Beautifully written through the eyes of women who have witnessed the
injustices and human rights violations perpetrated against the
Palestinians, the authors of Shifting Sands
describe the facts behind the creation of Israel, the current situation
in the occupied territories and their own painful realizations in
facing these realities. Through this ardent culmination of personal
essays, sixteen Jewish women bravely share their epiphanies about
Palestine and Israel, past and present.
The book’s editor and coauthor, Osie Gabriel Adelfang,
began her awakening when her cousin, an Israeli soldier, refused to
serve in the occupied territories. He had written an open letter
stating his reasons for refusal and wanted it translated into English.
Her translation of his letter began her own transformation. Once
regarding the Israeli military as a symbol of strength and integrity,
she came to understand that the occupation of Palestinian lands had
nothing to do with self-defense. Adelfang, who spoke at Chicago’s Women
and Children First bookstore, stated that upon learning the truth, she
felt betrayed and lied to when it came to Israel and Palestine. She
felt like a “patsy.”
Co-writer, Linda Dittmar, who grew up in Tel Aviv from 1939-1960,
wondered as a little girl why the lights had disappeared from a nearby
Palestinian village called Lifta. As a child, she didn’t dare ask such a
question. As an adult, she came to find that Lifta had been destroyed
and ethnically cleansed of its inhabitants along with hundreds of other
Palestinian villages that existed
prior to the 1948 creation of Israel. Her awareness of the situation
came gradually. As she states, “It crept and sidled towards me; it
coaxed, bullied, and shamed me.”
In an especially poignant chapter by coauthor, Starhawk,
reality is confronted with irrefutable candor. This chapter combines
both passion and logic for a result that stuns the reader and allows no
room for denial. She begins her chapter with the 2002 Israeli massacre
at a Jenin refugee camp. She describes the anguish of a father pulling
the charred corpses of his two young daughters from the rubble. Nothing
is sugar coated. The reality is stark discussing recent Israeli
attacks as well as early Zionist European settlers who went to Palestine
with a sense of religious and ethnic superiority seeing the native
population only as an obstacle. Starhawk’s bluntness, however, cannot
mask her sense of loss and sadness over what has transpired in the name
of Judaism.
Other contributors to this anthology include Hedy Epstein; a
Jewish-American activist whose parents vanished in the holocaust, Emma
Rosenthal; a Jewish-American human rights activist, Amira Hass; a columnist with Israel’s Ha’aretz newspaper and Anna Baltzer;
a Jewish-American author, lecturer and activist. Each gifted co-writer
tells of her own unique evolution through human tales of loss, sorrow,
pain and hope. The outcome is powerful and educational even for those
who are well versed in the realities of the Palestinian/Israeli
conflict.
Sifting through the one sided barrage of pro Israeli media coverage in
the U.S. has left the population here in the dark with regard to
Palestine, refugees, ethnic cleansing, settlement building and $7,000,000
per day of U.S. taxpayer money to Israel. But the truth can no longer
be hidden thanks to the courage and compassion of these women and others
like them. This book has no lobbyists behind it, no corporate
interests and no hidden agendas. It is very simply the truth rearing
its ugly head through engaging, passionate and sometimes painful
stories. Shifting Sands presents an opportunity to learn what every human being has a right and an obligation to know, the truth.
Shifting Sands can be purchased on Amazon and also at Women and Children First in Andersonville here in Chicago.
Even before publication, Shifting Sands: Jewish Women Confront the Israeli Occupation had already begun to attract the attention of those who disagree with (what they think is, as they hadnot read it) the book’s subject matter. It’s not that I’m surprised at this. In fact, I chose to edit an anthology of different Jewish women’s voices about the occupation specifically because I know this is a highly charged, very emotional topic that deserves to be treated with care and respect. In my experiences as a writer (and even more so as a reader), it is often (maybe always) easier to open your heart when faced with individual, human stories than with more statistics, more numbers, more information about a faceless problem “over there.”
Being a writer, I do love analogies, so here’s one: When my daughter went to Montessori school, she used math beads to do complex math she would not have been able to explain in theory. With the rows of 10 attached beads, she could count by 10s, create 102—10 squared—by creating an actual square of beads and know how many beads were in the bead cube (103). But at six, she couldn’t (and didn’t need to) explain what the theory behind squaring and cubing in math was, nor would she have known how to answer (without the beads), what is 52? However, with this concrete information, as she gets older and understands things in a more complete an theoretical way, she will have a much easier time because she has already seen it proven (in 3D!).
With this idea in mind, I believed (and still do) that instead of expecting people to rationally and without bias sort through all the information, memory, emotion and propaganda they’ve accumulated over a lifetime regarding the Middle East, it makes more sense to start with the concrete, offer up some beads, then let the reader string them together into the beginnings of a theory that makes sense. And then, with that background, that person can take what he or she learned out into the world and test it against other ideas, thereby building a true knowledge based upon experience.
Part of the way kids learn about the world (and grown-ups, too) is to ask questions and offer up ideas for discussion. Why is the ocean blue? Do you think God poured paint in there to make it pretty—wait, you’re right, it is clear when you put it in a pail, it just looks blue…” etc. (I mentioned I do like analogies, right?) So that’s the basis for the book, from my perspective. And my hope is that these stories enter people’s hearts in a new way, allow them to make room for new information and new ideas, that we ask questions and have discussions. Since I’ve begun working on the project, I’ve had many, many such conversations. In fact, several of my contributors’ essays (and discussions I have had with them and the many amazing activists I've met on this journey) have broadened or even eclipsed my assumptions about various aspects of the topic. I’ve learned a lot by handling these prose beads.
Which is why I find it not surprising but incredibly frustrating when people, rather than sharing the beads and working together so they make sense, completely refuse to play nice and immediately turn into bullies. In this case, without having even seen the “beads” yet (definitely buy the book first, people
, these folks have begun to rage about the very idea that I’m presenting these particular beads, that I would dare to ask women for their personal stories and gather them into a book. What they are saying, in essence, is: I hate Montessori and you’re a bad person for promoting it, or: how dare you present these Montessori beads without ALSO explaining how to learn math theoretically, or by the New Math method, or some other way.
Because I have edited this book, I have been verbally abused and physically intimidated in person, insulted and threatened on social networking sites, and received hate mail at my home. For example, after a newspaper article and blog post about the book appeared in the local press, some kindhearted fellow Jews explained to me that I am a “self hating Jewish anti Semite” (sic) and that my name is “DRECK in the Jewish community” (I don’t speak Yiddish, so had to ask, but it means garbage). A lovely Israeli Facebook user called me an anti-Semitic whore (I do speak Hebrew, no translation needed). I’ve been informed that my name “will be spit upon any time it is mentioned.” I’ve had a large man stand over me (sort of spitting, but that was just the frothing in anger), wagging his finger as he screamed in my face: “Liar! Liar!” Someone who is apparently in charge of membership in the Jewish community has excommunicated me from “it,” (if I hang out with other Jewish people, are we not a community? Not the “real” one, apparently). I've been informed that I can no longer be Jewish because of my views on peace. There’s more, of course. The details differ but they all have one thing in common: lots of wrath, zero facts. That’s not a discourse, it’s an attack. (One last analogy: when kids get angry, the primary emotion beneath it is usually fear. But the best way to dispel fear is to name it, bring it out into the light, examine it, embrace it, overcome it. Dealing with fear by reacting with anger may give the fearful child temporary relief, but the fear is still there, just waiting for tomorrow).
Imagine just mentioning Montessori math and being called anti-math, a math-hating whore, etc. You get the idea. I am happy to have a discussion about my book with anyone who is interested in peace, in learning. I am so willing to talk about this topic—it is close to my heart, I want to learn more and tell others what I know—and I love talking about the writing itself—the stories in this book are works of art. So those of us who are interested in opening ourselves up to new information, are curious or passionate or love to learn, for those who care about human rights, freedom, justice, there is so much we can talk about that these folks are missing out on:
Because one of the main fears (I think) is that “everyone hates us,” let’s talk about real anti-Semitism that is alive and well in the world today, and why this topic (the Israeli occupation) is such a sensitive one for even the most peaceful, progressive Jews. Let’s talk about what’s really happening now in Israel/Palestine, let’s truly understand the complexity and tragedy before we move on to what happened back then, what really happened and how it’s lead us to where we are. Let’s talk about U.S. aid to Israel, $3 billion a year to a government that continues to build illegal settlements with no regard to continued U.S. government opposition. Does the U.S. government really love the Jewish people? Otherwise, what’s the motivation and what happens when/if the U.S. switches allegiances? And please, let’s talk about these courageous Jewish women writers and why their stories are resonate so strongly.
Each story is as individual as its author. An essay titled “Lights Vanish in Lifta,” is written from the point of view of a young Jewish girl (Linda Dittmar, now a UMASS Boston Professor Emerita). In the story, she describes the apparent disappearance of a villageful of Palestinians during what the Israelis call “The War of Independence” and Palestinians call Al Nakbah (“the catastrophe”). Activist/writer Anna Baltzer’s essay “The Right to Exist,” describes Ms. Baltzer’s conversation with a young Palestinian peace worker. The man, born and raised in Balata refugee camp, shares his experience living under occupation and his intense commitment to peace despite tragic circumstances.
It’s easier to create peace when you see ‘the other’ as real, as a three-dimensional human being. And that is something incredible these writers have achieved; they show us the situation through each of their own experiences. I hope that before becoming rigid and defensive, people will take the time to actually read these amazing stories and absorb them. Maybe then we can begin a new conversation, one that can lead to a real and just and lasting peace. If you are interested in civil discourse, I am happy to have a discussion within this forum. You can also ask questions or post comments on the Shifting Sands Facebook page. The book has its own blog, with updates and information, feel free to subscribe and pass it on!
Shifting Sands is available at Amazon.com. The book is published by emerging green publishing cooperative Whole World Press.
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In the story, Omelas is a utopian city of happiness and delight, whose inhabitants are smart and cultured. Everything about Omelas is pleasing, except for the secret of the city: the good fortune of Omelas requires that a single unfortunate child be kept in perpetual filth, darkness and misery, and that all her citizens should be told of this on coming of age.
After being exposed to the truth, most of the people of Omelas are initially shocked and disgusted, but are ultimately able to come to terms with the fact and resolve to live their lives in such a manner as to make the suffering of the unfortunate child worth it. However, some few of the citizens, young or old, silently walk away from the city, and no one knows where they go. The story ends with "The place they go towards is a place even less imaginable to us than the city of happiness. I cannot describe it at all. It is possible it does not exist. But they seem to know where they are going, the ones who walk away from Omelas."
I've read analysis of this piece that talks about Nazi Germany, the "Good Germans" of Emma's poem who know but pretend not to, who sacrificet their own moral compass for the comfort of belonging to a particular society. And there are the people of Omelas, who have learned to live with the knowledge of the misery their utopia causes to others, and then to silence that knowledge and develop a justification for their position so strong that the horror they have supressed must never be mentioned, and that those who mention it must be silenced or cast out in order for the others to continue to live in happiness.
I can see this story as an allegory for many things (Americans and the Iraq war, for one), but I'm not sure I've ever heard anyone analyze it in terms of Israel/Palestine. The story's description of the people, the way they learn to integrate the horrors that seem impossible to live with into their lives as a necessary part of things, the way mainstream Jewish society requires as part of belonging a willingness to be complicit in the silence, to push it down so deeply they forget it's even there, and that their happiness relies on it. All this creates a justification system so complex as to take anyone's mentioning of the horrors and turn it into anti-happiness, anti-self, to silence it as quickly as possible so as not to end the utopian fantasy of Israel as a safe haven for the Jews.
Here's my problem with the story, though. LeGuin explains it away by saying that the child in the basement can't be saved, that it's too late, that it is too damaged, that dissenters must bravely, if alone, walk away from Omelas. Walking away allows the complicit to continue, and the suffering of the child to be everlasting. Much more brave than to walk away from Omelas would be to stay where you are and speak the truth.
In my alternate ending, the truth chips away at the stories the Omelans have told themselves, the rationalizations, the lies. It strenghtens the young people still horrified. It pushes them to ask: Is it true, as we've always been told, that our utopia really rests on the shoulders of this child's suffering? Only one way to find out.
And when they go and rescue the child, is it too late to save him or her ("it" in the story, not seen as human)? Or might it be possible that the child has learned from tragedy, understands the Omelans better than they do themselves, is full of forgiveness, and—with the true regret of an awakened population, with peace and justice and reconciliation now necessary to the newly morally awake people of Omelas—this child, and his/her children, and theirs thrive after all in a less exclusive, less visionary, more real, more honest society. A society of people living with eyes wide open.
Just sayin', Ursula!