Yom Haatzmaut vs. the Nakba: A Contradiction in Terms?

Something I have loved about my Yahel experience is how it has made me view aspects of Israeli society in a totally different way than what I have grown up with. As I have mentioned numerous times on this blog, my experiences working in Lod and meeting Israel's diverse populations has allowed me to gain multiple perspectives on what it is like to live here.

One of my most meaningful experiences came around the time of Yom Haatzmaut, Israel's Independence Day. While growing up in a traditional Jewish and pro-Israel community, I always viewed this day with a very joyful and celebratory attitude. When I lived in Jerusalem for a semester two years ago, this attitude persisted as I was surrounded by Zionist Jews who discussed with me the significance of the day, and as I attended gigantic parties during the holiday to acknowledge its momentous meaning for the State of Israel.

This year, while celebrating Yom Haatzmaut in Lod, my holiday celebration was very different. True, I was still surrounded by Jewish Israelis, and there many big parties including a giant concert near the center of the city that held tons of people. However, the day still felt very different because Lod is different from Jerusalem. In Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, and most other cities, it is easy to find yourself surrounded by a Jewish population that celebrates your holidays and shares a collective Jewish culture. Lod, however, is a mixed city, and wherever you find Jews you can also find many Arabs. In this regard, the Arab population of Lod played a large role in my understanding of Yom Haatzmaut this year, and this completely changed my perception of the day's overall meaning.

I knew that working with Arab kids at this time of year would mean being exposed to opinions and perceptions of Israeli society that were drastically different than what I was accustomed to. I did not expect, however, to be so profoundly impacted by these different outlooks. One moment that particularly shocked me was hearing the two-minute long memorial siren on Yom Hazikaron, Israel's Memorial Day for soldiers and terror victims. The siren sounded during the school day, just as I was beginning one of my small group lessons. It was right after the bell rang, so it was hard to hear, but I was awaiting it and took notice as soon as I heard it. I went to the window of my classroom in order to hear the siren better, and I asked my students to be quiet so I could pay attention. At first, my kids got confused, and some even thought that the siren was from a rocket that was fired. I then explained that this day was a sad day in Israel and the siren was meant to help us remember fallen soldiers and other people who were killed.

I could tell that my kids were reluctant to discuss the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, but I took this moment as one that could teach me a lot about how Israeli Arabs view Israeli society, and I started pushing more for a response. Eventually, some of the fourth graders I had during the siren felt comfortable sharing that they do not like Israeli soldiers and they do not feel they should be remembered in a positive way. They also carry this feeling of disdain to other Israeli officials in uniform, especially policemen, because they feel like they cannot trust these officials to treat them fairly or see them as anything but criminals.

The responses I got from my fifth graders the same day were much more surprising. This group of fifth graders is very bright with great knowledge of both English and Hebrew, so I thought they would feel more positively toward Israel than some of my other groups of students. The response I received, however, when asking about Yom Haatzmaut in particular was not the response I hoped to receive. When asked how they felt about Yom Haatzmaut, one of my kids, Hassan, said he hates the holiday because it marks the beginning of the occupation and oppression of the Palestinian people. He also said that he hates Israel, he hates Jews, and he would prefer to live in Palestine. This is the type of response I would have expected in the beginning of my time in Lod, but after eight months of getting to know the Arabs in this mixed city, I was flabbergasted by this extent of negativity. I was especially surprised when Hassan said he hates Jews, because I have perceived my role as a Jew working with Arabs to be a bridge between the cultures and a way to show the Arabs I work with that not all Jews are bad. I followed up to this statement by asking Hassan if he hates me since I'm Jewish, to which he responded that I am good but all other Jews are bad.

Though this response left me confused and a bit discouraged about my impact on building bridges between Jews and Arabs, it was also very telling for me about how many Israeli Arabs view their roles in Israeli society. Though many Israeli Arabs gather in public spaces and make use of all their society has to offer, especially in Lod, on the inside many feel great animosity toward the events of 1948 when the State of Israel was established, and the ongoing occupation of Palestinian land. While the exact events are 1948 are contested between the different sides, it is understood by Israeli Arabs that when Israel won the territory for its state it also conquered Arab lands and violently drove out the Arab populations living there. This is why even if I see Arabs at the beach or the movie theatre enjoying the same space as me, in many cases they cannot help but resent Israel for its destructive acts toward the Palestinian people. Due to this, these Arabs cannot feel fully Israeli and take part in Israel's independence celebration. I did see multiple Arabs enjoying themselves at the Yom Haatzmaut concert I attended, so I am sure this does not speak for the whole population. However, from the responses I received from my kids, it is clear that many Israeli Arabs hold hard feelings toward this holiday in particular, in large part due to the detrimental impact it had on their history and identity.

You would think receiving feedback like this would create a negative, pessimistic perception of Israel's future conditions regarding relations between Jews and Arabs. However, one thing my Yahel experience has taught me is in Israel, nothing is as clear as it initially seems, and there are always efforts underway to make the impossible possible. When efforts like this are occurring and multiple sides can have their stories told, I have found that multiple opportunities can arise for dialogue and understanding. My fellow Yahelnikim and I were lucky enough to be exposed to multiple examples of such efforts during a recent five-day seminar in Jerusalem and the West Bank.

The first example of such an effort came when we traveled inside an Israeli controlled section of the West Bank near the Gush Etzion Junction, which has been the site of multiple terror attacks recently. There, we visited the compound of Roots, an organization that brings Israelis and Palestinians together to engage in dialogue and learn about the other while developing a mindset of empathy and nonviolence. While at Roots, we spoke to the founder Ali Abu Awwad, who told us much about his fascinating life story and how it motivated him to become active with nonviolence. As you can see here in a TED Talk he presented, Ali grew up in a political Palestinian family and was taught from a young age to hate Israel and rebel against it at any cost. This is why he participated in the First and Second Intifadas, which led to his subsequent arrests by the Israeli police. Ali's animosity toward Israel intensified in November 2000, when his brother was murdered by an Israeli soldier. This event made Ali bent on revenge, thinking an Israeli's brother should be killed so an Israeli can feel the pain he felt.

Ali's thinking fundamentally changed a year later, when he received a phone call saying bereaved Jewish parents wanted to come to his home and help him grieve for his brother. Up until this point, Ali had never heard of Israelis wanting to come to his house, and he never thought it was possible for Jews to cry and grieve just like Palestinians. This is when Ali started to realize that Israelis and Palestinians have much in common and both have much suffering, and instead of acting out through revenge it is possible to end both sides' suffering through nonviolence and dialogue.

Through his work with Roots, Ali has truly been able to make the impossible possible. Not only has he eliminated his own prejudice, which reached an extreme level during his involvement in the First and Second Intifadas, but Ali has also been able to reach out to multiple groups on both sides in order to incorporate many sides of the conflict and achieve a compromise between these different perspectives. For example, Roots recently began including Jewish settlers from the Gush Etzion area in its dialogue sessions, and Ali is confident that these settlers will begin to see Palestinians differently as people with rights and will "add [his] truth to their truth." Another inspiring story Ali told us was one when he was at a security checkpoint and the Israeli soldier present was giving him an unusually hard time while passing through. Ali could have responded with anger and frustration, and spoken out against his unjust treatment. He, however, chose to respond by saying that he acknowledged the soldier has suffered just as much as he has. The soldier, in shock, replied, "This is the first time a Palestinian has recognized my suffering." I am inspired by this story because it shows how it is possible to cross divides that seem so rigid and join together for the sake of a mutual interest in peace. I admire Ali so much for his courage and commitment to nonviolence, and I am hopeful that through people like him peace can occur.

Ali Abu Awwad speaking to us at Roots

Group picture at the Roots compound, near Gush Etzion

I also witnessed this sense of open-mindedness and compromise through the efforts of an organization called the Middle East Religious Peace Initiative, spearheaded by the efforts of Rabbi Michael Melchior. Like Roots, this organization attempts to reach across the political spectrum to engage different groups in dialogue that can encourage greater understanding and recognition of the other. However, what distinguishes Rav Melchior's work is his unconventionality and his willingness to make drastic and risky moves in order to move closer to peace. Throughout his career as a peace activist and social change maker, Rav Melchior has met with representatives from every Israeli and Palestinian group imaginable, including the Haredi (Ultra Orthodox) community, West Bank settlers, Hamas, and Islamic Jihad. Rav Melchior adamantly believes that in order to create a sustainable peace, each party needs to be actively involved, especially the skeptics.

Just like with Ali, I was inspired by Rav Melchior's motivation to make the impossible possible. Never before had I contemplated sitting with members of Hamas or Islamic Jihad to talk about Israeli-Palestinian peace, let alone having right and left wing Israelis sitting around the same table. However, Rav Melchior's vision of having open dialogues and incorporating all perspectives into a final solution has opened the door to this inclusive, open-minded type of thinking. Rav Melchior has developed many strategies in order to gain the cooperation of all these parties, and I admire how skilled he is at playing to each group's interests in order to motivate them to contribute to his mission (in other words, he is the master at sucking up). One of his techniques that I found particularly interesting was how he utilizes Jewish values without relying strictly on halacha (Jewish law). Since Rav Melchior is an Orthodox rabbi, I expected him to have a much more rigid interpretation of how a Jew should act. However, he mentioned that from his perspective, halacha is not the sole source that guides one to live according to Jewish values, and it should not be the dominant influence on Israeli legislation. Rav Melchior explained that in his mind, having a Jewish state means more so grappling with Jewish texts when contemplating government decisions like taxation and foreign policy, and not preemptively imposing religious will on all citizens. This inclusive discourse allows for more representation and equality among citizens under the law, which has translated into an increased willingness for Jews and non Jews in Israel to collaborate with other groups under Rav Melchior's guidance. In this sense, I believe Rav Melchior has a profound vision that has great potential to foster a durable peace between Israelis and Palestinians.

At the same time, the things I witnessed during my time in Jerusalem and the West Bank also fostered messages of separation and exclusivity. A primary example came from my visit to Susya, a Jewish settlement situated south of Hebron. Our visit to this town began in the ancient Jewish settlement of Susya, which is believed to date back to 1600 years ago (around the 4th century CE). While walking around the historic ruins including a large, beautifully constructed synagogue, I was impressed by how well preserved the structures are and how deep the Jewish connection is to this area I had hardly heard about. While talking to Rav Ariel Rokach, a Susya resident who runs a yeshiva in Rishon L'Zion that Yahel works with, and watching a video describing Susya's ancient artifacts and importance as a sizable population center during the Talmudic era, I got even more intrigued by the town's relevance to Jewish history and how this land had been inhabited by Jews so far back in history. However, I have been taught by my experiences with Yahel to always consider different narratives, and at the same time as looking at these ruins I knew that this strong Jewish narrative was overshadowing a Palestinian narrative to this land that needed to be explored.

Ancient Susya

Susya's ancient synagogue

Listening to Rav Kokach in the new synagogue of Susya

Though I did not know much about Susya prior to my visit, I had been exposed to an article in Haaretz that discussed a pending demolition of a Palestinian village called Khirbat Susya located adjacent to the Jewish settlement. The Israeli government intended to demolish the village because it was built without a permit in Area C, the area of the West Bank that is under full Israeli control. The international community was in uproar about this decision, with many foreign governments putting pressure on Israel to rethink its decision. The rationale against Israel's intention to demolish was just as there is a historical Jewish connection to the area, the Palestinians living there also have historical ties. This claim was legitimized last year when a document was found describing Ottoman land ownership in the Susya area dating back to the year 1881.

It is always hard to contemplate competing narratives to the same land, but when thinking about both the Jewish and Palestinian connections to Susya, it was especially challenging to grapple with how this point of contention can be resolved. There has been a lot of talk of Israel giving away certain parts of the West Bank as part of a peace agreement, but how can Israel give away land that has such a deep historical connection for Jews? At the same time, how can Palestinians accept relinquishing their claim to land they also have a strong historical connection to? This dilemma became even more problematic for me when my group went to Rav Rokach's home and spoke to him and his wife. Throughout the conversation, they were both adamant about Samaria being the land where the Bible took place and a place where Jews have a "rooted connection" that compels them to live in their historical land. They also consistently mentioned their desire to have Jews "be sure in [their] way" and unapologetically recognize their right and religious duty to live in this land.

Something that was sorely missing throughout this conversation was the notion that not everyone has the same "way" as Rav Kokach, especially Palestinians, and those people should not be expected to follow his way. While listening to Rav Kokach amd his wife speak, I was looking for a willingness to be open-minded and compromise that was present in my conversations with Ali Abu Awwad and Rav Melchior. I found, however, that the residents of Susya feel more compelled to stick to their own community than branch out and collaborate with their Palestinian neighbors. Rav Kokach's wife explained that she remembers having "friendly relations" with her Arab neighbors until hostilities during the Second Intifada increased tensions. She also mentioned that when settlers first came to Susya, it was important for them to get the land legally and "not ignore the people who were living [there]", in order to prevent one from saying that they took other peoples' land.

From this statement, I could infer that Susya residents have good intentions toward their Palestinian neighbors and do not want to provoke hostility against them. However, the ways Rav Kokach and his wife spoke about Palestinians as the conversation progressed presented a very different tone that contradicted their seemingly friendly and receptive demeanor. Having witnessed Palestinian villages and towns in Area C prior to our visit to Susya and seeing their lack of infrastucture and resources compared to neighboring Israeli settlements, our group was very interested in the reasoning for this disparity and how Jews in the West Bank think about this issue. This seemed especially relevant concerning Susya, which has a developed system of roads, holds a large and beautiful synagogue, and supports dozens of religious families with children. In response to our questions about this issue, Rav Kokach said that the Israeli government has tried to provide more water and infrastructure for the Palestinians and they simply do not want it. One of my fellow Yahelniks, Devon, followed up to his response by proposing the idea of a communal swimming pool in Susya that both the Jews and Palestinians there could benefit from, which could also allow Israel to help improve the Palestinians' quality of life. Nevertheless, Rav Kokach replied to this by saying it is pointless to attempt such a collaboration with the Palestinians because they "do not want help" and would resist any effort by Israelis to provide them with services. From this message, our group gathered that Rav Kokach and other Susya residents are unwilling to take initiative and help create more sustainable lifestyles for their Palestinian neighbors who lack basic resources.

The situation I observed in Susya, with the residents unwilling to approach their Palestinian neighbors with an open-minded attitude, seemed very discouraging regarding the prospects for Israeli-Palestinian peace. Just like my student on Yom Haatzmaut, these people were presenting a very one-sided narrative that ignored the possibility that other perspectives could also be valid. With this in mind, it is easy to consider that there is no way to negotiate a sustainable peace when so many refuse to be open to other people's narratives. However, my meetings with individuals like Ali Abu Awwad and Rav Michael Melchior have allowed me to think otherwise. From these meetings, I have learned that even when another group's narrative is perceivably in total opposition to your own, it is entirely possible to listen to what that group has to say and arrive at a common goal that both groups can work toward. If Ali, after everything he went through, was able to find a way to trust and engage in dialogue with Israelis, other Palestinians and Israelis should be able to find a way to come together and develop a mutual respect that can lead to a lasting peace. True, there will continue to be tensions, and these challenges will encourage people to say that peace is not possible. However, my experiences on Yahel have showed me that there are initiatives in place that are successfully engaging groups in dialogue and understanding, and I am confident that if these initiatives continue to spread there will be a very bright outcome in the near future.

How Many Types of Israelis Can You Name?

One of the most common games we play with our Lod program coordinator, Mike, is called splategories. Participants begin this game by sitting in a circle and having one person say, "How many types of ___ can you name?" The participants then go around the circle naming items in that category until someone messes up, at which point we say, "SPLAT!"

I love Mike and the activities he presents to us. However, with all the matters I am facing in my work here, there have been days when I have lacked the motivation to participate in an activity that seems childish and counterproductive. While I have been focusing on helping my kids and dealing with Lod's major problems, with particular focus on school violence, I have occasionally found it trivial to take a break from this important work and have a day dedicated to playing games. What I have begun to realize, though, is that there can be significant meaning found in the most simple of activities. True, when I am playing this game I am just thinking of naming fruits, cities in Israel, or types of trees (thanks to my roommate Becca J). However,  the nature of this game also reflects the notion of diversity, which is especially relevant to my work in Lod and Israel in general.

While living in Israel, I have been especially fortunate to explore the significant diversity among my fellow Jews in the ways we think and act. At the same time, observing the groups of Jews from around the world who are living in Israel has shown me that even though we have different traditions, there are still central ideas that unite us as members of the Jewish people. Luckily, there has been no better time to capture these two notions in Israel than the past couple of weeks, during the observances of Pesach and Yom HaShoah.

While spending Pesach in Israel this year, I had so many chances to feel connected to my fellow Jews and different components of my Jewish heritage. I loved having the chance to travel around the country and explore the unique areas of Tel Aviv, Tiberias, Beer Sheva, Kfar Saba, Caesarea, Akko, and Rosh Hanikra. The trips I took were very special because they reminded me of the main reasons I came to love Israel in the first place: its insurmountable importance in the history of the Jewish people and its ability to contain so much diversity in terms of landscape and Jews from all walks of life.

For these reasons, the places I probably enjoyed the most were Beer Sheva and Rosh Hanikra. I loved Beer Sheva because it is one of Israel's many great examples of a city that combines ancient and modern. When walking through the streets of Beer Sheva and looking at its big malls, cozy cafes and restaurants, and intimate pedestrian walkways with shops and entertainment venues, it is hard to imagine that this city also held importance during the Biblical period and was home to Abraham and Sarah, the first Jews. The place I cherished the most in Beer Sheva was Abraham's Well, which according to tradition is the place where Abraham and Sarah settled when they lived and received guests in Beer Sheva. The ancient well is surrounded by a massive visitor's center that contains different attractions for visitors about the life of Abraham, including a short movie, and actors dressed as Abraham and Sarah who greet the visitors and share the site's story. While making my way through the site, I was inspired by how prevalent the Jewish history and stories I grew up with was featured in the middle of this modern city, and how relevant it was for all the Israeli vistors I saw walking alongside me. At moments like this, I know I am in a country in which the society as a whole is uniquely connected to my identity and my heritage, and this makes me feel very much at home.

Another place I went to that truly left an impact was Rosh Hanikra. I had been to Rosh Hanikra many times before, but like with many sites in Israel, it is so special that every time feels like the first time. Located on the Mediterranean coast next to the border with Lebanon, Rosh Hanikra is comprised of beautiful marble cliffs and breathtaking grottoes where the waves of the Mediterranean smash against and completely engulf the rocks. I always used to go here as part of group trips to Israel, and it was always a reminder of the awe-inspiring beauty that exists in the Jewish state. I have been to many beautiful places in my life, but nothing has ever compared to the feeling of being right next to the waves crashing on the rocks in the grottoes. The fact that this beautiful sight exists within a short distance of other beautiful spots in nature, such as valleys, mountains, and desert, within a small country has also always amazed me. The diversity of natural beauty in this country has inspired me to maintain a strong connection to Israel and is one of the biggest reasons why I keep coming back.

Over Pesach, I was also inspired by the people I met and the Jewish traditions I was able to take part in. Of course, one of the most prominent rituals that occurred during the holiday was the Pesach seder. This year, I decided to stay in Lod and go to seder with my host family. To my surprise and interest, I did not notice any drastic differences between how the seder was conducted with my host family and with my family in the US. True, there were some foods like rice and lettuce that were featured more prominently on the seder table this year (though now more Conservative Jews in the US are accepting rice and legumes into their Pesach diet) , and the readings from the haggadah went a lot quicker because everyone except for me was a native Hebrew speaker. However, the songs, readings, and rituals were all the same, and there was at no point where I felt unfamiliar with the customs. It made me feel very comforted to know that even though I was halfway across the world from home, I was in an environment where there were other Jews practicing my customs and I could also feel at home.

At the same time, I was also inspired by my exposure to Pesach customs that are very different from the ones I grew up with. One of my favorite traditions I learned about was that of Mimouna, a celebration that occurs at the end of Pesach when Jews can start eating chametz. Mimouna is a tradition brought to Israel by Moroccan Jews, and at the center of it is a sweet dish called a mufleta, which looks and tastes similar to a crepe. After having five of those (as the hosts made sure I did), I definitely felt the joy of finally being able to eat chametz again! The family that hosted me, which is friendly with family friends of mine who live in Kfar Saba, also had tasty cookies, cake, and beer, and of course lively conversation. While sitting at the table, I listened to the family's father figure speak in Hebrew about his early life in Morocco, coming to Israel as an immigrant, and keeping his traditions intact while living in his new country. I felt really special that instead of having my usual end of Pesach celebration with tons of pizza, I decided to learn about a unique tradition that celebrates the same holiday I celebrate but in a different and creative way. Attending this celebration also gave me the sense that I was allowed this opportunity because I was in Israel, the Jewish homeland where so many Jewish cultures from around the world can exist together.

My entire Pesach celebration was very special because it provided me many examples of both Jewish interconnectedness and diversity among Jews. It also reminded me of the strong Jewish connection I have with Israel and the initial bonds I formed with the country, which is not something I have had the chance to think about much through my participation on Yahel. My time on Yahel has exposed me greatly to the periphery of Israel, especially the Arab and Ethiopian populations, and the many pressing issues Israeli society is facing. While learning about these aspects has been very rewarding, it was great to have some time to reflect on what made me fall in love with Israel in the first place.

Another special way I connected with Jewish Israeli society was on Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day. It was very meaningful to know that the entire country came together on this solemn day to remember the six million Jewish victims of the Holocaust. This was especially apparent during a two-minute siren, at which the whole country stopped and everyone on the roads got out of their cars to pay tribute to those who died in the Holocaust. I witnessed a siren next to a busy street in the center of Lod, and was shocked to see how many people actually stopped their cars and stood in the middle of the street for the full two minutes. I was similarly impressed by the conviction young Israelis have in signifying the meaning of this important day. On the evening of Yom HaShoah, I attended a student-organized event that featured a Holocaust survivor telling her story. From the large number of university students in attendance, I knew that these generally cheerful individuals understood the solemn mood of this day and took this oman's story very seriously. I was able to gather this even more after the event, when I was invited to watch "The Boy with the Striped Pajamas" at one of the students' apartments. I had seen the movie before and knew how sad it was going to be, and I expected my fellow American Yahelniks to feel the same. I did not expect, however, for the Israelis present, especially the young men who had to serve in the army, to get so emotional. As I looked over at the Israelis, I saw many either crying or curled up next to each other during the most provocative parts of the movie. Though the subject matter was far from happy, I really appreciated seeing how strongly I could relate to these young Israelis through our common remembrance.

My experiences during Pesach and Yom HaShoah in Israel have showed me the beauty of unity: as a Jewish people, as the State of Israel, and as humanity as a whole. However, these experiences, as well as my time on Yahel in general, have also taught me of the beauty that diversity holds within a community. This is a message the Lod Yahel group is trying to get across through our community project. To solidify our legacy in Lod, each Lod volunteer is reaching out to his/her volunteer placements to spread the message of yofi b'givun (beauty in diversity). We have begun conducting discussions at the schools, nonprofits, and community centers we work at about what Lod means to each individual and the value of diversity in Lod. We are also planning on having representatives from our different placements come together to create a big mosaic in the center of the city. With this beautiful creation coming from Lod's many different groups, we hope to capture the notion that diversity truly is beautiful.

From living in Lod and through my exposure to different aspects of Israeli society, I can truly say that Israel is a diverse country with so many components, and that is one of its most beautiful and unique aspects. From now on, whenever I play splategories (which has become a group favorite among the Yahelniks), I will appreciate the many items in each category as an indication of the diversity that lies in our world. As I approach my final month on the Yahel Social Change Program, I am taking this notion to heart and am trying hard to appreciate the diversity in my city as much as I can. After I leave Lod on July 1, who knows when I will next talk to an Arab or Ethiopian, or make an effort to interact with a Jew with very different customs from my own. I do, however, know that the time I have had meeting people from diverse backgrounds over the past eight months has allowed me to learn so much about humanity and life, and that is something I will carry with me. I know for sure that after I leave Yahel, I will forever be the champion of the splategories category, "How many types of Israelis can you name?"

Social Change in Your Backyard

To say that my time on Yahel has developed my social conscience is a vast understatement. Due to my involvement with Yahel, I am not only more aware of the social problems that exist in my community, but also of those that I am exposed to on a daily basis but do not always recognize. In this sense, Yahel has taught me to not be afraid to look deeply into my surroundings and face the challenging issues that impact the people who live in my backyard, not just my community at large.

I was introduced to this concept through my recent visits to South Tel Aviv. This is an area I pass through many times because it is the location of the Tel Aviv Central Bus Station. Though so many people use this venue as their gateway to enter of one Israel's most popular destinations, it is arguably one of the most feared areas in the country. Due to the large population of asylum seekers from Eritrea and Sudan living there, South Tel Aviv has been associated by Israelis with the most horrible of conditions, some of which include poverty, homelessness, and crime. Even though I live in Lod, which is extremely stigmatized as one of Israel's most dangerous cities, many Israelis have just as negative reactions, if not more negative, when I say I need to travel through South Tel Aviv. I have heard, among other things, that I could be killed, assaulted, or robbed while walking through the streets adjacent to the Central Bus Station, and if possible I should make an effort to avoid the area. These comments have greatly influenced my perception of South Tel Aviv, and have made me extra cautious whenever I need to go there to take a bus or monit sherut.

While the stigmas associated with South Tel Aviv may be legitimate in some cases, I have learned if you look a little deeper it is possible that things are not as bad as they seem. Over the past couple of weeks, I have had many chances to be introduced to the South Tel Aviv asylum seeker community, and I have discovered that the inspirational stories of these inhabitants far outweigh the negative messages conveyed about them. The first opportunity came a couple of Sundays ago, when I attended one of the events included in a week-long initiative by a group called B'nai Darfur. This group, which was formed by Darfurian asylum seekers who traveled to seek refuge in Israel, arranged this week of programming with the purpose of educating the Israeli public about the atrocities occurring in Darfur. At the event I attended, I had the opportunity to hear these people's stories and actually talk to people living in displacement camps in Darfur through live Skype conversations. I was surprised and enlightened to receive such direct exposure to this significant conflict, and even more so to receive it in a place where I walk around and bypass so often.

This event was so helpful in allowing me to understand the nature of the conflict from the perspective of a Darfurian. Before then, I had generally been exposed to the Darfur genocide through mass media campaigns that seemed impersonal and gimmicky. I had never personally become active in the Save Darfur campaign because I had no personal connection to the conflict that motivated me to do so. After hearing these Darfurians and communicating with people who were going through the conflict as we spoke, I finally got the personal connection I was looking for. For once, I felt like I had a stake in the genocide, knowing people who had escaped its horrors and were tortured with them at the present moment. At this time, the conflict just felt real to me, and when something feels real it is hard to ignore or avoid. I knew then that I had a responsibility to take action.

This responsibility strengthened in my heart after a day trip the Yahel participants  took to South Tel Aviv two Thursdays ago. One of the most meaningful moments was when we met Mutasim Ali, the CEO of the African Refugee Development Center  (ARDC). The Lod group was able to learn about this inspiring man earlier at one of our weekly group check-ins, when we watched a TED Talk he presented. From both this speech and our in-person meeting, we learned much about Mutasim's long journey from the horrors of Darfur to his awaited asylum in Israel. After escaping the persistent attacks on his village by the janjaweed militia to live with his grandmother, thereby forever leaving his parents behind, Mutasim became committed to fulfilling his parents' sacrifice and discovering a better life for himself. He attended university and used his education and position in society to protest against the Sudanese government's actions in Darfur, which resulted in his arrest and torture by the Sudanese police. Following his release from prison, Mutasim realized that the best way to help his people and secure a prosperous future was to leave the country and go somewhere safe. He originally entered into Egypt, but soon left due to Egypt's diplomatic relations with Sudan. Ultimately, Mutasim decided his most viable option for asylum would be Israel, the only democratic state in the region that also had no diplomatic relationship with Sudan.

Soon after his arrival, Mutasim discovered that Israel would not be as welcoming as he had hoped. Instead of a friendly welcome, Mutasim, along with many other asylum seekers from Eritrea and Sudan, were sent to the Holot Detention Center in the Negev. Stationed in the middle of a desert wilderness, Holot houses more than 3,300 asylum seekers, which is over its full capacity. It is considered an open facility, meaning prisoners can come and go whenever they please. However, they need to check in three times a day, and with Holot's isolated location, the asylum seekers cannot travel far distances without needing to return for their required check-ins. Though this "open" policy is seen as an improvement compared to Holot's previous more restrictive policies, Mutasim saw this measure as a trap to prohibit his mobility and prevent him from obtaining the rights he deserved as a refugee.

Today, Israel has over 43,000 asylum seekers from Eritrea and Sudan in its midst. Though there are no more asylum seekers who continue to arrive, due to Holot's reputation and other preventative measures such as a large fence on the Egyptian border, Israel still needs to deal with the large asylum seeker population under its jurisdiction, most of which it refuses to grant refugee status to (only four special cases have ever received refugee status). This is because the guiding ideology in Israel regarding refugees is to maintain a Jewish majority demographic, meaning reducing the number of non-Jews becoming legal citizens. Currently, the typical visa an African asylum seeker obtains in Israel is a 2(a)(5) visa. This visa does not allow the asylum seekers to own property or to receive workers' rights, though employers are able to hire them if they wish. It also needs to be renewed each year, meaning these asylum seekers are faced yearly with the arduous Israeli bureaucratic process and the threat of deportation.

Though still struggling to obtain equal rights and become integrated into Israeli society, many asylum seekers, Mutasim included, have been able to make their way out of Holot and begin new lives for themselves in South Tel Aviv. Of course, just because they are out of prison does not mean they live comfortably. After being sent to live in South Tel Aviv, as Israel does with many Holot prisoners post-release to place all of their problems in one location, the asylum seekers were exposed to a brand new environment and were not taught how to deal with it properly. Mutasim described to us how overwhelming it was just to step foot in the Central Bus Station; he had never seen escalators before, and it was almost impossible for him to find his way through this wide, spread out building. As more people starting arriving in this area, it became more and more driven with crime, poverty, and unemployment, and it began to show throughout the public spaces. A great example of such a space is Levinsky Park, a recreational area adjacent to the Central Bus Station which was the first stop on our day trip. Kayla, our tour guide, told us that just a couple of years ago, the entire park was filled with shelters of homeless asylum seekers. To this day, the park is used by asylum seekers as a place to sleep, sit, and even go to the bathroom. Levinsky Park is also a main center for the asylum seekers to find day-to-day work. As we were sitting in the park, we could see people lining up to get their jobs for that day. This clearly showed that even though these people escaped detention and persecution and are living in a big city, they are still living under horrible conditions.

Group photo with Mutasim Ali

Despite the adversity they experience, the African asylum seekers in Israel are resilient and continue to work toward providing better lives for themselves. One of the most inspiring examples I witnessed of this was that of Kuchinate – the African Refugees Women's Collective. Through this initiative, Eritrean and Sudanese women are able to meet and create baskets as a form of art therapy. These women sell their baskets for money, and also receive counseling to help them cope with their psychological issues deriving from the tragedies they escaped from. We were welcomed very warmly into this community with homemade popcorn and coffee (and according to Eritrean tradition, we needed to drink three cups!). We then met with a psychologist who works with the women, who was able to describe the initiative and her clients' backgrounds in English. After our group discussion, I walked over to an Eritrean woman making coffee and started a conversation with her in Hebrew (not every asylum seeker has a good knowledge of Hebrew, but these women are fortunate enough to be receiving Hebrew lessons within the community). From talking to this woman, I learned that her husband and daughters are still in Eritrea, and she had to take her journey to Israel alone in order to escape forced conscription into the Eritrean army. There were so many questions that I wanted to ask this inspiring woman, and all others who undertook this life-threatening voyage in order to seek a better life. The main message I received from our chat was that she misses her home greatly, but she knows that creating a successful living environment in Israel is the best thing for her at the moment. Hopefully, if she can continue to provide for herself, there is a chance she can see her husband and daughters again.

Eritrean and Sudanese women who work for Kuchinate

Some of the baskets made at Kuchinate

This interaction taught me how much the problems these people face impact us on a human level. This woman, along with the other asylum seekers, has needed to endure unbearable hardships, and now here they all are living right next to where I take my busses to and from Tel Aviv. I pass by these people all the time as they suffer before my eyes, and I believe I have the responsibility to do something about it. As one who has the power to create social change in Israeli society, I believe my role in this situation is to ensure that the State of Israel is providing these individuals with the rights and resources they are entitled to.

We just started the holiday of Pesach, during which we remember the Jews' miserable slavery in Egypt and celebrate the joy of our freedom. As part of our final group learning session before our Pesach break, Yahel's programming coordinator in Lod, Mike, had the Lod group look at different interpretations of a verse from the Torah that is commonly referenced during Pesach. The verse goes, "Be kind to the stranger in your midst, for you were once strangers in the land of Egypt." As someone who has always brought this verse to mind while sitting at the Pesach seder table, I have often thought of what it means practically in my day-to-day life. After meeting Mutasim and hearing the stories of the asylum seekers living in my backyard, it became clear to me that implementing this moral lesson means reaching out to these strangers who are in dire need of assistance. As the world's only Jewish state, I believe Israel has the responsibility to act upon this Jewish value and provide kindness and mercy to the innocent people under its jurisdiction who have gone through immeasurable trauma. Just as the Jewish people were relieved of their suffering in Egypt, it is just and right for the same to occur to the Eritrean and Sudanese peoples. We, as a global collective, have known too much suffering, and now is the time to help end any suffering when we have the opportunity. And now, Israel has its opportunity.