Peace entreaty

People keep asking me what will happen with the new round of peace talks between the Israelis and the Palestinians, which is flattering, because, really, how the heck should I know.

Unlike the pundit parade on television and in print, and unlike just about every guy who buttonholes you at shul with an opinion on the matter, I am perfectly comfortable stating the obvious: I don’t know what will happen; no one knows. The leaders of the Israeli, Palestinian and American peoples disappear into their conference room like the High Priests into the Holy of Holies, behind a veil, in total darkness. Ariel Sharon went in and came out without Gaza. Ehud Olmert went in and came out Ehud Barak.

People ask me: Will they reach an agreement? Again, who the heck knows. But my go-to answer, glib as it may seem at first, is this: If they want to. No one is stopping them. Hamas is an obstacle, but not a barrier. Same goes for the settlements, the Israeli right, Iranian meddling — all could be swept aside with firm, joint resolve. On the other hand, pushing them toward an agreement are the most powerful countries in the world, as well as a great many, if not most, of their own people, and common sense. If they want it, it is no dream.

But, Israel and the Palestinians are no longer young; they are middle-aged. And like most people at middle age, they have grown comfortable with the status quo, they fear plunging into the unknown, they err on the side of holding on to what they have, rather than risking it for what could be. At middle age, we cling to our past, our biographies, and read them as destiny.

This week, I came across the most striking example of this. For the past 10 years, Eyal Naveh, a professor of history at Tel Aviv University, has led a team producing a school textbook that offers a history of Israel from both the Israeli Jewish and Palestinian Arab perspective. It’s called “Learning Each Other’s Historical Narrative: Palestinians and Israelis.”

The Israeli history is written in the left-hand column, the Palestinian in the right, pictures in the middle. Anyone who cares to understand the profound gulf that these talks must bridge must read a few chapters of this ingenious, revealing book (find sample chapters linked to this essay at jewishjournal.com).

I reached Naveh by phone while he was visiting UC Berkeley. He told me that the original idea was to produce a joint textbook with one narrative, but the teachers couldn’t agree on anything —where to hold meetings, whether to put Israeli and Palestinian flags on the pages, or even the names of the chapters.

The compromise side-by-side version in Hebrew or Arabic is, in its own way, even more effective at not just telling, but physically showing, how at the heart of the conflict are competing and diametrically opposed narratives.

Take the Six-Day War chapter, which the Palestinian side of the page calls “The June 1967 War of Aggression.” The Israeli side details a heroic and well-documented narrative of an encircled army making a bold, preemptive strike against its mortal enemies. “Israel achieved a brilliant victory which changed … the whole Middle East.”

The Palestinian side casts Israel as the aggressor, determined to grab water and territory. While there is a refreshing amount of reality in the narrative — Arab leaders get blame, Israel’s army gets credit — the chapter ends with what, for Palestinians, is the essence of the story: “The results of the war led the independent Palestinian entity to occupy front row seats. The Palestinians took hold anew of their cause.”

Naveh and his Palestinian partner, Bethlehem University professor of Education, Sami Adwan, worked on the book because, Naveh told me, it’s important for each side to understand the other’s narrative, even if you don’t agree with it.

“In the middle of violent conflict there is no way to write a single narrative,” Naveh told me. “At least they learn our narrative. Recognition in an ongoing conflict can be a preamble to a solution at the end of the conflict.”

Israeli and Palestinians schools have been less than enthusiastic. While students and teachers liked the book, both the Israeli and Palestinian educational bureaucracies ordered it removed from classrooms. An optimist would take that as a sign that the two sides can agree on something.

Meanwhile, the textbook — used now in some colleges and universities and awaiting, pending more funding, a broader distribution — is a clear reminder of the gap these talks must close.

Some analysts, like Caroline Glick, are certain that Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s attempt to do so would doom Israel to national suicide, arguing that neither the Palestinian people nor their president,  Mahmoud Abbas, are interested in anything but whittling away at Israel’s land and security.

But both the Israelis and Palestinians have to understand that they are at a crossroads, that the status quo is unlikely to hold, that the world around them is changing, even if they aren’t.

The Palestinians can have the freedom and prosperity of a modern nation or be left with scraps of land on which to build their children’s shaky future.

The Iraelis can compromise now or be forced to later in order to preserve a Jewish majority. The alternative is a one-state solution in which Palestinians and Jews share all the land — a prescription not for peace, but for endless conflict.

I don’t know what will happen, but I do know these talks represent a chance, maybe one of few peaceful chances remaining, for both sides to change course, and to merge their disparate, competing narratives, into one.