Update: Beyond marriage and children and moving to Israel…yeah, those are huge…two events in my life touched, inspired, and change me. Probably others, but these two were huge. One was going to Poland, the other was watching Israel destroy the Jewish communities of Gush Katif and Northern Shomron…for all intents and purposes, for absolutely nothing in return.
In early 2005, like many others, I didn’t believe Israel would be stupid enough to do it…as the summer drew near, I escorted journalists to Gush Katif, to meet the people, to see the wonder of what they had built. The following is one article I wrote during that time. It was first posted on June 19, 2005.
I went to the zoo recently, a zoo unlike any other, and quite possibly one of the loveliest I’d ever seen. At first glance, it appears much as other zoos do, with large fenced off areas and the requisite animals, meandering pathways offering shade and a moment to watch animals swim, climb and sleep. While I didn’t see any lions and tigers and bears, I did see ostriches, goats, deer, assorted birds, monkeys and a camel named Shaul. Some of the more exotic animals such as elephants and porcupines were represented in colorful murals that adorned the walls and structures throughout the zoo.
More important than the animal population was the human population and what it represented, who was there, and who was not. We strolled into the zoo, and the first thing that was quickly noticeable was the absence of adults and the abundance of children.
I was escorting a foreign radio journalist for whom I was acting as tour guide. Someone suggested we visit the zoo and thinking that it offered a different angle to her reporting, we agreed. She had her microphone ready to record the sounds that would add color to her documentary, while I played the role of “tourist,” snapping pictures right and left.
This was a child’s world into which we had accidentally stumbled and the children were everywhere. They were running, talking, sitting, jumping and simply smiling and being happy on a sunny day. They were completely comfortable and competent with the animals. One boy walked past with a cockatiel on his shoulder, while in pairs of two, other children carried large plastic bins with hay and poured them over the fence for sheep, goats, deer and Shaul the camel.
The night before, as on most nights for as long as these young children can likely remember, a mortar shell exploded nearby and gunfire was heard, but there was no tension evident on their faces or in their actions. More than 6000 mortars and rockets have been shot at their homes in the last five years and yet these children happily focused on the needs of the animals. This amazing zoo is located in Neve Dekalim, in the Gush Katif section of the Gaza Strip. It is an oasis of sanity in an insane world, a place of light and sunshine and peace.
Just outside Neve Dekalim, across the road from the zoo, live Palestinians. They dwell in squalor and dirt, a sharp and disturbing contrast to the colors and glory of the zoo and the children who are experiencing an incredibly well planned educational program teaching them about animals and responsibility. The homes of the Palestinians are not neatly arranged in rows, rubbish is piled all over and drab, colorless clothes swing in the gentle, hot breeze.
Barely a tree is in sight on the Palestinian side, little or no vegetation other than inside rows of greenhouses in the distance. Palestinian children play in the streets, even at a time when they should be in school. And across the street, just a few dozen meters away, Israeli children play inside a security fence hidden behind tall bushes and trees.
To further my task as tour guide, even in a place I had never been, I approached three men standing beside one of the animal cages, the only adults I was to see while in the zoo. Yes, the man in charge was willing to answer questions about his zoo, but preferred to speak in Hebrew. I was given the task of translating.
What is the purpose of the zoo? We asked David Amichai, the zookeeper who agreed to be interviewed. It’s an educational experience, he explained. I smiled at the obviousness of his answer, and wondered if it was possible for listeners of a radio broadcast to possibly imagine how educational this was, what a wonderful world David and the children of Neve Dekalim had created out of what was once empty, useless land that the neighboring Arabs called “cursed.”
It was cursed, they explained to the first Jews who arrived in the 1970s, because for centuries they had tried and failed to grow anything on these sand dunes. What green houses they have now across the road are largely due to the technology and assistance of the Israeli farmers who came, learned how to grow crops in sand, and conquer the desert. But that is now. Before the Jews came, there was nothing. Since the time of Abraham, the patriarch of the Jewish and Moslem world, said the mayor of Khan Yunis to the first Jews who arrived, the land would not yield and so it was considered cursed.
The mayor welcomed the Jews with bread and salt, a traditional Moslem ritual, because he believed that the Jews would make the land grow. I doubt even he could have imagined how prophetic would be his words. During our brief stay, we visited organic celery and pepper farms and heard about many of the other crops that grow there. Even more, we saw the green gardens around the homes and throughout the zoo.
The second question we asked the zookeeper was trickier. “In light of the scheduled disengagement, have you made arrangements for the animals?” Every resident had already been asked and answered similar questions about plans for their own future. Each gave the same answer, that the government had not offered them any real alternatives and no one knew where Sharon’s expulsion plans would take their families. One man did not know where his son, a decorated soldier who fell in the Lebanon war, would be reburied. A mother did not know where her young children would go to school. No one had thought of packing up homes built and furnished with years of attention and love. Packing up a zoo with hundreds of animals isn’t the same, David explained.
If it comes to it, other zoos in Israel have already made it clear they would welcome the animals from Gush Katif and give them a home, David told us “if, God forbid, we have to leave.” How interesting that the animals of Gush Katif have at least that security, while the residents do not.
“What will you do? How do you feel about leaving the zoo?” he was asked. His answer was heartbreaking. “I built this zoo”, he explained. “I have maintained it, and now, maybe I’ll have to take it apart.”
We thanked him for his time and, as we continued our tour of the zoo in quiet contemplation, I thought over the interviews that I’d heard during our brief visit. The mother, the farmer, the terrorist victim, the war veteran, the new immigrant, the bereaved father, the soldier, the children. From previous discussions, I knew that this journalist had been deeply affected by the poverty she was shown by the Palestinians as she prepared the groundwork for the documentaries she will produce. We spoke often of the squalor in which the Palestinians live, the hopelessness she perceives. Our comparative wealth was an obscenity next to their poverty, was the underlying message I received.
Before I had even known about the existence of the zoo, I had warned her that she would see beautiful parks that we had created for our children. It wasn’t fair, I told her the first time I met her, to simply take our parks and compare them to where Palestinian children play. It is too easy a trap in which to fall. It is too simple to conclude that those who have are guilty simply by virtue of the fact that there exist those who do not have.
I had tried to explain to this journalist from a far off land, that we are not to blame if we choose to spend our money on parks and zoos while the Palestinian leaders embezzle millions (if not billions) of dollars, because Palestinian terrorist groups buy mortars and not swings, Kassem rockets and not animal cages. The Karina A ship that was loaded with weapons purchased by the Palestinian Authority was worth millions of dollars. How many parks and zoos could the Palestinians have built with that money?
Thinking about the sadness I heard in David Amichai’s voice as he talked about dismantling something he clearly loved so much, I again felt a sense of anger at the irrational choices our government is making, and I felt anger at the unjust comparison of Palestinian poverty with our perceived opulence.
What harm does this zoo do to the Palestinian children? Did it cause them to live in squalor? Will dismantling this zoo make their lives better? Because we gave our children a place such as this, does that make us wrong? If they stopped the terror, they could come here, I explained. We could help them build a zoo, as we have helped give them work, health care, and so much more. There are so many options, once the violence stops.
Years ago, they chose hatred and mortars and incitement over building zoos and parks just as they chose to reject the state they were offered by the United Nations in favor of waging war to push us into the sea. They did not succeed then, but they kept trying, focusing their resources on war and not on peace, on weapons and not on parks. It is not fair to look at what the Israeli child has and find us guilty because Palestinian children do not have these things. Per capita, Palestinian refugees have received more aid than anyone else. More than the victims of the droughts in Sudan and Ethiopia, more than the tsunami survivors, more than those suffering in Darfur. When our nation was born, we were just as poor and we had refugees that had come from all over the world. We housed them, we nurtured them, and half a century later, we are a nation without refugees, a nation with beautiful parks and zoos.
Where has the more than 10 billion dollars in funding from the European Union gone? The answer clearly is not to those who needed it. Not to the children, not to the schools. Not to the hospitals. Not to the parks. Why is this zoo to blame if Palestinian money was given to buy Suha Arafat a luxurious villa? If Palestinian leaders are driving around in fancy cars and live in fancy homes, why do you blame us for building beautiful parks for our children?
To all of this, the journalist had no answer. The squalor, the poverty, the have nots. These are the images in her head that she took out of Gaza and what she will broadcast over the airwaves. Long before she ever arrived and long after she is gone, the images of Palestinian poverty will continue to frame her perspectives and therefore her journalism.
It is quite clear that there was squalor before the Israelis captured the Gaza Strip in 1967. Jewish residents told us that Palestinian poverty before they arrived was so bad, the Israelis were welcomed after the harsh rule of the Egyptians. The only difference is that now, with Israelis there, world media cares enough to report on the squalor, while pre-1967 it simply was not newsworthy.
We witnessed Palestinians building and working within the Jewish settlements. Clearly, they benefit from this relationship with jobs, a secure source of water and electricity, improved health care, better living conditions and more. One Palestinian told us all he wanted was peace. He did not mention a Palestinian homeland and he certainly did not say he wanted the land on which he stood. Sand it once was, cursed land that yielded nothing. Cursed sand it will be again, if Sharon’s expulsion plan is implemented.
I went to the zoo recently, a zoo unlike any other, and quite possibly one of the loveliest I’d ever seen. At first glance, it appears much as other zoos do, with large fenced off areas and the requisite animals, meandering pathways offering shade and a moment to watch animals swim, climb and sleep. While I didn’t see any lions and tigers and bears, I did see ostriches, goats, deer, assorted birds, monkeys and a camel named Shaul. Some of the more exotic animals such as elephants and porcupines were represented in colorful murals that adorned the walls and structures throughout the zoo.
More important than the animal population was the human population and what it represented, who was there, and who was not. We strolled into the zoo, and the first thing that was quickly noticeable was the absence of adults and the abundance of children.
I was escorting a foreign radio journalist for whom I was acting as tour guide. Someone suggested we visit the zoo and thinking that it offered a different angle to her reporting, we agreed. She had her microphone ready to record the sounds that would add color to her documentary, while I played the role of “tourist,” snapping pictures right and left.
This was a child’s world into which we had accidentally stumbled and the children were everywhere. They were running, talking, sitting, jumping and simply smiling and being happy on a sunny day. They were completely comfortable and competent with the animals. One boy walked past with a cockatiel on his shoulder, while in pairs of two, other children carried large plastic bins with hay and poured them over the fence for sheep, goats, deer and Shaul the camel.
The night before, as on most nights for as long as these young children can likely remember, a mortar shell exploded nearby and gunfire was heard, but there was no tension evident on their faces or in their actions. More than 6000 mortars and rockets have been shot at their homes in the last five years and yet these children happily focused on the needs of the animals. This amazing zoo is located in Neve Dekalim, in the Gush Katif section of the Gaza Strip. It is an oasis of sanity in an insane world, a place of light and sunshine and peace.
Just outside Neve Dekalim, across the road from the zoo, live Palestinians. They dwell in squalor and dirt, a sharp and disturbing contrast to the colors and glory of the zoo and the children who are experiencing an incredibly well planned educational program teaching them about animals and responsibility. The homes of the Palestinians are not neatly arranged in rows, rubbish is piled all over and drab, colorless clothes swing in the gentle, hot breeze.
Barely a tree is in sight on the Palestinian side, little or no vegetation other than inside rows of greenhouses in the distance. Palestinian children play in the streets, even at a time when they should be in school. And across the street, just a few dozen meters away, Israeli children play inside a security fence hidden behind tall bushes and trees.
To further my task as tour guide, even in a place I had never been, I approached three men standing beside one of the animal cages, the only adults I was to see while in the zoo. Yes, the man in charge was willing to answer questions about his zoo, but preferred to speak in Hebrew. I was given the task of translating.
What is the purpose of the zoo? We asked David Amichai, the zookeeper who agreed to be interviewed. It’s an educational experience, he explained. I smiled at the obviousness of his answer, and wondered if it was possible for listeners of a radio broadcast to possibly imagine how educational this was, what a wonderful world David and the children of Neve Dekalim had created out of what was once empty, useless land that the neighboring Arabs called “cursed.”
It was cursed, they explained to the first Jews who arrived in the 1970s, because for centuries they had tried and failed to grow anything on these sand dunes. What green houses they have now across the road are largely due to the technology and assistance of the Israeli farmers who came, learned how to grow crops in sand, and conquer the desert. But that is now. Before the Jews came, there was nothing. Since the time of Abraham, the patriarch of the Jewish and Moslem world, said the mayor of Khan Yunis to the first Jews who arrived, the land would not yield and so it was considered cursed.
The mayor welcomed the Jews with bread and salt, a traditional Moslem ritual, because he believed that the Jews would make the land grow. I doubt even he could have imagined how prophetic would be his words. During our brief stay, we visited organic celery and pepper farms and heard about many of the other crops that grow there. Even more, we saw the green gardens around the homes and throughout the zoo.
The second question we asked the zookeeper was trickier. “In light of the scheduled disengagement, have you made arrangements for the animals?” Every resident had already been asked and answered similar questions about plans for their own future. Each gave the same answer, that the government had not offered them any real alternatives and no one knew where Sharon’s expulsion plans would take their families. One man did not know where his son, a decorated soldier who fell in the Lebanon war, would be reburied. A mother did not know where her young children would go to school. No one had thought of packing up homes built and furnished with years of attention and love. Packing up a zoo with hundreds of animals isn’t the same, David explained.
If it comes to it, other zoos in Israel have already made it clear they would welcome the animals from Gush Katif and give them a home, David told us “if, God forbid, we have to leave.” How interesting that the animals of Gush Katif have at least that security, while the residents do not.
“What will you do? How do you feel about leaving the zoo?” he was asked. His answer was heartbreaking. “I built this zoo”, he explained. “I have maintained it, and now, maybe I’ll have to take it apart.”
We thanked him for his time and, as we continued our tour of the zoo in quiet contemplation, I thought over the interviews that I’d heard during our brief visit. The mother, the farmer, the terrorist victim, the war veteran, the new immigrant, the bereaved father, the soldier, the children. From previous discussions, I knew that this journalist had been deeply affected by the poverty she was shown by the Palestinians as she prepared the groundwork for the documentaries she will produce. We spoke often of the squalor in which the Palestinians live, the hopelessness she perceives. Our comparative wealth was an obscenity next to their poverty, was the underlying message I received.
Before I had even known about the existence of the zoo, I had warned her that she would see beautiful parks that we had created for our children. It wasn’t fair, I told her the first time I met her, to simply take our parks and compare them to where Palestinian children play. It is too easy a trap in which to fall. It is too simple to conclude that those who have are guilty simply by virtue of the fact that there exist those who do not have.
I had tried to explain to this journalist from a far off land, that we are not to blame if we choose to spend our money on parks and zoos while the Palestinian leaders embezzle millions (if not billions) of dollars, because Palestinian terrorist groups buy mortars and not swings, Kassem rockets and not animal cages. The Karina A ship that was loaded with weapons purchased by the Palestinian Authority was worth millions of dollars. How many parks and zoos could the Palestinians have built with that money?
Thinking about the sadness I heard in David Amichai’s voice as he talked about dismantling something he clearly loved so much, I again felt a sense of anger at the irrational choices our government is making, and I felt anger at the unjust comparison of Palestinian poverty with our perceived opulence.
What harm does this zoo do to the Palestinian children? Did it cause them to live in squalor? Will dismantling this zoo make their lives better? Because we gave our children a place such as this, does that make us wrong? If they stopped the terror, they could come here, I explained. We could help them build a zoo, as we have helped give them work, health care, and so much more. There are so many options, once the violence stops.
Years ago, they chose hatred and mortars and incitement over building zoos and parks just as they chose to reject the state they were offered by the United Nations in favor of waging war to push us into the sea. They did not succeed then, but they kept trying, focusing their resources on war and not on peace, on weapons and not on parks. It is not fair to look at what the Israeli child has and find us guilty because Palestinian children do not have these things. Per capita, Palestinian refugees have received more aid than anyone else. More than the victims of the droughts in Sudan and Ethiopia, more than the tsunami survivors, more than those suffering in Darfur. When our nation was born, we were just as poor and we had refugees that had come from all over the world. We housed them, we nurtured them, and half a century later, we are a nation without refugees, a nation with beautiful parks and zoos.
Where has the more than 10 billion dollars in funding from the European Union gone? The answer clearly is not to those who needed it. Not to the children, not to the schools. Not to the hospitals. Not to the parks. Why is this zoo to blame if Palestinian money was given to buy Suha Arafat a luxurious villa? If Palestinian leaders are driving around in fancy cars and live in fancy homes, why do you blame us for building beautiful parks for our children?
To all of this, the journalist had no answer. The squalor, the poverty, the have nots. These are the images in her head that she took out of Gaza and what she will broadcast over the airwaves. Long before she ever arrived and long after she is gone, the images of Palestinian poverty will continue to frame her perspectives and therefore her journalism.
It is quite clear that there was squalor before the Israelis captured the Gaza Strip in 1967. Jewish residents told us that Palestinian poverty before they arrived was so bad, the Israelis were welcomed after the harsh rule of the Egyptians. The only difference is that now, with Israelis there, world media cares enough to report on the squalor, while pre-1967 it simply was not newsworthy.
We witnessed Palestinians building and working within the Jewish settlements. Clearly, they benefit from this relationship with jobs, a secure source of water and electricity, improved health care, better living conditions and more. One Palestinian told us all he wanted was peace. He did not mention a Palestinian homeland and he certainly did not say he wanted the land on which he stood. Sand it once was, cursed land that yielded nothing. Cursed sand it will be again, if Sharon’s expulsion plan is implemented.
I went to the zoo recently, a zoo unlike any other, and quite possibly one of the loveliest I’d ever seen. At first glance, it appears much as other zoos do, with large fenced off areas and the requisite animals, meandering pathways offering shade and a moment to watch animals swim, climb and sleep.
While I didn’t see any lions and tigers and bears, I did see ostriches, goats, deer, assorted birds, monkeys and a camel named Shaul. Some of the more exotic animals such as elephants and porcupines were represented in colorful murals that adorned the walls and structures throughout the zoo.
More important than the animal population was the human population and what it represented, who was there, and who was not. We strolled into the zoo, and the first thing that was quickly noticeable was the absence of adults and the abundance of children.
I was escorting a foreign radio journalist for whom I was acting as tour guide. Someone suggested we visit the zoo and thinking that it offered a different angle to her reporting, we agreed. She had her microphone ready to record the sounds that would add color to her documentary, while I played the role of “tourist,” snapping pictures right and left.
This was a child’s world into which we had accidentally stumbled and the children were everywhere. They were running, talking, sitting, jumping and simply smiling and being happy on a sunny day. They were completely comfortable and competent with the animals. One boy walked past with a cockatiel on his shoulder, while in pairs of two, other children carried large plastic bins with hay and poured them over the fence for sheep, goats, deer and Shaul the camel.
The night before, as on most nights for as long as these young children can likely remember, a mortar shell exploded nearby and gunfire was heard, but there was no tension evident on their faces or in their actions. More than 6000 mortars and rockets have been shot at their homes in the last five years and yet these children happily focused on the needs of the animals. This amazing zoo is located in Neve Dekalim, in the Gush Katif section of the Gaza Strip. It is an oasis of sanity in an insane world, a place of light and sunshine and peace.
Just outside Neve Dekalim, across the road from the zoo, live Palestinians. They dwell in squalor and dirt, a sharp and disturbing contrast to the colors and glory of the zoo and the children who are experiencing an incredibly well planned educational program teaching them about animals and responsibility. The homes of the Palestinians are not neatly arranged in rows, rubbish is piled all over and drab, colorless clothes swing in the gentle, hot breeze.
Barely a tree is in sight on the Palestinian side, little or no vegetation other than inside rows of greenhouses in the distance. Palestinian children play in the streets, even at a time when they should be in school. And across the street, just a few dozen meters away, Israeli children play inside a security fence hidden behind tall bushes and trees.
To further my task as tour guide, even in a place I had never been, I approached three men standing beside one of the animal cages, the only adults I was to see while in the zoo. Yes, the man in charge was willing to answer questions about his zoo, but preferred to speak in Hebrew. I was given the task of translating.
What is the purpose of the zoo? We asked David Amichai, the zookeeper who agreed to be interviewed. It’s an educational experience, he explained. I smiled at the obviousness of his answer, and wondered if it was possible for listeners of a radio broadcast to possibly imagine how educational this was, what a wonderful world David and the children of Neve Dekalim had created out of what was once empty, useless land that the neighboring Arabs called “cursed.”
It was cursed, they explained to the first Jews who arrived in the 1970s, because for centuries they had tried and failed to grow anything on these sand dunes. What green houses they have now across the road are largely due to the technology and assistance of the Israeli farmers who came, learned how to grow crops in sand, and conquer the desert. But that is now. Before the Jews came, there was nothing. Since the time of Abraham, the patriarch of the Jewish and Moslem world, said the mayor of Khan Yunis to the first Jews who arrived, the land would not yield and so it was considered cursed.
The mayor welcomed the Jews with bread and salt, a traditional Moslem ritual, because he believed that the Jews would make the land grow. I doubt even he could have imagined how prophetic would be his words. During our brief stay, we visited organic celery and pepper farms and heard about many of the other crops that grow there. Even more, we saw the green gardens around the homes and throughout the zoo.
The second question we asked the zookeeper was trickier. “In light of the scheduled disengagement, have you made arrangements for the animals?” Every resident had already been asked and answered similar questions about plans for their own future. Each gave the same answer, that the government had not offered them any real alternatives and no one knew where Sharon’s expulsion plans would take their families. One man did not know where his son, a decorated soldier who fell in the Lebanon war, would be reburied. A mother did not know where her young children would go to school. No one had thought of packing up homes built and furnished with years of attention and love. Packing up a zoo with hundreds of animals isn’t the same, David explained.
If it comes to it, other zoos in Israel have already made it clear they would welcome the animals from Gush Katif and give them a home, David told us “if, God forbid, we have to leave.” How interesting that the animals of Gush Katif have at least that security, while the residents do not.
“What will you do? How do you feel about leaving the zoo?” he was asked. His answer was heartbreaking. “I built this zoo”, he explained. “I have maintained it, and now, maybe I’ll have to take it apart.”
We thanked him for his time and, as we continued our tour of the zoo in quiet contemplation, I thought over the interviews that I’d heard during our brief visit. The mother, the farmer, the terrorist victim, the war veteran, the new immigrant, the bereaved father, the soldier, the children. From previous discussions, I knew that this journalist had been deeply affected by the poverty she was shown by the Palestinians as she prepared the groundwork for the documentaries she will produce. We spoke often of the squalor in which the Palestinians live, the hopelessness she perceives. Our comparative wealth was an obscenity next to their poverty, was the underlying message I received.
Before I had even known about the existence of the zoo, I had warned her that she would see beautiful parks that we had created for our children. It wasn’t fair, I told her the first time I met her, to simply take our parks and compare them to where Palestinian children play. It is too easy a trap in which to fall. It is too simple to conclude that those who have are guilty simply by virtue of the fact that there exist those who do not have.
I had tried to explain to this journalist from a far off land, that we are not to blame if we choose to spend our money on parks and zoos while the Palestinian leaders embezzle millions (if not billions) of dollars, because Palestinian terrorist groups buy mortars and not swings, Kassem rockets and not animal cages. The Karina A ship that was loaded with weapons purchased by the Palestinian Authority was worth millions of dollars. How many parks and zoos could the Palestinians have built with that money?
Thinking about the sadness I heard in David Amichai’s voice as he talked about dismantling something he clearly loved so much, I again felt a sense of anger at the irrational choices our government is making, and I felt anger at the unjust comparison of Palestinian poverty with our perceived opulence.
What harm does this zoo do to the Palestinian children? Did it cause them to live in squalor? Will dismantling this zoo make their lives better? Because we gave our children a place such as this, does that make us wrong? If they stopped the terror, they could come here, I explained. We could help them build a zoo, as we have helped give them work, health care, and so much more. There are so many options, once the violence stops.
Years ago, they chose hatred and mortars and incitement over building zoos and parks just as they chose to reject the state they were offered by the United Nations in favor of waging war to push us into the sea. They did not succeed then, but they kept trying, focusing their resources on war and not on peace, on weapons and not on parks. It is not fair to look at what the Israeli child has and find us guilty because Palestinian children do not have these things. Per capita, Palestinian refugees have received more aid than anyone else. More than the victims of the droughts in Sudan and Ethiopia, more than the tsunami survivors, more than those suffering in Darfur. When our nation was born, we were just as poor and we had refugees that had come from all over the world. We housed them, we nurtured them, and half a century later, we are a nation without refugees, a nation with beautiful parks and zoos.
Where has the more than 10 billion dollars in funding from the European Union gone? The answer clearly is not to those who needed it. Not to the children, not to the schools. Not to the hospitals. Not to the parks. Why is this zoo to blame if Palestinian money was given to buy Suha Arafat a luxurious villa? If Palestinian leaders are driving around in fancy cars and live in fancy homes, why do you blame us for building beautiful parks for our children?
To all of this, the journalist had no answer. The squalor, the poverty, the have nots. These are the images in her head that she took out of Gaza and what she will broadcast over the airwaves. Long before she ever arrived and long after she is gone, the images of Palestinian poverty will continue to frame her perspectives and therefore her journalism.
It is quite clear that there was squalor before the Israelis captured the Gaza Strip in 1967. Jewish residents told us that Palestinian poverty before they arrived was so bad, the Israelis were welcomed after the harsh rule of the Egyptians. The only difference is that now, with Israelis there, world media cares enough to report on the squalor, while pre-1967 it simply was not newsworthy.
We witnessed Palestinians building and working within the Jewish settlements. Clearly, they benefit from this relationship with jobs, a secure source of water and electricity, improved health care, better living conditions and more. One Palestinian told us all he wanted was peace. He did not mention a Palestinian homeland and he certainly did not say he wanted the land on which he stood. Sand it once was, cursed land that yielded nothing. Cursed sand it will be again, if Sharon’s expulsion plan is implemented.
Leave a Reply