Travel Log #20

October 21, 2009

Old age is not for me. I am volunteering right now at a nursing home with my friend, Miri, who is B's daughter-in-law. I have been spending a lot of time with Miri because she's wonderful, has the best baby ever, and doesn't speak too much English which makes me speak Hebrew.

Miri works here and loves it. I find it enjoyable but know for a fact that I never want to even broach this state of existence. Second childhood has no place on my time line. I had my chance at childhood and it's gone. I would rather go out in my prime.

There is one woman here who wanders around, makes frequent stops in front of me, and screams in my face in Russian, then laughs at me--in my face. It is a toothless laugh. Another woman cries. They tell me she wants to go to sleep but the doctor won't allow it. A man cries for food. The nurses feed him cookies. A woman dances and smiles, pats me on the shoulders, clings to me. Rattles off something in Russian.

These people are treated like young children: play ball, ring toss. Wheel chairs and catheters and I.V.s. Children come to visit their parents and now they are the parents. I wonder what has been lost beneath the blanket of senility, what history has been erased and replaced with vacancy. These people have no future but the grave and eternity, whatever that might bring, and what remains of their past, privy to the memories of those to which it was once conveyed. But what if the family is gone? And more, what if the younger generation is destined for this fate, too?

In an hour-and-a-half, I got to dance. It is a reversal: I dance with the young. They are four feet tall and ten years old. They are patient and respectful and excited to help me with Hebrew and to learn my own native language.

Truly committing to learning another language is one of the most difficult tasks I have ever undertaken, but I will master it. This past week, I have taken advantage of what OTZMA offers me: I have created for myself a life. I have seen Miri or other parts of the family every day this week. I get called up to go places, to advance my own life, to sing, to hang out. Miri speaks about as much English as I speak Hebrew, or less. I carry around a dictionary and my notebooks full of words. Soon, my Hebrew will surpass her English. That is the point.

Here is an important fact that I must bear in mind: I have always loved language. I have defined myself in words--English words, by the way I write, the way I read, by the way I understand and convey ideas, by the way I love manipulating language more than almost anything else. Yet for all the investment in language, I am a master of only one. And here that mastery is worthless. What gets lost in translation? What is not even able to be said? How many people can I not know or not know fully because of the barrier of language? And for those who understand but not completely, what is lost in the inability to comprehend the nuances? Too much to fathom. But as I experience this, I continue to write, and as I focus on another language, my own is apt to decline. So writing is good practice.

Now, I am with my ten-year-old dancers. Felix, the regular teacher, and my friend, is not here today, so his daughter is teaching. A Russian mother is sitting next to me and won't stop talking and nitpicking at everything. The class can't progress. I suppose this anal retentiveness is what Felix meant when he told me "They're Russian. They won't change," on the first day I met him. Today, I'll sit on the side. I only dance when Felix is here. The kids get very excited when they see me, though, and their smiles and enthusiasm make me happy. Perhaps I will sing to them later since Therem is with me today. Tomorrow, I come back, but to tutor Yivginy in English (no idea how to really spell his name). Afterwards, I might get on a train to go home. Otherwise, I'll catch it in the morning.

Last night, B. invited me to go to one of the English Speaking club's events: the monthly play reading group. We read 'The Good Woman of Sechuan' by Brecht. I was privileged enough to have seen an amazing production of this show in the past year at Clark. The meeting was great! We each played a few parts and discussed it critically when we were finished. Damn, I missed that. In the end, I am destined for academia. I am sick to death of it and I know the toll it takes, and the petty bureaucracy of university politics, etc. But I love it. Too much to quit it forever. What I am doing now is an experiment: if I am to spend my entire life theorizing, teaching, and writing about that theory, I must know if it is legitimate in actuality, otherwise, the theory is a waste of time.

A different subject: it is well known that water is a precious and absolutely necessary commodity in this region. Syria has no water, a major reason for its want of the Golan back, and a major reason Israel won't give it up. Top news story in the Jerusalem Post yesterday spoke of the water crisis in Israel. Severe drought, water sanctions (that include golf courses), etc. The sanctions have saved more water than anticipated, but it is still not enough. Even with rain this year, if it rains, it will not be enough. Israel will run out of water by next year. As in mid-2010. Solutions are already well underway.

It is said that the water of Ashkelon is better than nearly every other place in the country. Its source is different. A good portion of Ashkelonian water comes from the local desalinization plant. THere are many others scheduled to be opened, others being built, and others in the planning stages. The solution is a good one, but desalinized water is at least twice as expensive as naturally fresh water. Indeed, there is the Mediterranean, with water, water, all around and perhaps, an expensive drop to drink. Some say the entire conflict in this region is about water and resources (BBC, NYTimes, etc) claim that the average Israeli uses ten times as much water as their counterparts in the surrounding Arab countries. Perhaps an interest in the trading of technology (like the desalinization) would improve the lives of everyone and make the water cheaper, as it will be in greater demand.

More on the information front. Each Sunday, we have had an "educational seminar". This past week's was on "Communities of the Negev". We began at 7:30 in the morning, all half asleep. Some fully asleep. Just for the record, I never sleep in Ashkelon. I finally bought pillows but the lack of air conditioning in stifling heat and no fan (money diverted to overly expensive notary) makes for sleepless nights. The good news is that my friend Benny (B's brother) might lend me a fan. Let's hope. Or let's hope it cools down.

Anyhow, our first stop was a Bedouin village called סגב שלום (Segev Shalom). There, we learned a lot about the Bedouin of today and put their contemporary situation into historical context, visited Sde Boker, where Ben Gurion spent his last days, went to a goat farm, and met with an American group that lives here known as the Hebrew Israelites.

October 24, 2009

Let's begin with the Bedouin. As of the most recent census, 170,000 reside inside Israel; 110,000 in the נגב (Negev Desert); 10,000 in the central region, and 50,000 in the north. In 1998 there were only 53,000 in the Negev.

In 1948, most fled or were expelled beyond the borders of the newly founded State of Israel. They fled to Gaza, Jordan, Egypt, and to the Sinai. Of the 65,000 Negev Bedouin, only 11,000 remained.

In the 1970s, the Israeli government established seven urban towns and promised municipal services to the Bedouin, like running water, education, and sanitation in exchange for a renunciation of ancestral land. Throughout the '70s and '80s, tens of thousands of Bedouin resettled in these towns. To date, about half the Bedouin community lives in these governmentally recognized towns. The other half live in 39-45 unrecognized villages and receive no services. Israel claims that only 40% live in these villages while the Regional Council of Unrecognized Villages claims it is 50%. Over the past few years, tensions between those living in Recognized and Unrecognized villages are growing. In all cases, Islamic Fundamentalism is on the rise amongst nearly all of the Bedouin youth. In addition, many have ceased referring to themselves as "Bedouin" and prefer the label "Negev Arabs" because the Bedouin and nomadic way of life is over.

It is important to understand that the relationship between Israel and the Bedouin as opposed to Israel's relationship with the Palestinians has, until recently, been very different. The Bedouin have typically served in the army and been proud of this fact; they helped form the State and do not view its formation as the Nakba. Recently, they have stopped serving in the army because they have not seen benefits in the way of equal respect or social status in return. They see themselves treated as second-class citizens, like other Arabs with full citizenship. In addition, they are looked upon as traitors by the Arab world. The Bedouin living in recognized villages are seen as traitors by those who live in unrecognized ones.

So, again we have a people with no place. It is a vicious cycle and I bear in mind that I cannot separate myself from it.