If we were in a room together and I was speaking, this is what I would say to you all:
Every time I speak about Israel in public, even if I am speaking about the same subject, again and again, it feels different. Speaking about Israel at home, in Israel, is different from speaking about Israel abroad. Not because the content changes, or because of perspective issues, but because every place is different, and my connections are not the same.
My connections with Cape Town go back almost 71 years.
Jonathan Saffron Feuer’s book on 9/11, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, tells the story of a boy whose father was killed in 9/11. The major themes of the book include trauma, mourning, family, and the struggle between self-destruction and self-preservation. At one point the author leaves page after page blank as he is unable to find the right words to describe what has happened. This is what I often feel I need to do: leave pages blank, or sit still and say nothing.
But, I have come a long way, and will share some thoughts, experiences and feelings.
I speak for nobody except for myself. I do not represent any group or organisation in Israel. I have strong points of view – we all have strong points of view in Israel – and let me say from the beginning, there are other people from Israel who would say very different things to you from what I will say. Their opinions, points of view, ideological commitments, even when they are very different from mine, are equally valid.
I want to live in, and indeed, work for, a society where there are multiple opinions and points of view. But, I want to live in a society with Derekh Eretz, where we respect difference ways of understanding the world, AS LONG AS we do not use our difference of opinion to try and destroy those from whom we differ, and as much as we celebrate diversity, and we should, we have to work hard so that we also recognise our human commonalities as well, what we share.
So, who are we now, after over 18 months of
War,
Loss,
Incredible volunteering initiatives,
Death,
Funerals,
Incredible volunteering initiatives,
Shiva,
Memorials,
Ordinary people doing wonderful things for one another.
Wounded soldiers,
Rehabilitation centers,
Ordinary people doing wonderful things for one another.
Marriages falling apart,
Ordinary people doing wonderful things for one another.
18 intense months of tears, of feeling guilty, helpless, angry, vengeful feelings, anger. What has this done to us? What have we become? What might we look like, each and every one of us and all of us as a collective?
What are the questions we should be asking? What are the actions we should be taking?
Let me invite you into some of my recent experiences in my beloved Israel.
First, I have two shirts to show you; each with a story, both of what is written on them and my moment and place of purchase.
Here is a black t-shirt I picked up at Hostage Square in Tel Aviv and prepared by the folks who are working so hard to keep the Hostages front and center in our lives and make it clear that they are our priority. On the back it has the words, The Families’ HQ. On the front is the graphic known to you all of Emily Damari’s fingers. The second shirt is olive green in colour, the colour of military undershirts, with the words, Comrades in Arms, which I picked up when I participated in one of the demonstrations, Marching on Jerusalem, just a month ago.
Let me share the story of a siren from the last months, as sirens have become a more central part of our recent life in Israel. I walk my little one-year-old grandson, Roy (‘Roytjie’ to me), every morning I am home to the children’s house on our kibbutz. I drop him off at around 7.15. He is a delight, a joy, and this is the way I love to begin my mornings, this lovely walk from my home to my daughter’s home, to the baby house and back home again. On this particular morning, I drop him off with the usual kisses, nuzzles and little grandfather noises I make, walk the five minutes home, switch on the Nespresso machine – and a siren goes off indicating incoming missiles. I am supposed to go to the bomb shelter just across the road from my home in the designated 90 seconds. But I cannot. Even though I know Roytjie will be in the arms of the metapelet (carer), I run over to the baby house to hold him in my arms as the Chetz Interceptor Missile brings down another missile launched by the Houthis in Yemen.
Two Israeli moments/scenes/realities which will give away where I stand on many things if you have not already worked it out. Marching on Jerusalem, some ten kilometers from Motza on the highway, to demand of the government to end the war and make the hostages and their return the priority right now. Each water break there is a speaker: an older person, like me, a grandparent whose grandson is in Gaza being held hostage, a retired colonel whose son fell on October 7th. There are flags everywhere, Israeli flags, and when we get to the Calatrava Bridge at the entrance to Jerusalem, we sing. We sing the only song we could at this moment, Hatikvah. This is not a group of “leftists undermining the State of Israel”. This is a group of patriots, desperately trying to save the State of Israel. And then I am in NYC after speaking in West Hartford and Long Island at the demonstration for the return of the hostages in Central Park, and the father of a hostage, still in Gaza, shares the final moments of the conversation with his son on October 7th, which ends with “Abba, I love you.”
And I cry. I cry, as I am crying now as I end my words to you. ●
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