The Face of Jewish Settlers In Hebron: The Sheriff

I admit that there is a lot I don’t know, and don’t understand, about Hebron.  But when you walk along the deserted Shuhada street,  the former busy main road of Hebron which under occupation is renamed "King David" street, it makes you cringe.

The walking tour of Hebron included all the tiny Jewish settlements right in the heart of the old city. It was hard not to notice that the signs of the streets were written in Hebrew. Opposite Beit Hadassah settlement U saw steps with the name "The Steps of Hope."

There was very little hope in this tour, Palestinians are not allowed in those areas,  and Hebron is just like a ghost town in an American Western. It is a desolate city where the streets are controlled by a strong man, a kind of self appointed sheriff aided by young loyal deputies.

The sheriff's name is Ofer Ohana, he lately became a household name when, among his other feats in Hebron, he was involved in the case of Elor Azaria, an IDF soldier that shot and killed a neutralized Palestinian terrorist. Ohana was the ambulance  driver who was filmed kicking the knife toward the Palestinian terrorist, (allegedly to cover up for Azaria shooting an unarmed man) (Ynet June 26th)

I was in Hebron twice and in both times I saw Sheriff Ohana controlling the streets with his young deputies. Since most tours to Hebron are perceived by them as a threat, they were there to  protest.  They used mega phones, boom boxes with loud music, jumped in front of cameras, shouted, and mingled with the visitors holding big flags of Israel. It was clear that the show was orchestrated by Ohana  and that the boys were there at his beck and call.

The Israeli police did not interfere and the soldiers who were there kept quiet.  Nobody said anything to the boys who were harassing the visitors.  Actually I read testimonies of soldiers who wrote that Ohana was very warm and hospitable toward them, and invited them over for Shabbat dinner. I wonder if this type of fraternization should be allowed. The soldiers in Hebron have an impossible assignment, surely by feeding them and making them feel at home, Ohana forms alliances in the army as he exploits the plight of those young soldiers to promote his political and ideological agenda.

Ohana is not only an ambulance driver in Hebron, he is also the head of the Gutnik  visitor center next to the Cave of the Patriarchs. No doubt he is the face of the Jewish settlers in Hebron.

But on the walk back to the van, I was followed by another settler, a middle aged woman who kept filming me. Finally she said, “you haven’t heard our side of the story.” I told her that I was aware that there was  more to the story, and that in my previous tour when we visited the hilltop Tel Rumeida (the most extremist settlement), a distressed older woman pushed me and threw water in my face. I wasn't angry because I found out that she was the widow of Rabbi Shlomo Ra’anan, who was murdered in 1998 by a Palestinian terrorist.

The settler listened quietly and then said, “ this was my mother, Rabbi Shlomo Raanan was my father.”

This is a losing proposition, even a powerful sheriff like Ofer Ohana could not protect his flock from thousands of imprisoned Palestinians who have nothing to lose. The murder of Rabbi Shlomo Ra’anan is just one example. The tragedies of recent days should finally convince our government to take responsibility and declare that the state of Israel should not allow its citizens to live in Hebron.
The essay appeared in the Times Of Israel

http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/the-face-of-jewish-settlers-in-hebron-the-sherif/

Facebook's Community Standards and the community

Before I was allowed, to set foot in the Bodleian library in Oxford, I had to participate in an ancient ceremony and take an oath: “I hereby undertake not to remove from the Library, nor to mark, deface, or injure in any way, any volume, document or other object belonging to it or in its custody; not to bring into the Library, or kindle therein, any fire or flame, and not to smoke in the Library; and I promise to obey all rules of the Library.”

The Bodleian library was opened in the beginning of the 17th century, and is still one of the most revered halls of western civilization.

The oath cannot guarantee that readers will not damage the building or the collections of the library. Yet the founding fathers of the institution regarded this symbolic act as a contract. They trusted that it would create a  connection between the reader and the library and promote appreciation and responsibility. 

Until recently libraries like the Bodleian used to be the world greatest source of information. Their collections and the information in their catalogues could be compared, in the internet-driven information age, to a leading search engine like Google or an online social networking website like Facebook.

Please keep reading in the Times Of Israel 

http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/facebooks-community-standards-and-the-community/

No Apologies Or So Sorry That I Got Caught

Unfortunately for them, the hooliganism of some Israir passengers on the flight to Varna had been recorded on camera,  and seen all over Israel. Thus on their return the offenders decided tomake an appearance on television. But this time they had their face covered and instead of apologizing  they distanced themselves from their actions. Somehow they became the victims too: “I don’t know what came over me,”  “ever since I heard that I was on camera my life has turned into a nightmare,”   “I am on tranquilizers, ” etc. This refusal to take any responsibility is a prime example of how not to apologize

Sometime ago I wrote an essay about  the meaning and importance of proper apologies:

Please keep reading in the Times Of Israel

http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/no-apologies-or-so-sorry-that-i-got-caught/

Kafka's Wish And The End Of Red Room

Kafka’s wish, that all the writing which he had ever produced would be destroyed after his death, was not respected due to the disobedience of his friend and admirer Max Brod. Since he  did not burn his writing himself, Kafka  lost control over  the destiny of his work.

This is an early example of the impossibility to control our personal information, and it is very pertinent to today’s cyber world. I don’t mean to suggest that Kafka’s writing is in anyway similar to other information which we could find on the net today, but in essence the inability to determine what will happen with one’s writing  is the same.

A lot has been written about the footsteps which we leave behind when we use the internet. Those trails are the data used by different interests or sellers when they offer us their services and products.

However, until  the last couple of weeks,   I never stopped to think about my control over my personal information,  or in other words, my writing: conference papers,  literary translations, and a biweekly blog, among others.

My chosen site was Red Room, its motto:  “where the writers are,” indicated its focus, and it was no surprise that at least most of the users, were like me, people who write. It was a lively and busy community where members wrote and got responses, where special  events, like Mother’s  Day or Thanksgiving were celebrated with special blogs. In addition, it had a genuine atmosphere of good-will  which promoted friendships.

And then, out of the blue, in the beginning of  July the Red Room community got the announcement that the site would  be closed in 5 days, there was no explanation why.

  It was a big shock, somehow due to lack of experience in the digital world, I never saw it coming. I thought that Red Room would last forever, and  was convinced that my material there would be always secure. I never expected anything to change.  Upon hearing the news I felt deceived, it was as though someone whom I grew to love and respect turned out to be a married man with another family.

Now when the shock has somewhat dissipated, I wonder about my blindness, how come I never thought to ask questions about the fortitude of that site. Before I invest money in a company I read about it to check whether it is a sound  investment (and still I could be wrong). How come it didn’t occur to me to do the same here, in the site where I invested all my energy and time?

And I am sure that I was not the only one; there were many other writers in Red Room and I never read any one raising a question about the business aspect of the site. I know that I was there to enjoy Red Room, it was a safe environment and I felt good in that happy bubble and never wanted to know about the world outside.

As I went through my blog posts copying and pasting them into Word document, in order to save them,  I felt sad. It was because it was the end of an era and also  because I knew that my “age of innocence”  was over.  From now on I  have  to take responsibility for my information, as much as I can.

It was too easy to leave it in the competent hands of the site owners,  but  eventually they had to take care of themselves.

I need to grow up and do the same

When We Should Not Take No For An Answer.

The English department at the University of Iowa offered many interesting graduate courses, but  I really wanted to take the seminar in expository writing. In order to be admitted we had to submit a sample of our work, I sent two  papers, both had received very good grades. To my dismay I was not accepted to the seminar, the professor wrote that my papers were not elegant enough.

This reply was very disappointing, but I knew that he was right. As English is my second language  my writing is purposeful, but it lacks the ease that many native writers possess, and I make mistakes

In retrospect  I should have contested the verdict; a much better course of action would have been to ask the professor to meet me. Face to face I could have explained that although I agreed with his opinion of my work,  his seminar could help me improve my writing and make it more elegant. Moreover, I should  have argued that as this was a teaching institution his commitment was to help the weaker students and not only to perfect the technique of those who were  already excellent.

But at the time I did nothing;  I was too embarassed, perhaps even ashamed, that my writing wasn’t good enough and did not dare to challenge that ruling.

The rejection of my application is an illustration of how sometimes under the pretense of academic excellence, or other lofty standards, we discriminate.  The professor had no idea who I was and what I was capable of, he simply compared my work to that of the rest of the candidates and concluded that I did not belong in his classroom. While this decision was entirely within his discretion, it was not inclusive and showed short-sightedness. Obviously I was the main loser, but by not investigating further, he deprived his class of the opportunity to intellectually engage with someone from another culture with different qualities and  insights.

Today I believe that we don't have to  automatically take no for an answer; there should be room for negotiation and further discussion. Often we accept exclusions because they comply with our inner fears or insecurities. It is especially true about students who are young and inexperienced.

Sometimes when people doubt our ability to do something we work much harder just to prove them wrong, at other times it is disheartening and life seems arbitrary and unjust. Evidently some rejections are unavoidable, but it is the teachers' rsponsibility not to harp on their  finality and to encourage their students either to try again or, if needed, to look for alternatives. When my students seek advice I tell them the story of the essay writing seminar. Then I urge them to dare, to be brave and request an opportunity to prove themselves so that they could succeed in achieving their goals .

Some Ask For Help Others Have Help Thrust Upon Them

Our cousin, a quite demanding young man, came to stay with us when we we were graduate students in Canada. After a challenging couple of days my husband Tzvi went shopping with him. He later told me that when they got to the beer section, the cousin announced: “I love beer,” Tzvi calmly responded  “so do I" and kept on walking.

We both knew that this statement meant only one thing: the cousin asked for beer and his request was denied. However, Tzvi’s unexpected reply demonstrated  that there could be other  responses in the repertoire. In that case he chose to treat the cousin's declaration as an invitation to engage in male bonding: The two of us are united in our love of beer.

As for the cousin, by voicing only the sentiment and omitting its subsequent request, he shifted the responsibility for fulfilling his wishes to Tzvi and counted on his hospitality and good-will. Unfortunately for the cousin, Tzvi, unlike most polite people, delighted in ignoring such hints. If it was I who had gone shopping with him, my response would have been quite different:  “Oh, so you love beer,  how about getting some for dinner” to that my ever civilized cousin would have responded  “But only if You Guys drink as well" and most likely I would have answered:" Of course we do."

Now is the time to disclose that I don’t even like beer and never drink it.

This was an amusing but inconsequential incident. However, more meaningful "beer loving moments,” are quite ubiquitous  in our life, especially in our relationships with those who are close to us. There are times when I too shy away from direct requests, and instead wait for my family to guess my needs. It may very well be that, to speed up matters, I also drop some hints.

And then there is the other side of those moments, we are so ready to preempt our children’s  needs and often are overly attuned to our loved ones‘ wishes that we rush to fulfill them before they were even formulated. Do you need a ride? Would you like some money? And of course you can take my car, are only few examples.

The problem with implied, unvoiced or indirect requests is their lack of ownership. Since the recipient never specifically asks for help, there is often no acknowledgement or appreciation of that help which was thrust upon him/her.

As a child I read  a story about a rich man who helped his poor neighbor. Later on he kept reminding the recipient of what he had done for him, thus making his life miserable. I guess that the moral  of the story was that you should never demand gratitude for your good deeds.  In  Hebrew the word for gratitude  is revealing, its literal translation is "a prisoner of thanks." Of course no one should be held prisoner, but an acknowledgement of that help expressed in a simple thank you is important to both sides.

My mother used to say that in our contacts with people who are close to us either we don't have to ask for help (because they will recognize the need themselves and address it), or it is of no use (since they won't lift a finger to help). It took me years to realize the error, and the danger, of such belief. If I need help it is my responsibility to let other people know my needs, and it is their right to refuse me.  And if I  receive help, I should not forget to acknowledge it and show my gratitude. 

Such an arrangement promotes simpler and friendlier world, it is a shame that I can't share this insight with my mother.