crown.

The 29-year-old, who was born in Belarus but lived in Haifa from the ages of 10 to 19. Foreman, who remained unbeaten in 28 fights, emigrated from Israel to Brooklyn and began studying to become a rabbi three years ago.

Maybe we should send Foreman to Austria next to teach them Hatikva.

Shalom Haver

Driving down Jerusalem’s King David Street last night on my way to band practice, I passed an array of police vehicles and official-looking swanky cars ensconced in front of the David Citadel Hotel. Now, which foreign leaders are here now, I thought?

Then I remembered that the Sixth annual Saban Forum was taking place from Saturday to Monday in Jerusalem and Ramallah, and among the guests were former US president Bill Clinton and California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger.

During the two-day forum, dialogue between senior officials from both countries on US-Israel relations and Middle East strategic issues such as the Iranian threat, Syria and the Israeli-Palestinian peace process, are being held. On Sunday, the delegates to the conference were travelling to Ramallah to meet with Palestinian Authority Prime Minister Salaam Fayad.

Founded in 2004, the Saban Center for Middle East Policy has been working to promote independent policy dialogue between Israel and the US. Founder Haim Saban called the timing of the event “a critical moment in US-Israel relations.”

And even though neither Bubba nor Ahhnold were out strolling on the Mamilla Avenue mall, their presence during their visit is being felt.

Clinton, speaking to the conference on Saturday, urged Israel and the Palestinians to end our conflict, saying we cannot escape our common future.

“We are either going to hurt each other or we are going to help each other. Divorce is not an option,” AP reported Clinton saying.

“In the last 14 years, not a single week has gone by that I did not think of Yitzhak Rabin and miss him terribly,” he said. “Nor has a single week gone by in which I have not reaffirmed my conviction that had he not lost his life on that terrible November night, within three years we would have had a comprehensive agreement for peace in the Middle East.”

Clinton has remained hugely popular in Israel, where his “Shalom haver,” eulogy at Rabin’s funeral forever struck a chord in Israelis’ hearts. Despite some who believe Clinton’s hastiness and recklessness at achieving an Israeli-Palestinian accord led to the Second Intifada, Clinton’s still a star here. Welcome friends, and block the traffic as much as you want.

Have any lessons been learned from Rabin’s assassination?

Thursday marks the 14th anniversary of the death of prime minister Yitzhak Rabin – certainly one of the cataclysmic events of Israel’s short history.

The divisions among the country’s citizens which led to Rabin’s assassination are still very apparent, with venom from both the Right and Left toward each other spouting freely without any attempt to mask the hatred. The Right blames Rabin and his followers on the Left for the failed Oslo process and the Left blames the Right for the environment that enabled an Israeli to take the life of a prime minister.

While most of the country mourns Rabin’s death and marks each anniversary with sadness, there’s a not so small minority who don’t take part in the collective grief and go about their business like any other day. It’s not a holiday that brings the country together.

Still, there are attempts at unity. President Shimon Peres opened the 24 hours of commemoration saying that the former prime minister’s vision of peace will not be abandoned. The state ceremony, held at the President’s Residence in Jerusalem, was attended by Rabin family members, ministers, members of Knesset, and students from schools throughout Israel.

“Israel’s young generation has kept in their hearts the knowledge that such a despicable murder mustn’t ever happen again,” said Peres. “When the criminal took Yitzhak’s life, he intended to extinguish all hope for peace as well, but his plot will not succeed.”

Peres added that while peace has many enemies outside of Israel, there are also many skeptics within Israel’s own borders. He added that “Rabin’s assassination delayed the entire process and hampered the diplomatic course, but the understanding between us and our neighbors has grown, and its urgency has not changed.”

Memorial ceremonies will continue Thursday throughout the country, and the state ceremony is scheduled to take place in Mount Herzl cemetery at noon.

I remember leaving my newspaper that night after putting out the Rabin assassination edition thinking that Israel was in mortal danger from within, and wondering if we would survive. 14 years, we have perservered, but still have many lessons left to learn and internalize about what kind of country we want to build here.

Let the children stay

There hasn’t been a more sensitive issue on the Israeli table the last few months than that of children of foreign workers. Over 1,200 children of non-Israelis – mostly from Africa, who have been working in Israel for the last decade – are in danger of being deported by the government, despite the fact they were born here, speak Hebrew, and aside from the coveted identity card are as Israeli as anyone else.

The catch? They’re not Jewish.

This week, an interministerial committee was supposed to tackle the issue ahead of a November 1st deadline that Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu had set to come up with a solution to their plight. Their decision – to enable the children to remain in Israel through the end of the school year, and then we’ll see.

The campaign to deport the children is being led by Interior Minister Eli Yishai, the leader of the Shas party. He’s been adamant that the children of foreign workers not be given residency or citizenship in Israel in order to preserve the Jewish nature of the country.

According to Ha’aretz, Yishai does not object to Monday’s decision to postpone deporting the children and their parents until the end of the school year, saying this was for “humanitarian reasons.” But he stressed that he will not agree to any further postponements and will vehemently oppose granting the children citizenship or residency.

Allowing these children to stay in Israel “is liable to damage the state’s Jewish identity, constitute a demographic threat and increase the danger of assimilation,” he said, adding that he would give up his ministry if the government decides to let the children stay.

On behalf of all forward looking people in Israel, let me say that we look forward to the day that happens.

Minister for Minority Affairs Avishay Braverman, representing the humane side of Israeli society, said he couldn’t envision Israel resorting to deporting the children, who want to stay here, serve in the army and be productive members of society.

According to Ynet, he referred in a speech to a precedent established by prime minister Menachem Begin in 1977, where he granted Israeli citizenship to 179 Vietnamese refugees who escaped their homeland on boats after a regime change occurred in Vietnam. No country agreed to take the refugees in after being pulled out of the sea by an Israeli cargo ship.

“The State of Israel will be blemished should those 1,200 children not be accepted as Israeli citizens. It is humanitarianly the right thing to do. The issue must be solved and we are obligated to acknowledge them equal citizens of the State of Israel,” said Braverman.

It’s clear what the right thing to do here is. And if I need to risk the possibility that one of my children might one day want to marry an Israeli who isn’t Jewish, it’s a small price to pay.

Nice sentiments help Obama win the Nobel

I went away for a few days camping and came back to discover that President Barack Obama had won the Nobel peace prize. I was so surprised that I wondered briefly if while I’d been away I had got stuck in some kind of time warp, and a whole year had gone by.

It seemed a far more likely explanation than that the Nobel prize committee had actually decided to award a US president, in power for just a twinkle of the eye, with a peace prize for doing – nothing actually.

I’m a fan of Obama, and I admire what he stands for and the promise he holds. But that’s all we’ve got so far – just a promise, and a few statements about peace and goodwill to all men.

The peace committee said the prize was “for his extraordinary efforts to strengthen international diplomacy and cooperation between peoples”, while Time Magazine added that it was “primarily for his work on and commitment to nuclear disarmament.” From where I sit, however, with Iran threatening to blow Israel off the planet and fast approaching the nuclear capacity to do just that, Obama’s sugary wish to disarm the world seems pretty frivolous.

I don’t often agree with Republicans, but Michael Steel, chairman of the Republican National Committee got it right when he said: “What has President Obama actually accomplished? It is unfortunate that the president’s star power has outshined tireless advocates who made real achievements working toward peace and human rights.”

Here in this region of the world, where conflict is in your face, and peace seems so elusive and unattainable, there are many people working on the frontlines of the peace movement who really do deserve a prize.

They face the conflict every single day, and still continue working for change, even at great cost to themselves.

What about Dr. Izzeldin Abuelaish , the Palestinian doctor who lost his children in the bombing in Gaza, and still campaigns for peace? What about the founders of Parent’s Circle , an organization set up by Israelis and Palestinians who lost loved ones in the conflict but use their bereavement to fight ardently for peace, people like Robi Damelin, who wrote a public letter to Ynet warning of the terrible cost of the intifada as talk grows of the possibility of a new third intifada breaking out in Israel?

What about the dozens and dozens of peace organizations here where Jews and Arabs work side by side, bringing people together, and trying to create a different reality. Every one of us could cite an example. These people aren’t just making nice speeches about peace, they are actually out there making it.

If we are really lucky, in four years from now, Obama will actually deserve a Nobel peace prize, but as we all know, nice sentiments don’t always lead to action. In the meantime, couldn’t the Norwegians find someone who’s actually achieved something?

A different kind of tower on 9-11

I may have been one of the few people to have almost totally missed the horrifying events of September 11, 2001.

I was in miluim (reserve duty) and stationed at the military prison at the Megiddo intersection on the way to Afula. It housed a couple thousand Palestinian security prisoners who were awaiting trial for alleged crimes ranging from belonging to a terror organization to throwing Molotov cocktails at cars, to planning terror attacks, to probably just being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

As a military policeman, until that year, my duties each year at whatever similar prison dotting the country that I was sent to entailed, opening alot of gates, accompanying prisoners to see their lawyers, doctors, families on visiting day, and bascially enabling them to receive the basic neccessities of food, shelter and medical care. Unarmed and at arms length of the prisoners, we MPs were always watched over by armed to the teeth combat soldiers, sitting in tall guard towers with birds eye views of the primarily outdoor compound.

But this year, due to a combination of budget difficulties and shortages of IDF units, our miliuim assignment was to take over the towers and guard a different batch of MPs. On 9-11, I received the noon to 6 pm shift and the midnight to 6 am shift. However, instead of one of the towers facing inward toward the prisoner action, I got the plum position of the tower facing the bustling Wadi Ara road, Road 65, which led to the Megiddo intersection. The directive – to make sure there were no attempted infiltrations.

What that really meant is that I got to watch traffic for six hours, and sing as many Beatles songs as I could remember. It was another uneventful shift and nearing the end, the only item of interest was a car pulled over to the road right outside the fence, with the driver changing his flat tire.

At one point, he looked up at me, and over the din of the traffic, shouted out something. I couldn’t really make it out and asked him to repeat it. I could only hear “plane… crash…building.”

I smiled and nodded, and counted down the minutes until my replacement arrived at 6. He told me to go straight to the command tent and see what was on TV, that I wouldn’t believe it. When I got there, there were about 50 soldiers gathered around the TV.

“What’s going on?” I asked one friend. He filled me in on the chain of events, each one seeming more infathomable than the previous. I wanted to sit down, glue myself to the TV and try to comprehend the enormity of the events as they were still unfolding. But I had to eat dinner, shower, and try to sleep for two or three hours. Because at midnight, I went back up the tower for another six hour shift.

By the time I saw the sunrise on September 12, the rest of the world was in shock and mourning the thousands of casualties. I climbed down from my tower, trudged to my tent, and fell into a long dreamless sleep.

Nostalgia Sunday – 9-11

In five days, it will have been eight years since September 11, 2001 and it looks like this year’s 9/11 anniversary is going to pass without much media fanfare. (Unless something happens, of course, and you know what I mean by “something”). So I thought I would finally share the story of what happened to me that day and how I ended up in a refugee camp in Amsterdam.

Yes, the International Red Cross runs — or ran, at least — four refugee camps in Amsterdam but for the life of me, I cannot tell you where exactly I was sent to stay from Schiphol Airport. That is because 9/11 was, as we Israelis say, a big “balagan”. I can tell you that when I landed there at about 1:30 on a stopover en route back to Israel, the airport was functioning normally. I can tell you that at about 2:15pm, I saw a bunch of people over at the airport lounge staring, transfixed, at the bank of TV screens. I traipsed over in my high-heeled boots to see all the screens, save one, tuned to CNN’s coverage as the first tower was hit. That last screen was broadcasting a bike race. This was Holland, after all.

My initial reaction was, “I’d better buy a pair of comfortable shoes because I think I’m going to be here awhile.” So I trundled off to the Timberland store and purchased a pair of slides, during which time the second tower was hit. I went back to the lounge and watched as news of the Pentagon attack came in. That damn bike race kept on going. Then Schiphol, in the first of a number of panicked moves, announced that it was shutting down the televisions — ostensibly to keep people from panicking.

News began circulating among passengers that airspace around the world was shutting down, and people began rushing towards the various airline counters, trying to find out what was happening to their flights. “You’ve got to get organized,” I said to the KLM counter attendant who was busily shooing the Israelis away from her space. She looked at me and said something completely un-Israeli. “I don’t have to get organized,” she said. It was my first encounter with the concept known as the Dutch Uncle.

On a grander scale, Schiphol decided to do the exact same thing. They decided they didn’t have to get organized. The airport announced that it was shutting down, that all passengers had to vacate the premises, and take their luggage with them. And then, Schiphol proceeded to unload all the suitcases, all at once, from all of the planes. 18 baggage carousels began disgorging bags, one after another, without any rhyme or reason. People were crawling all around through a maze of suitcases. Six hours later, I found my stuff.

For me it was an eye-opener as to how quickly systems can break down. Imagine if Schiphol had been an attack target, as management apparently feared. Someone, however, was astute enough to call in the Red Cross — and that is when things did, indeed, get organized. Red Cross staffers came in with bottled water, soft drinks and potato chips. Also, as the hotels in town were now completely full, they had arranged for transport to take us to a place where, they promised, KLM would be able to see to our flights and where there was a place to sleep. And so, with suitcases in tow, my new, comfortable shoes, and visions of Anne Frank in my head, I boarded a bus full of strangers and rode out into the cold, wet, dark night.

And ended up in an enormous refugee camp on the outskirts of Amsterdam where I handed over my passport, was registered, and in return issued a tan fleece blanket, a KLM washkit and some supplies produced for the Red Cross by a company called De Ridder B.V. These included a toothbrush pre-embedded with toothpaste…shampoo packets… and paper underwear, pairs of which the KLM staffers — sensitive as always — had jokingly put on their heads.

The name “de Ridder”, is Middle Dutch for ‘knight’, ‘rider’, ‘horseman’. The Crusader aspect of the name was lost neither on the company, whose logo at the time was a knight in armor on a horse, brandishing a sword and shield with a red cross on it, nor on myself. (The logo has since been downsized to a knight with a sword and shield but no horse). I stood there in the communal washroom, looking down at the shampoo packet, and realized that the Crusades were still going on. I knew the attackers knew they were fighting a holy war, and I also knew that the attacked didn’t know this.

I couldn’t find any Israelis till I ran into Mira from Rehovot who told me she’d heard that all the Israelis had banded together immediately and gone en masse to another camp. “I don’t feel comfortable here,” she said. “There aren’t any other Israelis. I’m going back to the airport. I heard they’ll put you on a plane if you go there.” And there went my only homeland connection.

I spent the first two days and nights in my refugee camp, as I’ve come to call think of it, in a haze of jet-lagged confusion, wrapped in a blanket, watching the endless hours of wreckage, feeling like the end of the world had come, eating junk food (the Red Cross kept us well-supplied with kuchen and krispen), and watching a group of Sudanese boys playing on the two foosball tables. I asked one of them what the letters on his sweatshirt stood for and he spelled out the name of an international relief agency, explaining that he and his friends were on their way to be resettled in the US. Oh, it suddenly hit me. These were real refugees.

So I snapped out of my funk. Chatted with people who kept on coming in and heard their stories: one couple’s flight had been turned back an hour out of Chicago, another rerouted to the Nova Scotia airport in only their summer clothes. Stuck to the KLM staffers like the proverbial white on rice and on the third day they called my name over the camp loudspeaker and told me El Al had arranged a flight back to Israel. KLM were pretty complimentary about El Al’s functioning — apparently there were other airlines that didn’t get organized.

At the airport I ran into my pal Mira who — despite her best efforts — had made no more progress than I. “They’re all Antisemites here,” she said. “We’ve been sleeping on the floor. They didn’t even give us a blanket.” She stomped off to try her luck at the El Al counter while I was hustled onto an ISSTA charter flight to Ben Gurion Airport. Granted, it was my worst travel nightmare come true: flying with a planeful of unwashed, guitar-playing post-IDF grads after their year in the Far East but at least I was on my way home.

So here’s how I would rate the whole experience:

Tel Aviv unwanted in Toronto?

Misguided protests from loopy bastions of the artistic Left over Israel’s policies regarding the conflict with the Palestinians have resulted in a new height of absurdity.

Some 50 artists, actors and filmmakers, including Jane Fonda, Wallace Shawn, David Byrne and filmmaker Ken Loach, have accused the Toronto Film Festival in an open letter of protest of “complicity with the Israeli propaganda machine” over its spotlight this year of Tel Aviv.

The City-to-City program at the festival, which runs from September 10-19, is highlighting Israeli films like Kirot, Jaffa by Keren Yedaya, The Bubble by Eytan Fox, and Phobodilia by Yoav and Doron Paz, films with festival co-director Cameron Bailey “explore and critique the city from many different perspectives.”

However the open letter by the artists, prompted by Canadian filmmaker John Greyson pulling his short film “Covered” from the festival, claims that the program “ignores the suffering of thousands of former residents and descendants of the Tel Aviv/Jaffa area who currently live in refugee camps in the Occupied Territories.”

“Looking at modern, sophisticated Tel Aviv without also considering the city’s past and the realities of Israeli occupation of the West Bank and the Gaza strip, would be like rhapsodizing about the beauty and elegant lifestyles in white-only Cape Town or Johannesburg during apartheid without acknowledging the corresponding black townships of Khayelitsha and Soweto.”

Are these people serious? When did everything that happens in Tel Aviv, or any other part of Israel, suddenly get tied like a pretzel to the conditions of Palestinians? Even Bailey, in defending the decision to focus on Tel Aviv admitted that “Tel Aviv is not a simple choice and the city remains contested ground.”

Does that mean that Tel Aviv is occupied territory?

As the New York Times reported, “One thing is certain: What might have been one of the festival’s less noticed film series is going to get some attention when it opens on Sept. 11 with an 8:45 a.m. screening of “A History of Israeli Cinema, Part 1,” directed by Raphael Nadjari.”

Refugee models

Interesting item in Ha’aretz Gallery this week: The Tees Factory brand has put together a photography project/marketing campaign for its latest catalog, using African migrant workers from Tel Aviv in order to promote awareness of the campaign to deport them.

The catalog depicts four Africans, all of whom were found on Chelnov Street in South Tel Aviv, wearing items designed by Tees Factory. Of course, as the article points out, there’s something of a gap between a fashion catalog selling several-hundred shekel tee-shirts and an issue that is supposedly being exposed. Particularly when you find out that the ‘models’ were paid NIS 50 and a tee-shirt, a common barter system among professional models in Israel, according to Ayala Amit, the Tees Factory founder.

The label ‘Tees Factory’ is based in Tel Aviv and sold at several stores and clothing fairs. Made in Israel, the design motifs “are a mixture of Jamaican street culture, 50’s [sic] and 70′ [sic] Americana and our very own local Tel Aviv chic,” according to their Facebook page. The company also

“holds a strong dialogue with the local music and nightlife scene. Through working with local musicians on joint projects, supporting live shows from abroad, endorsing music events with local artists and dressing local DJs and musicians for whose work we have respect for.”

Well, you can’t say they didn’t have their heart in the right place. Just a slightly flawed method for publicizing the issue.

 

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