Passover in Israel

On Monday I woke up early to catch the train to the South before the massive onslaught of people rushed towards public transportation.  Yesterday was Erev Hag (the evening before the holiday officially starts), so public transportation stops in the afternoon.  I was advised to catch my train early to make sure I wouldn't be smooshed between thousands of people.


I got into Ashkelon around 11:00 and I waited for Rina, my adopted Israeli grandmother (as in she was my dad's host mother when HE was doing Arab-Jewish relation work stuff, and I have known her since I was tiny and she is all grandmotherly to me) to pick me up.  And she did and then we went back to her apartment which I remember from when I was very little (the balcony overlooks the SEEEAAAA) where we had coffee and pieces of cheesecake and chatted and it was lovely.


For Passover, Jews do this marvelously boring and torturous tradition called the Seder, where you read from a book called the Hagadah all about, you know, ye olde Moses leading the Israelites out of Egypt.  I realized that it's really not a fun holiday, Passover, especially for people who are religious - the stress level is high in the days leading up to Erev Hag.  Because the Israelites left Egypt in such a rush, they didn't have time to let the dough for the bread rise, and thus matzah was born, this gross, salty unleavened bread.  So, to commemorate the hard work and toil our ancestors went through, Jews are technically not supposed to eat leavened bread for a week, so this includes completely cleaning every nook and cranny of your house for any kind of leavened bread crumbs.  It's quite stressful.


OBVIOUSLY this is not something my particular family does - not eat bread for a whole week/clean out our entire house.  But we do a cripplingly long Seder, and it's always the same feeling - prayer after prayer after prayer - now you dip the parsley in the saltwater, eat the egg now children, matzah with charoset, matzah with maror, opening the door for Eliyahu, three cups of wine, the ten plagues (one drop of wine on your plate for each one), and then FINALLY after a rousing chorus of Dayenu, you get to EAT!


Rina and her husband Avraham and I went to Avraham's daughter's house for the Seder, and their Seder was faster than my family's, which I found terribly impressive.  The food was amazing, and it was a perfect spring evening in Israel - it had been unbearably hot that day, but it had cooled off to a dry heat with a cool breeze.


At the beginning of the Seder I was feeling very lonely and homesick - maybe it was because all of the sudden there were thirty new people I had to meet and I was the only one who didn't know everyone else and it all reminded me a lot of my family.  Seven weeks is a long time, and it was made worse by the fact that I had spoken to my parents that day earlier and they were in Virginia doing Passover with my dad's side of the family.  I felt strange, especially when I talked to my cousin, knowing that I'd be doing something differently than them this year.


But as I was sitting and trying to follow along with the Hebrew of the Seder (I could understand a lot more than I thought I could, and definitely more if I just sat and listened than tried to read), I realized that whenever I was feeling lonely and homesick and panicked and sorry for myself, I had lost my sense of humor, a tool EXTREMELY necessary for whenever you're traveling.  After that, it was like everything changed - I was speaking to everyone in Hebrew and holding long conversations with all of Avraham's grandchildren (I completely surprised myself with the lack of language issues I had) and having a spectacular time.  When I got home I was really, really proud of myself at how well I was able to turn my attitude around.


Today we spent the day at Rina's son's house, where Rina's son was barbecuing and there was, once again, loads of amazing food, and lots and lots of people.  Once more I felt the pity rise as I was overwhelmed by all the new people I was going to be meeting and expected to speak to, but I made myself snap myself out of it and speak to everyone in Hebrew and calmly and coolly ask for words I didn't remember/know/understand.  I spent time with Rina's oldest granddaughter (that was there - Rina has a daughter who, and I don't know how to say this in Hebrew exactly but I know what its' translation is in English, 'returned to the religion', meaning she was secular and then she became orthodox.  Rina's oldest grandchild is 20 and just got married), who is fourteen and really sweet and nice, and we spoke to each other in Hebrew and once again I was very proud.


Being with Rina has once more cemented my conclusion that the conflict is far more convoluted than I had originally anticipated and that both arguments have merit.  I mentioned something about "Palestinians in Yafo" and then Rina perked up and said "there's no such thing.  You mean Israeli Arabs."  I realized that because the Arabs in Yafo have Israeli citizenship and live within the borders of Israel and not the Occupied Territories, they aren't TECHNICALLY Palestinians.  I also remembered what my mentor Hana had said about that, "If you call us Palestinians, you're making a political statement."  I had always called them Palestinians because that was what they liked to be called, and I don't want to offend anyone.  When Rina was speaking about the issue (and when my mother and I were speaking about it on the phone as well) I realized the hedginess of the entire situation - if there is a two-state solution, will the Arabs in Yafo pick up and go to the borders of the new Palestine and renounce their Israeli citizenship?  It's a tough question, and I'm not sure how well any of the Palestinians I'm working with are able to answer.


There is one thing that I have concluded concretely: the amount of racism rising within the Israeli people is really, really frightening.  I'm talking segregation and propaganda type racism, like people are saying they won't sell to Arabs or hire Arabs.  That kind of racism.  It really scares me.


I used to think (and by used to I mean within the past month since I've been working with Sadaka) that I had a bit of Stockholm Syndrom - I don't support Israeli policies but I get angry at people who bash Israel.  Now I'm realizing that the people I'm getting angry at aren't actually Israelis or Palestinians or 'Arabs in Israel' or anything - they're people outside of Israel who are bashing Israel.  There have been a couple instances where I have seen, heard, or spoken to Americans who started bashing Israel.  This is my conclusion:


It's not cool to side with Israel and it's not cool to side with the Palestinians if you don't know what you're talking about.  Before I got here, I was really, really hesitant to give my opinion simply because I didn't know enough to back up my opinion.  It's the same thing now.  I really don't trust an American's opinion about the subject unless they have learned about it.  I would only accept an American's opinion on the conflict if they were confused, hesitant, flip-floppy, and afraid to offend anyone.  That shows that they are aware that they really don't know a whole lot about it, and thus they can see both arguments.  Americans who go ahead and decide without hearing both sides clearly and without hearing them from actual Israelis or Palestinians?  It's not cool, it's stupid. The conflict is INSANE and CRAZY and COMPLICATED and has sooooo many sub issues.  It's especially not cool to take my word for it.  I would HATE that any of my friends or peers would make up their minds on this conflict based on MY experiences.  Educate yourself.