“I remember when I was four years, when the first gulf war began. Iraq fired missiles on Israel, we didn't have a safe room then beyond just the nylons on doors and windows to prevent the gas from entering the room. We were all holding on to masks while we waited. We thought that the missiles were gas weapons. So, masks, rockets, and explosions. That’s my first memory of conflict.”
We’re talking about this bizarre moment in time. I’m in India watching many loved ones suffer from Covid and anxiously trying to defend my parents from harm. My friend Z is watching the conflict erupt in his homeland, Israel. Z is in San Francisco, where masks are still required and things are just starting to trend well, Covid wise.
I’m checking in on him. He’s checking in on me. We’re both quite unsure what to say beyond trying to describe the situation.
“Then, every five-or-ten years, there was something or the other.
In college, I remember just starting to write an exam. Suddenly the building shook as Rockets were launched on Haifa. And we ran down to the first floor to escape, just five minutes after starting the exam.
Right now, I’m thinking about that. Because my brother’s in Tel Aviv, in one of those old apartment buildings. All the new buildings have a concrete ‘safe house’ but his doesn’t, so he has to take his family down to safety every time he hears the rockets start to get close.”
As a young man, with a large beard that he regularly gets compliments for, my friend Z is reflecting a narrative I heard everywhere I went in Israel during a trip in 2017. I was so amazed at the place, I wrote a blog called “Holy Ice Cream and Other Israeli Experiences”. It was written with heart, and became the first piece of writing that someone wanted to publish and pay me for so his travel website would get more visitors.
This kind of entrepreneurial opportunism, is common in that country. And what is more common, is the fierce attitude with which they defend their hard-won land and relish the moments of peace.
In fact, when I visited Haifa it was to look at an Israeli border from a mountaintop. Then we partied the night away in a Haifa bunker-of-sorts that became a night-club during peace-time! And the next day we relaxed in bliss, floating on the dead sea, amidst a backdrop too beautiful to describe with words or pictures.
The tiny country is filled with monuments that gave birth to three of the four largest religions in the world. It is poetically beautiful and stunningly diverse. People speak every language, wear ancient and modern garb, and fuse culinary flavors in every imaginable combination. There are many aging people to tell you old stories of war, and even older tales of God.
The majority of youngsters get to work each morning building their startups, their communities, and their identity in a land that is the only home they have ever known. Their childhood was in a rapidly growing nation, increasingly prosperous and mighty. Their memories are still seared with moments of rushing to grey concrete bunkers in the middle of an exam. But they sometimes acknowledge their identity crisis. In his searingly honest book, Ari Shavit writes about the dilemma every new recruit to the Israeli military faces at the age of 18. He talks about the early days of Israel, when it was young, and constantly threatened with an existential risk. Any armed conflict could spell doom for the nation. Jewish populations always at risk because of their small numbers in a sea of Muslim neighbors.
Now, Israel is much more secure, it has powerful weapons and powerful allies. Hence, the young Israeli recruit is the stronger party when walking in a muslim dominated neighborhood within Israeli occupied lands. . While his core identity is still that of a survivor, learning from history, and prepared to fight for his people. Sometimes, the recruit sees himself reflected in the eyes of his target as the oppressor, not the oppressed
I’m not sure how Z perceives all this. So, I ask him.
“Is all this still about Religion?” I ask.
“No,” Z says. “It is about Land.”
“And amidst all this, there is so much hate.
Arabs driving in the street get rocks thrown at their cars from neighbors. While Jews get beaten up inside their own country.
And the worst part is that we were so close to having a new Prime Minister you know? It was so close. The new coalition in power would include an Arab perspective for the first time. But that is much harder now, with there being so much tension.
Every five or ten years, there is something new.
There is so much Hate.
Somehow, it all just feels familiar.”
My biggest takeaway was that life moves on no matter what. Humans adapt to remarkable circumstances, from a viral pandemic, to the holocaust but so many people perish in the process. And we carry those wounds with us. The trauma becomes part of our story. During these violent escalations, the roots may be political but the costs are human.
A note on bias:
I’m aware I’m biased, ever since I read Exodus as a teenager and later visited the land of Holy Ice Cream. But I know that this is not a black-and-white story. The hate in someone’s eyes rarely appears without the love of something else. I would invite your new perspective; comment or email me.
If you’d like to read more such takes, as I try to make sense of world while learning from its colorful people.
Wise and intuitive analysis of the situation. Yes, unfortunately, the cost is always human. Thank you for this. I really love the way you express yourself.