caught in the spiral

A few days ago, I spoke at length with my friend Sharif, about whose sartorial excellence and skill on the dance floor I've written several times. "Sharif" is somewhere between a name and a title given to boys who can trace their patrilineal heritage to the Prophet Mohammed. There are a lot of Sharifs. It is a little bit like the Jewish names Levi and Cohen, which indicate a patrilineal descent from the Tribe of Levi, or from Moses' brother Aaron (the first high priest, or Kohen Gadol).

Anyway, Sharif is eighteen years old. He wants to study engineering at Teknion, a university in Haifa, in the north of Israel, that is well known for technology. In order to enter Teknion, Sharif needs to pass a Hebrew Equivelncy test. The test, much like the Test of English as a Foreign Language (TOEFL), would be difficult for native speakers of the language. The name TOEFL is already a bit ridiculous. I would never say (in English or any other language I "speak") "I have a test of the physics of motion tomorrow. Language equivalency requires a good deal of knowledge of the grammatical structure of the language. Native speakers don't learn structural grammar because they learn by mimicking their parents. The grammar is either instinctual or incorrect. For instance, I had no idea what the subjunctive was in English, or even if I used it until I learned French. The other example is the tendency of English speakers to finish sentences with "...and I," even in the instances when the correct grammar would be "...and me."

Sharif, and many of the Palestinian Residents of East Jerusalem who are in my Hebrew class speak excellent (if not completely fluent) Hebrew. However, it is a somewhat imperfect Hebrew, with snippits of Arabic, and a general lack of proper grammar. This is because many of them learn Hebrew as they grow up, but not as a primary language. They have the problems of native speakers and the problems of non-native speakers. Many of them end up taking Hebrew from the beginning in order to learn the grammar. It ends up being very good for me, I get pushed along by a class that has a similar grammatical skill but an infinitely stronger skill in the language.

My Hebrew, in contrast to theirs, is inflected with Biblical Hebrew Grammar. This mostly comes out in my pronunciation. Think of what you might do if you ran into someone who spoke like the King James Bible. The problem is that I can't keep straight which grammar belongs where, and so I default to the Biblical, which has much more stringent laws (in language alone, I respond to and appreciate rules). My Hebrew isn't incorrect, but it probably sounds a little stilted or just silly to a native speaker, especially given my extremely limited vocabulary. All this is an aside, I was talking about my friend Sharif.

Sharif and I have had a lot of really inspiring and wonderful conversation over the past five months. He often shares pita with zatar and olive oil. I try to and occasionally succeed in buying him a coffee. The first conversation we had, he told me that he thinks Jews and Muslims are brothers. We talked about how both religions have a central sacrifice story. And about how Abraham is the father of all of us. There have been many lighter conversations too, many discussions of movies we both like, etc.

But last week, we had the hardest conversation I've had with him. We talked about Gaza. He feels angry and hopeless. The same two emotions I have been feeling for three weeks and a couple of days. Sharif is a kind and reasonable young man. This is somewhat unique among eighteen year olds. I was neither kind nor reasonable at eighteen, nor were any of my friends.

The problem is that Sharif is feeling, very personally, the 1300 deaths in Gaza. And he is feeling very personally the fact that the civilian population of Gaza has absolutely no where to go. When London was in the blitz, many children were sent away from London to safety. No one can leave the 40 km by 8 km area that is the Gaza Strip. Sharif calls it a prison. He says that what is going on there is like bombing a prison.

As I said, he is a kind and reasonable young man, interested in building friendships. Through the course of the past three weeks, his moderation has started to give way to his anger. And a young man interested in friendship and the brotherhood of the children of Abraham has started to talk more about Hamas.

This is the absolute failure of violence as a form of conflict resolution. It destroys the hope of people who, against great odds, remain reasonable. The absence of that hope leaves a vacuum. That vacuum is exactly what Hamas waits for.

Today is Martin Luther King Jr Day (observed). My first posted reaction to the war was a quote from him. I re-read that quote last night and found it more powerful in the light of three weeks in this intensified conflict zone. It broke my heart to see my Israeli, American and Palestinian friends and their exact locations in the descending spiral.

I pray that Sharif is given other options. And I pray that the hopeless masses for whom the bombing seems like a good idea are given other options. And most importantly I pray that everyone will stop praying for peace, and begin to think creatively about solutions. If left up to Hamas and Israel, this war will only escalate. It is left to us to present other options to the reasonable people caught in the middle of so much hatred, in order that they not be dragged down by the flailing desperation that surrounds them.

Without wanting to be overstate it, here again is the quote from Doctor Martin Luther King Jr (z''l). I ask you to re-read it, and on his observed birthday, the day before the inauguration of Barack Hussein Obama, begin to think creatively about solutions to problems that don't involve bombs, rockets, guns, or coercive force.

"The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it... Through violence you may murder the hater, but you do not murder hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate.... Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."

gaza street

I live a hundred yards (or meters if you prefer) from דרך עזה (Derekh 'Azzah) or شارع غزة (Sha'ara' Gh'azza'h). The Hebrew translates to Gaza Way, the Arabic to Gaza Street. It leads ultimately to Gaza City, and from there one could travel on to Egypt. It is an ancient road. It is the road on which Joseph would have travelled to Egypt having been sold into slavery by his brothers. Later, his brothers would have travelled back and forth on the same path to buy grain from their brother. And finally, Joseph would have brought Jacob's body to Hebron by way of the street where I get my morning coffee.

In some ways it feels like Broadway, in New York. Not at all because of its size or scope (it has two lanes and is lined with a few bakeries, cafes, banks, and a vegetable stand). But because Broadway started as a Native American foot path. Through a series of twists and turns, it connected all the way to what is now Boston. It grew and grew. It isn't always easy to remember, but people walked along its route long before it had Times Square and Zabars (I know it's hard to imagine life before Zabars). In fact people walked along it long before the Europeans arrived.

Derekh Azzah is the same way. It connected the city that is now Jerusalem (it has had many different names) with the Gaza City, which has been known as Gaza from the time it was founded in the 15th century BCE. Around Gaza City, there were archaeological excavations of settlements dating back to circa 4000 BCE. Originally Gaza (or more properly transliterated from the Arabic 'Ghaz'ah) was the seat of the Egyptian Governor of the region.

The word Gaza in English comes from the Arabic, but it is something of a mis-transliteration (they always are). It is spelled almost the same way in both Arabic and Hebrew غ ز ز ة (Arabic) and עזזה (Hebrew). Both languages contract the doubled middle letter. The first letter is the only letter that isn't exactly parallel. In Hebrew, there is a letter called the Ayin (ע), most Americans learn the Ayin as a silent letter but many speakers of Modern Hebrew pronounce it. It is a deep guttural noise, like your soul trying to leave your body through your throat. Arabic also has an Ayin, ع which is the same as the Hebrew ayin. But when you add a dot to it, it gets a bit of a hard G sound as well غ (gAyin). Gaza is spelled with a gayin in Arabic and an Ayin in Hebrew (which doesn't have the equivalent of the gayin). A parallel example might be the n and the ñ (but I leave it to Spanish speakers to correct me).

The root of the word, is the same in both languages. It is the group of root letters (shoresh) for strength. Azzah ends up being something like Stronghold, or The Strong One. In Arabic it has an additional connotation. Prized, the Prized Stronghold, something along those lines.

This is by way of a very brief introduction to the history of a city that is torn up in conflict right now. Before last week, I knew absolutely nothing about the history of Gaza. It is fifty miles (and a hundred yards) from my doorstep, and I had absolutely no idea of how old it is, or that it was once a royal city, or that the Mohammed's father's tomb is in Gaza.

I meet a lot of people here who are unquestioning about this war. To hear their rhetoric is not to hear the heavy heart of a Just War, or a war for survival. It is to hear angry rage-filled cries for vengeance. Vengeance is the worst possible reason for war (a list that starts at bad). Many of them know exactly how many rockets have been fired from Gaza and the number of Israeli civilians injured or killed. But I wonder just how many people know even as much of the history of Gaza as I learned in ten minutes on Wikipedia.

I don't want to come off as dismissive of the suffering of the south of Israel. It must be very hard to live somewhere that at any given moment an air-raid siren goes off. But that fear does not and can not justify the deaths of 900 individuals in the Gaza Strip many of who were civilians and children. The relatively high number of civilian casualties is because Hamas has dug itself into the city underneath civilian infrastructure. And it has done its best to use civilians to shield itself from the IDF. Hamas is unforgivable for attempting to use civilians as human shields. The Israeli Army is unforgivable for killing (even if by mistake or without intent) civilians used as human shields.

On that hopeful note, I'm going to grab some dinner.

a place holder

I'm having a huge struggle trying to write about the things that are happening in the Gaza Strip. I have a lot to say. And a lot of it is really important. But it is difficult to express nuance when writing about the complexities and simplicities of the nightmare that is unfolding in the Gaza Strip.

I've started something like fifteen different posts, on various subjects like language, history, conflict resolution, the just-war scenario, and almost everything you can imagine. Thus far, I've written nothing that seems worthy of publication (even on my insignificant corner of cyberspace).

Instead, as we approach the birthday of one of the great heroes of history, on January 15th, I'll just post a quote from him, to let you know that I'm thinking about things, and that I will work hard to post some analysis, or reaction, or critique, or cry for help or something in the next week.

"The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it... Through violence you may murder the hater, but you do not murder hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate.... Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."

--The Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Junior (z''l, may his memory be for a blessing)

It is not naive to agree with him...