oddities of resistance
I ignored the first call that came before I had gotten myself out of bed on Tuesday morning. The second call, too, I think, and finally I checked the text message from a friend living in Shoufat neighborhood, occupied East Jerusalem--near my office.
House demolition in Beit Hanina, maybe just up the street from my office. Could I get people there? Did I know anything?
Over the next two hours, I made the calls--to ICAHD (www.icahd.org), to my friends who were trying to find the bulldozers and Army Jeeps, to the Ecumenical Accompaniers (www.eappi.org). I took several buses, walked around parts of Beit Hanina I'd never seen before, only to hear the news from the short-spoken Israeli at the ICAHD office: "The demolition is finished. We don't know where the bulldozers are going next."
So there you are, absurdly and uselessly running around East Jerusalem, looking for something you don't want to see, to take pictures to share with people who don't want to see it either, to try to bring some sort of justice to an absolutely unjust situation. Worried about the indignity this causes the family. Knowing that nothing can top the indignity of seeing all of your hopes and safety and shelter pounded, pulverized, into a twisted, nightmarish, Dali-esque pile of rubble and rebar and dust.
And you ask yourself, "Am I just a thrill-seeker?" And you ask yourself "Am I simply fascinated by the sacral violence?" And you ask yourself "Am I simply addicted to violence, as something that gives us meaning?" And you ask yourself "Am I just a voyeur?"
The same questions ran through my mind when I got the call that the demonstration I had planned to attend in Na'alin Friday afternoon had happened earlier than expected. I wouldn't be able to make it. I felt something of relief, and something of disappointment, and neither of these are attractive emotions to have. One indicates fear. The other indicates some sort of desire to be "where the action is" that has nothing to do with a hungering and a thirsting for justice and for peace and for healing.
Questions bombard you, in the midst of these oddities of resistance. We play bingo at an abandoned Israeli military base near Bethlehem in the West Bank. Now that the army is gone, Israeli settlers want to grab the land, which rightfully belongs to the Beit Sahour municipality. If the settlers come, we will ask them if they want to play. We will share this land, the message goes. But we will not give it up.
The soldiers come. They ask the leader of the group what is happening. He tells them, and invites them to play. I'm sure they would not be permitted to. One comments "We'll see what we are supposed to do about this circus." A circus on the land wouldn't be a bad idea, at all.
We go to Masada, that site that has become the symbol of Zionist nationalism. We climb the rocks, see the incredible views. We here the stories--the Zealot resistance to the Romans, the siege, the gate destroyed by the power of the Roman army. The suicide pact by the remaining Jewish resistance. They killed each other, including women and children. The last man fell on his own swords.
Historians can't confirm whether this all happened in exactly this way or not. But it is narrative that is important in this land, and it is as narrative that Masada has become a part of the Israeli nationalist mindset. President Bush, speaking in front of the Knesset (Israeli parliament) repeats the oath taken by Israeli soldiers at Masada: "Masada will not fall again."
And I wonder what all this tells us about resistance. Bingo and suicide. Cameras and bulldozers. Excitement and terror. Mourning and the joy of steadfastness. Samoud is one Arabic word that whisphers its way under the narrative--steadfastness, a refusal to be pushed off one's land, pushed away from one's home. Sabber is another--stubborn, patient. Also, a cactus.
Stubborn and steadfast in the face of oppression. Prickly. But holding water on the inside, long after the drought has begun.
A wise friend of mine once sent me the following quote: "As soon as you resist mentally any undesirable or unwanted circumstance, you thereby endow it with more power - power which it will use against you, and you will have depleted your resources to that exact extent." -Emmet Fox.
It was in reference to personal struggles, but it makes me wonder.
But there is a quote on the Bethlehem wall that says, simply, "to exist is to resist."
And that makes me wonder, too.
And so we keep on marching. And we keep on praying. And we keep hoping.
And, inshallah--God willing--we keep on wondering.


