HEBRON -- Do ordinary Israeli Jews know what's going on Hebron?
Mikhail Manekin, a 29-year-old veteran of the Israeli Defense Forces, says he hopes not. The violations of human rights would be even worse if Israelis knew and understood -- and so approved of -- the extreme situation here: 800 or so Jewish settlers, following their interpretation of the Torah, hold completely hostage a small area of the city called "H-2" and its estimated 15,000 Palestinian residents (there are 160,000 Palestinians in all of Hebron). The settlers -- protected by about 500 soldiers and police -- deny the Palestinian residents the right to leave their homes, walk the streets, get access to health care, even bury their dead.
There's a built-in incentive for Jews in Israel -- not to mention Jews in America -- to not know about Hebron. Which is why Mikhail and others from his group of former and reserve Israeli soldiers, Breaking the Silence -- In Hebrew, Shomrim Shtika -- stir up so many raw feelings: They are indeed breaking the silence of soldiers who do not tell their families what they have done and don't even discuss what is happening with their comrades. The group has published thetestimonies of 600 former and current soldiers who served on the West Bank and in Gaza. They also conduct tours in Hebron to show the truth of the occupation to the few who want to know. As a bonus, the travelers also get to experience a small portion of the settlers' hatred and resentment that greet Mikhail and Yehuda every time they come here.
I am here on November 13, just another American Jew who doesn't know much about what's going on in Hebron, as part of a human rights trip to Israel sponsored by Rabbis for Human Rights-North America. But as our group of 40 walks through the area, surrounded on all sides by Israeli Army MPs and police -- supposedly to protect us from the Palestinians --I know that when I write what I'm seeing here, even people who know me will have a hard time believing it.
The once-thriving marketplace is completely abandoned -- more than 1,800 businesses now gone. Parts of the main street, Shuhada Street is now closed to Palestinians, in order to protect the settlers: At several points along the way, we note memorials to Jewish settlers who were killed by Palestinians.
The storefronts on the streets, once operated by Palestinians, have long been closed, the Stars of David spray-painted on them a message to those imprisoned inside. The entrances to the homes above have been blocked off for years now. As we stand in front of the Muslim cemetery, Mikhail tells us how, until they built tunnels, the Palestinians inside the houses behind us had to climb to the roof and then use ladders to exit their homes:Sick children or pregnant women or even the dead had to be carried up, then down and then around the entire sector in order to reach medical help or a place of eternal rest.
Settler children, says Mikhail, developed a Shabbat ritual of throwing stones at Palestinian children as they left school, so the school's new director made the dismissal time earlier.
Above us, the second floor windows have been covered with wire mesh, a way to get some fresh air without being subjected to attack. On one of the balconies,four small children look down on us. We wave and take their pictures, but the children do not respond.
"They're like caged birds," someone says.
All the while, a settler has been walking alongside us, shouting insults. One of the rabbis with us translates: He says we are terrorists, we should be ashamed of ourselves, we are dancing in the blood of Jews. He calls out the name ofShalhevet Pass, a 10-month-old baby girl shot by Palestinians here in 2001.
I wonder if, at least a little, this is what it felt like to march for civil rights in the South in the 1960s. Except, of course, we Americans are being protected by police instead of defying them. We are risking little -- not like Mikhael and Yehuda Shaul, another leader of Shovrim Shtika. And, of course, in the process of protecting us from physical, the Israeli government is also blocking us from seeing the full reality.
As we stand in the middle of the empty street, Mikhail tells us that he and his fellows do not do this work to protect Palestinian rights. They do this work as Israeli patriots, because they know the emotional and spiritual toll that is being levied on the young soldiers who must carry out the occupation. It's about the soul of Israel, the future of Judaism. It is why he wears his kippah.
Later, I look up background to fill out what Mikhail has told us, and find a web of intersecting claims to the land. Hebron is the site of the Cave of Machpelah the Tomb of the Patriarchs that Abraham bought for a grave for Sarah and which is Judaism's second holiest site. Jews lived peacefully among Arabs in Hebron in the early part of the 20th century, but in August, 1929, 67 Jews were massacred by Arabs. The Jews were forced to flee Hebron and their properties were taken over until the Six Day War in 1967. In 1968, Rabbi Moshe Levinger received permission to hold a Passover seder in rented rooms in a hotel in Hebron -- and then refused to leave. In 1997, following Oslo, Hebron was divided into the two sectors, with the Palestinian Authority in charge of H-1 and the Israeli security forces in charge of H-2. During the second intifadah, attacks by Palestinians increased, but now it is the Palestinian residents on the receiving end of increased attacks. Thousands have left, part of what is called a "quiet transfer."
And now, Israeli police are trying to make it more difficult for Breaking the Silence to conduct the tours, claiming they incite trouble. Our intent at the end of our walk was to pray at the Tomb of the Patriarchs and to buy things at the little booths near the shrine. But the police are getting very edgy. They say we will not be able to go to the Tomb, not even the ten rabbis who are part of the trip. After a heated exchange with Yehuda, the police declare us an "illegal gathering" and we are told to leave.
Later, members of our group tell us that individual soldiers and police gave them clear signs that they agree with what we are trying to accomplish. We know that many Israelis condemn what the settlers are doing -- and yet, here they remain.
As I write this, the tension in Hebron has gone up considerably: Just a few days after our tour, the Israeli Supreme Court ordered settlers to leave a house they had taken over using forged papers. The settlers vowed to stay, and violence was predicted if the government attempted to evict them. A "state within a state" has arisen in the territories, says one disgusted analyst.
In last week's Torah portion, the estranged brothers Isaac and Ishmael come together at this very spot in Hebron to bury their father Abraham. Today, that kind of reconciliation feels farther away than ever.
And yet, when there are Jews like Mikhail and Yehuda who live out their values with such courage, it is not impossible to hope that it may happen someday. In the meantime, I wonder what I myself am called to do now that I know a little of what is happening in Hebron.