I wasn’t going to say anything, as I have been in the habit of doing for the past four years whenever this particular topic comes up and the brawl ensues — in its usual brief and violent sort of flare-up. But this time, the pang in my chest was a little more assertive. Maybe it’s because I’m graduating, or maybe because I finally trust that I have something worthwhile to say.
Politics isn’t something I get too involved with. For better or worse, I am often more preoccupied with my own inner life. College has been one long, arduous trek up my own mountain of fear and confusion about issues important to who I am and what I believe in. I’m sure there are many on this campus, or any campus, who can relate.
Even during my army service, I remained impartial about politics. In fact, this paradox I just stated is what I wrote about in my application to Brown. I titled it “The Impartial Soldier,” and I wrote it while I was still called a “madasnikit” six days of the week — short for “combat fitness trainer” in modern Hebrew.
The essay was about living contradictions — the living contradiction that I was by volunteering for the Israel Defense Forces while also claiming to be neutral, as well as the other living contradictions I encountered during my two years on five different army bases in locations ranging from Mount Hermon on the northern border with Syria to Gaza in the south. Every now and then, I met an Israeli or Palestinian/Israeli Arab who also seemed to embody contradictions: inner conflicts of place, of identity, of political opinion, ideology, religion and what have you. We were able to connect on this level, and in this humble space we were able to share conflicting narratives and learn from each other’s personal life experiences without feeling threatened or disrespected.
It didn’t take me long to understand that Israel itself was a living contradiction, and we were more than just our own individual conflicted selves. We were honest reflections of our environment. We were admitting the difficult truth that few on either “side” want to admit: that this piece of land doesn’t have one identity, one history, one rightful owner. As much as Palestinians or Israelis of a certain mindset — often those who speak the loudest — feud over royalties, the reality remains that it’s not that simple.
As an amateur by choice in this kind of debate, I’m just going to state two facts that I trust: Arabs and Jews have always been living in that piece of land, whatever name you give it, and Arabs and Jews still do. Oh, and a third: They will likely both continue to live there no matter what any politician, terrorist, religious leader or Ivy League student thinks. Both peoples will remain. From all the facts and figures screamed to me in either ear over the years, these two, THREE, facts always bring the discussion back to earth. The people who accept them do not have an agenda to sway my opinions or disposition. All they demand of me is to listen to a narrative that isn’t already my own. Doing this lets me hear quiet voices with experiences and perspectives that demonstrate complexity, not simple truths, and are therefore often excluded.
One of the reasons why I always keep my mouth shut when conversations about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict arise, particularly those on a larger scale — campus-wide debates that always seem to escalate into an unconstructive, emotional, hateful mess full of exclamation marks — is because of this expectation that you have something to contribute to the conversation only if you have an opinion, an angry one. And not just that, but a manner of speaking that is supposed to prove you know more history and statistics than anyone else you’re arguing with.
Huh … so, what are we fighting about again?
Ever find yourself asking that question when arguing about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict? Well, I can guarantee that the exhausted spectators are. In other words, that which should be the focus — truth and respectful dialogue — becomes about satisfying an overfed ego, or, for those who have more of an emotional investment in it, about confirming a likely inherited worldview and sticking to it. Wishful thinking. A destructive wish.
A couple years ago, I met another person on campus who felt this way. Similar to me, he had a perspective based on real-life experience, not theoretical castles-in-the-air passing for opinions. He, too, didn’t find a common space to express his own personal narrative, which didn’t necessarily conclude in any unidimensional convictions or self-righteous, finger-pointing statements. He shared with me his experiences in the West Bank and his intimate familiarity with being Palestinian, and I shared my experiences in the IDF, and what being half-Israeli means to me. Both perspectives were respected. Both identities were accepted. And all the complexities that inevitably came into view as a result of hearing out both narratives, and the contradictions that we subsequently embodied just by listening to one another without judgment, we confronted and lived with.
I am remembering Avi Schaefer ’13, of blessed memory, whose aim was to create an atmosphere on campus that encouraged the exercise of genuine humanism when talking about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. A space of sharing stories and of accepting every identity, Palestinian and Israeli, as legitimate and equally worthy of our support and attention.
I hope that the angry voices will stop drowning out the soft and that the future of dialogue on this campus about this conflict, or any conflict for that matter, will be done with humility and true respect for a spectrum of perspectives. We like to flaunt a self-image of a student body that is liberal, humanist and intellectually honest, but then we fail, over and over again, at the opportunity to exercise these life skills in real-world situations, including in discussions about Israel/Palestine. Why? I assume that we all share the hope that they will find peace and understanding over there, so let’s localize that hope and make the tedious, uncomfortable, paradigm-shattering effort to bring peace and understanding over here.
Nava Winkler ’14 can be contacted at nava_winkler@brown.edu. She is flawed, but tries her best. No hate mail, please.
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