Mending (Security) Fences
Originally Published in the Jerusalem Post in 2007
By Daniel Roth
School is now officially out for the summer, and looking back on my year at Barta’a Junior High School, the experiences that I had there are still clear and present in my mind.
The central component of this year that I doubt will be anything but vivid are the people I met. The connections we made with the youth that we worked with are what matter most at the end of this school year.
I arrived in September with a group of graduates from the North American chapter of the Socialist-Zionist youth movement, Hashomer Hatzair. The eight of us came here only knowing that we wanted to work in Barta’a. Although what we were about to embark on was an unknown quantity.
In the end the Kvutza (intimate group) of eight (we call ourselves Kvutzat Orev), were adopted by the nearby, still collective, Kibbutz Mishmar Ha’Emek.
After months of talking before our arrival we agreed that the most Zionist thing that we could do as a Socialist Kvutza was to work in a sector of Israeli society that does not often gain the attention of the Jewish community, both in Israel and abroad. As North American Jews we felt that we had a unique opportunity to make connections with the people in Barta’a, a connection that may be harder for Israelis to make. In short, living further from the front of the conflict gave us a chance to meet “the other side”.
We even wrote a statement so that we could better understand amongst ourselves why we had decided to embark on this particular journey: “We recognize a great need for dialogue between Jews and Arabs, particularly in Israel. We want to learn more about facilitating this process and we aim to participate in this through engaging in a mutually educational project with the youth of this community, we hope to build meaningful and lasting partnerships”.
Barta’a is an Arab town in the Wadi A’ra region, it is also a town split in half by the green line since 1948. There is no border crossing between the Palestinian populated side and the Israeli side. The barrier running on the east side of the town, unites Barta’a as one, with half the population holding Israeli citizenship, and the other half are Palestinians, blowing in the wind, with the inability to enter Israel and enduring a checkpoint to enter the West Bank. Even with the shadows of the conflict creeping through the town, all that stands between the two sides is one more step on foot. Confusingly, and despite the citizenship discrepancy, most of the town hails from the same family.
When we first arrived in Barta’a there were those of us in the group who were simply excited to be there whilst others were afraid, in a town that might be hostile toward us for being Jewish, and Zionist, but we pushed forward through those fears. We spent our first few weeks learning names, meeting teachers, and playing games. We also began teaching English as a Second language, drama and coexistence activities, based on our own experiences at Hashomer, almost as soon as we got there.
It was in these classes that we began to really meet the amazing youth that populated the school. They were excited to see us; even now all I remember are smiles and extended hands waiting for a handshake when I reminisce about the students, my friends.
Only about half way through our six months there did we began to discuss who we are, as Jews, as Zionists, as Socialists. Though it was no secret before that we had decided to just be there as people first with our deeper traits as merely for future discussion.
The trigger for these discussions was an activity in which the discussion led to one of the students finally telling us how uncomfortable it was for her to feel like we were beginning to build connections with her and her friends. She explained that she was confused; she had been brought up in a house where she was taught that we (presumably she meant Zionists) had stolen her people’s land. Now she was beginning to know the people she had been taught about, and now she was beginning to see us as human beings each as unique as she is.
It was through that conversation that we realized that it was time to start discussing the ideas of dialogue and coexistence in a more personal way, not only between people, but also between Jews and Arabs.
It was at that moment that we began to understand what that girl understood. That each of us in that school was a human being, that we are part of different communities, and we were trying to learn about each other’s communities. And maybe more importantly that we are each unique human beings, and getting to know each other as people was the greatest educational experience that we could have hoped for.
Even with the personal connection that I have gained the politics surrounding Barta’a spin a web in my head creating questions that don’t stay silent for very long. Should the barrier be built? If so where? Is it a wall or a fence? What happens to the people of Barta’a? Why did that glasses shop have a picture of Bruce Willis on the awning? Taking a walk through the market not too long ago, talking to the people there, these questions remain unanswered, but I can’t help but ponder them over and over again.
The other day I walked by the school, which sits on the west side of town, sitting next to the beautiful, green roofed mosque. During our last month there we worked on a number of artistic projects with the students. One of them was the painting of an enormous mural with the graduating grade nine class. The mural is up in the front courtyard of the school, with the word unity in Arabic, Hebrew and English. The class decided to make this the theme of the mural because of their well founded fears that the barrier is going to be built directly through the town soon. At least one house has already been decimated in preparation for this.
The large scale, national politics leave many questions for me, and I am sure for the students that we had the opportunity to teach and to learn with. Nevertheless, I depart from this school year confident that I, my group and the people at Barta’a Junior High School know each other, and that may be the only way to move forward on the large scale politics, and to move forward in closing the distance between us as human beings.
Originally Published in the Jerusalem Post in 2007
By Daniel Roth
School is now officially out for the summer, and looking back on my year at Barta’a Junior High School, the experiences that I had there are still clear and present in my mind.
The central component of this year that I doubt will be anything but vivid are the people I met. The connections we made with the youth that we worked with are what matter most at the end of this school year.
I arrived in September with a group of graduates from the North American chapter of the Socialist-Zionist youth movement, Hashomer Hatzair. The eight of us came here only knowing that we wanted to work in Barta’a. Although what we were about to embark on was an unknown quantity.
In the end the Kvutza (intimate group) of eight (we call ourselves Kvutzat Orev), were adopted by the nearby, still collective, Kibbutz Mishmar Ha’Emek.
After months of talking before our arrival we agreed that the most Zionist thing that we could do as a Socialist Kvutza was to work in a sector of Israeli society that does not often gain the attention of the Jewish community, both in Israel and abroad. As North American Jews we felt that we had a unique opportunity to make connections with the people in Barta’a, a connection that may be harder for Israelis to make. In short, living further from the front of the conflict gave us a chance to meet “the other side”.
We even wrote a statement so that we could better understand amongst ourselves why we had decided to embark on this particular journey: “We recognize a great need for dialogue between Jews and Arabs, particularly in Israel. We want to learn more about facilitating this process and we aim to participate in this through engaging in a mutually educational project with the youth of this community, we hope to build meaningful and lasting partnerships”.
Barta’a is an Arab town in the Wadi A’ra region, it is also a town split in half by the green line since 1948. There is no border crossing between the Palestinian populated side and the Israeli side. The barrier running on the east side of the town, unites Barta’a as one, with half the population holding Israeli citizenship, and the other half are Palestinians, blowing in the wind, with the inability to enter Israel and enduring a checkpoint to enter the West Bank. Even with the shadows of the conflict creeping through the town, all that stands between the two sides is one more step on foot. Confusingly, and despite the citizenship discrepancy, most of the town hails from the same family.
When we first arrived in Barta’a there were those of us in the group who were simply excited to be there whilst others were afraid, in a town that might be hostile toward us for being Jewish, and Zionist, but we pushed forward through those fears. We spent our first few weeks learning names, meeting teachers, and playing games. We also began teaching English as a Second language, drama and coexistence activities, based on our own experiences at Hashomer, almost as soon as we got there.
It was in these classes that we began to really meet the amazing youth that populated the school. They were excited to see us; even now all I remember are smiles and extended hands waiting for a handshake when I reminisce about the students, my friends.
Only about half way through our six months there did we began to discuss who we are, as Jews, as Zionists, as Socialists. Though it was no secret before that we had decided to just be there as people first with our deeper traits as merely for future discussion.
The trigger for these discussions was an activity in which the discussion led to one of the students finally telling us how uncomfortable it was for her to feel like we were beginning to build connections with her and her friends. She explained that she was confused; she had been brought up in a house where she was taught that we (presumably she meant Zionists) had stolen her people’s land. Now she was beginning to know the people she had been taught about, and now she was beginning to see us as human beings each as unique as she is.
It was through that conversation that we realized that it was time to start discussing the ideas of dialogue and coexistence in a more personal way, not only between people, but also between Jews and Arabs.
It was at that moment that we began to understand what that girl understood. That each of us in that school was a human being, that we are part of different communities, and we were trying to learn about each other’s communities. And maybe more importantly that we are each unique human beings, and getting to know each other as people was the greatest educational experience that we could have hoped for.
Even with the personal connection that I have gained the politics surrounding Barta’a spin a web in my head creating questions that don’t stay silent for very long. Should the barrier be built? If so where? Is it a wall or a fence? What happens to the people of Barta’a? Why did that glasses shop have a picture of Bruce Willis on the awning? Taking a walk through the market not too long ago, talking to the people there, these questions remain unanswered, but I can’t help but ponder them over and over again.
The other day I walked by the school, which sits on the west side of town, sitting next to the beautiful, green roofed mosque. During our last month there we worked on a number of artistic projects with the students. One of them was the painting of an enormous mural with the graduating grade nine class. The mural is up in the front courtyard of the school, with the word unity in Arabic, Hebrew and English. The class decided to make this the theme of the mural because of their well founded fears that the barrier is going to be built directly through the town soon. At least one house has already been decimated in preparation for this.
The large scale, national politics leave many questions for me, and I am sure for the students that we had the opportunity to teach and to learn with. Nevertheless, I depart from this school year confident that I, my group and the people at Barta’a Junior High School know each other, and that may be the only way to move forward on the large scale politics, and to move forward in closing the distance between us as human beings.
