Thanks to Tova Averbuch and Avner Haramati a little space has been opened
in Israel and maybe Palestine as well. Actually, this is the continuation
of "Space Opening," for Tova and Avner have been working together for the
past several years. It was only now that I was privileged to join them for
one of the most unique, painful and powerful experiences of my life. My
admiration for these two knows no bounds. Each in their own way is doing
truly remarkable work, and I felt honored to work at their side. In the
following material I have attempted to capture something of what happened.
You will notice that I have named no names in the article. Be assured that
there are real people behind all parts of the tale, but I was more than a
little concerned that I provide undesired exposure. Hopefully a number of
the "Phantoms of the Tale" will make their own appearance here on the list
-- at which point they can make their own statements. Also, I have offered
this accounting to several International news sources. I have no idea
whether they will avail themselves of my offer, but this should explain why
I found it necessary to describe OST.
Harrison
----------
Almond Tree Flowers and Tears
Harrison Owen
The coming of Spring in the Middle East is announced by the
flowering of the Almond Tree, at least that is the way things are in the
hills surrounding Jerusalem. Over the years as armies of the faithful, and
the faithful in armies surged across this sacred land, the delicate white
flowers made their silent proclamation. Spring is here. Life is renewed.
Hope returns.
And this year is no exception, despite the bombings, shootings and
shattered lives. The almond tree blooms. But somehow, hope seems to be in
very short supply, along with those other essentials of the human
community: Trust and Respect.
For the past 10 days, I was the guest of two Israeli Families and
a Palestinian who shared their lives with me. I am not a reporter and so
what follows may lack a little of the crisp objectivity of that profession,
but I can assure you the events are real, as are the sear marks on my soul.
Twenty years ago one of the Israeli families who hosted me began
their life together. Then, as now, it was Spring and the Almond Tree was in
bloom. For their wedding, the simple white flowers were an obvious choice
for decoration. And so 20 years later, in preparation for an anniversary
party, we went to the hills to gather Almond Tree Flowers once again. Not
many. Just enough to remember. Evening came and the guests arrived, filling
the apartment with laughter and dancing. It was gay, but no gaiety could
cover the pain of the times, and for the next several days, the bride of 20
years found herself in uncontrollable tears. Perhaps it was the contrast
between what was, and how things are at the moment I dont have a clue.
But I know for sure it is a time of Almond Tree Flowers and tears.
*********************************
The reasons for my visit are not important. Suffice it to say that
I came to share what I know and what I am in the hope (perhaps desperate)
that somehow my offering could be of some small help to those surrounded by
the present madness, made all the starker by the absence of trust, respect
and hope. We did a training program as well as an intense two day event in
which an incredible diversity of Israelis and Palestinians searched for
Peace. In between I was privileged to visit the World Bank program for
Palestine as well as one of the few remaining (functional) programs
dedicated to crossing the borders. There was also a visit to the Israeli
Army Leadership School in addition to many conversations with all sorts and
conditions of folks, including a gentleman who was introduced to me as the
spiritual leader of Hamas in Jerusalem. I cannot begin to recount all the
details, but the following vignettes may give something of the flavor.
On the first evening of the Training Program at a conference
center just outside Jerusalem, we were sitting in a circle. To my left was
a young Palestinian woman who had said little, but her presence was
impressive. Her Cell Phone rang, she took the call and became even more
silent. For ten minutes the groups conversation continued and then softly
she said There has been a shooting in Jerusalem. Many people are
wounded, some are dead. The call was from my Husband. He was close. She
rose and left the room, and I stood to look out the window from which you
could see the highway to Jerusalem now filled with the flashing lights of
ambulances and police. When I turned back, the young lady had
returned, looking pale and tearful. Through the tears she said, I am
worried for my husband His name is Sam, but it used to be Osama. He was
born in Lybia -- and sometimes the Israelis are not too particular after an
event like this. I learned later that Sam was a Applied Mathematician with
a PhD from an American university. I found myself smiling at the thought of
Sam coming back for a Alumni Reunion and greeting the Immigration
Authorities with something like My name is Osama and I was born in
Lybia... Black humor at the worst of times.
Everybody went home that night, and I was left with my thoughts. I
had been in the Middle East for just three days, but now it seemed that I
was there for real. The madness is omnipresent. There is no escape and
somehow life goes on. A fact that I found massively depressing and
strangely hopeful. For the next three days, our group continued because of
course you cant stop everything just because there had been anevent. The
American tradition of calling out an army of Grief Counselors could not be
observed if only because there was neither the time nor personnel. We had
to be our own Grief Counselors.
For three days we talked of this and that, but never far beneath
the surface was a deepening awareness of the true dimensions of the reality
faced, which started with a blanket admission from all parties that the
levels of trust, respect and hope were minimal, to non-existent. I cant
claim and dont know that the group was fully representative of the
feelings of the region, but the group was indeed enormously diverse. We had
Settlers, Orthodox, Left and Right, teachers and business people, people
from the Army and Police and just plain people and of course the young
woman from Palestine. Some might view her participation as tokenism but
if so, it was a powerful token indeed. As the days passed, the power of
her presence expanded until she became (at least for me) the conscience and
the soul of our conversation. At 28 years old, she carried a heavy burden
with elegance. I could not help but think of my own daughter, also 28, and
hope that some day they could meet.
Somewhere, somehow, there was a turn in the life of our small
group. It had nothing to do with changed conditions in the external world,
for if anything they had grown worse with yet another bombing and the
ongoing Israeli assault and occupation of the Palestinian land. Business as
usual, you might say. And yet people found useful small steps they might
take to build trust and respect, and thereby restore hope. The young lady
from Palestine caught it neatly when she said to me (and I believe to all)
You have rebourned (sic) my hope. If it could happen once, it might
happen again, and if it happened often enough, there might in truth be some
light at the end of the tunnel.
With our program over one of my Israeli friends who lived in
Jerusalem took me to his home for the weekend. It was there we had the
Wedding Anniversary which was but one of a tapestry of happenings the
sequence of which is lost to my mind but that loss does not diminish the
impact. We went on a tour, but not the usual sort. It was a People Tour
which included a visit to the study of a Senior Rabbi of the Ultra-Orthodox
community. From him I was surprised to learn that the de facto Israeli
policy of taking the land and excluding the Palestinians was not to his
liking in fact he felt it was dead wrong.
And then to a Peace Now rally Yes, the Peace movement in Israel
exists in spite of government and press dismissal. Standing on a small
square in downtown Jerusalem, Israelis and Palestinians (who came at great
personal risk) made a statement that, in the face of the current madness,
it was possible to seek peace and they were. To be sure the number of
demonstrators was small, but they were there. It was in fact a diverse crew
young people on their first experience, and old hands who had been on the
same spot for 10 years. Talk about endurance! My favorite happened to be
the mother-in-law of my host, who described herself as Radical Left but
who looked and sounded like everybodys ideal grandmother. Petite, soft
spoken, but a major presence. On this particular day she was being
harangued by a gentleman from Brooklyn on the apostasy of her position.
Better, he said, to wipe them all out. Ethnic Cleansing would do the
job. The lady held her peace, but the Brooklynite was challenged by a
young soldier in battle dress, fully armed, who argued that the Arabs had a
place in the land and that place should be honored.
Strange land made all the stranger by the fact even as this
confrontation was taking place some 50 reserve Israeli officers announced
that they would not serve in the occupied territories. I understand from
recent press reports that this number has grown to 100 and that the
authorities were muttering something about treason.
Meanwhile, it was off to another Peace Gathering this one to
announce the creation of a new Palestinian/Israeli association which would
take up where some others had left off. I am ignorant of the details of
their approach because by the time we got there the 100+ people from both
sides had already concluded their business but we were in time for taping
of a NBC/Nightline segment. For a meeting with the press, I found the
comments surprisingly candid perhaps because the whole thing had been
thrown together so quickly that nobody had any time to prepare. One
commentator in particular caught my attention, a Palestinian who noted that
on that particular day both Vice President Chaney and the Israeli Premier
had some nasty things to say about the legitimacy of Arafats presidency
however he noted that Arafat had won 87% of the vote in a carefully
supervised election, and that for better or worse, He is our President.
He was also kind enough not to make any comparisons to the recent American
Presidential election.
Scene changes and a day passes. I am now at the opening of a two
day intense conversation about Peace and what must be given up and what
held on to in, order to achieve it. Some 40 people participated, notable
not for the size of the group but rather its diversity. Jewish Settlers
from the occupied territories, Rabbis of all persuasions, educators,
academics, housewives, and a few Palestinians. Too few, but once again, the
power of their presence was enormous.
We used a very simple process called Open Space Technology which
enables large groups of conflicted people to deal with complex issues
quickly, economically, and effectively. There is one facilitator, no
advance agenda preparation, and in less than an hour the issues for
discussion were identified and multiple working groups are deeply engaged.
Since the language of the day was Hebrew and some Arabic, neither of which
are comprehensible to me, I cannot provide the details, but my friends and
the participants kept me included, and the side conversations alone were
incredible.
For example, a senior ultra-orthodox Rabbi emerged from one
session scratching his head and with a smile on his face. He said, I have
never talked to an Arab before and I think we can make a deal on the
Temple Mount. A 35 year old Settler taking a break on the porch, obviously
deeply disturbed and strangely excited We have to leave, he said.. We
created the Settlements because we thought the people (of Israel) wanted us
to but now it is not working. And the cost is too high, not just in terms
of blood and bullets, but the moral cost. We are becoming our own worst
nightmare. Our actions and our values are at odds. I think it may be true.
We have found our land and are in the process of losing our soul. And so
it went for two days.
Perhaps more significant than the several comments was the flow of
feelings over the time. As we began, tension and suspicion was palpable
not only dividing Palestinians from Israelis, but among the Israelis
themselves, the fissures of distrust were, if anything, deeper. With mantra
like regularity, conversations began with the words I cant trust. I
dont respect... How can I hope? As the first day merged into the second,
a subtle but profound change covered our space. It reminded me of the
childrens story of the Little Engine that Could as the petit engine
struggled up the steep mountain... I think I can, I think I can, I think I
can ... trust, respect, hope. Did the Kingdom of God arrive? By no means,
but maybe a little for at the end of the second day, now quite late at
night (10pm) the participants stood silently in a circle, holding each
other in their gaze. No words, for words were not needed. Just for the
moment there was trust, respect, and not a little bit of hope. There were
also tears, but no longer just the tears of desperation. And the Almond
Trees are still blooming.
And then ....?
The bombings and the occupation continue, but perhaps something is
changing in the calculus of survival. Not that you could perceive this from
the official pronouncements which remain obdurate and un-yielding, but
there are other voices. On my final day in Jerusalem my three friends and I
walked the streets of the Old City. It was absolutely empty, and almost as
silent as a tomb. Most of the shops were closed, and the shop keepers
hardly spoke to each other. We went into a grand old hotel for coffee and a
snack, and they seated us in the main dining room, fully set for 200
and totally deserted. We were greeted with the standard Israeli Shalom
Peace but clearly there was no peace. And when our beverages arrived we
two Israelis, one American, and a Palestinian toasted each other To
Life. but it seemed that life had gone out of the city, the sacred core of
that tormented land.
It was massively depressing and strangely hopeful. The sources of
depression are obvious. But the hope? The hope appeared for me in the
possibly dawning realization that the Official policies of the moment were
in fact destroying what they were designed to protect. That preservation of
physical space meant little if the soul was in jeopardy. Slim hope,
perhaps, but futures have been made on less, I believe.
Harrison Owen
7808 River Falls Drive
Potomac, MD 20854 USA
phone 301-365-2093
Open Space Training www.openspaceworld.com
Open Space Institute www.openspaceworld.org
Personal website www.mindspring.com/~owenhh
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