"So, what did Unplugged do to your Jewish identity?"

Word up to Emma Hutchinson!

Emma asked me this question tonight, and it took me a minute to know how to answer her. Here is my answer:

i think what it did for me is make me realize how important judaism is in my life, and how i never wanna let it go, how it's not something that's just a faction of my life, it's part of the core of everything i do.

Em says that this is an unexpected response based on my entire blog. What do y'all think?

Arna's Children: Jenin Refugee Camp

June 6th, 2008

We just watched a film about the situation in Jenin. There was a lot about suicide bombing and the need to fight and die to protect yourself, your people, your land, and your integrity. I wasn't expecting the intensity or the rawness of it. I started crying the hardest when I thought about Tomas and young men in Oakland who have died for superficial, insignificant reasons. I think I'm hard and real 'cause I come from a place plagued by violence and unfulfilled male egos. But this struggle is real. My tears leaked out in a steadier stream when I realized that the initial reason for my tears was personal. This is not about me. I can be invested in this plight without relating it to myself. How selfish am I to think that my empathy stems from a parallel reality? Things do not need to coincide or mirror one another in order to support each other. The word responsibility flies at and around my head at least twenty times a day here. That's 100 responsibilities and counting. I even employed the term overzealously in my application for this program. "It is my responsibility as a Jew." "It is my responsibility as an American." "It is our responsibility as human beings." No. Responsibility does not belong to me and my power is not infinite enough to belong to it. I have no responsibility here. What I have is love and I am ready to offer it to any and all people in the name of humanization. In my identity crisis during finals, I broke down because I realized that all I am genuinely good at is loving people. But, once again, just like my overtrusting nature and overexposed heart, my weakness has evolved into my strength. You see, the love that this situation requests does not need responsibility. I refuse to fall into the footstep-beaten path of duty. This is not my duty. My tears are selfish, yes. But my tears are pure, all condescending poison cleansed with a downpour of love. I do not know where to go from here, but I know how to travel.

The Matrix

June 6th, 2008

The reason for holding onto a shard of hope in this area is the love that exists. For all the fucked up abuses that go down, there is ten times more love here. Love is the driving force. It is a grossly misguided love, but it is fully present and it keeps me breathing. This love is mutually angry and hot, and at times poisonous, but it is here. As long as love holds a space, full dehumanization is not concrete. It may be a one-sided humanity, and it may need to change completely, but the energy is here. It is not enough, but without its presence, nothing will ever be enough.

The Architecture of Occupation

June 6th, 2008

Jewish people are known for and pride ourselves on our strength of community. Being here has made me realize how true that is, and how exclusive. We take care of ourselves and only ourselves. Settlers can stomach partaking in occupation because it is forwarding and strengthening the Jewish people, and it is possible to throw rocks and devalidate the agony this affords the Palestinian people because any and every one beyond our walls of Judaism is a potential threat and detriment. Is community truly a core piece of our collective soul if we allow the destruction of other communities in our wake? The bright-colored buganvilla flowers, magenta, pink, and white wink maliciously at the one Palestinian home, completely gated in and surrounded by settlement houses. Palm trees tickle spanish-style villas and the sun simultaneously kisses luxurious Jewish patios and beats down on the two weak-looking solar panels on the Palestinian roof. What need could a settler here ever find to throw stones at the sole Palestinian home in the area? Oh, right, I forgot. We protect, fight for, and love our own. Sharing love or humanity with anyone else might deplete our source. Perhaps we are too afraid that our soul can not survive the trial of solidarity beyond our own

Battle with Intoxication

June 5th, 2008

I am grappling for control of my own brain. Every idea should be taken with a grain of salt, but I'm enthusiasticaly throwing back a shot of tequila, sucking on a slice of lime, and licking a salty wrist as I inhale each new concept of reailty. My attempt to sober up is a difficult one, when so many want to guide my drunken self and so many more would wak past my passed out body on the sidewalk without a second glance. More than manipulation, I am fearful of mass indifference towards my internal plight. I do not even need to reach a conclusion, do not need to resolve this dispute with myself. No one is watching. No one is waiting. No one is anticipating with baited breath. Intoxication with this conflict is taking its invisible toll on my psyche.

Dark Thoughts

June 5th, 2008

Dheisheh Refugee Camp in Bethlehem, staying in the home of a Palestinian family

It's one-something in the morning and some combination of mosquitos, the small glass of turkish coffee I drank before bed and the food baby sitting in my stomach is preventing my return to sleep. The toilet doesn't flush here, so I'm trying my best to keep all contents inside my body for now. Since the water flow into the area is controlled by the Israeli government, the only water they have comes from a tank that sits on top of the house.

Today I hit a point where I felt the situation here was so completely huge and hopeless, but then I realized that if something as concrete and institutionalized as slavery in the United States can be abolished, maybe there is hope yet (not to say that we are completely free of slavery). Everyone always gets so offended when you compare the situation in the Middle East to any other global tragedy, but the truth is that unless we can familiarize and place this situation in a context that people will and can understand, nobody will care. Unfortunately, that's the the way this world works. Unless you can show people that a situation directly includes or influences them, they're indifferent. And then you have the few who don't bother to determine their relation to the situation, but who have the privilege to get involved and "save the masses" through a facade of solidarity and a mountain of false generosity completely free of investment in the core truth. Today made me wonder if I'm not just that- if I'm just like the very people I condemn and detest. I will gladly parade a kefiyah on my neck and a "Free Palestine" shirt on my back, simultaneously rockin' a hamsa or a Jewish star, feeling superior because I'm a cool Jew. I'm a Jew who knows wassup. Down for the struggle because I was born into a city of struggle, but also down by choice because of a mobility afforded to me for my lightness and Whiteness. Like the title of William Pietz's article, this is a Fetishization of Civilization that I am projecting. That I can afford to be in this blood-splashed land as an observer and a learner speaks to my power. I can go home to my cushy California life, blow some trees, play in the dirt with little kids, drive the streets of Oakland, windows down and radio up, and pretend to forget. I have the choice to remove myself from this situation and return to my world of love, smiles, paychecks and fresh fruit. But people here can not escape. And when I say that, I don't mean an inescapable reality like America, where racism is instiutionalized and social mobility is restricted by taboos and artificially created hierarchies. If you have a West Bank id, you literally cannot go to Jerusalem. EVER. If you have a Palestinian passport, to travel even to other parts of Palestine requires up to seven checkpoints and more hours of your life than you can afford to spend on travel.

In the film we watched at Ibdaa Cultural Center in Bethlehem's Dheisheh refugee camp, "Frontiers of Dreams and Fears," Mona explores an aspect of the word "travel" that had never occurred to me. After her best friend flees to London without saying goodbye, this 14-year-old young woman mourns the loss and condemns the word. "I hate the word travel." As a refugee, travelling symbolizes the lack of a home. The need to travel is consuming and abolishes any desire to travel for pleasure. Mobility has never stared me down so hard before. I flash an American passport at a checkpoint and am ushered past tens of Palestinians who have been waiting in line for hours. I so appreciate that today my mobility was put in check because I was beginning to feel comfortable in this skin of privilege.

When we entered the H2 area of Hebron/Khalil today, a Palestinian area and city being "resettled" and dismantled by Jewish settlers, our tour guide was stopped by IDF police and threatened with arrest if he did not leave the area. He left, went beyond the checkpoint to wait for us, and we continued up the hill. We reached a second checkpoint, and I became mesmerized by the Ethiopian soldier lounging inside a camouflaged booth, gun cradled in his arms. My mind raced back to what Rotem told us the first day of this trip: the dirty, angry jobs are given to Arab Israelis and Ethiopian Israelis because it prevents the European Israelis from immediate harm and because of the tension, resentment, and hatred it breeds between Palestinians and Arabs & Ethiopians. Anger bubbled inside me, but not anger at the Ethiopian man or his comrade, each man barely older than I. I am angry at the ability of a higher power to instigate and perpetuate this. This brand of oppression is so much more tangible than any I've been privileged enough to analyze. Triple-layered gates and gun-bearing parades of Israeli soldiers pepper the streets of Hebron, squeezing my heart. I care so much, but is it enough? My caring matters to me, but this people need more than American empathy. And who I am I to empathize with this struggle? Our tour guide joked today that he was grateful we spent a day in the streets of terrorists, that we risked our lives despite the warnings of friends against an area where we'd surely be bombed or kidnapped. The funny thing is I heard those cautions and concerns from even the most conscious of friends. A demonization of people scares me so because people are people are people. The more time I spent here the more frighteningly this situation reminds me of the Native Americans... virtually exterminated civilizations. I cannot stomach the thought of extermination here. It is too world-shattering.

But then again... I can go home. So world-shattering constitutes tears and a feined sense of personal victimization because I remotely know these people. The hardest part of all of this for me to swallow is the knowledge that I will go home. And I am scared because I cannot answer myself when I ask how home can become a birthing ground for application rather than fetishization. Truth comes with a price... will it cost me my comfort? I know that I can go home... but will I?

Testing my trust

June 3rd, 2008

Last night our bus driver in Ramallah was following the other bus of our group in front of us. Both of our trip leaders had already left the group, dropped off at their apartment in Ramallah en route to the hotel that we, the participants, were staying at. Someone mentioned that our bus could hijack us and we wouldn't know 'cause we had no idea where we were. The driver we were following is friends with Hannah and Dunya, our trip leaders, and I trusted him completely, but our driver was random and didn't know where we were going. It made me nervous that we kept talking about Israel and Birthright and Jewish people because we'd been warned to use discretion about to whom and when we revealed our religion. But I decided to ignore it and keep talking about our Israeli soldier friends and how much we loved them. All of a sudden, the car started picking up speed, flying down the hill and passing the bus in front of us. My heart stopped for a minute and I grabbed Erica's hand. I knew we were fine, the driver was just having fun teasing his fellow driver, but what if...? I didn't know I had this mistrust in my body, but when you're thrown into a situation that you've only read about in papers and chewed on in a classroom, the depths of socialization are exposed. I do not know how deep my waters are; I have a gut feeling it will be a while before I hit the bottom of this lake.

Oppression is Oppression is Oppression

June 2nd, 2008

We went to a bunch of interesting places today. From hearing from one of the founders of the Israeli Black Panthers to being led on a tour of the wall and Jewish settlements by Rotem, an Israeli conscientious objector who spent two years in Israeli prison instead of military service to travelling into Ramallah to meet with Dr. Mustafa Barghouti, I have already learned more in one day than I learned on all ten days of Birthright.

One of the craziest things is the completely blatant way in which this is an oppressive society. They told us about how a lot of times the people who get placed on border patrol at the checkpoints are Arab Jews or Ethiopian Jews, so it creates an animosity between the Palestinians and the second-class Israeli citizens. As soon as Rotem told us that, my heart dropped. This is the creation of horizontal violence by an oppressor. It takes the heat off of the European/White Jews who are higher-ranked in the army and don't have to do this dirty work.

It blows my mind how many parallels there are between my life and life here. The conflict in the Middle East is no longer this intangible thing that I march about and pretend to be connected to. It is real, and though I can not pretend to know it, in many ways this world mirrors my own. It is at once new to me and familiar. The foreignness is fading away as I meet the founder of the Israeli Black Panthers and learn about Israeli gentrification. (There are many ideological settlers, who are groups of Jewish people who move into the West Bank onto Palestinian land and settle there because they believe the land is theirs. What most people don't hear about are the "economic settlers," who are forced out of the major cities like Jerusalem and Tel Aviv because of cost of living. The Israeli government builds settlements, plants attractive palm trees and supplies bountiful water and electrical access, and subsidizes housing so that poor Israelis have no choice but to move to the settlements. It is only after the move that the tension escalates between them and the Palestinians. Again, violence and animosity orchestrated by the Israeli government.) Government infiltration and permeation, economic relocation and sub-oppressor identification characterize the conflict I've learned on day 1. Just like home. Oppression is oppression is oppression.

Concerns and Hopes for Birthright Unplugged

June 2nd, 2008

We did an activity at the orientation for Birthright Unplugged where we all had to write down two anonymous concerns and two hopes for the trip.

My concerns:

That I don't know how to communicate who I am in a non-Western context, and

that my experience here will be temporary.

My hopes:

That I will clarify my connection to this land, and

that I'll learn how I can be a part of this struggle.

Jews are Jews are Jews

May 31st, 2008

(My last day of relaxation in Tel Aviv with Erica before we headed to Jerusalem to start our trip to Palestine/the West Bank. I wrote this sitting on a bench, waiting for Erica to exchange money and for the 4 o'clock show of Sex & the City-- which was fabulous and ridiculous. I wrote this with the situation of Ethiopian Jews in Israel, who, in my opinion, are living under a segregated state.)

Jews are Jews are Jews. But the lighter your skin, the more we trust you. Jews are Jews are Jews. But this segregation is natural. Born from a tendancy of like to find like, characterized by a unity and cohesiveness of chosen community rather than forced separation, melanin-based discrimination and economic degradation. This is the homeland. All Jews are welcome, all Jews are blessed, all Jews are protected. But some are welcome only in certain circles, blessed only out of sympathy from afar, protected not by national solidarity but by the tin-roofed projects of Rameleh. Jews are Jews are Jews and I am received, even pulled in by Hebrew-flavored grins. It is not important that I rarely ever go to Shul or that Mexican-Methodist blood pumps its course through my veins. I am American and I am white, and I am wanted. Because Jews are Jews are Jews. It makes me sick because I know Jews are Jews are Jews is a conditional institutionalized mentality, a vehicle of selection for the purity and preservation of a people, but most of all I am sick with shame for the smiles I return, for the arguments I do not catalyze, for the truth I do not address. What does it mean that I feel at peace in a place at war? Israelis are rude and hard on the outside because of the torturous and unpredictable daily reality they live. My rainbows-and-sunshine self could never spend a mandatory year or two in the army. But couldn't I? If I believed in it strong enough. These people believe so wholeheartedly that it both awes and frightens me. They believe to the point of blind acceptance of a racist state because it's all in the name of Israel, of protecting and forwarding the country. Jews are Jews are Jews. Jewish curiosity if famous and traditional, but in this country: Jews are Jews are Jews. And don't ask.

These Scars Are Maps

("These Scars Are Maps" is a sentence I found graffitied on the side of a wall in Tel Aviv)

You say these scars are maps and you wear them with pride. You flaunt them for the world to recognize and revel in your history. These scars are maps, but where is the legend? They lead me astray in a maze that I am too free to follow but too scared to destroy. These scars are maps that plot familiar points in uncharted waters. Stuck without a compass, I read your map. This territory is sorrowful and proud, oozing emotional energy stored for thousands of years and released in the form of Israeli smiles and French bullets 60 years ago this season. These scars are maps that pull at my heart and fuel my desire to make it all better. These scars are maps that lead me in ugly and distorted circles, refusing to release me into the impossibility of using another compass. You flaunt your map, hoping but knowing I will try to read it. But if you gotta flaunt it... suddenly you become an insecure male, hyper-masculine in an attempt to mask your dehumanization. Peer pressure's a bitch and this is not what he truly wants. These scars have become maps to a pain that is swallowed by the guise of humanity. A globalization of sensitivity has birthed a military culture and a steel-backed people. Cold because protecting happiness comes with a price. These scars are maps that point to the sacrificed tolerance, given up with tears in the name of future smiles. These scars are maps to the past that cultivated this complicated pride and unspoken genocide. Thank God "Never Again" is true for the Jews. But these scars are maps to the present Again. You say these scars are maps and you wear them with pride. Would your head still be high if you realized these scars are really maps to who you used to be inside?

Inglit? (English?)

May 29th, 2008

It blows my mind that I fit in so easily here-- I could be Israeli. It makes such a difference for travelling on your own when you're not automatically marked as a tourist. Despite the fact that I can't speak the language, I feel like I belong.

Jenna Bosco and Egypt

May 28th, 2008

(I was supposed to travel to Egypt after Israel and Palestine to visit her, but it didn't work out. Some day, babe, I will come to Egypt with you!)

Jenna said she would look out at the seemingly endless beauty of the Mediterranean from her deck in Alexandria and call "LILLLYYYY!" Today I was there (on the beach in Tel Aviv) and I listened for her. I felt her smile and almost knew she was sending her big beam and huge wave to me. I really miss her.

Tsedakah with Ethiopian kids in Rameleh

May 27th, 2008

I wasn't excited at all about doing this tsedakah (the Hebrew word for a Jewish obligation to perform community service/to give back to the community) project-- you know how I feel about Community Service. But this project was amazing. We were chillin' with Israeli Ethiopian kids who are in a special program to help them learn English. This ia very poor city, mixed Ethiopian Jewish and Arab. Even the way Koren, who's hella knowledgable and open-minded, talks about poor areas bothers me. There's pity and condescension in his voice (although I don't know if he's aware of it).

Last night Erica and I almost got into it with a few other people because we were all talking about the Arab kids on the rafting excursion down the Jordan River who kept splashing us with water. I said I could understand why they did it, and I wasn't too offended. One little kid (well, not so little. Probably eleven or twelve years old) looked at the man who was with them who told them to stop splashing us. The boy spoke in Arabic to the chaperone, saying something that included the word "taglit" (the Hebrew word for Gift/Enlightenment that is used interchangably with the English word "birthright"). From the expression on his face, I'm almost positive he said, "But they're Taglit." I really have no qualms with those kids. If I were them, I'd splash me too. One boy was hella mugging us, so I just said hi and he looked really surprised and said, "Hi? What's your name?" But for the most part we were met with a lot of hostility and I understand it. Most people didn't at all.

Encountering Soldiers As Friends

May 27th, 2008

I just remembered that we saw a blimp-like thing in the sky when we were at the Bedouin tent in the Negev desert and Amitai (our security guard) told us it was a spy vehicle to spy on the Egyptians. We laughed and thought he was kidding, but then Koren (our tour guide) told us it's to protect the security border. Crazy things that are so normal and commonplace here I almost dismiss/don't bother to document. But it's really important to remember.

(8 Israeli soldiers joined us for half of the trip--5 days. There were four men and four women. They travelled with us, stayed in the hotels with us, and participated in all activities with us. Noa, one of the women, was my roommate for two nights.)

The soldiers are about to leave us in a few minutes. Some people cried and I was wondering why I didn't cry because I'm usually the emotional one in situations like this. I think it's because I'm more surprised than anything at what a good time we had. I'm glad and I'm happy and I'm pensive because this just adds another layer to the story. I have so many conflicting emotions flying around right now. I wonder if the reason I didn't get extra close to the soldiers is because I was sick at first .I think that definitely played a role. I also know that I didn't have the most open mind at first about it, but it's definitely been a mind-opening experience. Idan told me last night that based on us, he's decided that American women are free, liberated and extremely open-minded. It's good to know that he thinks that about us. He asked me what I thought about Israeli men and I didn't know what to say because all Israeli men I've met are totally different from each other.

It's so interesting hearing everyone talk about how the Israeli soldiers are fighting for us. I really don't see it that way. It becomes harder and harder to condemn them, though, because I love Limor and Idan and Tal and Or. I know it's not ever the soldier who is to blame because soldiers are pawns, but in a country where almost everyone is on the same page about the army, I just don't get that puppet/puppeteer, pawn/master vibe. The soldiers are strong in their convictions and, unlike the U.S., I don't believe it's the result of brainwashing. It's the result of a genuine, thoughtful, and real passion for the cause. I can not fully condemn that when we have this painful history as a people that created this place. I've never felt that Israel is the best solution to the problem, but despite my beliefs I can not deny the magnificance and glory of what was accomplished by the Zionists. They established a country, made a home in the desert, institutionalized and revived a language... that's a huge feat.

R.I.P Sherrard

May 26th, 2008

When my mom called and told me that Sherrard had died, it didn't sink in. It still hasn't. But what did bother me was that I couldn't for the life of me remember his last name. When I got on the Birthright bus yesterday, I put on "I'll be Missing You," by Puff Daddy and Faith Evans, and thought about him and about Arthur (Arthur is now inherent in that song for me 'cause it played randomly on repeat three times the night he died), and it just came to me: Franklin. I felt the click. I just let myself go, completely submerged in the song. I think that's what I mean about not letting my thoughts interrupt my soul. If I just follow my gut, I'll do all right.

I'm feeling a lot better and with my new health is a new readiness to be here. When I was queasy with food poisoning I was so completely ready to go home, and I still want to but I'm much more prepared to be here, enjoy myself, and see it through. It's strange because even thought we've seen signs of the conflict, it still feels very unreal and removed. Maybe that's why so many people on the trip seem to feel so pro-Israeli without any qualms. Which is why I'm both excited and terrified for Birthright Unplugged. Not terrified in terms of safety, but because it will force me to open my eyes and look at things that I think I already see.

My Mind Interrupts My Soul

May 22nd, 2008

We were in the Old City in Jerusalem today and had an hour and a half of free time in the Jewish quarter. Erica, Danielle, and I wandered into the Christian quarter, and I instantly felt more at home. All the people were Arab, it was more bustling, more comfortable, more familiar, more welcoming. The second thing I focused in on when I got there was the kefiyahs (Palestinian/Arab scarves) they were selling. I've wanted a kefiyah for SO long- I was so happy. At dinner a girl mentioned to me that we weren't allowed to be in any quarter other than the Jewish one unless accompanied by an armed security guard. It's so bizarre and so interesting. The Jewish quarter has totally monopolized the money of the young Jewish American birthright kids.

When I climbed out of the cave after the archaeological dig, I heard Todd ask a security guard if they teach you any Arabic in the Israeli army, and he responded, "just the basics: lift up your shirt, get in line, drop your pants, shut the fuck up...." Soldiers are everywhere and so completely commonplace that I'm surprised how much it threw me off to hear him say that in such an offhanded way.

At times I feel like I'm psychologically creating and developing a connection which isn't authentic and which doesn't exist. But then I wonder if I think too much. I know it's crucial to never stop questioning, but is there a certain point where my mind interrupts my soul? I need to allow myself to connect. I need to be able to feel good about being here. I can't keep getting in my own way. Justifications and devil's advocacies keep me from running with the ball. Instead, I twirl the ball in my lap, contemplating the various bouncing potentials it holds.

My Words

Hello beautiful Comrades,

As many of you know, I just returned home to Oakland after 5 months in New York and 3 weeks in the Middle East. I spent ten days on Birthright Israel, a free trip for young Jewish Americans to Israel. Birthright and the organizations that sponsor and administer it claim that it is a Jewish person's birthright to visit Israel at least once in her lifetime. I paid to extend my ticket and, along with my partner-in-crime (Erica Schapiro-Sakashita), spent about a week in Tel Aviv on the beach. We then travelled to Jerusalem to meet up with the second half of our trip: Birthright Unplugged. Birthright Unplugged is designed to counter Birthright, and we spent the week travelling in the West Bank, staying in Refugee camps with Palestinian families, and learning about different modes of Palestinian oppression and resistance.

The trip was fun and intense and enlightening and life-shattering (not to be dramatic or cliche or anything...), so I thought that I'd transfer some of my journal entries to a blog to share them with y'all. I've never blogged before, so bear with me here-- ma bad if they're a little out of order or don't include enough details (example: the introduction to this blog came after three entries). Feel free to ask me questions about any and everything I've written.

Much love and many thanks for caring enough to read my thoughts,

Lil

P.S. This is a very partial glimpse into the trip. I'm not copying all of my journal entries because some are too personal and some are too long. If you want to know more, please, please, please talk to me. I want to share this knowledge!! XO

Enlightened Food Poisoning

May 24th, 2008

When I was at the Western Wall, I asked God to send me a sign that I'm on the right track in playing a significant part in solving the world's inhumanity. That was also the day that I was feeling the strongest pull to Jerusalem. I woke up the next morning with food poisoning. The entire day, as my stomach throbbed with sharp pain, I couldn't help thinking that this is the sign I asked for. "Uh uh, homie," my body is telling me. "Jerusalem is not your home." When my hands were pressed against the Western wall and I felt vibrating balls of energy entering my hands, coursing through my body, the vibrating stopped momentarily when I asked for this sign. It's as if God were hesitating, filled with the knowledge that this sign would bring me pain. I kept my hands pressed vertically against the smoothed stone, soft from year upon year of wishing and tears, and finally the response came: one final, definite throb. I can never look at Jerusalem in the same light. It makes me slightly sick, a little nauseated to remember that at one point (only 2 days ago) I was in love with this city and could see myself living here.
Interestingly, though, here I have no reservations about referring to God. I've never believed in "God," just in this force of the universe. And perhaps that's what I mean when I say it-- it's just that this city is so ripe with spirituality that God--regardless of what form s/he assumes-- is ever-present. Jerusalem has new meaning for me now. Rather than being a homeland or a place to which I feel beautifully connected, it is now a place of my spiritual birth. This is also where I received the sign that blindly loving Israel is a misguided attempt to bring justice to the world.

The Western Wall (Jerusalem)

May 22nd, 2008

We just visited the Western Wall. When I put my hands on it, I felt a pulsating energy flowing from it. I don't know if it was my hands or the wall, but either way I felt it was a sign from God. I know that sounds crazy because I'm not that religious and because that's what Birthright wants you to believe or experience, but I can't deny it. Jerusalem speaks to me.
To stand before a wall that means nothing to me and holds no significance in my life alongside crying women who are experiencing a life-long dream was at first a very alienating experience. I realized, though, that I couldn't allow my preconceived notions and expectations to guide me, so I gave in and stepped to the wall. I put my wish on the eastern side of the wall because a) I didn't know any better and b) I didn't feel worthy of putting it on the actual wall (which I hate). My wish went something like this:
I wish for smiles free of resilience. For truth free of conditions. For happiness that is a response to the world rather than despite it.
Being here has definitely made me realize that I've been too hasty in my judgements and decisions my entire life. I'm a little wierded out being here because the ultra-Jewishness freaks me out, but that in itself is exactly why I'm here- to try to understand & counter that feeling. But then again, I was originally intending Birthright to be my free ticket to the land so I could do Birthright Unplugged. That in itself indicates my closed-mindedness. Seeing how passionate the other New York girls on the trip are about Judaism makes me realize how big a piece of my life Judaism has been. But this does not feel like my homeland. Kehilla (my synagogue) is a special place where you are in the minority if your family has two white, straight, Jewish parents. Kehilla, Berkeley, California, is where I and my version of Judaism is appreciated. There is less space for me here than at home. I might want Jerusalem, might hear its seductive song, but it does not want or need me, despite what people tell me.

A bullet on a chain

May 20th, 2008

What does it mean that I bought a bullet necklace at the Ayalon Institute? Is it an indirect declaration of support for what the factory symbolized? I appreciated that the tour guide kept referring to the land during the factory's existence as Palestine and didn't avoid the term like many Zionists do in an attempt to devilify and avoid responsibility for the actions carreid out against the people of Palestine in the name of Israel. At the same time that he repeatedly referred to Palestine, he also completely glorified the factory- the first to produce bullets to fuel the Jewish struggle prior to the Israeli Declaration of Independence. I am beginning to understand how my childhood friend could have returned from his birthright trip ready to join the Israeli army. They make it not about the conflict or the violence or the displacement, but about the goal and dream of Israel and what it ideally represents. The problem is that this dream Israel is inextricably linked to the actions and immorality created in its wake. Do the means ever truly justify the ends? I feel in my heart so much hypocrisy linked to this country, to this place, but I'm also being told that this is my home. While I know that neither does this space belong to me nor do I to it, I can't resist the humanity of the Israeli people. It is no longer as simple as it was when I was so completely removed from and external to the land and the situation. There can not be an easy solution here. My mind couldn't fully grasp that before I came here. But "here" is now home to tens of thousands (actually approximately 7 million) Israeli people. A bullet necklace hanging on a shiny gold ball chain around my neck broadcasts so much more than the Israeli-Zionist stance. It validates and endorses, glamorizes and renders heroic the very violence and persecution that created the need for this specific bullet in the first place. But for me it goes even further.
Bullets immediately connect to armed resistance, to the Panthers, to a global solidarity for those forced to don arms. But how can that be my first and immediate connotation when I hail from a city plagued by the bullet? How can I cry at Tomas' grave and assemble an altar in his name for Dia de los Muertos, scream at the world for unjustly allowing a 19-year-old boy to be shot dead in Oakland, California, and buy and flaunt a golden bullet in Rehovot, Israel? Maybe that's why I haven't put it on yet. But I know that I will when I've figured out what it means for me. It scares me that I bought it without fully understanding why. I was drawn to it. It's part of the magic weaved by birthright. Since I've resigned to not put it on until I'm sure of why, I wonder: will I ever wear it?