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Sep 19 2012

I Won’t Write About the Conflict; Or, What I Think Of When I Think Of Israel

My hometown, Haifa

I won’t write about the conflict.

Yes, I know I’m from there. I know I must have Such Interesting Perspectives on that whole…situation.

I know I have friends in the IDF. I know I once strongly considered moving back, and thus getting drafted myself. I know I’ve seen rubble and remains of Qassam rockets and tanks and bomb shelters and graves. What do I think of all this?

Not much, anymore. I’ve gone numb.

I used to write about it, publicly. I had a newspaper column and everything. You can probably guess which perspective I took. My family was so proud, sending the articles to their friends, saying, See, here’s a young person who gets it.

And then I stopped, cold turkey.

I’m not ignorant. I read the news. But the news is so damn different depending on who reports it, and each side can easily counter the other with endless barrels of (factual? fake?) evidence.

I am a skeptic. When I don’t know the facts, I keep my mind unmade. Israeli politics, like Israeli cities and streets and social codes, are so much messier than their American counterparts. So on this issue, like so few others, I remain not apathetic, but agnostic.

Most of my friends don’t know that I prefer not to talk about it. Those who aren’t close enough to be friends will even ask me upon first learning about my nationality: “So, you’re from Israel, huh? What’s your take on what’s going on over there?” I usually mumble something about not really following that whole thing anymore.

Before I understood how to assert my conversational boundaries, I once let a friend lead me into a discussion about it. He didn’t know that it’s a sensitive issue, and that conversation ended with a moment that wasn’t one of my best: me snapping at him that maybe he’d feel differently if he didn’t have an aging grandmother over there, a widow, who has had to evacuate her city when the wars start.

But another time, a new friend did one of the kindest things possible: after I’d asked him a personal question, he reassured me that he’s open to discussing just about anything, except Middle Eastern politics. For a long time, I wondered what personal connection this decidedly not Middle Eastern person could possibly have to the conflict. Only later did I find out that he has no issues with discussing it at all; he’d said that only to free me from any obligation I might feel to discuss it with him. And, indeed, I’d been freed.

I disagree with those fellow Jews who think I have an obligation to defend Israel (some of whom say that my talent is being wasted on subjects like mental illness and assaults on women’s rights). I likewise disagree with those fellow progressives who think I have an obligation to denounce Israel. It is my home. I learned to breathe, walk, eat, talk, think, and exist here. My first memories are here. This hot breeze was the first to ever rustle through my hair. These salty waves were the first to ever knock me over and make me gasp for air. These narrow, winding streets are the ones on which I saw, for the first time, a world beyond myself and my family.

I can no more divest this place of its emotional significance and denounce it than I could my own mother and father.

To those who have never been to Israel–and that’s most Americans, even those who have plenty of opinions on the conflict–it must be hard to imagine thinking and writing about Israel without also thinking and writing about the conflict.

I can see why. When you think of Israel, you think of the nightly news. You think of fiery politicians and clashing religions. You think of security walls, blockades, and death counts.

I think of those things, too. I have to.

But I also think of the way the passengers burst into applause whenever an airplane lands in Israel.

I think of stepping into the Mediterranean for the first time in years. The water is clear and the sea is turquoise, and tiny fish swarm around my feet. The current pulls me in, and when the waves slam, it feels amazing.

Carmel Beach, Haifa

Carmel Beach, Haifa

I think of weathered blue-and-white flags hanging from windows, fences, car antennas.

I think of the obvious hummus, pita, and falafel, but also of schnitzel, shashlik, tabbouleh, schwarma, tahini, and beesli.

I think of eating figs and mangoes right off the tree.

I think of hearing a language I usually only hear at Friday night services–on the street, in the bus, at the supermarket. I think of how the little I know of that language tumbles out so naturally, with the pronunciation and intonation almost right.

I think of the Russian woman we talked to at the bus stop, who could remember and list all of the day’s product prices from the market.

Flowers in a park in Neve Sha'anan, Haifa

Flowers in a park in Neve Sha’anan, Haifa

I think of the strangers wishing me shana tova (happy new year).

I think of clinging to the pole as the bus careens down the mountain, around corners, and of laughing as the driver slams on the breaks, opens the door, and curses out another driver, as they do in Israel.

I think of the shuk (market) on Friday afternoon, before Shabbat.

I think of factory cooling towers, roundabouts, solar panels, and other staples of Israeli infrastructure.

I think of the white buildings designed like cascading steps, their balconies overflowing with flowers.

I think of how things are messy. The streets aren’t laid out in a grid like in American cities; they twist themselves into knots. People are impatient. Taxi drivers charge whatever they want. Rules and signs are ignored.

Produce at the market

Produce at a market stall

I think of palm, pine, olive, and eucalyptus trees, and of the smell of the pines in the park where we used to go before the forest burned down.

I think of laundry drying on clotheslines hung beneath windows.

I think of the huge families camping on the beach with tents, mattresses, grills, stereos, portable generators, pets, and, in one case, an actual refrigerator.

I think of Middle Eastern music and Russian talk shows blaring out of open windows.

I think of heat, dirt, sand, and blinding sunlight.

I think of how, somewhere in the thickets behind my grandmother’s apartment building, there is a single grave. It belongs to a 16-year-old boy who died defending Haifa decades ago. And despite its entirely unobvious location, the grave marker is always piled high with rocks.

View from Yad Lebanim Road

I think of vendors selling huge bouquets of flowers by the side of the road for the new year, which would begin that night.

I think of how slowly life moves here in some ways. Buses run late, eating at restaurants can take hours. Young adults take years off between the army and college. Our nation has been around in some way for thousands of years, so I suppose hurrying seems a bit silly.

I think of the cemetery by the sea, where my grandfather is buried, and where the silence and stillness is comforting.

I think of the history embedded in every stone, and of how the steps of Haifa’s endless staircases are worn smooth.

Stairs between streets

I think of how it must have felt to be despised, discriminated against, and even murdered for your peculiarities, and then coming to a country where everyone shares them with you.

I think of floating in the sea at night with friends I’ve known since before my memory begins. The water, completely still now, reflects the orange lights on the shore.

And here, in a place most know only for its violence, I have found a peace that eludes me in the safe and orderly country where I live.

So I won’t write about the conflict.

I will only write about my home.

Sunrise over Haifa

Sunrise over Haifa

14 comments

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  1. 1
    jumpingpolarbear

    With all the negative news, who would have thought it was so beautiful :).

    1. 1.1
      Miri, Professional Fun-Ruiner

      …you know, you could’ve always just Googled it.

  2. 2
    Kate Donovan (@donovanable)

    Beautiful, Miriam. Just beautiful.

  3. 3
    Titfortat

    So rarely are the battles black and white, thanks for showing the blue. Beautifully written peace.

  4. 4
    Lyla

    Thank you for the stunning images (and I mean the ones you wrote). Lovely.

  5. 5
    hkatz

    I went to Israel this past April for my grandfather’s funeral. One of the days I was there was Yom Hazikaron, and the sound of the sirens wailing across the land twice in memory of fallen soldiers and victims of terrorism has stayed with me. And the way everyone stopped what they were doing to stand up and listen in silence. Drivers getting out of their cars or off their motorbikes in the middle of the road. Family and friends, sitting Shiva in my grandmother’s nursing home apartment, stopping to stand. I’m shivering now, thinking about it.

    Thank you for writing a piece that so beautifully conveys Israel in all its complicated and enduring beauty.

    1. 5.1
      Miri, Professional Fun-Ruiner

      Oh yes, I’ve also been in Israel during Yom Hazikaron, and I almost mentioned it in this post but decided not to. That is such a beautiful moment. I wish that were how we observed Memorial Day in the states, rather than just going on weekend trips and having cook-outs.

      Thanks for reading. :)

  6. 6
    themommyquad

    This is a devastatingly beautiful piece. Thanks for sharing it.

  7. 7
    laurajaned

    Can’t wait to see this all myself some day :). Wonderful post, Miriam.

    1. 7.1
      Miri, Professional Fun-Ruiner

      Thank you. :) I hope you get to go soon.

  8. 8
    lapetinaa

    This is so beautiful. My son went to Israel for the first time last year and could hardly speak about it. He was captured by the beauty, but especially by the people. I have many relatives living there and now I can truly understand why they continue living there despite the conflicts. As you say, it is your home and that kind of answers it all.

  9. 9
    Avy Faingezicht

    Having spent one of the best years of my life in Israel, right after finishing high school, I not only understand but also completely agree with this post. Unless you are very close to the borders or in the settlements, you don’t feel like you are in a country at war. People just don’t understand that Israel is so much more than the conflict. SO MUCH MORE.

    And just as a side note, progressives are extremely misguided when bashing Israel, but that’s a long discussion that I don’t want to have.

    This was an amazing post. Not what I expected but totally what I expected.

    1. 9.1
      Miri, Professional Fun-Ruiner

      Thanks so much! I’m glad you like it.

      I agree with you re: progressives and also agree about not wanting to have that discussion. :P

      I wish I would’ve gotten to spend an extended period of time in Israel like you did (and other than when I was a little kid, I mean). Not only would I actually be able to speak Hebrew, but I’d have even more little moments like the ones I’ve listed here.

  10. 10
    israelgrouptours

    Reblogged this on Israel group tours and commented:
    Israel is such a lovely country, no need to talk about such things, look at Haifa! we arrange great Haifa tours why not see how Israel is really all about :)

  1. 11
    How To Not Be An Asshole To Immigrants » Brute Reason

    [...] Although Americans tend to act like their country is The Best In The World and that everyone else agrees, this isn’t necessarily the case. My family, for instance, came here mostly out of economic necessity–the Israeli economy was basically in the toilet in the mid-90s–and also because, well, Israel is a little bit dangerous. But we miss it all the time, and for me, it will always be home in some sense. [...]

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