An Arabic proverb says: Ma mahebba’ ila ba’ad adawa; there is no friend beloved like a former enemy. I’ve seen it happen, between those who least expected it, or I least expected it from them. I just learned the words of this proverb from a friend today; the meaning, I learned from an angry young Palestinian and a crazy Israeli settler.
The Seeds are not “self-selected.” National Ministries of Education choose the Israeli and Palestinian delegations. Each government makes sure to include hard-liners who will not “surrender” to the other side—firebrands who come to “win” the argument, not absorb a different perspective. They are only a part; the delegations represent a range of opinion. But the hard-liners—statements prepared and conclusions drawn before they arrive—are often the dominant presence.
As a counselor, at first I resented ideologues who seemed to scare other campers away from each other, reminding their own “who they are” before they got too close to the “enemy.” I was cured of this prejudice by two campers, a Palestinian and an Israeli, whom I had marked in my mind in their first summer sessions as “negative influences”—obstacles to peace. Looking back now, I’m grateful that they proved me dead wrong.
“Settler” is a trigger word for stereotypes, the Israeli equivalent of “terrorist” for Palestinians. Say the word and liberal Westerners, never mind Arabs, see Jewish vigilante gangs with rifles at the ready to intimidate innocent Arab farmers in their fields. And as there are real Palestinian terrorists, this sort of settler is no figment of imagination. These types of Israelis and Palestinians exist, and though their numbers should not be exaggerated, the impact of their violent excesses far exceeds their percentage of the populations. They’re small groups that cause big problems. Still, the Jewish fundamentalists of the hard-core settlements have little in common with many of the roughly 200,000 Israelis living in the West Bank, who moved there seeking economic incentives offered by right-wing governments and would move back if offered compensation by a government trying to build a real peace.
At first, I wasn’t sure which category suited Ronit, a Seed from a settlement northwest of Ramallah. In her first summer at camp, she was always with Israelis, speaking Hebrew in defiance of regulations—campers are required to speak English, so that everyone can join in discussions. Her body language around Palestinians broadcasted “Don’t mess.” After an Israeli parliamentarian visiting camp made bombastic declarations about Jerusalem, I overheard Ronit whispering excitedly, “Now we’ve got something to get those Arabs with in coexistence (discussion hour)!!!” I wondered to myself what she was doing at camp at all.
Nasser was a camp icon of Palestinian nationalism—he knew the words, the gestures, the attitude to awaken emotion in an Arab audience. He immediately established charismatic leadership among the Arab Seeds (especially the Egyptian girls). My most vivid memory of Nasser in his first camp summer is him leading a group singing nationalist songs. I didn’t know the songs or the words then, but the content was clear from the singers’ expressions and the brooding silence that fell upon them afterward.
At camp I essentially wrote both of them off as potential peacemakers. But back in the region, they promoted peace with the same passion that they stood for their countries at camp. Nasser called me the day I returned to the Holy Land. “I’m in Jerusalem,” he said. “I don’t have permission, so can you pick me up? I have to see Rina.” Rina was a friendly and liberal Israeli girl who seemed the antithesis of Nasser the nationalist. O me of little faith; these two opposites, as it turned out, were becoming good friends. Throughout the next years, they exchanged frequent visits and introduced each other’s families to the good side they had discovered on “the other side.”
Ronit left her settlement to attend every activity. She was the happiest Israeli on our home stay with the families of Jordanian Seeds. Not content with one journey, Ronit convinced her father to fly a Cessna plane across the river to Amman and meet her friend’s father, a Jordanian of Palestinian origin. Her enthusiasm hasn’t faded. This spring, three years after her summer at camp, Ronit pledged her allegiance to peace in the most permanent possible way, tattooing the Seeds symbol on her left shoulder (not, I emphasize under encouragement from any member of the staff—Seeds, if you’re reading, don’t try this at home!).
These hard-line Seeds made the most powerful presentations for peace. Their nationalist credentials made people take them seriously, recognizing that these Seeds had not been born into “the peace camp,” and spoke out of conviction. Ronit, on stage at a high school in right-wing Jerusalem, declared, “Look, it’s my house I’m talking about, so it’s not easy—but I’m telling you, they’re human beings, they have rights too, and we have to compromise with them.” The audience had earlier booed a different Israeli Seed, but our settler set them straight and they shut up and listened.
Nasser used his touch for stirring patriotism among the Arabs at camp to evoke empathy toward Israelis among Palestinian friends. He introduced classmates to his friend Rina, whom they acknowledged was human, even nice. He then initiated a class discussion on the topic: “If we win a war, what will we do with the Jewish civilians?” At first, the debate was whether to kill or deport. Nasser intervened. “What about Rina?” he asked, staring at the classmates who knew her. They agreed she could stay. “OK,” he said, “but people don’t come into this world by themselves. What about her family?” Her family was granted amnesty. “Well, if I was killed, you would feel angry, right? What about Rina’s friends?” They agreed—her friends should stay. “But wait,” Nasser continued, “her friends all have families and friends—so who are you going to kill?” Through one acquaintance, Nasser convinced his class of the humanity of the other side.
I was most surprised by the friendship that developed between the hard-liners themselves. Nasser and Ronit worked together at camp on an Israeli-Palestinian drama production and recognized some reflection of themselves in each other. It happened, apparently, during the most difficult discussions. “Rina is still my best Israeli friend,” Nasser confided in me, “but Ronit is the only Israeli that I ever cried for.” Ronit revealed that the respect was mutual on the next trip to Jordan (her third), reading for the group a poem she had written for “A Palestinian Friend”:
God gave us hearts
To love, or to hate
God gave us thoughts
To give, or to get
God gave us houses
To build, or to destroy
God gave us tears
For sadness, or for joy …
Most of all God gave us hands
To shake, or to fight
And that is the power
Of bringing the darkness or the light.
God gave all those things, to all of us, regardless on which side of the Green Line we happened to be born.
Read Ned Lazarus’ diary entry No. 4 at Slate »