Press release of protest against Naftali Bennett

Diaspora Jews, MASA Participants Stand Up Against Occupation at MASA Israel Closing Event

May 20th, 2013

Jerusalem - On Monday afternoon, at the MASA Israel closing ceremony held in the International Convention Center, a group of 30 young Jews interrupted Israeli Minister Naftali Bennett’s keynote address by chanting, “Diaspora Jews say ‘end the occupation,’ Diaspora Jews say ‘no to annexation.’” Participants simultaneously distributed hundreds of flyers throughout the audience highlighting Bennett’s staunch opposition to a just resolution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. The group, members of “All That’s Left: Anti-Occupation Collective” and Hashomer Hatzair World Movement, persisted with the action until they were escorted out of the auditorium.

Outside, hundreds of MASA participants flowed out of the auditorium and engaged in conversations with the demonstrators. According to All That’s Left member Joshua Leifer, “the dialogue following the action led to frank and open discussions that aren’t being held enough in Diaspora Jewish communities.” The action was a success because the young Jewish activists were able to disrupt Bennett’s speech and engage with MASA participants in critical discussion.

The action was coordinated in response to MASA’s decision to select Minister Bennett as the keynote speaker at an event for young Diaspora Jewry. MASA is a joint project of the Israeli government and the Jewish Agency that brings thousands of young Diaspora Jews to Israel for gap year and study abroad programs. Naftali Bennett, director of the Yesha Settlements Council from 2010 to 2012 and current Economy Minister, has stated numerous times that he is “vehemently against a Palestinian state”[1] and has called for the annexation of 60% of the West Bank. Bennett not only supports but has also planned settlement building in the West Bank[2], in violation of international law[3].

The ideology that motivates Bennett’s political party, the Jewish Home, is a dangerous merger of racism, militarism and colonialism. In just one instance of racist rhetoric, Bennett told Arab Knesset Member Ahmed Tibi (Ta'al), “When you were still climbing trees… we had here a Jewish state.”[4] The young Jews who interrupted Bennett’s speech demonstrated that his policy proposals and political positions fundamentally contradict Diaspora Jews’ belief in equality, democracy and a just resolution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.  The normalization of Bennett’s extremist discourse in the context of a MASA event was so deeply problematic that the young MASA participants considered it unacceptable. “MASA’s choice to invite Naftali Bennett as a keynote speaker to the event does not reflect my Zionism and reasons for coming to Israel,” remarked demonstrator Isabel Frey. “It was necessary to make clear that there also are young Zionists that do not support the occupation, Bennett and his position.” Deeply disturbed by Israel’s turn to the right, the rise of racist violence, and the continued occupation of the West Bank, Isabel and other young Jewish activists decided to stand up in defense of the age-old Jewish commitment to social justice.

VIDEO OF THE PROTEST: https://vimeo.com/66574324

Sock politics OR How young socialists learned about the problems of common property

Today is the day I ran out of socks. But not because I am lazy and didn't do my laundry, or because I am messy and lost them all. Today is the day on which I fully experienced consequences of socialism.  12 years of being part of a socialist-zionist youth movement, with which I am now on a gap year in Israel all the long discussions about political science could not make me realize the difficulties of common property. Though all it needed was a communa of 17 people to run out of socks.

Socks in general tend to be these magical garments that, after a while, mysteriously disappear and are never found again. It is only natural that 5 months into our program, most of the people only had a few single socks left. That was when sock-anarchy started: some people had bought a few new pairs socks, which where immediately stolen by the other people, who had none. If someone had a fresh pair of socks, they tried to hide them, but eventually every hiding place is found in a small communa house.  The most vulnerable were the people, who had just washed their socks and had to hang them up to dry. After each laundry, about half of the socks had disappeared.

When the distress of trying to get a peek at other people's feet in order to know if they were sock-robbers became unbearable, we followed classical communa protocol, sat all together in a round and tried to come up with ideas to stop the sock-war. Two parties emerged from the discussion: First there were the sock-socialists, who proposed to establish communal socks. There would be two boxes standing in our corridor, one for clean and one for dirty socks. Whenever someone in the communa would need a new pair of socks, that person would just take one from the clean sock box, and throw them in the dirty sock box later. They argued that since were all out of socks anyway we might as well take an ideological step forward and have an equal amount of sock-poverty.

In opposition to the socialist sock party a group of sock-capitalists formed. These were the people who had bought new pairs of socks but had had them all stolen from them, and wanted them back without switching to communal socks. It was clear to them that they would be worse off in a socialist sock system because they had more socks to loose. They also argued that if the whole communa ran out of socks, they would have none even though they would be taking care of their own socks.

After weeks of discussions at the dinner table, while remaining in a state of sock-anarchy, the socialist sock-party had managed to override the sock-capitalists, and soon the day arrived on which we threw all our socks into one box, decorated with a hammer-and-sickle symbol, with the hammer replaced by a sock. With the communal money we had even bought a few extra pairs, and everyone, even the defeated sock-capitalists seemed very satisfied at first. The fact that the system was working made us all very proud, since we were actually realizing our socialist ideals.

Today is the day we all ran out of socks. The clean sock box is empty except for a single worn-off sock with many holes in it, and the dirty sock box bursting with stinky socks in different colors, sizes and vapors and no one has volunteered to wash them so far. Now we are all truly experiencing what happens to communal property, even in a house of 17 people who define themselves as socialists. Tomorrow the house will probably reek of smelly foot odor and it will take a few more quarrels to have someone do the communal laundry, but it doesn't really matter. At least we are all in it together.

Back to school

In the past 12 years it has been a struggle to get up every morning, get ready, eat breakfast and arrive in school on time. After months of being able to sleep in most of the days, this struggle has just multiplied by 17. Why 17? For a few weeks now I been living in a house together in Haifa with my the 17 members of my kwutza. We are a communa - we share our money for food and house supplies, we cook and do the dishes in teams, we get together once a week to discuss budget, activities and issues with living together. So if 18 people have to get up every morning, get ready and eat breakfast there is no chance of all of them arriving in school on time. Today is our first day in the ulpan, the standardized hebrew course, and of course we arrive late.

I am in Level 0 with four of my friends, whom I live together with, and we definitely lower the age average in our class. All of the people in our class are "olim chadashim" ("new immigrants" in hebrew), which means they are people that are in the process of doing aliyah (immigration to Israel) and nearly all of them seem over 30 years old. In general, most of the olim chadashim are Russians, but in our class we also have South Americans, Ukranians, Mexicans and even one woman from Korea. The class starts with everyone having to say "ani" and their name, which means "I am". Even though we already know that much hebrew, it is still nice to be a good student once in a while.

After one round of names and where we are from, we have to say what our status is in Israel. All the other people in the class say "ani ole chadash", but when it's my turn, I don't quite know what to say and ask the teacher how to translate "living here for a year". She turns to the board and writes the hebrew word "tajeret", which means tourist. "No, we live here for a year, we're not tourists.", replies my friend Aliza from Italy. "Yes, yes, say ani tajeret." So much for our status.

During the break I speak to a man from my class, who said he is from Serbia. I discover that he has lived in Berlin for most of his life and speaks fluent German. Ben, my friend from France, also finds a French person to speak to. Aliza befriends a woman from Brazil, because she just learned to speak Portuguese on Kibbutz Holit. After having a whole program in English, everyone is happy to find people that speak their mothertongue. The break is not over yet, so I unpack my sandwich, that someone else made for me the night before. The sandwich is marked with my name, and there is a sweet letter in my snackback. I should return the favor soon.

Back in class, the next task is to say were we live, so everyone has to translate his home address. The teacher starts laughing when she realizes that we all live in the same house, and seems to be pleased with the thought of a communa. This moment makes me realize how uncommon it is to sit in a class, of which you live with four of the people in the class. These are no classical friendships, they are more like serious relationships. Most of the olim chadashim are only with their partner, if not completely on their own. Even though it might be easier for them to cook, clean, manage the budget and arrive in class on time, they must be lonely on some level.

Yes, living in a communa can be a bitch. Washing 18 plates and tons of pots and pans by hand is no fun at all, cooking 4 kg of pasta is a heavy operation, and the two bathrooms that we have are always occupied when you want to take a shower. But we still have a whole life ahead of us to live solitarily. The communa is the perfect transition between living with your parents and living alone, and until now it has been a great experience. So even though we will probably be late for class every single day, I am glad that I can sit in a classroom with my close friends and later do the homework together in our house. 

Wild Days

Due to recent events we will not be going back to Holit. The whole region, which is named Eshkol,  has been evacuated and Holit is empty. Since Wednesday, about 550 rockets have been fired towards Israel, not only in the South but also towards Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. (Haaretz) I am currently in Herzliya, which is a little north of Tel Aviv, and I am flying back to Vienna tomorrow to visit my family. For live information, read http://www.haaretz.com/news/diplomacy-defense/live-blog-rockets-slam-into-israel-s-south-in-third-day-of-idf-operation-in-gaza-1.478193

Wednesday evening, Kibbutz Barkai - I receive an unusual text message from my mother. "Hamas chief killed. This is surely going to be wild, love mummy". Going to be? Hadn't the weeks in Holit already been wild? I had heard a few days earlier that Hamas fired on Israel with rocket launchers, and many people from my program are now talking about an upcoming war. It is clear that we aren't returning to Holit, not even to get the rest of ur luggage. Suddenly, we are all very happy to have left the south so early. My mother may be right, these next few days are going to be wild.

Thursday afternoon, Herzliya Pituach - Tel Aviv, which is not far from us, has been bombed as well. I  read about it on my Facebook feed, which in the meantime is now full of political posts from my Jewish friends from Vienna. Suddenly I start receiving dozens of messages. "Are you near Tel Aviv?" "Are you guys alright?" "I am so worried! Are you safe?" Yes, I am safe. I am safer than I was the past few months in the south, so why is everyone starting to worry now? While users are freaking out on Facebook, most of the people here are pretty calm. Later in a small cafe, I overhear people next to us discussing Gaza over some coffee.

Friday noon, Rehovot - We are invited over for lunch to an Israeli family and Hummus and Pita let us forget the political situation for a while. Soon we start hearing booms, similar to the ones we had heard in Holit so often. While my friends and I look at each other bewildered, everyone else continues to eat. The mother turns on the radio, so we can hear where the rocket has fallen. "It is so strange for us that we are just sitting here eating lunch, while there are bombs falling around us.", notes my friend Avia. I agree, for isn't it absurd that people in the diaspora are more worried than Israelis themselves? A few hours later in the car, the song in the radio is interrupted a few times by a radio speaker, announcing Tzeva Adoms in Ashkelon and Beer Sheva.

If I am honest, it is very exciting to be here during this time. The past few days I have understood more about the conflict than after every article or book. Of course the political situation is bad. But it is definitely not as bad as my friends and family back home think it is. They imagine rockets flying over our head and buildings constantly exploding next to us, but this isn't what reality looks like at all. People from the South have went to the north, just like we did, but in general Israelis continue to go on with their daily lives and this is very interesting to see. I really wish I could have filmed these past days, just to show my friends and family that these days weren't so wild after all.

A Tale of Two Kibbutzim

Since my last post, a few things have changed. We've had more Tzeva Adoms and apparently a Qassam rocket fell into a kibbutz nearby. Most of the parents of the people from the program were very worried, and sent over 100 (!) e-mails to the people in charge, pressuring them to move us out of Holit. A meeting was held and a decision was made - we have to leave Kibbutz Holit for an indefinite amount of time. We all started to make a huge fuss about it, because this meant that the English and the Spanish speakers would be separated, because there is no other kibbutz, which can hold 70 people on short notice and give everyone a place to work too. But the Hanhaga (people in charge of the program) promised us that there is a chance of returning to Holit after two weeks in the North, if the situation with Gaza remains calm. We are now living in Kibbutz Barkai, which was established by our movement and has approximately 200 members. 

There is nothing worse than last minute packing. I absolutely hate it, but that is what I get from not packing the night before. Not that I am lazy, which of course may have been a factor too, but because I really don't want to leave. I soon discover that I am not the only one who wasn't in the mood for packing during what could have been the last night in Holit. We've stayed there for over one and a half months, and even though the kibbutz is tiny, the members are not very left-winged and the food is crappy, we have grown fond of this place. Maybe there is more to it, that most of the other people aren't packed yet either. During the ride the bus is silent - everyone is asleep because they stayed up too long the night before in order to party one last time in Holit.

Our Madricha wakes us up through the microphone, and tells us that we have arrived in kibbutz Barkai. I look outside the window and see that we are on a hill, driving through what seems to be a small town. I am not the only one who is confused - someone asks the madricha if these houses already belong to the kibbutz, which apparently they do. Coming from a kibbutz with 23 members, we are not used to these dimensions. After we bring our luggage to the rooms, a member of the kibbutz comes to speak to us and welcome us to Barkai. "This is a small kibbutz, we are only about 200 members." Everyone, including me, starts laughing. If he knew where we just came from!

Barkai really is huge. In contrast to Holit, which was privatized last year, this kibbutz is still communal and has a huge dining room. There is a laundry service, a kindergarden, a farm with cows, horses and other farm animals, artists in residence, event rooms and even a beautiful place that couples can rent in order to get married. The Kolbo (kibbutz shop) is a real supermarket and the pub, which sells more than three drinks, is open every night. If you walk through the kibbutz, you see many children that play together on one of many playgrounds and a bunch of elderly people, that have lived there almost their entire life. Long story short - Barkai is alive, and we all love it here.

So why even bother to go back to the south? The night before we left Holit, Oren, a kibbutznik who works with us in the orchard, invited us over for coffee and tea to tell us about Holit's history. Holit used to be located in Sinai, but was later evacuated and rebuilt by the government next to the Gaza strip. It was never a big kibbutz, but more and more people left and Holit went through big financial issues. The kibbutz movement wanted to close Holit a couple of times already, but it somehow still managed to stay alive. One of the reasons that it wasn't closed yet, is that our movement established their educational center there. So even though the kibbutz is privatized, not especially beautiful and it wasn't established by our movement, isn't it fair that the program of our socialist movement takes place there? Isn't this, what socialist zionism is truly about?

The main difference between Holit and Barkai is our role as volunteers. In Barkai, everyone is happy to see us and talk to us, but it truly doesn't matter if we show up for work in the morning. In Holit, where we are needed, we can truly make a difference and help this kibbutz to exist. So even though I hate the food and the laundry machine makes clothes dirtier than they already are, I really hope we return to the south. Not just because we will be a group of 70 people again, or because we have become good friends with some of the members, but because when I visit Holit in a couple of years, I know that I helped to keep this kibbutz alive. So even though it is exciting to live and work in a completely different kibbutz for a while, maybe I will pack the night before we leave for Holit. Just because I can't wait to return.

Evacuation Holiday

Living next to the border to Gaza is a surreal experience. I have been to Kibbutz Holit before and never felt unsafe. Of course it needs some getting used to that the graffiti-sprayed bunker is also a disco, and that you hear a loud boom once in a while, which is supposedly nothing to worry about. But all in all, when our madrichim (leaders) told us that we were now in a state of alert and should always stay 15 seconds within the next bunker, we didn't know what to expect. For what we know, a Qassam rocket could be a fire-breathing dragon or a six-legged monster. Without actually realizing the danger, it is impossible to be completely serious about it. Even though we obeyed the rules, the feeling that we were playing a game was still there.

A few days ago, the sound of a female monotonous voice saying 'Tzeva Adom' (which means code red in hebrew) over and over again woke me up. I was alone in my room, which is also a bunker. Completely terrified I needed several attempts to close the window and to slam the broken door shut, and then sat on my bed in panic, waiting for one of the madrichim to come and tell me that everything was clear again. But what was queer about the situation was that neither I, nor the 70 other people from the program, felt personally endangered. Later in the dining room, everyone was acting as if nothing had happened.

When my roommates woke me up at 4 a.m. that night by bursting into my room, I was too sleepy to understand that the alarm had gone off again. So when we sat crammed together in the bunker, most of us continued to sleep. The next days we spent hours talking with the madrichim about the feelings we had experienced during the Tzeva Adom,  but no one of us said that they felt scared. Now I felt stupid that I had panicked the first evening.

The weekends during our program are free, but we still have to pay for transportation, housing and food if we leave the kibbutz. On thursday, our madrichim told us that they had rented a bus to bring us to Tel Aviv, and that we were free to leave from thursday to sunday. They even let us pack some food, even though it is usually a big problem to even make yourself a sandwich for later. It was clear that they wanted us gone, the situation was too tense to have the responsibility over 70 young people from all over the world in this small kibbutz. We are now on an evacuation holiday, staying with family or friends in the north. The concept of being in danger, even if it's not severe, is completely strange to us.

If we go back to Holit on Sunday, life will be the usual again. We will go to our classes, work in the kibbutz and party in the pub. And in the evening, we will be sitting again in the front of the dining room, singing 'Tzeva Adom' to an acoustic guitar.