New York Teacher Studies at Givat Haviva
November 29, 2008
Rachel Sussman, a Middle School history teacher in New York City at the Manhatten School, received a grant to explore multicultural education in Israel. One of the many places Rachel Sussman visited while in Israel over the summer was Givat Haviva.
International Department staff Lydia Aisenberg and David Mendelsohn spent the day with Rachel and another visitor from the States, art therapist Hillary Rubesin from Philadelphia, showing them around the campus and Wadi Ara region.
Appearing below: a report of that day prepared by Rachel upon her return to New York:
'After spending a day with the international education staff of the Givat Haviva Institute, I found that I had a greater appreciation for the complexities that Israelis and Palestinians live with each day. Competing realities exist within the physical and social landscape, something that Americans struggle to even comprehend. When I arrived at Givat Haviva, I was not surprised to see young Israeli Jews, in the IDF (Israeli Defence Forces) uniform strolling through the fields and lounging in shady spots. Givat Haviva, originally founded as the educational wing of the Kibbutz Arzi movement, was recently forced to brainstorm new approaches to their diminishing funding. Recognizing that their land was their most valuable asset, Givat Haviva turned to the primary industry in Israel that has both great wealth and also a need for additional facilities – the army. In renting their buildings to an army education program, Givat Haviva pulled themselves from the financial precipice and rescued their programming. Yet, the presence of army personnel throughout the campus is a consistent threat to the integrity of their Israeli/Palestinian dialogue programs at the Arab-Jewish Center, with issues of power at the core. Can a dialogue session claim neutrality when an Arab participant has to pass by a group of uniformed soldiers in order to enter the room? On the other hand, would anyone be better served if these particular dialogue and youth “encounter” programs did not exist? If they were closed due to lack of funding? Lydia, an activist and journalist who works with Givat Haviva, walked us through these questions, reciting countless stories of people from both sides of the conflict, whose lives were influenced through the “encounter” programs. This ideological conflict within Givat Haviva, a jarring clash of idealism and pragmatism, remained with me throughout the day as I toured the facility and the land outside its walls.
Before we left for our “Green Line tour,” Lydia gave us an informed and detailed introduction to the work of Givat Haviva and the politics of the local area. An impassioned speaker and activist, Lydia surprised me with her perspective and strength. In the same breath, she spoke of the deep and pervasive security needs of the Israeli state and also of her friendships with Palestinians in villages just over the Green Line. Lydia recounted the fear and anger she felt as buses were blown up just down the street from her kibbutz, while also emphasizing that only with personal interaction and cultural understanding could the peace process move forward. Lydia spoke of her own life, of a commitment to Zionist ideology and kibbutz life, of the military service of her husband and children, of trauma and loss. Yet Lydia affirmed her lifelong commitment to the process of dialogue and reconciliation.
Lydia also introduced us to the geo-politics of the area, displaying many maps of Israel with different ways of representing of the complicated land allocation. One map showed the Green Line (established after the 1967 war) alongside the new “wall” separating the West Bank from the other areas within Israel. The Green Line is only around 15 minutes away from Givat Haviva, yet at some points the “wall” runs inside the Green Line. This, in effect, separates lands governed by the Palestinian Authority from the rest of the West Bank, while keeping Jewish settlements on the Israeli side of the “wall.” The Palestinian villages within this area rest on the Israeli side, cut off from a Palestinian administration and identity.
Our “tour of the Green Line” began with an exploration of a few of the Jewish settlements that were part of Sharon’s Seven Stars Plan, the 1990s plan for the settlement of areas of strategic importance in the West Bank. These settlements, guarded by sliding gates, were almost like ghost towns – economically depressed and with few indications of an active population. The few people sitting in chairs next to their houses just stared at our white van as we passed, leaving me with an unpleasant feeling and a keen interest in leaving as soon as possible. Finally passing back through the settlement gates, David and Lydia drove us over the hills in Wadi Ara, pointing out the cities of the West Bank in the distance and the Mediterranean Ocean in the other direction.
We entered the divided city of Ba’arta for lunch; bisected by the Green Line, East Ba’arta is controlled by the Palestinian Authority, while West Ba’arta is part of the State of Israel. We rode down the main street of East Ba’arta, noting the busy stores and marketplaces. A West Bank town with no Israeli taxes, but on the Israeli side of “wall”, East Ba’arta has developed a bustling economy in the past few years, drawing Israeli shoppers interested in avoiding high taxes. We parked precariously on a steep hill, just outside a row of stores featuring brightly colored clothing and bins of spices. Lydia and David waved at the owner, calling out “Merhaba” and “Shalom,” as we walked towards the restaurant. We were ushered past the smoking meat grill by the owner, who looked very pleased to see David and Lydia. He showered us with scrumptious dishes – salads, humus, warm pita, shish-kebab, and finally, Turkish coffee. The small tiff over paying the bill was only made more confusing, since the owner didn’t generally like to take money from David and Lydia. Not only was I told to put my wallet away, but David and Lydia had to talk their way into paying – not an easy thing, given the emphasis within Arab culture on hospitality. Nonetheless, they were successful, and we continued to walk around the village, noting the separate mosques and schools on either side of the Green Line. This separation not only defines the economics of the area, but access to educational resources, sanitation, postal services, and, of course, citizenship. Ba’arta residents on the east side of the Green Line would have PA papers, while a resident on the west side would be an Israeli citizen. Marriage wouldn’t change this, as the Israeli government recently passed a law refusing citizenship to the non-citizen spouses of Arab-Israelis. We wandered over to the spice store and were treated to another round of Turkish coffee as we shopped for herbal remedies and talked about the economic boom on the street. As we emerged from the store, we realized that David’s white van had been polished to a new gleam. The restaurant owner waved at us from behind plumes of smoke at the grill and we soon realized that by washing the car, our host had regained his stature within the Arab norms of hospitality. We slowly drove out of East Ba’arta, towards the western portion of the city, noting the car’s dip as we passed over the ditch that marks the Green Line. The other side looked a little cleaner, with less garbage on the street, but also fewer businesses and less new construction. “How can you tell this is part of Israel,” the other woman on the tour asked? The signs were still all in Arabic, the streets were still unnamed, the residents still ethnically Palestinian. I did see a row of postal boxes with the logo of the Israeli postal service, the only visible indication of the status of West Ba’arta.
As we stood at a viewpoint, overlooking Ba’arta and the other areas we visited, Lydia spoke of the fate of these villages. Would they remain a part of the Palestinian Authority? Would they change hands in a new peace settlement?
I felt bolstered and excited by the warmth of the people I had met that day – Lydia, David, the many residents of Ba’arta – but also overwhelmed by the complexity unfolding before me. The realities of the peace process transcend the negotiations of Annapolis or even Oslo, yet each stroke of the pen in these meetings can change and define a life, allowing a person access to a job, water and education, or cutting them off from an economic and social livelihood.
Lydia and David set aside their entire day for us that Monday, just help us understand the realities of their lives a little better. I appreciate and respect that commitment and energy and I imagine that, eventually, it will be these kinds of encounters that will help to sway the tide of public opinion in both nations.'