notes of a non-combatant

the road to gaza: day two, arish

Sitting in the quiet and brightly colored بيت النت كف, which literally translates as “Internet House Cafe,” I can only try to put together a decent account of a long and amazing day packed with preparations for an exhausting and emotional journey in the Gaza Strip that will begin tomorrow. It’s tough to think of where to start and even harder to compose thoughts with the constant beeping and blaring of car horns, as taxis ramble down the otherwise quiet streets of Arish, Egypt.

This morning was subdued, beginning with everybody gathering at our meeting place on Qasr el’Nil Street in downtown Cairo. We converged into the massive delegation on the side of an empty street which was only beginning to wake up, along with the rest of the city. Standing there in the parking lot, we had more introductions, took photos, and packed our bags onto the large tour bus before packing ourselves into one of the two available buses. I preferred to ride in a small twenty-person bus that was comfortable and cozy enough to converse with everybody on the bus from any seat. Indeed, that’s exactly what we did on our five hour drive from Qahira to Arish, along with navigating our way through numerous checkpoints with a plethora of various military and police escort vehicles. In between our tail escort unnecessarily blaring its siren to signal cars to make room, everybody on the bus shared his or her story about the path that we have taken that ultimately has brought us all to Arish, ready to approach the Rafah gate early tomorrow morning, demanding entry into the Gaza Strip.

Stories varied, with some folks having been sympathetic to Palestine from afar, or some people who were raised with a Zionist Jewish upbringing and have simply abandoned that viewpoint, along with others who have been either civilian noncombatants or armed combatants in different wars and have come to explore how recent military action has affected residents of the Gaza Strip. This CodePink delegation has quickly proved itself to be a group of amazing, nonjudgmental, forthcoming, and extremely supportive people. When my turn came to recount my history and experiences in relation to Palestine, it was easy to start from the beginning, weaving my family history from the Holocaust to America and on to Israel’s creation and every subsequent war that the nation has waged. It was particularly poignant to be able to follow Omar’s story, as he had described his experiences growing up in Lebanon under a state of war and attack by the Israeli military. Explaining my familial involvement in the Middle East, I was able to dryly explain that my cousins were certainly part invading and occupying force in his country, and that it was my own flesh and blood that has attacked his brethren. Just as the applause that follows every individual’s story fades into thin air, any awkward feelings that our stories might have arose between us similarly dissipated.

We almost didn’t know what to do upon arrival in Arish, entering a short term limbo between beginning the trek to Rafah and actually arriving. Finding ourselves three blocks from the beach, we threw on our swimsuits and meandered down to the waterfront. Reminiscent of popular beaches that I had enjoyed while growing up, the Arish beach was full of children splashing around, playing, and laughing with carefree joy. Omar and I walked out to where a number of children were playing and ended up giving several of them piggy back rides as well as providing them with platforms from which to jump into the waves. After the children had their fill of scrambling up our backs, standing on our shoulders, and jumping over our heads, I swam out into deeper water where several older teenagers were floating. In limited Arabic, we managed to have short conversations and talk about what we do in Arish, the local boys talking about their life but mainly inquiring as to what our delegation is doing en route to Gaza. Following short conversations hampered by a language barrier and constantly pounding waves, one fellow who seemed in his early twenties told me in a mixture of Arabic and English that he loves me. The errors in translation typically don’t catch me off guard like they used to, as Semitic languages tend to lack the English equivalent of “like,” using the word “love” to describe anything from tasty Doritos to a lifelong companion, leaving the nuanced definition to be teased from context. It was difficult to respond to his comment as I constantly paddled to stay afloat in the waves, but his statement certainly reiterated a point that I often hear in the Middle East, specifically in Arab countries. Despite some irrational fear that the entire Arab world hates Westerners, thinking the United States to be some sort of great Satan, the reality is actually extremely different. Partially influenced out of an admiration of our culture which is heavily export in movies, television shows, and commercials, as well as reacting to the genuine goodwill that most Americans exhibit when overseas, I have received nothing but positive reactions from locals wherever I travel, from Morocco to Egypt and across Palestine. Despite economic sanctions and even backing downright massacre against their peoples, almost every Middle Easterner can differentiate the United States government from American citizens, and forms opinions individual to each one’s respective qualities and actions.

The young man eventually swam off and Omar called me to get out of the water. We had to dry off, walk back to the hotel, and get ready to head to dinner. After throwing on my sandals and shirt, I began making my way to the hotel but I simply could not help myself from engaging in smalltalk with people in the streets. One man in particular struck up his own inquisitive conversation with me. Upon seeing my Hebrew and Arabic tattoos on my bare legs as I walked down the street in my swimsuit, he hastened his pace to catch up with me and began talking to me in Hebrew. It turned out that Hebrew was our best common denominator, as he spoke poor English and I spoke even poorer Arabic. He had seen a number of folks from our delegation on the beach and he asked me why we are going to the Gaza Strip. Upon explaining to him that we are going to look at the situation, report back to our communities and journal our experiences, he continued to ask why I specifically am going. I continued to explain that we just want to go and explore the situation. He noted that I am Jewish but can barely speak conversational Hebrew, and am going to a place where, as he physically motioned, I will probably have my throat slit. I responded that I will not parade my heritage through the streets of Gaza, but will respectfully talk with Palestinians and am simply going there to work towards peace with like-minded people, ones who I would certainly call friends as we unite in a struggle against violently belligerent societies and militaries. His stern tone that had dominated the entire conversation suddenly faded into a happy but slightly bewildered tone. “Friends?” he asked, being struck with the notion that Jews and Palestinians can indeed be friends. “Yes, friends,” I responded, telling him about how I lived in the West Bank and already have plenty of Palestinian friends. The man and his friend could do little more than smile and shake my hand before I had to run along to catch the bus to dinner. It was certainly reaffirming to see the looks on their faces, as that same look had once been plastered on my own face upon realizing that ethnic definitions need not be justification or necessity to wage war.

After changing from my swimsuit back into my jeans, we headed to a roadside cafeteria where we enjoyed a delightful fish dinner. Following the meal, we gathered in a nearby Bedouin tent for an impromptu lecture by a highly respected fellow member of this delegation, Norm Finklestein. Although it is nearly a futile attempt to cover every aspect of Norm’s talk, he basically gave an in-depth refresher course to the recent and far history of Israel’s indiscriminate use of force on Arabs, ranging from their engagement with Egypt four decades ago to the wars fought in Lebanon stretching back two decades to just several years ago. Following his solid account of Israel’s military history in regards to unnecessary wars fought as displays of power in order to increase Israel’s “deterrence potential,” as Norm phrased it, he went on to describe the conditions in the Gaza Strip as well as the situation surrounding the ceasefire that Israel broke on November 4, 2008 by invading the Gaza Strip and killing seven men, only two days before Hamas began retaliatory rocket attacks as a final attempt at resistance before Israel’s siege of the Gaza Strip succeeded in creating an all-out humanitarian crisis in the territory. Regardless of intentions, Israel followed the short, discreet invasion with the bombing campaign and ground invasion known as Operation Cast Lead, which ultimately succeeded in creating the humanitarian crisis that Hamas had aimed to avoid for both itself and the rest of the Gazan people.

Perhaps the most striking facet of Norm’s lecture is his amazing attention to detail and facts, referring only to relevant and major sources specific and germane to the situation. Citing no more than the two major international human rights organizations and the investigations they launched in response to Cast Lead, as well as the United Nations, their various branches and all of their subsequent reports, he managed to lay the solid claim that the Gaza Strip was simply subject to a massacre as a regional posture to remind the Middle East of Israel’s military superiority, with little else coming of the slaughter known as Operation Cast Lead.

Tapping away at my keyboard in this roadside internet cafe in Arish, I am ready to fall asleep, though I probably won’t get much rest. An alarm will be set for six in the morning, when I have to drag myself from bed and pack my bags, finding time for breakfast before eight o’clock. When we board the buses tomorrow morning, it will be to complete the last leg of the beginning of our trip, the drive from the city of Arish to the Rafah border crossing into the Gaza Strip.