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 7 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 also 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 people 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.”