Israel at War, again

Summer in a War Zone: Life Goes On©
By Jonathan W. Reitman, Esq.

Tel Aviv—When I agreed to return to Israel to teach this summer, as I have each summer since 2001, I never suspected I would have to pass through protective walls of sandbags on my way to class, to find myself emotionally shaken simply by reading the morning’s news, and to revise my class assignments because my students were spending their nights in air raid shelters (“miklot”) without computer access.

War has come yet again to the Middle East, and the Arabs and Jews I teach (graduate students pursuing a Masters degree in Public Administration through Clark University and Israel College) are devastated by its effects.

Herziliya can’t come to class today because her 19-year-old son has returned from active duty in Lebanon to attend the funeral of two of his comrades, and she has the chance to see him for three hours before he returns to the front line. Zehava knows precisely the number of trauma victims (1,235) who have passed through the Nahariya Hospital Emergency Room where she is the head nurse. Yael and Bruria have evacuated their families away from Haifa and Safed, cities under active bombardment, to move in with strangers in Jerusalem who have opened their homes to families from the north. Yigal is on my class roster as registered for my course yet the empty spaces on the attendance sheet signify his story: he has missed the first four classes because he is in the Army Reserves and has been activated. Nabil and Hikmat and Maisar, all Muslim Arabs who live and work in Israel, feel the hostile stares from their Jewish colleagues, even from people with whom they have lived and worked for years.

For me, it is humbling to teach Negotiation, Mediation and Conflict Management in the midst of this Israel-Hisbullah War. As we discuss these topics in class, inevitably the political/military situation (“Ha- Matzav”) comes up as we talk about ways to negotiate, about alternatives to a negotiated agreement, about styles of conflict management. When it does, the anger and pain and frustration often erupt. The Arabs and Jews sit in different areas of the classroom. They have given me the privilege to bear witness to their suffering and, when the raised voices subside, to talk calmly with them about non-violent conflict resolution tools they can use in their own lives. They seem grateful to learn different ways of looking at conflict, the central fact of their lives (“You are opening our minds,” they say).

And when they can, they sit in mixed groups of Arabs and Jews and regain the civility and humor and friendship which have been so disrupted by events “in these days.”

Of course I’m curious to know what they think about the war. Not surprisingly, the Jews seem to have diverse opinions. Certainly, most support their army. Unlike the United States, every family here has a father or a son fighting in this war. While they reserve the right to criticize the conduct of the war (“inexperienced politicians are messing it up…they give inconsistent messages to the army”), there seems little disagreement that something had to be done to eliminate the existential threat to Israel’s continued existence which Hisbullah’s rocket power represented. A growing minority, however, wonder out loud whether Israel’s long range security can be achieved by military means alone. They wonder if perhaps the IDF’s conduct in Lebanon is generating a new generation of haters of Israel. They wonder how Iran and Syria can be held accountable for their supply of military hardware to Hisbullah. And they grieve for the innocent civilians on both sides.

The position of Israeli Arabs is much more nuanced and complex. In front of their Jewish colleagues, they say little. In private conversations with me, they complain bitterly of the discriminatory treatment they receive generally, and during the war in particular (suggesting there are fewer bomb shelters in Arab areas). They want peace with the Jews AND want their Arab heritage to be honored. Some of them feel admiration for and pride in Hisbullah’s actions. Mostly, they just want a return to normalcy.

Although I teach in a town (Hadera) in which a Katyusha rocket exploded five days ago, I generally feel little fear for my physical personal safety. Tel Aviv, where I live and also teach, carries on with “business as usual;” all the restaurants and clubs are open late and the beaches are full. It’s a bit surreal when contrasted with the devastation just 30 kilometers north.

I have been here at the height of the intifada in 2001, when bombs were exploding every day or two all over the country. I’ve worked in Bosnia just after the wars of the 1990s there. I’ve seen a lot. So I thought this summer would just be more of all that. In fact, it’s much more difficult emotionally than I would have thought. With Hisbullah’s Nasrallah threatening to bomb Tel Aviv on a regular basis, and with the horrifying images from Lebanon on television each day, there have been more sleepless nights than I would have predicted.

When I get down or nervous, I think of my valiant wife Lilliana, who remains at home in Brunswick taking all the responsibility of our various enterprises on her shoulders while I’m here. She understands this is a calling for me, to be of service in a time of great conflict. She supports me in this work AND she will kill me if I don’t come home safe and sound. So I will.

I’m leaving now to have lunch at a seaside café with two former students. Life goes on.