Israel Loses Its Soul

 

Volunteers on Kibbutz Gevim

My own confused and turbulent feelings about the ongoing catastrophe in Gaza pale away into insignificance compared to the torment experienced by Palestinians living and dying there  these last 2 years, but it has nevertheless been a difficult time for me. I don’t think I realised just how much my identity had been connected to my time in Israel, and how proud of it I had been.

I first went to Isael in 1976 – to Kibbutz Gevim at the northern tip of the Negev desert and just 8 kilometres from Gaza. (I went there a couple of times – walked the streets, talked to locals, went to the beach, cafes – it was very pleasant.) I stayed on the kibbutz for 4 months, but also managed several excursions to famous locations like Jerusalem, Bethlehem, the Sea of Gallilee (Kinneret), Jericho, the Dead Sea, the Sinai desert, etc. Place names from the Bible that became real as I walked their streets, swam their waters, and felt their sands beneath my feet.

I simply fell in love with Israel. I loved kibbutz life – I had never felt so healthy. Working hard, eating mostly very healthy food, and enjoying the company of young people like myself who had come from all corners of the globe to volunteer on kibbutzim: socialist agricultural settlements that offered an alternative version of life.  I came to understand the value of work as something you do for reasons other than just money; I came to see work as an integral part of participating in a community. Of course I didn’t know it at the time, but over time I came to realise that in many respects I grew up in Israel. I realised that life was a serious business that required individuals to take responsibility for their actions, and that life in the company of others with shared goals could be the source of great joy.

I loved Israel’s landscape – the two predominant colours – beige and blue. Beige earth, and blue sea and sky. I loved its intensity; discussions around the ‘problem’ of the Arabs/Palestinians were never far away and were conducted with passion, intelligence, and fear. The place has an existential edge that I found enlivening, but that same edge also told me I could never live there. Life in Israel back then, apart from Shabbat holidays in our sheltered kibbutz world, was never laid back.

When telling someone much later about how much I loved my time in Israel they suggested that perhaps I had lived there in a previous life and I found that thought appealing and kind of logical – it would indeed explain why I felt so at home there. But it is more likely that my Catholic upbringing had a major influence on how I came to feel that I belonged in Israel.

I made my first return visit in 1979. I met a Dutch guy on the plane who like me was returning for the first time, and like me was excited and overjoyed to be back in this land we loved so much. We blissfully sat outside on a warm Tel Aviv night drinking beers and swapping stories of the good times we’d had there ….. I felt I was home again.

In all I visited Israel five times between 1976 and 2003. On one of my visits to Gevim I met Hiske, the woman who would become the mother of my son. (He is now 43 years old!) After leaving the kibbutz Hiske and I busked up and down the length of Israel – Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, Nahariya, Eilat, Haifa. We became quite well-known and even had an article about us published in the Jerusalem Post. Israelis couldn’t believe that this young Western couple would dare to stand on the streets of their war-torn country and play music. And they loved us for it. In some corny fashion I think we also thought that we were spreading a message of peace.

Hiske and I went back to Israel with our young son and showed him off to Kibbutz Gevim members – many still remembered us. On that visit I also met my old friend Bill from Melbourne. Bill was now living in Israel and this shared experience of Israel brought Bill and I closer and closer as the years passed. 

My last visit was in 2003 and I saw first-hand the spread of new Israeli settlements over much of the West Bank. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing – this was not legal; this was not their land to occupy, and I got a sense that things were changing. Nevertheless, I cherished the memories of my time in Israel, and was proud of the fact that I had spent so much time there and perhaps even understood something about how Israelis ticked. And because of Israel I had a wonderful son.

And then October 7^th, 2023 happened. As soon as I heard the news I knew what would happen. Israel’s response would be swift and brutal. Anyone who knows anything about the Israeli-Palestinian problem would know that. I was dumbfounded that Hamas could be that stupid – to poke the bear so blatantly. We know now that that were multiple players behind the decision to launch the October 7^th attacks, but no one could have guessed just how brutal the Israeli response would be.

I initially was quite happy to defend the Israeli response. 1200 people murdered in cold blood and with follow-up radio announcements telling of Hamas’ plans to eliminate all Jews ‘from the river to the sea’ I think most nations under such circumstances would react in similar fashion. But as the months went by, and months became years and the destruction of Gaza continued and the death toll mounted (approximately 75,000 Palestinian deaths!!) the world understandably turned against Israel.

Israel had used up whatever social credits it may have had with people who were willing to give it the benefit of the doubt. Now there was no doubt. Israel was a brutal state who was mercilessly killing tens of thousands of people. Within my own family, people very dear to me were full of anger and disgust at what Israel was doing and I could no longer even say the word Israel. If I did it just provoked immediate, venomous hatred. The country I had loved so much had become public enemy number one; a global pariah.

So I could no longer talk about it with anyone unless I joined the chorus of Israel haters, and I wasn’t willing to do that. So I sat and read and watched news reports about Gaza in silence. I kept thinking of the many good friends I had known in Israel, particularly on Gevim, and couldn’t believe these people would condone what was happening. I still don’t know, but having heard from an old kibbutz friend recently who confirmed what I had begun to suspect, I now accept that the Israel I knew has gone. The country has changed and swung far to the right under the barbaric leadership of Netanyahu. I can and will defend the country I knew in 1976, ’79 and ’82, but I can no longer defend the current regime. I don’t see how anyone could. Despite everything, despite their traumatic history (or maybe it’s because of it?) Israel has become the aggressor, the oppressor, the tyrant. No matter what Hamas has done, tens of thousands of people have died at the hands of a brutal regime.

I will not join the Israel haters, but I fear for Israel’s soul. The joy I felt there, and can still recall, will not fade. But I am no longer proud of my association with Israel. I need to censor that part of my past and accept that the land I loved has lost its way.

My summary of the situation: Israelis are terrified of the Arabs (they didn’t call them Palestinians), and the Palestinians en masse hate Israelis. Fear versus hate. It was always going to be a hard nut to crack, and for nearly 70 years leaders on both sides of that divide have failed. As an ex Australian ambassador to Israel said on national radio after he’d retired, “there are no good guys in this conflict.”

 

 

Vignettes from Long Ago in Israel

Israel has been in the news again today and again for all the wrong reasons.  Today it voted to give the government the right to cancel decisions made by the Supreme Court so the government can override decisions made by the Supreme Court any time it wants. It’s yet another step away from true democracy and towards darkness …

However - I was talking the other day with a friend about things that I remembered from my time in Israel and I thought I really should write them down.  In fact, I’m actually going to speak them out loud and let Word do the transcribing into text – three little vignettes all to do with war and guns.

1)

I was 21 when I first went to Israel. I certainly had absolutely zero experience of war apart from knowing old people who had probably been to war.  But I never really had conversations with anybody who had been to war I had this kind of suicidal attraction to the idea of war; to know more about it. I was working every day with people who were probably 5-8 years older than me - certainly all younger than 30 - and they'd fought in two wars already: the 1967 and 1973 wars in Israel.  I was also working with Henny, a volunteer from Holland, and Henny was the same as me. She was fascinated about what it was like for these people who were our friends by now and colleagues that we worked with every day, and we continually asked them “what was it like to fight in a war?” But they would never talk about it and always fobbed us off and moved the conversation somewhere else.

But I guess we were persistent - stupidly - and one day - I don't remember whether it was me or
Henny who asked the question again – “tell us what it was like to fight a war?” but this time Gilboa  slammed his coffee cup down on the table, sat forward on his chair and said something to the effect of “OK if you want to hear about war shut up and listen. This is what it's like" and for several minutes he ranted about what he'd seen, what he felt, and it was clear that it was a very traumatic experience for him to talk about it and it was so blunt and brutal that Henny and I felt the power of his anger, his obvious disgust, his unwillingness and shame. He talked about a specific occasion somewhere between Israel and Cairo when they were moving through Egyptian villages taking villages one by one as the Egyptian soldiers retreated and they had been told that there were still soldiers in this village. But when they attacked the village, and it was a full-on onslaught, and when everything was quiet the Israeli soldiers went into the village and found that all the men had long gone and all they'd done is killed and terrorised women and children. It was an occasion in my life where I realised it's very unfair and uncool to ask someone who's been in a war to tell you about what it's like because it's so horrific;  it's so traumatic; they should never have to relive what they've seen and done and felt but the damage was done. Henny and I got to hear what it was like to be a soldier in a war and I think we were ashamed that we'd been so persistent in asking for this story from our colleagues in the chicken houses.

2)

Wherever you go in Israel there are guns. It's a fact of life every time a group of people go anywhere there's always an armed guard with the group. I don't mean like a family group going down to the shop but a school group, or kibbutz group, or a group from a club would always have an armed guard with them and so it was even on Shabbat evenings when no work was done and it was normal for us to have what we called a disco on Friday nights.  The volunteers and young Israelis would gather and dance and drink and have fun.  On one of these nights I had this vision burned into my brain of something that was amazing and beautiful. I think the soldier in this story was actually Kobi. I'd become friendly with Kobi so I knew him as a fellow worker and fellow young person on the kibbutz. This night it must have been Kobi's turn for guard duty. The steps coming down into the cellar where we held our disco on Friday nights were quite steep and I was dancing to the music and I noticed this soldier coming down the stairs - a person in uniform and of course he had a gun (probably an Uzi) and as he reached the bottom step and touched the floor of the disco all in one movement he put his gun up against the wall and danced his way off the bottom step into the people milling around on the on the disco floor in full uniform. I don't know how long he stayed - I'm guessing about 10 minutes - and I watched him wondering how long he would stay and how will he actually disconnect from the dancing crowd but he kind of detached himself from the group and went back on guard duty and without saying a word to anybody.  When the time was up he danced back toward the steps, all in one motion picked up his gun and disappeared up the steps as if he’d never been there.  It was graceful, elegant, and responsible and again it was just one of those moments where I thought ‘this is life in Israel’.

 

3)

Back then, and I'm talking about 1976, 1979, 1981, hitchhiking was very very common in
Israel. All of the soldiers used hitchhiking to get around from base to home to kibbutz to job and it was more or less understood that that's how soldiers got around. They could catch the bus or they could drive themselves but there were always groups of soldiers at major intersections looking for a ride to their destination and it was quite acceptable for young travellers like me to stand near the soldiers and if a car was going to where I was heading or in the right direction I could hop aboard with the soldiers. This happened one day and I'm I found myself in the back of what's a kind of covered ute - just myself and this one soldier. Again probably about my age or maybe a bit older and he's chatting away – where am I from? which kibbutz am I on? what did I think about Israel? The usual kinds of questions but he sensed that something was bothering me.  What it was is that while he was talking to me he was sitting with his legs apart and with his gun - his Uzi -  just kind of supporting him. He's got both his hands on his gun between his legs while he's facing me so his gun’s between me and him. I wasn't in danger; I didn't feel in danger. I just didn't feel very comfortable talking to someone while this gun was right there. His response, without me saying a word, when he realised this was an issue for me, was to throw that gun towards the back of the vehicle loud enough for the gun to clatter when it hit the floor and then he looked at me and said “OK there's no more gun. It's just you and me. Let's talk. “ And we did, and it was a much better freer conversation. I was amazed at how kind of sensitive he was knowing that that's what was preventing us having a decent conversation, and caring enough to want a proper conversation to ditch the gun. I don't remember anything after that. I just remember him throwing the gun away, looking into my eyes saying OK the guns gone let's talk and it's just another moment burned into my memory that I'll take with me to the grave as another example of ‘this was life in Israel.’

Song #26 The Ugly Australian

 

I wrote this song after a deck class passage on a Greek ferry between Greece and Haifa. Deck class was cheap and basic – you slept outside on deck but a meal was included. I complained about the dreadful meal (don’t remember what it was) but to placate me they put in the first class lounge. I sat there alone for quite some time before I was served a meal that wasn’t that much better.

Decades later I added a verse to highlight the plight of refugees languishing in Australian off-shore detention centres.

 

THE UGLY AUSTRALIAN

(listen HERE)

 

You put shit food down in front of me and expect me to eat it

You put me up in the first class lounge with my anger and expect that to placate it

I’m on a foreign boat in a foreign sea In times foreign to us all

At times like this I'm wonderin' why I’m so far from my native shore

So I’m going home

 

I’m tired of the ever moving round

I’m tired of the ever changing ground

 

Australia will you wait for me with your long and golden shore?

You’re a land of sun and dreams they tell me

But I wanna know for sure so I’m coming home

 

Are you keeping up with fashion? Or are you keeping down the poor?

Are you looking down the barrel? Or has nothing changed at all?  I’m going home.

 

You put shit food down in front of me and expect me to eat it

You stick me out on an offshore island with my pain and expect that to placate it

I’m in a foreign place in a foreign sea in times foreign to us all

Australia was what I was looking for - why I left my native shore

Now I can’t go home

 

I’m tired of the never moving round

I’m tired of the never changing ground

 

Australia I will wait for you with your long and golden shores

You’re a land of sun and dreams they tell me

Will I ever know for sure? I have no home

 

Are we closing up the country? Have we locked up all the doors?

Are those in need no longer welcome? When did we get so mean?

And they can’t go home

They have no home

(1982 and 2020)

 

 

 

 

 

Song #15 Picking Up the Holy Pieces

 

PICKING UP THE HOLY PIECES

 

See the ant climb up the wall

I know you’re back but that ain’t all

I lost my sanity in a squall of peace and quiet once before

When you walked out the door

You went looking for war

 

With anything you could get your hands on

I hope you forgive me if you think I’m wrong

Just be careful you’re not riding far too high when you fall

You might have to cry

Your pride might die

 

See the ant climb up the wall

Escaping the shell as the building falls

But like the hurricane that rages round my brain it has to die

Crumble and fall

Crumble, wither and fall

 

                I’m picking up pieces of three years ago

                And I’ve come to say hello

                I’ve come to say hello

 

                I travelled down south to your no longer land

                Where you’ve buttered someone else’s bread

                While you raised that land from the dead

 

                The people who live there have wandered for years

    Now they’re ripping off tourists and playing their fears

    As they sputter down highways and look for the gears

 

    Ten Golden Rule mountain stands centre of all

    Moses has gone; his reputation is tall

    While some are still counting just how many rules he gave us

    To help us along the way

 

    Well I’ve picked up the pieces of three years ago

                I feel like it’s time to cry

    I’ve picked up the pieces of three years ago

    I’ve come to say goodbye

                I feel like it’s time to cry

    I’ve come to say goodbye

    I’ve come to say goodbye

(1979)

Commentary

I wrote this when I finally got back to Israel. Reading over these lyrics again has reminded me of just how big an impression Israel made on me. Someone once suggested that I may have lived there in a previous life but I think it has more to do with my Catholic upbringing and my love of desert landscapes. I felt very at home there. I was once very proud of this song - in which I'm clearly glad to be back there but worried about the direction she was heading. I now find my love of Israel at the time uncomfortable to explain. Some interesting use of metaphor here and some of it a bit clunky! I stopped playing the song long ago when I became disillusioned with Israel and don't remember how it went.