On the morning of June 5, 1967, I was on the bus to the high school
yeshiva in which I studied. I had no idea that at that moment the
Six Day War had started. From the heights of Jerusalem's Bayit
VaGan neighborhood, near Mount Herzl, the sounds and sights of war
seemed distant.
That changed when, hitching two rides to the center of town on my
way back home that afternoon, I saw a burning bus, hit by Jordanian
fire, and heard the shells and bullets reverberating downtown.
Through backstreets, not visible from the Old City walls from which
Jordanian soldiers were firing, I walked to meet my mother at
Heikhal Shlomo, where she worked. From there we went home, a block
away. When I entered my room, I realized that the war had paid me a
visit. Luckily, I hadn't been there to meet it. My bed was covered
with shrapnel from an artillery shell. There were also some stray
bullets, which I still have in my possession.
On Wednesday, when Israel Radio announced the occupation of the Old
City, I left the bomb shelter. It wasn't too long before the walls
that separated Arab East Jerusalem from the western, Jewish part
were torn down and Arabs from the former Jordanian Jerusalem,
visibly confused, came to marvel at the Jaffa-King George junction,
the only place in town with traffic lights. Resident of the western
part of the city treated them with consideration, humanely and
forgivingly, attitudes that have become rare in today's impatient
and nervous Jerusalem. We, the Jewish teenagers of 1967, were also
wonder-struck by the new sights. We used to skip school to again
and again experience the marvels of the Old City's bazaars and buy
cheap Chinese-made souvenirs of the kind that Israelis had not seen
before. The open, united Jerusalem was a personal experience for
me.
The anniversary of Jerusalem's occupation was a festive day at the
military "hesder" yeshiva that I attended in Gush Etzion (the
Etzion Bloc, south of Bethlehem). I joined the yeshiva in the
summer of 1969. Two years later we built the settlement of Alon
Shvut on an adjacent hilltop. One of my classmates was Yehuda
Etzion, who later became a leader of the Jewish underground and
served time in prison for planning to blow up the Dome of the Rock
on the Temple Mount.
The national euphoria of the 1967 victory was given religious
significance at the yeshiva. Israel lost the Etzion Bloc on May 15,
1948, during the War of Independence, just before the establishment
of the State of Israel was announced. It was reoccupied on June 8,
1967. The establishment of the state, the reunification of
Jerusalem and the return of the sons of Gush Etzion to their homes
together created a national-theological myth. The history of the
Gush was identified with that of the State of Israel, and the two
were identified with the mythical history of the Jewish
people.
That national-theological myth was comprised of the displacement,
the sacrifice, the yearning and the return. These components took
on cosmic, messianic dimensions in the teachings of our yeshiva's
rabbis and in the consciousness of their students. Real,
down-to-earth history and politics were not welcome unless they
validated the theological postulations of the Kook rabbis (Rabbi
Zvi Yehuda Kook, following in the footsteps of his father - Rabbi
Abraham Isaac Kook - was the spiritual leader of the settlement
movement Gush Emunim). The superpowers, the European countries and
the Arab states were perceived as entities whose sole intention was
to disrupt God's plan.
That notion moved me to take part in Gush Emunim's demonstrations
against U.S. Secretary of State Henry Kissinger's 1974 talks with
the Israeli leadership over a plan for an interim arrangement with
Jordan. We were the best and most available manpower for
demonstrations: zealous, energetic, photogenic and disciplined.
Yeshiva students used religious rites such as prayer and Torah
study to impede evacuation of settlements or to prevent law
enforcement authorities from breaking up illegal
demonstrations.
During those romantic years, I used to walk every Friday night to
pray at the Western Wall, crossing the Old City's markets on my
way. I entered the Old City through Jaffa Gate and crossed Citadel
Square, named after the adjacent David's Citadel - a Jewish and
Zionist symbol. The square was renamed to replace Omar Ibn
al-Khatab Square, which commemorated the Muslim conqueror of
Jerusalem in the seventh century. From there I crossed the bazaar
through other streets renamed by Israel. When I stood in the
Western Wall plaza, I did not realize that it was created after the
Mughrabean neighborhood was bulldozed immediately after the war.
Jerusalem's Arabs seemed to me to be passive pawns, a part of the
fascinating and colorful Oriental set for the historical drama in
which "good" Israelis fight "bad" superpowers and Arab states. The
screenplay was co-authored by God and the State of Israel. I
utterly rejected the view that the West Bank and East Jerusalem
were "occupied." I saw the term as a foreign notion that was
disconnected from reality.
I started changing on Friday, November 17, 1977. As I left home for
the Western Wall, I saw before me, on the roof of the King David
Hotel, the Egyptian flag hoisted next to the Israeli flag,
indicating that the advance delegation for President Anwar Sadat's
visit had arrived. It was a shocking experience. In the mid-1970s I
had served in the Sinai several times as a soldier. Egypt to me was
an aggressive enemy that had stunned Israel in the 1973 Yom Kippur
War. Several of my childhood friends and my Gush Etzion yeshiva
classmates had been killed in that war. On that Friday night, my
one-dimensional perception of the Arab "other" cracked.
Following Sadat's visit to Jerusalem, I decided to study the modern
history of the Middle East at Jerusalem's Hebrew University. I had
always been interested in history and politics, but I only applied
that interest to the Arab world after I started noticing its actual
presence, rather than its theological presence. I realized that
history is not theology.
And, as usual in Middle East history, the Palestinians came last. I
applied my newly-acquired realizations to the Palestinians
gradually, after the failure of Israel's war against the PLO in
1982, following the PLO's moderation throughout the 1980s and after
the first intifada of 1987. In my mind, the Palestinians turned
from passive to active, from fighting to ruin my country into
having a political agenda and an intention to co-exist with me. I
focused on researching the Palestinians' society and politics.
Observing the participation of Jerusalem Palestinians in the
intifada and the turning of East Jerusalem into the political
center of the uprising, I gradually came to realize that the notion
of a "unified Jerusalem, in which Jews Muslims and Christians live
together in harmony" was fiction. My city, rather, is at the heart
of a national conflict and is very much divided. Reality rather
than my studies brought me to this conclusion. In my modern Middle
East studies at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, I did not have
even one class on Jerusalem. According to the curriculum Jerusalem
was part of Israel, not of the Palestinian territories; its Arab
residents did not have a national identity. The curriculum
reflected the Israeli mainstream view on Jerusalem. The intifada of
1987, the Madrid Peace conference in 1991 and the Oslo Accord of
1993 changed this view.
The 1993 Oslo agreements crystallized the disagreement over the
future of the city, while offering an alternative to the
confrontation: peace and coexistence with national and religious
separation.
In Jerusalem, however, we also feel the price of not reaching an
arrangement. Some of the most brutal Palestinian terrorist attacks
of the second intifada took place in my neighborhood and on the
road I travel daily.
The lessons I learned in my academic studies and as a lifelong
Jerusalemite, I applied with my Israeli and Palestinian friends
when we agreed in 2003 to the Geneva Initiative, a draft final
status peace agreement. Turning this common ground into everyday
reality is a challenge that still awaits us.
Translated by Ori Nir. First published in the newsletter of
Americans for Peace Now.