I
have long loved Israel. When I was there in the sixties, I found
that little country a rare and refreshing spiritual, political,
and social experiment. It had taken, I felt, the best from a variety
of governing systems and had blended them in a remarkable way. I
had hoped each of my sons and daughters would spend time on a kibbutz.
When I returned in 1980, I found a very different ambiance. Israel
was heavily armed, frightened, defensive, and persecuting the Palestinians.
What had happened to this promising nation and its people to become
so bellicose?
A whole new chapter of my life opened. I wondered why people tortured
other people, and I thought that if I could know that answer, there
might be new possibilities for peacemaking and reconciliation. And,
as a Quaker pacifist, I believed I should have no enemy and should
care for the wounded on all sides of every battle.
That year I worked on both sides of the Green Line, moving back
and forth, interviewing peace people, both Israelis and Palestinians.
The suffering of the Palestinians under Israeli rule was horrifying.
It seemed madness, and I wondered whether the behavior of the Israeli
government and the military had anything to do with the suffering
from the Holocaust. I began reading everything I could find on the
Holocaust syndrome. In the ensuing years I learned about post-traumatic-stress
disorder (PTSD), a tragic condition which frequently affects soldiers
when they emerge from battle, or years later battle fatigue, as
it was formerly called. Any catastrophic event "outside the
range of normal human experience" can cause similar symptoms,
which can include depression, isolation, withdrawal, rage, numbing,
alienation, intrusive thoughts, horrifying flash-backs, a force
of hyper-vigilance akin to paranoia, and more.
I looked at the histories of these two adversaries, the Israelis
and the Palestinians. I saw them as two traumatized people who have
suffered from and committed acts of terrorism and violence against
one another. Today the Israeli government is in a position of power
and is oppressor to the Palestinians. There is, of course, retaliation.
While there is a strong and active peace movement against the Israeli
government's policies (at least 50% of Israeli citizens are said
to disagree with their government), the people have not been able
to change its policy to one of just and peaceable coexistence.
Today it's easy to see the Palestinians' suffering and the injustices
they experience. It is not so easy to see the suffering of the Israelis.
I feel that many of us have taken sides against the Israelis and
consider them brutal, relentless, and unapproachable.
I have a different opinion: I have come to believe that violence
springs from unhealed wounds. I don't believe we've made an effort
to listen to them compassionately, to explore their history and
their fears. While we stand steadfast against cruel actions, our
attitude toward violent people requires this compassion toward them.
I began to study the Holocaust Syndrome and returned to the area
many times to learn about the syndrome of both peoples. I felt it
might be the unseen and unhealed wound of both parties to this tragic
conflict.
There is a new consciousness of the long-term effects of the concentration-camp
experience on the survivors and the children, even grandchildren,
of survivors. There is a new awareness that no healing processes
were available at the time people were released from concentration
camps and a disturbing lack of care since then. Some people are
beginning to refer to the violent actions of their government, and
the refusal to grant the Palestinians a home of their own, as PTSD.
The survivors experience a deep fear, both from surfacing memories
and that it will happen again. Many Israelis appear to be affected
by a siege mentality, and there is no way of their not believing
they are in a dangerous "war zone."
I met with Rabbi Jeremy Milgrom, who was born in the US and is
now an Israeli citizen, the head of Israel's Clergy for Peace. This
tall, slender young man, intense, and compassionate, said, "The
Holocaust left many Jews so scarred that they believe powerlessness
is a sin. They feel the whole world is hostile to us. This is a
sick behavior. Our politics are the opposite of forgiveness, namely
rebellion against mistreatment suffered in the holocaust and violent
treatment from Palestinians who demand their freedom." Rabbi
Milgrom, in the second generation from the Holocaust, finds his
government's politics irrational because the Jewish State has been
implemented at the expense of the Palestinians (partly) and because
spiritual Zionism has changed into statehood after the Nazi persecution.
"There was a war with the Palestinians which we won and our
agenda is corrupt because we're not permitting Palestinians to re-unify.
We Jews feel guilt toward the Palestinians and we're unwilling to
have a dialogue with them because it will be so unpleasant."
Rabbi Milgrom was also struggling with the issue of forgiving the
Germans, for he said, "As long as we withhold forgiveness of
the Germans, we're corrupted. It's very hard to trust after the
Holocaust, but if we can have this redemptive dialogue with the
Germans, then we can break down the resistance to having it with
the Palestinians. Forgiveness is a release from the past. You don't
have to forget.
Rabbi Yonasson Gershom, in his article, "Breaking the cycle
of Abuse," writes: "On a conscious level, the Israelis
are not purposely punishing the Palestinians for the Holocaust.
The very suggestion is horrifying to most Jews; didn't we collectively
vow never again? True. But it is also true that people who have
been abused will, when they come to power, abuse others because
they do not have healthy models for exercising power. Abuse is passed
down from generation to generation...unless there is some kind of
therapy to teach new ways of coping with frustration and anger."
Rabbi Gershom also addresses the question of abuse in its application
to nations: "What is true of individuals can also be true of
nations. It is relatively easy to overthrow a government, but far
more difficult to oust the internalized oppression which causes
us to demonize others. The abuse cycle is not logical. It is a set
of totally irrational behaviors based on pain, fear, sham, guilt,
and anger.... Rather than forgive and forget, we need to forgive
and move forward. Nonviolence does not mean passive resistance;
it means holding to the truth, using truth, faith, and love as our
'weapons' for waging peace."
I agree with Rabbi Gershom. There is a Buddhist tale of the snake
who learned to practice nonviolence. Like the snake, I reserve the
right to "hiss" and warn others of danger.
Last, I met with the editor-in chief of New Outlook Magazine, Chaim
Shur. He is a generous, gentle man who told me "The Holocaust
is the worst trauma in Jewish history. The whole world was killing
us. No one did anything to prevent it. The Holocaust Syndrome invades
a large part of our lives. Five hundred thousand people in Israel
are Holocaust survivors or descendants."
When I asked him if he thought survivors suffer from PTSD, he answered,
"PTSD is not a scientific diagnosis. I don't accept it. I have
a daughter-in-law whose parents are Holocaust survivors.
After that journey, I returned to the Middle East to listen to
Palestinians. By this time I had learned new things: that people
become "terrorists" when they feel their grievances are
not heard, their concerns not addressed; I believe that our work
as peacemakers is not to take sides but to seek truth, that there
will never be peace unless both sides are listened to. We must care
about those who hurt others, and listen with respect to those who
disagree with or oppose us. I believe that through such listening
we can open new avenues for communication where people are in conflict.
We hope that one day they will be able to listen to each other.
Now to Palestine, or the Occupied Territories
How can I make Gaza real to you? Gaza is a Muslim strip of land
on the Israeli-Egyptian border, the most densely populated area
in the world. Perhaps by telling you how people looked, what they
said, and what I saw and heard might help.
In the outskirts of Gaza, fruit trees blossom, wild grasses cover
the fields, and people suffer.
The main street had chuckholes full of dirty water, broken buildings,
blind stores, their locked doors covered with anti-occupation graffiti.
A woman walked down the broken sidewalk, a baby on her hip, talking
and gesticulating excitedly, a barefoot old man carried a knotted
staff, limping.
Gaza: prostheses, crutches, braces, scabies, 15,000 demolished
homes, miscarriages from gas attacks, rubber fragmentation bullets,
plastic bullets covering an explosive metal core, prison sentences
of 150 years, 700,000 people in 360 square kilometers, 45% of the
land confiscated by 2,500 Israeli settlers, xeroxed pictures on
lamp posts of sons of Gaza who were martyrs: young men and children
shot for throwing stones, refugee camps, rag walls on houses, sewage
flowing in the central gutter, down narrow streets with not even
enough room to carry the dead through, malnutrition, worms infesting
the people.
And still, there is life in Gaza.
Out of the general and into the particular. We drove into a parking
lot across a shallow lake of dirty water left by the rains. The
buildings are a faded blue and white. A sign reads "American
Friends Service Committee: Early Childhood Education Center."
We are taken to a pale green room with a desk and chairs. We wait
for Mary Khass, a Palestinian Quaker and pacifist who is the director
of this little center. She has suffered the fate of most Palestinians:
a son was killed, her family disrupted, desolation and despair.
Yet Mary is said to have a sturdy faith in life. She lives in this
childcare center.
Mary Khass enters. She is full-figured, Western-dressed. Her face
is carved into lines of pain and compassion. She stands before us
telling her story. I trust Mary Khass.
"My deepest concern is the children. We and the Israelis are
raising a generation of haters. It is important for the Palestinians
and Israelis to come to an understanding before the Palestinians
lose all the land. There is no survival without sharing. We and
the Israelis will have to live here, the sooner, the better.
"What can you do to help us? Work hard for the two states.
Respect and support Israeli progressive groups, but remember, they
haven't done enough unless they refuse military service in the occupied
territories. If they are against the occupation, they must not serve."
And then, her cry of anguish: "How can they sleep? There is
a hospital next to this place. I have seen Israeli soldiers raid
the hospital. They shot and beat patients, nurses, doctors. I saw
an Israeli soldier crying and beating his head against the wall.
A Palestinian mother comforted this soldier. 'Malesh. It's all right,
my son.' That young man could have said, 'No.' Why didn't he say
No? Can Israelis not see it's more courageous to work for peace
than war?
"We have unwanted refugees all over the world. We didn't cause
the Holocaust. We advocate a peaceful and just solution for both.
But my people have learned that depending on justice and the politicians
is fruitless. We must pay the price and bring about change ourselves.
Our children are suffering emotional horror, hypocrisy violence,
and fear. The little ones learn how to solve problems with violence.
They are out of control. They are controlling us. The hand that
throws the stone needs understanding and love. Educators need education
to deal with opening the minds of these little ones.
"Recently a bullet was shot in a camp. Nobody was hurt. All
the camp was placed under curfew for 12 days. One hundred and eighty
young men were arrested. All the citrus groves were demolished.
Three houses were destroyed. Many men between the ages of 16 to
60 were beaten.
"The Israelis must learn to live with guilt. To do this, they
must stay in camps with us. As long as they don't stay in our camps,
they haven't crossed the line emotionally. As long as they don't
discourage their military from serving in the territories, they
wipe my tears with one hand, and slap me with the other."
That night we heard shooting in the streets; fires blazed in the
sky. The next day, fighting continued with rock throwing and sporadic
shots. Soldiers and rock-throwers faced off on a street in which
we were riding; our driver turned hastily and left. We later learned
a nine-year-old boy was killed.
We were taken from refugee camp to refugee camp: more stories.
"I was in prison, so was my husband; he for 440 years. I was
pregnant, near term. The guards insisted the baby should be born
now, dead. They said I have five living children. This one must
die. They drove me for two hours over rough roads. I was forced
to lie on my stomach. The baby did not come. They took me to a room
in the prison and manacled me to the bed while they threatened and
probed and pushed. Still the baby did not come. They called my baby
a terrorist. At last, my baby came. He lived; I called him Yasser.
God wanted Yasser to live."
More voices in the camps: "I have two martyrs in my family,
two of my sons were shot. See, their pictures on the wall."
"My son was seventeen when he was killed by open fire on demonstrators."
"Mine was shot in the head." "My son is in Anssar
III, the prison of suffering." "My youngest son is serving
his ninth prison sentence."
"Do not feel sorry for us. We are parents of martyrs. We are
proud. For 38 years we were silent and compliant. Then we began
the Intifada, our uprising. We do not use weapons. We use our skills.
We now have hope and a purpose. We will not stop until we get our
independent state and our own identity."
This was before the latest war. Palestinians are now returning
to use of violence, and so are the Israelis. The situation seems
hopeless.
I feel there are always "possibilities" if we look for
them. The therapist Alice Miller is confident that we can find ways
to free ourselves of hatred and rage by doing the painful and rewarding
work of feeling and experiencing it "in its original context."
She is confidant that we can save life on our planet by "questioning
the present dangerous and ubiquitous blindness (denial), above all
as it exists in ourselves."
I agree with Alice Miller and I feel if we can see the sorrow and
suffering of those who commit heinous violence, I think whole new
dimensions will open for our lives and for peacemaking. I see peacemaking
as a healing process and know that if we include this dimension
in our efforts, they will have new power and persuasion.
Gene Knudsen Hoffman's articles of her work for
peace, reconciliation and compassionate listening can be found at
www.coopcomm.org/listening.htm.
Ms. Hoffman is also a regular columnist for HopeDance and a new
book of her essays along with a biography will be coming out in
September of 2002.
