E-mails from an Israeli-American Classmate

I was so moved by this e-mail correspondence. Her honesty and humility and purity of heart struck me. I don't even know her, but she has really helped restore my faith in humanity. And given me some hope in what more and more seems like a hopeless situation.

She gave me permission to post these on the blog. (I didn't post my side of the conversation.)
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Dear Jane,

I don't think we really knew each other at Harvard, though maybe. I've been reading your blog, at times getting very angry and frustrated, at others just riveted. I've been tempted to write or post a comment, but was scared how I'd sound. As a part Israeli, I didn't like how you portray my nation and at times your inability to see the other side's point of view. But I just read your latest post ("Explaining my Paranoia," or something like that), and feel compelled to write. You probably get 100s of these emails daily anyway.

But really, I just wanted to say that I'm sad you're now feeling (or sound like you're feeling) sad and remorseful about leaving. You're being too hard on yourself. And at the same time, it's also very heartening to see you be more reflective like this - I think it means you've had some time to rest and process some of those raging thoughts and emotions you'd been experiencing.

I grew up right across the border. I still remember going to bomb shelters and seeing tanks in '82 going up the road by my village towards Lebanon. I still remember my relatives from Haifa thinking how remote and unsafe our village was - just 7km away from Kiryat Shemoneh. And I still remember at times enjoying the bomb shelter as a kid - there were toys and games to play, and as a kid who doesn't fully understand the danger, it's just those middle-of-the-night waking up to sirens (or not) and explosions off in the distance and being carried by your parents down to the bomb shelter that somehow had an impact, that remains memorable, even though whatever terror was felt (I honestly don't remember exactly) is long gone.

I don't know why I'm writing you this. My relatives this time are saying it's way worse than it ever was in the late 70s and 80s. I grew up feeling like soldiers were heros, they defended a country that was perpetually in danger. I also grew up hearing how awful the Lebanon occupation and the West Bank and Gaza occupations were. My parents and other relatives were against it. I still remember my grandmother's neighbor, whose daughter, who had newly given birth, had just lost her husband to a mine or something in Lebanon. I still remember the pall of sadness and grief surrounding his deaf. And others'. And perhaps for this reason it hurts so much to be reading about the deaths on both sides of the border. I feel terrible every time an Isareli dies. And feel almost worse when the Lebanese and Palestinians die. Because there are so many of them. And their conditions are worse than ours. And each side fails to see the other's point of view, the other's grief and terror and feeling of violation and injustice. And that doesn't seem to be an end in sight.

We used to have exchanges with an Arab village, so that we'd see how they live, and they us. My uncle organized it. A few years ago, I went back to Israel and my uncle took me to the Golan Heights, which had always been overlooking my village in the valley below it. We drove to near the border and I looked across and it looked so beautiful and peaceful. With a yellow Hizbollah flag waving in the wind. And orchards just like ours, and fields and hills. And it struck me how strange it was that I had had no image of Lebanon or Syria or any of the Arab countries before. I only imagined darkness, smoke, danger, people wanting my people's death, in a way.

It's easy to be distanced from it all and to criticize Israel from afar, sitting in the safety of the US. It's easy to forget the feeling of siege and as if your side is only right, or mostly right. Because all you see is television and radio coverage in your own language, of the suffering of your people. It's easy to forget the other side. It's easy to believe exaggerations and rumors floating about. It's easy. And yet, I know not all Israelis are myopic like that. I mean those who are living with those bombs.

And I like to think that not all Lebanese or Palestinians are myopic. That there are those who see a brighter future, of peace and acceptance. Maybe I'm too naive. I don't feel hopeful at all right now. But I know for years and years and years, people in my village were against all the occupations except the Golan - they had felt those Syrian tanks advancing, rockets firing, villages burning to the ground. They didn't want to experience it again. Instead, Israeli troops were now doing likewise in Lebanon. And night-time raids in the Palestinian camps. And they had had enough. They wanted out. Maybe not for all the right reasons always. Maybe even just so that state could fight state, army against army. Or just stand off. Like with Egypt.

It's not that they felt love for Arabs. Maybe that's asking too much. Maybe that's premature. Maybe that's what can develop at a distance, in Europe or the US, where Arabs and Israelis can dialogue. In 2002, at the height of suicide bombings and Intifadah, I was part of a local dialogue group. The most radical members were not those who had experienced these shootings, who had lived through what you recently lived through; no: it was the Saudi girls, who had lived in opulence, whose border hadn't been assaulted.

It's strange how these things go. It's strange to see different individuals' psyches, or whatever it is, reacting. I was offended by some of your words. I'm not used to superlatives and what at times have felt like exaggerations. I'm not accusing you of anything. but I was sympathizing with whoever called you histrionic or over-dramatic. and then you responded that's that who you are. and maybe that's fine. I'm just not like that, and not used to it, and don't like things in black and white. But I understand. Or think I do. Or hope I do.

Anyway, I haven't read the post since yesterday, not having had internet, so I'm not sure what you were responding to - I just read that latest explanation about your paranoia, and it moved me enough to write, and not be afraid that I might say something I didn't mean or that would come across the wrong way; maybe I'm a coward that way. I don't know. I don't think I'm ready to share this with the blog as a whole. I don't know if you'd even want to. Maybe I'm just as self-absorbed, as you've been accused. I didn't know what I would write as I started, other than that I suddenly felt like you'd changed somehow, and were suddenly too hard on yourself. And I wanted somehow to respond.

I hope you'll get to go back to Lebanon someday in the not too distant future, and help in the effort to make peace and rebuild it. And I hope you'll remember there are many Israelis and others who care deeply. And who don't want to see carnage, violence, hatred. It rips my heart every day. It makes me sad. As I'm sure it does you. And those living there, who can't, or who don't want to, leave.
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Hi Jane,

Well, my message seems trite now, given everything else that's happened since. honestly, every day makes me more depressed about the situation. it is, like you said, not about who's right exactly. everybody is right, and everybody is wrong. death is wrong. carnage is wrong. tit-for-tat is wrong. it doesn't solve anything. i think many people know that, yet they don't see a way out. so they do their knee-jerk responses, as I suppose we do sometimes too. they don't know how to end it. and so the cycle continues. until when? for how long? till how many more die? well, i'll stop asking. it's
pointless.

if you want to post what i wrote you the other day, that's fine. and truly, i wish you good luck in whatever you do. and i hope you don't hate israel. i think many of them feel just as trapped and saddened by it all. not that it's an excuse. it doesn't justify. it's just that somehow these sides need to come to see each other as humans who are capable of co-existing. i felt like we'd come close to it, almost, early in the 90s. and then it all started disintegrating. maybe even back then i was disillusioned. but that's how it had felt. there is still that naivete in me, that wants to believe. but i don't know.

i'm not completely sure whether we knew each other or not. i suppose fate has its strange ways for getting people to cross paths, one way or another ...i'll keep reading the blog. and somehow, i'm sure we'll cross paths again.
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Hi Jane,

. . .trite, because there are so many people feeling scared and sad and all the rest, and much worse. reflections about emotions felt 25 years ago. what is that? there are the raw pains right now, and who am I to talk? I guess that's why I feel like my words are all so trite, albeit heart-felt.

Israeli public opinion is by no means united. there are voices there I shudder to hear, others that I applaud. the same as here, i suppose. and probably in lebanon. and likewise with soldiers. they are also boys and men, you know. my cousin is one of them. a few weeks ago, he was telling me he's glad that while obliged to shoot in gaza, they didn't hit any false targets. those are not his exact words. I can't remember what the exact words were. but the meaning was clear. he didn't want civilian blood sitting on his conscience. but i think even militants' blood did not sit comfortably with him.

and there are others, he admitted, who are much worse. others from central israel, who have witnessed too many suicide bombings, or the victims thereof, and feel no qualms about 'revenge.' an eye for an eye, it seems, or worse, is the operative logic, a possibly lurid sense of justice. I won't misrepresent it: there are israelis who don't mind seeing arabs die; and likely vice versa; but there are many others whom it pains gravely.

and where does it all lead? it's a stupid question. more death, violence, broken hearts and bodies, sour, bitter blood. i wish i knew a way out of the morass. i wish humans knew. it's just that there is no simple solution. it's not exactly about "if only we stopped," "if only they stopped." there are always instigators. it's always easy to instigate and escalate. the question is how to stop, and maintain peace, and build a peace and a trust. i wish that we humans had an answer. tragically, i don't think there is one. but maybe i'm too pessimistic. if only ...

so you're right, it has a lot to do with misinformation and skewed views. and unfortunately, i'm not sure views can be changed, because often we (humans) think with our hearts and guts and it's not about rational reasoning in the way the so-called west likes to describe it: it can also be about raw nerves feeling and reacting, or being ideologically convinced of the rightness of their side (whatever that may be), and losing sight of the fact that facing them are other humans who are just as or more right or in pain or what have you. but i'm preaching to the choir here, so what's the use?

wishing you best of luck, success and blessings,