After the Wall Falls: My Visit to Hebron

It’s a freezing-cold day in the South Hebron Hills. Around me are students from Tel Aviv University, drinking hot tea that a Palestinian family has brewed for us. Today, we have chosen to venture from the comforts of the city into the heart of what most Israelis would rather not discuss: the occupied territories. We sit in the contentious southernmost point of the West Bank—land that some parties in Israel seek to annex and that local shepherds and farmers seek to defend. On one side of the hill is a ramshackle village teeming with keffiyeh-wearing youth, and on the other is an illegal outpost guarded by a fence and a security buffer. Here we are, we thought. The mess that everyone’s talking about. 

We meet with two Palestinian activists, idealistic young men who know just enough English to educate tourists and curious Israelis on the hardships they’ve had to endure under military control: run-ins with extremist settlers, home demolitions on family property, suddenly finding themselves in a potential IDF firing zone and facing imminent eviction. They share their uncomfortable reality with anyone who will listen. 

Standing in the doorway are representatives from organizations I’ve traveled with east of the Green Line – Breaking the Silence, J-Street U, and Extend Programs.

I thought it would be appropriate to ask what they considered “occupied” and if, for example, Tel Aviv and Haifa were included under that umbrella term. My question was a given. Of course, Tel Aviv was occupied. 

Toward the end of our meeting, it was time for questions. Throughout our discussion, the Palestinian activists consistently referred to Israel, the IDF, and settlers as “the occupation” – all a singular unit, one instrument of oppression. I thought it would be appropriate to ask what they considered “occupied” and if, for example, Tel Aviv and Haifa were included under that umbrella term. My question was a given. Of course, Tel Aviv was occupied. A student next to me then expanded on my question, asking that in the pursuit of achieving their goals of undoing the occupation, if they were willing to condemn certain political parties in Palestine considering they turned to terrorism and violence. For a moment, the activists thought and then disagreed, one arguing that although he was committed to non-violent resistance focused on educating young people and the general public on his experiences, it wouldn’t be fair to judge how another Palestinian chooses to resist. 

Our questions, needless to say, were answered. 

On the ride home, our tour guides vehemently criticized Israel and its crimes. “End the occupation before the occupation ends Israel” was the message we were meant to bring home to our families and friends. How could I disagree with this call to action when riding past this depressing scenery? Over that hill, a man was shot trying to defend a power generator, and down that road, a rabbi’s family was killed in their sleep. The Israeli Supreme Court is currently deciding whether or not to displace upwards of one thousand Palestinians from this very neighborhood. Reasonable people must all acknowledge that life in this part of the land is unsustainable and unjust. 

And yet there was nonetheless a disconnect between our guides and me. It seemed as though, through their relentless flogging of Israel, they and half our tour group would instead have not heard the words the Palestinians had just said while serving us tea, and that by extension, they were reluctant to consider the political movements and historical events that have shaped the borders of the West Bank. The only way it is possible to travel through this land and come to the conclusion that the injustice is all Israel’s doing and that it is solely the responsibility of Israel to fix it is to ignore not only the words you hear from the residents on the ground but also to ignore the ideology of Palestinian rejectionism that has worked to shape those words. So much anti-occupation activism in Israel and worldwide is unwilling to acknowledge this. Blaming only Israel for the aggression against it whitewashes the ideology that triggered the occupation in the first place: anti-Zionism, anti-the right of Jewish people to self-determination in their ancestral homeland. This alienates Jews who would otherwise be more sympathetic to the cause. 

“What happens after the wall falls?” I asked our guides. “How do we get to a place where both parties accept a division of the land? Do we dismantle settlements completely?” These questions undoubtedly complicated the objective of the trip, the political motivations of which becoming apparent. These questions require an examination of how terrorism, the Arab world’s war against Israel and constant failed opportunities of land for peace work into the problem, all of which require considering how this tragedy might not be all Israel’s fault. 

I realized later that the conversations I engaged in on my trip were indeed a microcosm of the history of the Israeli left, which I’d like to think I’d be a member of should I ever obtain citizenship. On the bus back to Israel proper, we were ready to demand compromises and concessions and were prepared to protest evictions and demolitions, and annexations. But the refusal to acknowledge the other side’s failures and responsibilities, even when they were presented to us up close and in person, can only lead to failures such as the Oslo Accords and the disengagement from Gaza. It can only lead to disillusionment or the false assumption that Israel is a failed project.

If it means sacrificing the beauty around me, the project my people fought and died for, it’s safe to say I have some reservations about coming to that table. 

We eventually arrived back in Tel Aviv, a place that felt all the more fragile after seeing the cost of what keeps it safe. While passing the open bars and bustling parks, I thought to myself, this is a city that feels like home. I will gladly fight for a safe and lasting home for the two Palestinians I met that afternoon, living mere miles away but worlds apart. But if it means sacrificing the beauty around me, the project my people fought and died for, it’s safe to say I have some reservations about coming to that table.

Blake Flayton is New Media Director and columnist at the Jewish Journal.