By Mark R. Cohen

On one of my many trips to Israel, in January 2012, words spoken at the celebration of the founding of the PLO in Ramallah were disseminated far and wide via the Internet by Palestine Media Watch, shocking many in and outside of the country. Introducing the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, one of the officials referred to the “enemy” (Israel) as “apes and pigs,” quoting a famous verse from the Qur’an according to which God, through His prophet Muhammad, censures the “Sabbath breakers” for violating (Jewish) law and condemns them to be transformed into “apes and pigs.” In his own speech, the Mufti quoted an equally famous Islamic hadith: “’The Hour (of Divine Judgment and Resurrection) will not come until you fight the Jews. The Jews will hide behind rocks or trees. Then the rocks or trees will call out: ‘Oh Muslim, Oh servant of Allah, there is a Jew behind me, come and kill him; except for the Gharqad tree, which is the friend of the Jews.’ Therefore it is no wonder that you see Gharqad trees surrounding the Israeli settlements and colonies.” This hadith, with its anti-Semitic overtones, is famously quoted in the Hamas “Platform” as license to kill Jews.

Anti-Semitism in the contemporary Muslim world is real. It pervades the media in the very countries that are most inimical to Israel. It appears in political speeches, in cartoons, in the press and on Middle Eastern radio and television. It resonates all too familiarly with the anti-Semitism that fueled the Holocaust.

For a people who have suffered the consequences of anti-Semitism since the Christian Middle Ages, culminating in the Nazi Holocaust, such expressions of anti-Jewish hatred in the Muslim world, side-by-side with Islam’s version of Holocaust denial, militates against hopes for rapprochement, political or otherwise, with Israel’s Arab neighbors and strengthens politicians’ resolve to resist statehood for the Palestinians.

Where does contemporary Muslim anti-Semitism come from? Does it stem from the Qur’an and other foundational Islamic texts? Is it endemic to Islam? Is it therefore ineradicable? Many, especially Jews, and especially Israeli Jews, believe this to be true.

Or is this anti-Semitism new, originating in Western (Christian) Jew-hatred that arrived in the Middle East on the heels of colonialism, and later became clothed in Islamic garb? And, if so, has this Muslim anti-Semitism somehow been enflamed by the rise of Zionism and the conflict with Israel?

The claim that Jews lived under Muslim rule in the past much as they had under Christendom — in a state of abject misery, relentlessly humiliated and even persecuted — does not stand up to scrutiny. In an essay for a volume edited by Israeli Middle East expert Moshe Ma’oz, entitled Muslim Attitudes to Jews and Israel: The Ambivalences of Rejection, Antagonism, Tolerance and Cooperation (Sussex University Press, 2010), I refute that approach. Building on the arguments in my book, Under Crescent and Cross: The Jews in the Middle Ages (also published in Hebrew with the title, Be-tzel ha-sahar veha-tzlav (Zmora/Bitan-Dvir, 2001), this essay “Modern Myths of Muslim Anti-Semitism,” from  the Ma’oz volume (linked here with the permission of the publisher, or in Hebrew), explains the relatively decent relations between Muslims and Jews under Islamic rule, and attributes modern Muslim anti-Semitism to just that: modernity, rather than inherent features of Islam.

Mark R. Cohen is the Khedouri A. Zilkha Professor of Jewish Civilization in the Near East at Princeton University.

Nakba Day protest May 15, 2012 (Activestills)

In 2008, a fascinating, little-known study asked 500 Israeli Jews about Israel’s behavior throughout the history of the conflict.  The study was conducted by Rafi Nets-Zehngut, at the Teachers College of Columbia University and Daniel Bar-Tal of Tel Aviv University’s School of Education. Bar-Tal is an internationally regarded expert in political psychology. Some of the findings were striking:

• More than six-in-ten said that prior to the arrival of the “Jewish pioneers” in the late 19th century, Palestinians were a majority in the region (“majority,” “vast majority,” or “exclusive inhabitants”).

• A majority, albeit very slim (50.2 percent), said that Jews and Arabs share the blame equally (46 percent) or primarily Jews (4.2 percent) are to blame for the outbreak and continuation of the Israeli-Arab conflict, while 43 percent blamed primarily Palestinians and Arabs.

• Most important for Nakba Day, when asked who was responsible for the “departure” of Palestinian refugees during the 1948 War of Independence, 41 percent chose the traditional Zionist narrative that they left due to fear and exhortations of Arab leaders; but 39 percent chose a response that cited fear and calls of Arab leaders, but also due to expulsion by Jews. Another eight percent cited only expulsion by Jews. That means that nearly half – a 47 percent plurality – accepted the Jewish role in creating Palestinian refugees.

Further, by using the terms “Palestinian” to refer to the pre-state days through 1948, the questions themselves implicitly tested people’s acceptance of the terms of the debate. The fairly standard rate of “don’t knows” indicates that people had little problem with the assumptions in the text of the questions. Also, fewer than one-fifth of Jewish Israelis describe themselves as left wing these days, so a significant portion of those respondents are either center or right wing.

The findings imply a potentially significant shift in Israeli attitudes compared to the past, when the Palestinian refugees were the greatest obstacle of all. During the Camp David negotiations of 2000, when I was working with American pollster Stanley Greenberg supplying public opinion data to then-Prime Minister Ehud Barak almost nightly, the refugee issue tended to be the toughest problem, even as the Jewish public advanced significantly toward unprecedented compromises on Jerusalem (documented in Greenberg’s 2009 book). Just after the talks collapsed, a Hebrew University survey in late July, 2000 asked Israelis (and Palestinians) whether they thought their respective leader’s compromises on each item had been appropriate, too much or too little. Among Israelis, the perception of Barak’s proposed compromises on Palestinian refugees gathered the highest “too much of a compromise” response of all (64 percent gave this answer, compared to 57 percent for Jerusalem).

Twelve years later, in a December, 2012 survey by the same authors (Jacob Shamir and Khalil Shikaki), the Palestinian refugee question no longer holds the most-rejected-clause spot. That distinction now goes to the proposals on Jerusalem, based on the old Clinton framework (59 percent rejected them, 38 percent supported them). Respondents were asked about a refugee compromise which reflects the Clinton, Geneva Plan and Arab Peace Initiative approach:

Both sides agree that the solution will be based on UN resolutions 194 and 242. The refugees would be given five choices for permanent residency. These are: the Palestinian state and the Israeli areas transferred to the Palestinian state in the territorial exchange mentioned above; no restrictions would be imposed on refugee return to these two areas. Residency in the other three areas (in host countries, third countries, and Israel) would be subject to the decision of these states. As a base for its decision Israel will consider the average number of refugees admitted to third countries like Australia, Canada, Europe, and others. All refugees would be entitled to compensation for their “refugeehood” and loss of property.

Among the 600-person sample, which included Arabs, 42 percent accepted this and 49 percent rejected it – a significant decline from nearly two-thirds who felt it was “too much of a compromise” in 2000.

Behind the numbers lies a potential drama. First, they confirm what Noam Sheizaf elegantly argued, that the anti-Nakba onslaught under the previous government has failed to erase the Nakba from the public sphere, while general usage and awareness of the term has only increased. Bar-Tal also noted in a more recent study that the Israeli education system is increasingly open about exploring critical versions of history – findings that were met with a wall of resistance by the Israeli government, for the crime of comparing Israel and the Palestinians’ education system.

But the data shown here hints at something both deeper and more pragmatic. They suggest a growing realization among the Israeli people that the Nakba is not only a feature of history but alive in the present-lived reality of Palestinians and that it must be addressed in the negotiations.

Indeed, for Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza, the Nakba lives on in the form of daily occupation. Symbolically, Israel’s denial and until recently the world’s general dismissal of their historical and present symbolic narrative is a fresh death each day for the Palestinian collective psyche.

Despite the positive shifts, half of Israelis still reject the refugee compromise in the December 2012 poll; tempers rage around public debate on the topic, and a 2009 survey for the peace movement One Voice found that 60 percent of Israeli Jews totally rejected a compromise that included “recognition of the suffering” of Palestinian refugees.

Yet I cannot agree with a guest post here today that the rejection is due to “arrogance.”

In a phone interview with Daniel Bar-Tal for this article, he explained that the ongoing Jewish resistance to dealing with the Nakba is simply a reflection of the fact that the Jewish people as a nation are no more or less immune to the human characteristics of collective identity than any other people:

On the most universal level: why is it hard for any nation [to acknowledge the damage it has caused in the past]? It’s very, very universal [to resist this]. All nations do it.

He cited the very recent British acknowledgment of responsibility for its actions in Kenya, and former French President Nicolas Sarkozy’s difficulty acknowledging France’s behavior in Algiers. “Nations have a hard time opening their Pandora’s box,” he said. “We’re no different.”

Bar-Tal believes that the story of the Nakba, a symbolic narrative of the Palestinian nation, clashes with the Zionist national narrative.

This reason is more psychological, but critical: identity. The Nakba … is viewed as the identity of the whole nation in the eyes of its people. And accepting the narrative of the other cancels my identity. If you have to accept that 1.3 million Palestinians were here, all the Zionist rationale begins to be thrown into doubt.

Bar-Tal then explained that when Netanyahu introduced the demand that Palestinians recognize Israel as the Jewish State, the negotiations were now about symbolic and identity dimensions, rather than, by implication, just technical and pragmatic solutions.

He brought that into the conflict – up to then we could have solved the problem without narratives. The moment you ask them to recognize that this land is and belongs to Jews, they can’t accept that.

Perhaps it was at this point that the Nakba was increasingly embraced among Palestinian activists. And by contrast to Bar-Tal’s implication, I believe that the symbolic, narrative element of conflict would inevitably enter resolution efforts regardless of Netanyahu’s particular condition.

In other words, when Israelis or any people are asked to acknowledge historical facts and their own role in creating traumas, they are less defensive. But when dry history doubles as the mythical story of the founding of a rival nation, acknowledging those facts means legitimizing the other side’s fundamental beliefs. Since the Israeli image of the Palestinian national vision includes the certainty that Palestinians seek destruction of the Jews, the national narratives – like in most conflicts – are mutually exclusive. Accepting this keystone of Palestinian symbolic national history is tantamount to self-destruction.

Surely, similar conflict psychology can be seen on the Palestinian side too. Even when a conflict is asymmetrical, psychological dynamics overlap. But that would be a separate article.

Both sides will need to exorcise their demons regarding the other, not to gloss over the present but in order to unlock the door to the future. Here are the fundamental questions for the Israel side: first, can the Right’s frenzied efforts to stifle consciousness of the Nakba succeed? The results seem to say no. Activism recalling the Nakba has only heightened and the data here implies that the Israeli public is ahead of its leaders in acknowledging not only history, but the implications of history on conflict resolution.

Secondly, how can the large swath of the Israeli public that is prepared to reconcile with its past in the present be expanded and leveraged? How can this political maturity be brought to bear on future negotiation efforts or any other effort to resolve the situation? Surely, beating a guilt-fatigued population with more historic guilt will backfire (if it hasn’t already). Is there a less threatening way to address and redress history that does not undercut Jewish identity in this land? This is one of the vital challenges of the day, that the Nakba (and perhaps the “Jewish state” definition, for Palestinians) symbolizes for all parties in the conflict: can each side acknowledge the most sensitive and frightening aspects of the other party’s identity without losing its own, and then lashing out violently to protect it?

Read more:
PHOTOS: Palestinians commemorate Nakba Day with rallies and protests
The Nakba: Addressing Israeli arrogance
Despite efforts to erase it, the Nakba’s memory is more present than ever in Israel
Report: Forced displacement on both sides of the Green Line
Remembering the Nakba, understanding this is a shared land

Israeli President Shimon Peres with Cypriot President Nicos Anastasiades in Jerusalem, May 7, 2013 (Photo: GPO/ Mark Neiman)

Recently-elected president of the Republic of Cyprus (RoC) Nicos Anastasiades, elected in January 2013, spoke at Tel Aviv University’s Faculty of Law Tuesday evening following an official visit that included meetings with both Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and President Shimon Peres. His talk was a full-throated call to nurture the budding friendship it has sparked with Israel despite the recent thaw in Israel’s relationship with RoC’s long-standing nemesis, Turkey.

With Israel and Turkey hopefully on the road to repairing relations, there are sure to be ramifications for international cooperation on the enormous cache of hydrocarbons discovered over the last few years beneath the seas of Cyprus and Israel. Cyprus might be edgy about where Israel’s loyalties lie. Perhaps this is part of the timing of the visit.

Cyprus became the new friend when Israel’s long-term partnership with Turkey was in the doldrums. The Republic of Cyprus was the perfect candidate for a rebound relationship: the country is the heart of a long-running conflict between Greece and Turkey, and between their respective ethnic kin on the island who are pitted against each other: Greek Cypriots in the “south” – the UN and EU member state known as Republic of Cyprus, and Turkish Cypriots in the north, who under the protective patronage of a Turkish military occupation (and in some ways, an economic one) since 1974, declared themselves the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus in 1983 – recognized only by Turkey.

Israel and the RoC suddenly found they had at least one very important mutual strategic interest: the exploration, extraction and distribution of natural gas reserves, discovered neatly during the phase Israel-Turkey relations hit a nadir. The new friendship was thus another way for Israel to salt the wound with Turkey, which was already angry over the notion that the spoils of gas would all flow to the Greek government in the south and surely even more disturbed by Israel’s plans to enable that.

After a brief introduction about Cyprus, in which the bailout crisis that has rocked his country these last two months made barely a cameo appearance, Anastasiades seems to have taken a cue from President Obama in declaring everlasting love and friendship with Israel. He noted proudly that ties between Jews and Cyprus are ancient, and that in the biblical times Cypriot wine was used for the Temple (Cypriots of all stripes diligently maintain the role of wine in their culture to this day). He then jumped to more recent history: “No quick reference to the historic relations of the peoples of our two nations could obviously be completed” said the president with a flourish, “without mentioning the role that Cyprus played in the establishment of the State of Israel.” Like Obama, he suffered through a Hebrew word (“Haganah”) while reminding the audience that Cyprus assisted in the smuggling of Jewish refugees to Palestine after World War II (this part did not appear in the prepared remarks, available here). Some sharp adviser must have conveyed the soft-spots of Israeli identity, because he explained that both Cyprus and Israel share a history of “struggle for survival,” and identified the main regional threats today as Iran and Syria.

The president was clearly most interested in conveying the intention to upgrade relations between Cyprus and Israel and “embark on a new era of partnership.” That mainly meant cooperation on the hydrocarbon issue, and contributing to stability in the eastern Mediterranean. He clarified that Israel-Turkey and Israel-Cyprus relations are not mutually exclusive – but that only highlighted the fact that trilateral cooperation seems a long way off.

“Stability” leads to questions about the elephant in both rooms: the two unresolved political conflicts in which both Cyprus and Israel are engaged but which also drag major regional and international players into their vortex. Anastasiades apparently did not wish to distract from Israel-wooing by discussing Israel’s elephant, but he did touch momentarily upon the Cyprus conflict. His did so by repeating the standard Greek-Cypriot line now 40 years old: that 37 percent of Cyprus and 57 percent of its coastline is under foreign military occupation and resolution is in everyone’s interest. But he offered no insight as to how such resolution might come about.

It was an ironic moment that was met mainly with blank stares. Does Anastasiades really expect Israel, whose military occupation is so deeply ingrained in policy and life that it is almost transparent, to take up the gauntlet on behalf of its new friend Cyprus? Admitting that military occupation hurts Greek Cypriots (who hardly live in the north anymore) would open to the door to admitting that it hurts Palestinians in the territories, who are all living under some form under Israeli military occupation. Anastasiades would do well to remember that political friendship has its limits.

For the last 10 days I have not been able to think of the occupation or political mini-dramas of the new government. I read the New York Times every morning, but I can hardly recall the headlines. Even, god help me, the butchery in Syria and now the Israeli involvement seem further from my heart momentarily than a very local story.

It is so local, I wonder if +972 readers would or should care. It is so mundane, based on subtleties and slippery facts, that I wonder how I can possibly allow it rival the importance of towering life or death issues.

It’s simple sexual harassment – not a uniquely Israeli problem. One of the top television news personalities in the country, Emmanuel Rosen, has been accused by a large number of women of harassment over the years and there are rumors of rape. After a lengthy expose in Haaretz on April 26 (Hebrew) aired the claims of about 10 female colleagues, he went on leave of absence from Channel 10. The police began an “examination” which as of Monday turned into a formal “investigation.” Here in Israel it is a major news story making the headlines almost every day since it broke at the end of April.

But there’s nothing simple about it. Rosen’s womanizing personality  is known far and wide even to those like me, who don’t know him personally. Colleagues know him as a skirt-chaser at work too, and in the close circles of the Israeli media cliques, the current accusations don’t seem to surprise anyone – especially women.

Yet the whistle-blowing has been faint. No one went to the police, or (as far as we know to date) raised a formal complaint at his main current workplace – Channel 10, a private television station (he was active in other media outlets too). But Channel 2, his former employer and the highest-rated television station in the country apparently confronted complaints about him a few years back. It has emerged that he was let go for ‘unbecoming behavior,’ and subsequently hired by Channel 10.

The accusations were exposed by a group of women journalists who recently organized into a professional guild (Ta Itona’iyot, or the “female journalist caucus“). Vered Cohen-Barzilay, a feminist activist and former journalist who was involved from the beginning explained to me that they hadn’t  intended to focus on sexual harassment. But in the early meetings when the agenda was being formed, the issue just poured out naturally from participants at every one of 15 round tables (Hebrew), with about 40 who specifically complained about Rosen.

Since the story broke, senior press figures have now been in the odd position of both reporting on the news, while being talking heads – about themselves. Some have stated that the top execs in the field knew about his harassment and worse, but did nothing. Others, like Channel 10′s own Raviv Drucker (Hebrew) have tended towards “cover my ass” commentary about all the things they didn’t know while hinting that the firestorm might be exaggerated. Other male regulars in the press have taken to prefacing their comments with a sort of ritual confession explaining the degree of acquaintance or friendship with the fallen star as if appropriate distance inoculates him. One of the best voices, with whom I identify perhaps most closely, has been Haaretz’s fantastic and unrestrained reporter and commentator on feminism and gender issues, Tsafi Saar. I’d like to quote her now, but I wouldn’t know where to start. The interested reader can start by reading everything she writes.

In fact, I don’t know where to start writing at all. Should I begin by giving a pithy description of the fascinating social media dynamics, the frenzied debates between the genders running on Facebook forums? Should I describe the defensiveness and anger of many men, morphing into a quick deflection of the issue to a  media problem? “The media” is holding a “kangaroo court,” and “ruining his life,” which is what security reporter Roni Daniel said impromptu on Channel 2 news, as a media figure who has absolutely no expertise in gender issues. He was implying that Rosen doesn’t have a fair chance to defend himself (when the story first broke, Haaretz reported his repeated refusal to give a response; he then denied everything and spoke of a smear-campaign against him). Do I talk of the occasional woman who seems more interested in staking out a punchy “davka” counter-point, by joining the accusations against the media instead of those against Rosen? Or about the heart-warming men who simply get it?

Should it be the tales of trauma now being shared by an appalling number and range of women, an ever-spreading stain whose blackness and girth are still deepening and spreading? The strength and vulnerabilities intertwined in their cries? Or maybe I should tackle the hard-core pragmatic dilemmas: complain and you can ruin your life, reputation and profession and become the victim, again. Keep it quiet and you perpetuate the cycle.

Is there an Israeli angle here? A lag in the evolution of gender relations that many outsiders still view with a 1950s romanticism: sturdy sunburnt limbs in khakis side-by-side in kibbutz fields, or chicks with guns? Or maybe it’s not just a delay but a specific Israeli character to the troubled dynamic here, something that emanates darkly from the recesses of militarism and machoism that the Israeli establishment clings to with a death-grip. Maybe the troubled power-and-submission relation between the genders – in public institutions, in the bedroom (Hebrew), in religion – reflects destructive interactions in other obvious spheres.

Or should I tell my own story? Maybe it’s wiser to wait on the grand social analysis until the dust settles and in the meantime, explain to anyone who still doesn’t get it what it’s like to invest all your life and talents, stake all your energies and efforts, days and nights and weekends, suspend your fears and insecurities and convince everyone they don’t exist, to dive into a profession you believe in and fight your way to a level of confidence and possibly impact – and then to be slapped down to nothing. For the curse of being born a women, to be told, in effect (or literally, as I have) “all that’s well and good, but we know what you’re really good for.” And the entreaty that follows: Sleep with me. Go have babies. Let’s go to your place. Let’s get a place. Let’s have a non-standard relationship. I’ve met you once, but how’s your emotional life these days. I’m sorry, I love my wife, I’ve never been in this situation before. I’m sorry, I love my wife, but she hasn’t wanted to have sex lately.

Yes, I’ve conflated, paraphrased, forgotten and repressed some of the crap I’ve heard over the years. No, not all of them fall under the classic or legal definition of sexual harassment in (or out of) the workplace. Yes, I’ve heard them all in some form and each of those notions more than once. In case any man reading this thought we would think this drivel was unique – you are invited to stop embarrassing yourself with congenital unoriginality. And why do I even care about unoriginality in such a traumatic situation? Perhaps the pain is so deep that we search for the seemingly meaningless details so as not to cope with the awful feelings inside. Perhaps they highlight the filthy feeling of being reduced to one of a million anonymous, identical targets – replaceable. Maybe the insult to my intelligence – that you thought I would buy it – is too great to bear.

No, I never complained to the workplace and I am ashamed I wasn’t able to prevent or redress those situations, instead of what I did: stew in my humiliation and the wreckage of my self-worth, built from the ground with my own sweat and blood. Confuse my rage at him with rage at myself, for not telling him to fuck off, or even before that: for not projecting a personality so unfathomably wonderful that he could never countenance such disrespect in the first place.

This is why I have been powerless to write so far: emotions have taken over and there are very many serious, pragmatic, rational and vital angles to be addressed and I hope to write about them too in the future (in the meantime, Yossi Gurvitz has done a fantastic job articulating much of what I think about the current debate in Israel, sadly not yet in English). And in general, I don’t view my emotions about my personal life as appropriate subject for the public sphere.

But if that’s what it takes to communicate how bad this problem is, I feel I owe it to society. I’ll never forgive those men for forcing me to deal with their private parts, against my will, instead of what I came to work that day to do.

It’s becoming bon-ton this week to say that a few text messages Rosen allegedly sent to the unfortunate women is simply not so bad. It’s not rape, and come on, if you’re such a strong, empowered, educated woman, it’s not even really traumatic.

Wake up. It’s not the text message, fools. It’s the diseased manipulation and stinking dehumanization behind them.

History has proven time and again that the Jews are not unique for having suffered genocidal policies. The many debates about preventing such tragedies have so far not helped populations that suffered mass killings and expulsions, with intent to destroy them for their national, religious or ethnic identity – even in recent decades. Therefore the politicization of the Armenian genocide in Israel in the context of Israel-Turkey relations, described with great eloquence by Akiva Eldar in al-Monitor, is not only wrong; it calls into question whether Israel is truly committed to “never again” when it comes to people who are not Jews.

In fact, Jews need not look outside their own community to understand the categorical need to universalize the awful lessons of the Holocaust. Eldar points out that one of the greatest advocates of this position was himself a victim:

The man who coined the term genocide and fought for adoption of the treaty [1948 UN Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of Genocide - ds] was the Jewish-Polish jurist Raphael Lemkin, whose entire family was annihilated in the Holocaust. He himself managed to flee to the United States. Lemkin referred specifically to the Armenian annihilation as an act of genocide. This position was never adopted by Israeli governments. The official Israeli position was summed up in 2001 in an interview by then-Foreign Minister Shimon Peres with the Turkish Daily News: “The Armenians suffered a tragedy,” he said, “but not genocide.”

Tragically, Eldar’s description of the feeling many Knesset members hold towards this question mirrors what I feel in Israeli society:

For them, any attempt to hint that other peoples were also persecuted and massacred for racist reasons is considered “disrespect for the Holocaust” (they themselves, on the other hand, often use the term “Holocaust,” especially to scare the Israeli public with the Iranian threat). They do not define the Armenian genocide as a human-Jewish-ethical issue.

To the argument that recognition of the Armenian experience threatens very immediate political needs related to Turkey, I hope that Turkish leaders and people see it differently. Remembering horrors suffered by others would say more about Israel’s values than it does about Turkey. Anyone can commit terrible crimes against innocents, Jews included. I wish for a country that rises above its own trauma to recall, support and help victims anywhere.

I can scarcely believe this needs to be said, but apparently it bears repeating: we must acknowledge that all human beings are at risk of falling victims to genocidal acts, or of perpetrating such acts themselves. The same people can be in both positions. To deny this seems to me as awful and dangerous as Holocaust denial itself.

Runners race along the Israeli separation wall as hundreds of Palestinian and international athletes took part in the the inaugural Palestine Marathon which took place in Bethlehem, West Bank, April 21, 2013. Under the title “Right to Movement”, runners had to complete two laps of the same route, as organizers were unable to find a single course of 42 uninterrupted kilometers under Palestinian Authority control.

The first marathon was held in Bethlehem on Sunday, as my colleagues have reported (and photographed, beautifully). The marathon is moment of great personal achievement, but marathons also sometimes become a forum for highlighting other social issues – fundraising for charities and raising awareness of social causes, for example.

This week, the United States weeps as it struggles to maintain the ideal of marathons as a joyous community event, in the face of the horror in Boston. I too was shattered by seeing an event that brings out the most generous community spirit among strangers torn apart by violence. But in Bethlehem, it was inevitable that the personal joy of runners would at best balance out the deep political frustrations that the race inevitably highlighted: competitors ran in the shadow of a great concrete wall, were unable to find an unbroken 42-kilomter (26.2 mile) stretch of land, and 26 runners from Gaza, whose own marathon was recently canceled, were not allowed to participate, because the Defense Ministry would not let them cross to the West Bank.

Here is one act of resistance from Israelis: In response to the latter, Gisha, the Legal Center for Freedom of Movement, appealed to Israelis to appeal to the Defense Ministry directly, to reverse its decision. Perhaps one unintended consequence of the policy was that some Israelis have found a means of identifying with this particular hardship – just one of so many – that Palestinians must live with. After the Bethlehem marathon, the director of Gisha, Sari Bashi, wrote the following letter and has agreed to re-publish it here. Proper disclosure: Bashi is an ultra marathon runner; she is also the person who inspired me to run marathons – to achieve something I never thought possible and which has brought great inspiration to my own life.

I have also provided a free translation of a few of the letters written by Israelis in response to her appeal.

That amazing thing called running

By Sari Bashi, Gisha Director

Last week I called on the public and on my fellow Israeli runners to contact the Israeli Defense Ministry and ask for a reconsideration of the refusal to allow runners from Gaza to travel to the Bethlehem Marathon which was held yesterday. Their request was first denied on April 11, because according to a representative from the office of the Coordinator of Government Activities in the Territories, it did not meet the criteria for travel between Gaza and the West Bank.

The response from the runners was amazing. Dozens wrote moving letters to the Ministry of Defense, emphasizing the hope and purity embodied in the marathon and speaking of their identification with people who challenge their human abilities by doing that amazing thing called “running.” We posted some of these letters, which fill me with a sense of pride in the community of Israeli runners.

“In Ancient Greece, they used to stop all the wars prior to the Olympics, and allow free passage for the players and the supporters. In my opinion, we should learn from that.” –Alex Solan, marathon runner.

“To me it seems so simple. This is not about religion, right versus left, or geography. It’s just people and their desire to run.” –Michael Spivak, marathon runner.

“I can’t come up with a reason to prevent people from running in an event that they trained so long and hard for. I can imagine that that it might just be possible for things like this to become a bridge. I hope that one fine day, I’ll be able to participate too.” –Ilan Zisser, marathon runner

Sari herself wrote: “Life in the shadow of a conflict is hard for Palestinians and Israelis. But running a marathon can at least provide one beautiful moment of human effort and realization of athletic potential.”

Unfortunately, the Defense Ministry refused to reverse its decision. The marathon was held in Bethlehem without the Gaza runners, among them a female runner, Sanaa. In my opinion, this is a missed opportunity to do something that is simply good – for runners who trained for months for a marathon that was canceled, for a female runner who can’t race in Gaza because of the restrictions the government places on women’s participation, and for Israelis, who from a very human place, mobilized to try and help their Palestinian neighbors run in the only Palestinian marathon they have left.

Because of the Israeli holiday last week, we had very little time to act. This type of request has been approved by the Defense Ministry in the past, and I believe we have a good chance to succeed next time.

What can be done in the meantime? I was pleased by the discussion that developed within the running community about Palestinian athletes and our relationship with the people who live in the Gaza Strip, a discussion that remained respectful, didn’t necessarily always reflect agreement, but rather created an honest exchange of opinions and a willingness to listen to one another. I am not surprised that the optimistic, principled and supportive nature of Israeli runners found expression also in the way they handled their differences of opinion.

I invite you to continue the discussion, learn more about the policy on the Gaza Strip and share with others.

I am disappointed that Sanaa, Nader and their friends did not run in Bethlehem yesterday, but I’m very proud of the Israeli runners who supported their request. Next time, we’ll be able to get them to their race.

Looking forward to seeing you on the running trail.

Palestinian Authority Prime Minister Salam Fayyad (Beautiful Faces of Palestine/CC BY NC ND 2.0)

Who killed the prime minister of Palestine? Well, no one killed Salam Fayyad, of course. But the idea of a prime minister of Palestine, the political leader of a someday-democratic state-coming-into being who would lead with cosmopolitan pragmatism, international credibility, and state-building savvy, seems now officially dead. After warnings and false starts, Fayyad has turned in his resignation and it has apparently been accepted by Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas – according to reports. The resignation was precipitated by a recent financial crisis that has been brewing for months – and years.

Fayyad was appointed prime minister of the Palestinian Authority in 2007 by President Mahmoud Abbas (Abu Mazen). He hails from neither of the two biggest parties, but from Third Way, a small independent party that failed to make serious gains in the last Palestinian elections in 2006.

His position was thus effective only in the West Bank, as Gaza had already fallen under Hamas rule when he took office (he had previously served as finance minister). Yet within constrained circumstances, he developed a political program coherent enough to be nicknamed “Fayyadism.”

Its main components were outlined in an impressively structured political vision called Ending the Occupation, Establishing the State, released in 2009. It involved a state based on 1967 borders, strengthening the institutions and administration within the West Bank to advance economic growth and political legitimacy, and non-violence. The idea was refreshing: stop waiting for moribund peace negotiations, circumvent the recalcitrant Israeli leadership and start building a state. Clean up Palestinian governance and manage Palestinian life in the West Bank to the greatest extent possible until self-governance became a fact on the ground. It was not only a refreshing notion but a reasonable one: constructing administrative statehood and advancing democratic norms despite lack of status has been the strategy of other de facto, unrecognized entities struggling for statehood such as Kosovo, Northern Cyprus, Somaliland, and others.

But few seemed interested – least of all, Israel. In an interview with Roger Cohen of The New York Times in February, Fayyad – not known as a whiner – explained that it was impossible to advance institutional legitimacy of the Palestinian Authority in the face of multiple and expanding Israeli obstacles: ever-growing Israeli control over Area C, withholding duties Israel collects for the PA that made it impossible to pay salaries and settlement expansion that made the idea of a Palestinian state impossible.

But Abu Mazen has also not been supportive, in ways that pre-date the current crisis over economic policy. One analysis essentially accuses the president of drumming up corruption charges against members of Fayyad’s cabinet to distract attention from two of Abbas’ own major policy failures – the first U.N. statehood efforts in September 2011 and Hamas-Fatah reconciliation (still yet to be implemented), and possibly, the author hints, from Abbas’ own unkosher practices.

Needless to say that Hamas positioned itself as the enemy of Fayyad (and Fatah’s) strategy for most of the time it has ruled over Gaza 2007 – opposed as it was to a 1967-based state at all. (Hamas has only recently shown hints of change.) Due to the great split in Palestinian leadership and vision, many Palestinian commentators were skeptical, pessimistic, or derisive of Fayyad’s approach from the start.

But the most problematic element of PA governance over which Fayyad presided was security coordination with Israel, which was supposed to curry Israeli and international favor. That involved counterterrorism activity and many joint operations with Israel to rein in the al-Aqsa Brigade, Islamic Jihad, and Hamas infrastructure in the West Bank, according to this review. This earned him the enmity of many Palestinians and descriptions of a “police state” even as Israel repeated its unbroken, decade-old mantra that it has “no partner.” Netanyahu, wrote Cohen: “has seemed intent on sending this message to Fayyad: Good behavior brings further punishment.”

To be sure, Fayyad is not a thoroughly upright statesman or democratic icon (name a living leader who is). His administration is notorious for its heavy-handed, rights-trampling approach to the security efforts described earlier, and is none too kind to internal criticism.

But it’s easy to forget that many Palestinian people held hopes that he would improve their lives. In a polling roundup in late 2011, I observed that Fayyad had earned a hefty positive rating of 58 percent. Among West Bank respondents living under his government, 45 percent thought he was doing a good job and just 17 percent said he was doing a bad job.

In a March survey by the Jerusalem Media and Communications Center, 72 percent believe that it is necessary to maintain, rather than disband the Palestinian National Authority (the Fatah-led West Bank government). Sixty percent support strikes by PA employees, but nearly 50 percent blame Israel for the crisis to begin with (15 percent blame the PA, and 34 percent blame both – the poll had 1179 respondents and was taken in late March).

The general anger had already led to angry demonstrations against the prime minister last summer. Unlike most politicians, Fayyad frankly admitted that “We have not delivered. I represent the address for failure.”

Calling his resignation a big “blow” to the peace process, as one headline did, is questionable considering there is no peace process to speak of. But in the longer term, the myriad reasons behind his failure were a blow to one of the slim chances Palestinians had of improving their lot.

‘Pragmatic’ is certainly the word interviewer Shlomi Eldar, one of Israel’s top television reporters covering Palestinian affairs, wants readers to remember. His subject is Dr. Ghazi Hamad, currently Deputy Foreign Minister of the Hamas leadership in Gaza, heads the “pragmatic wing” of Hamas and the interview is all about the changes of policy, external relations, and possibly even ideology.

Three specific points are worth noting, two internal and one related to Israel:

First, in the context of Palestinian politics, Hamad works to convey institutional legitimacy. He emphasizes that Mashal was re-elected to the head of the political bureau through a participatory political process:

First of all, we must remember that these were democratic elections, and as such, they are a credit to the movement. Elections for Hamas’ other institutions ended a year ago, and that was the last time that the Hamas movement expressed confidence in its leaders

He may have been overstating the “democratic” case – it’s not exactly a popular primary but the top layer of a multi-layered delegate structure – the shura council – that elected Mashal. Still, Hamad clearly wants to convey the legitimacy of the decision-making process and political maturity.

Second, he stresses the commitment to advancing the long-stagnant plan for Hamas-Fatah reconciliation. Hamad discusses some of the mechanics of how this could happen, which indicates a serious effort and also highlights a change from the past.

There is an extensive political and diplomatic program which we must advocate and work toward, and that includes joining the official institutions of the PLO. Those are our objectives, and that is our new approach.

Should this come to pass, it could help erode Israel’s widely-embraced notion that there is “no partner,” because the Palestinian leadership is too divided to agree or implement an accord.

Finally, with relation to Israel, Hamad states openly that Hamas accepts 1967 borders without recognizing Israel. It’s not the first time Hamas has indicated support for 1967 as the basic borders. Khaled Mashal stated so last November, in a CNN interview on the day of the ceasefire that ended the Pillar of Defense war in Gaza:

We have two options… the way of peace and a Palestinian state, according to the border of 1967 with the right to return. And this is something we have agreed upon as Palestinians, as a common program.

But it was an ambiguous time. Just a few weeks later, when the UN held a vote on accepting Palestine based on the 1967 borders as a non-member observer state, Hamas flip-flopped, eventually lending grudging support. A year earlier, when the possibility of a unilateral declaration of independence (UDI) also arose, Hamas figures roundly rejected the idea, calling it “nonsense” and a “scam.” The fact that Hamad now explicitly and repeatedly states acceptance of ‘67 lines, to an Israeli interviewer, shows much greater clarity on this policy issue.

But in the same breath Hamas says: “We do not say ‘two states,’” and “Hamas does not recognize Israel.”

What does this mean? In fact, it is only confusing if one fails to appreciate the symbolic aspect of politics, diplomacy, conflict and political change. Hamas has opted to become a player rooted in the world of political facts, rather than fantasies that are de-linked from reality. In reality, its leaders know that there will be no Palestinian state west of the Green Line, and its policy statements reflect that.

But Hamas is also a symbol of political community. It is the community of resistance against Israel (“as long as the occupation continues,” he says. If Palestine is 1967, then this is a finite struggle). It also distinguishes them from Fatah, which is increasingly identified with failure to end the occupation, or even blamed for perpetuating it.

Violence was once the primary meaning of “resistance.” Yet Hamas has largely relinquished violence now: Hamad emphasizes that “armed struggle remains a right,” but that “popular uprising” (the term for the unarmed protests – ds) is the tactical preference.

Hamas put a stop to its resistance [terrorist attacks]. It respects the cease-fire. There has been a major change in policy.

Therefore the remaining symbol of Hamas’ political identity is resistance to recognizing Israel – a symbolic measure in itself, for it affects the life of no one. It clings to this even as its policies now acknowledge political facts.

Further, recognition in any formal form will be a major symbolic concession to the other side. Israel will probably eventually negotiate with Hamas, in some combination with other Palestinian leaders. Recognition of Israel is also a bargaining chip for that stage; one that would not logically be surrendered beforehand.

Deeply committed ideological players in a conflict cannot be expected to change rapidly or openly, and their symbolic identity will be the last to go. But consider this: Mustafa Akyol reads Israel’s apology to Turkey as a sign of incremental openness to dealing with moderate Islamic political forces. By analogy, we might hope that Hamas’ empirical analysis of the situation has shifted, and its policy has followed. Maybe its symbolic stance is next in line.

And when I say swept along, I mean that it is tempting to jump into the ring and do battle – fight fire with fire, stake out the liberal ground in the professional ring of image-peddlers for Israel (IPFI?).

Just what we need.

The Israel Project President and CEO Josh Block (Photo: TIP/CC)

What really grates is the author’s description of Block’s self-image as a defender not merely of Israel, but even more nobly – of the pro-Israel crowd.

Block, while stating that TIP’s mission and goals remain unchanged, comes to the organization with strong convictions about threats that pro-Israel advocacy faces from critics. He sees many of those critics as aligned with the liberal camp. And he paints them in stark terms.

So that’s what this is all about? The conversation over Israel has levitated from policy itself (like the occupation, stupid) to the meta-argument over whether Israel’s image is fairly or unfairly portrayed, to the meta-meta (uber-meta? meta squared?) conversation of whether the pro-Israel camp (a flawed euphemism for pro-occupation) is fairly or unfairly portrayed by the liberal camp, and whether those liberals are fairly or unfairly being called anti-Israel, anti-Semitic, Iran-loving and by association, nuclear-destruction-second-Holocaust-of-Israel extra-terrestrials (all but the final moniker is a paraphrase of Block’s quote in the article – but trust me, it’s there by implication).

Although I work on campaigns for a living, in which images and communications are integral to the effort to connect elites with the public, the question of imaging Israel has gone far, far too far.

I dare each camp to say what it really stands for regarding Israel, and while we’re at it, for the Palestinians too – since Israel does in fact control them. Specifically, I dare the other side to stop trying to distract the conversation, along with millions and millions of dollars, by mumbling about meta-meta. I’ll start! Here’s what I stand for: ending the occupation, preserving and salvaging Israel’s democracy, equality and human rights in every society where I can have an influence. That means mainly in Israel, but since I view Israelis and Palestinians as intertwined under any circumstances, I feel somewhat responsible for both.

I dare the pro-Israel camp to say what it stands for. Members of that camp have created a wildly polarized, self-important discourse (after meeting one recently, he tweeted his surprise to find that I was not a “bat-shit crazy leftie”); so I would have to guess that they are diametrically opposed to everything I believe. That makes the “pro-Israel” camp pro-occupation, anti-democracy, anti-equality, for a pre-emptive strike on Iran even if it happens unilaterally and the Middle East becomes Armageddon. Go on guys, say what you really think: I dare you. And if you can’t, then spend those dollars on some starving people.

Related:
Who is ‘right-wing’ and what is ‘pro-Israel’? 

But such nostalgia is so last decade and cliché to boot. Now I look behind the illusory romanticism of the New York left behind. I recall the fear that reigned in public spaces, the desperation to avoid eye contact in the vain hope that this would protect us from random violence, the sense of brokenness that prevailed and to which everyone simply succumbed.

The truth is that the safer city frees up energy that once went into keeping your head down. Walking through lower Manhattan on a bright, white Easter morning, the grand, improbable miracle of New York leaps off the streets and cannot be ignored even by the best of the cynics. After celebrating Passover last week, I was now headed for Easter dinner with my Jewish brother and Catholic-raised Chinese-American sister-in-law, not to mention my nephew whose main identity at present is his chubby, heart-stopping smile. As a Jewish American Israeli Canadian, I mused over a certain kinship I felt with a fictional 16-year-old Indian boy in The Life of Pi, who happily worships three gods, to the chagrin of local clerics.

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The East Village is full of hipsters but still has small shops run by Hispanic and Pakistani families, co-existing with artsy theaters, Mexican, Italian, Greek and Japanese restaurants, and a tiny Jewish bakery named “Moishe’s” which is closed on Passover.

Walking south on the Bowery (with a nod of nostalgia to the ghost of CBGB’s) a half-twist leads into the heart of Chinatown. This is a memory that remains stable as per my childhood: sidewalks brimming with a people-crush at 10:30 a.m., an old man reading a Chinese newspaper as he shuffles down the street among them. It is a world unto itself, peppered with other city-dwellers from all reaches of life. But just as the senses are taking all this in, one block westward becomes the heart of Little Italy. Like a stage set magically transformed between acts, the fogged-up shop windows bearing upside-down ducks have been replaced by open sidewalk restaurants celebrating long-gone homelands. The transformation into a European street café culture where each place offers nearly identical menus of pasta and pesce is poignant; the restaurants are not so much selling nostalgia as they are genuinely trying to recreate their beloved old country…or at least that’s what the grandparents and great-grandparents who built this set must have had in mind.

The division is not clean. Chinatown spills into Little Italy and vice-versa; there is a sort of block-by-block tug of war but it is gentle. Whether it’s the cleaned-up city, the consensus of calm on Easter Sunday or the mere illusion in the eyes of the visitor that I have become, there is a sudden stunning realization that coexistence exists, and it is beautiful.

WNYC/NPR radio was playing a late-life interview with Anthony Lewis before he died, in which he lovingly reviewed Court interpretations of the First Amendment. The next item is about Walt “Clyde” Frazier, the legendary Knicks player who grew up in segregated Atlanta and became a star basketball champion before transforming himself into a star sports commentator. There was a different kind of co-existence at hand here – between me and professional basketball. Any mention of the latter is generally a signal for me to change channels, but the story was so engaging, the rhyming charisma of Frazier’s personality so compelling that I was riveted. Every word became a message: sports were the crack in the armor of segregation, and he believed that if not for the game, the system might still be in place. As a youth, he was punished for low grades and made to play defense for a year – so he decided to become the best defense player possible. He insisted on dressing well, eventually becoming a prima donna, because in the early years he felt he was representing his whole people; when he went into broadcasting, he read and re-read vocabulary and phrase books to improve his language skills and set that example.

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The connection between the radio and the scene feels stark. The commitment to free speech (and other civil rights), the interpretations, mistakes, re-interpretation and re-application of that principle is a civil religion indeed. Everyone in this messy city knows that this law reigns supreme over all those unique cultures splashing around inside. Everyone knows that his or her unique identity can flourish not despite the fact that American society houses other cultures, but by virtue of the principles that allow those other identities to flourish.

Every system that would deny groups their birthright of universal rights will fall apart. Whether it’s a basketball game or a camp called Bab el-Shams that is dismantled as soon as it is assembled, committed people will find the cracks; towering structures of injustice that once looked thickly impenetrable will come tumbling down.

America is painfully far from its ideal – especially abroad. But in certain sections of its own land, there are small corners that work. It is troubling to consider that this seems impossible in Israel/Palestine. Surely the absurd structures of injustice will one day (none too soon) disintegrate through a mix of political, economic, and diplomatic insolvency and a large dose of activism.

But will the principles of universal rights, some measure of Buber-esque humanism, ever override the frenzy of exclusivist, supremacist identity politics? Why is it so difficult to see that universal rights are not one end of a pole, with unique culture preserved only at the other end? Rather, in a world where cultures can no more be separated than waves crashing over one another on the shore, the former is precisely what guarantees the gift of the latter.