Here is the introduction I gave to Nottingham Friends of Standing Together’s weekly vigil for Gaza yesterday.
Today in Israel many businesses, institutions and workers have answered the call of hostage families to strike for an end to the war of extermination and for a deal to bring the remaining hostages home alive. This morning, the main Ayalon highway that runs through Tel Aviv was blocked for a while in both directions, as well as a main street in Jerusalem and other main roads throughout the country.
No to continuing the routine! The Smotrich and Ben Gviir government are dragging us all into the abyss, Jews and Palestinians. It is time to get out of Gaza, to stop abandoning the hostages, and to stop hurting the millions of innocents who are left to starve in Gaza. To the soldiers who are sent to die in vain for the fantasies of occupation and settlement – everyone deserves this war to stop. We can’t go on much longer. Bring everyone back to their homes, stop the war, and get out of Gaza now!
And yesterday, with a video showing a grandfather in tears in Gaza bidding farewell to his grandson Joseph, a four-year-old boy who was bombed to death by the army.
The story of Joseph and the children of Gaza, will not be told in the media. 20,000 children have been killed so far in Gaza. They were torn from those who saw them coming into the world. How much more grief? How much more blood? How many more parents, grandparents, sisters and brothers will cry? How many more hostages will be sacrificed? And for what? For a government that commits extermination and starvation of people just because they were born Palestinians, just to survive in power and fulfill dreams of an extremist minority.
There is only one way to stop the government of death: not to continue as usual! Normal life must be disrupted, as nothing is normal. We must get out onto the streets and disrupt the routine. We must refuse to be killed or kill for them. We have to stop the extermination and the abandonment of the hostages.”
Standing Together has disrupted the Israeli routine by invading the stage of Big Brother on live TV, by holding a sit-in protest at the airport with bags of the flour that is not getting through to the starving people of Gaza because of Israeli obstacles, by protesting on the beach at Tel Aviv as people swim and exercise, warning them that the situation isn’t safe.
Here’s what Inas, one of the protestors at the beach, said afterwards:
Today I remembered, again, how important it is to be part of a movement and to act together with people who are not only dear to me but who I fully trust. There were many people on the beach, most of them supported us, but there were also some very violent people who came over to physically hurt me. For a few moments it was scary and there was a point where I thought of stopping the announcements on the megaphone. But then I saw that my friends are protecting me and I trusted them that I can continue calling for a general strike, stopping the war of annihilation and the return of the hostages, to all those who were listening. One can’t do this alone, and this is why we organise, you should too.
We’ll now stand in silence for 15 minutes to mourn 4-year old Joseph, the 7 Gazans who have died of malnutrition in the last day, the 11 Gazans who have been killed this morning, up to 11 am, and the many thousands more who have died at the hands of the Israeli military and Hamas in the last 681 days of horror.
I’m returning to Be’er Sheva from Tel Aviv. I’ve been to the August 11 demonstration for equality to protest the controversial nation-state law in Tel Aviv. It’s late, so I hop in the front seat of the next cab in line. The driver, who looks about 30, has bluish eyes and a crew cut. When I tell the him the address, a man hears me through the open window and asks if we are going to Ramot. The driver invites him to hop in the back seat. He and the driver have some friendly banter and I wonder if they know each other.
The man has a strong Arabic accent and though he may be a Jewish immigrant from an Arab country, I think he’s a Palestinian citizen of Israel. He starts to complain about the people on the train, and that they were loud and unruly. “It’s a matter of culture,” he says, and I wonder what culture he’s referring to.
The driver points out that I sound American. I too have a strong accent when speaking Hebrew. To find out more about the backseat man’s culture, I mention that I was at the demonstration for equality.
The driver turns to me in anger. “Why? We have equality here. That demonstration was against the nation-state law. Are you against that?” The back seat man says he doesn’t support the law. “Why not?” asks the driver, and I get the information I was looking for. “Because I’m Arab,” the man says.
“But you have equality here. Where do you work?” The driver asks.
“At the supermarket.”
“You have jobs, you have access to the same services. You see, there is equality here in Israel. The law doesn’t change that.”
“From your experience there is equality in Israel,” I say to the driver. “But there are experiences that you haven’t had, that Arabs have had, so they have more information about the inequality. It’s hard to see that when you’re the majority.”
“Like what?” He wants to know.
We’ve arrived at my house but he doesn’t stop the car. When he turns around, I ask what he’s doing. “I’m taking the other guy home first.”
I ponder my situation for a moment to assess my personal safety. The driver is clearly distressed. If I insist he let me off here, there’s a good chance he’ll comply. But if this man is dangerous and I get out, then the Palestinian is at risk. And if the driver is dangerous, who is he more likely to harm, a female American Jew or a Palestinian man?
My conscience and my curiosity allow him to drive off with me still in the car.
The Palestinian lives the next street over, and it’s a quick and silent trip. The driver brings me back and tells me he’s Beitar football supporter. Beitar fans are known for their hatred of Arabs, anti-Arab chants and racist slogans. He says it as if it’s a bit of a dirty secret, in a ‘between you and me’ kind of voice. He doesn’t want any Arabs or Muslims living in Israel. He also doesn’t like Jews going to the West Bank to
live next to ‘them’ he said. I appreciate he’s consistent.
Contrasting headlines: Ha’aretz – “Tens of Thousands of Arabs and Jews demonstrated in Tel Aviv against the Nationality Law.” Yediot Aharonot – “The Palestinian Flag in the Heart of Tel Aviv.”
He asks me who was at the demonstration. Surely it was only Arabs, he says. I explain it was a mix, probably mostly Jews.
He heard on the news that they were waving the Palestinian flag in the demonstration. The Yediot Aharonot headlines said in huge letters, “The Palestinian flag in the heart of Tel Aviv.” The headline was successful in activating his nervous system. The use of the word ‘heart’ was particularly effective.
“The flag is a symbol of someone’s identity. The flag itself doesn’t carry a message about harming the Jews, nor did those people carrying it. They were peacefully asking for equality.”
“This neighbourhood is 30% Arab now,” he informs me.
I ask him if he personally has ever had a bad experience with an Arab.
“The ones in this area are educated. They are doctors and professionals,” he explains.
“Yes, they want to work and raise families and be healthy, like us. They don’t want to hurt us.”
“And what do you do for work? He asks.
“I’m a psychotherapist.”
“How much do you charge?”
“55 pounds an hour.”
“I have panic attacks. Do you work with that?”
“Yes. It’s scary.”
I’m referring to everything. To his panic attacks, to the terrorist attacks, to seeing flags and not knowing what is the meaning for the flag waver, to me being alone with him in his taxi.
By driving me safely home he’s proved my point. “It’s scary for all of us, but the truth is the majority of Arabs and Jews are just typical people trying to live their lives in peace.”
Picturing Peace 