Compassion Junkie

Guatemala...Welcome to Palestine

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Mon, 25 Feb 2013 17:36:00 +0000

It's heartbreaking to finally understand more of the reasons for the profound similarities that I witness between Guatemala and Palestine. It will require a minute or two of your time to learn the answer - I can't shrink this into a soundbite.

In 1982 when I was a student at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, my good friend and I put ourselves at risk to research the Israeli military’s puppet Palestinian administration in the West Bank. The “Village Leagues” could be described as armed militias, staffed by Palestinian collaborators and former criminals who were appointed by the Israeli military. Not only did my friend and I get an eye-full about the Israeli occupation, but while we were interviewing one of the Israeli military leaders in the West Bank, he made it clear that they had watched our every move and knew of every one of our meetings with Palestinians. (At that time, Israelis could be arrested for speaking with members of the Palestine Liberation Organization, which included almost every Palestinian in the West Bank.)

Back to the Village Leagues: If you were Palestinian at that time and needed any help at all, for example a visa for your son who was accepted to attend university in Europe, or even if you needed something as simple as a driver's license, you were forced to collaborate with the Village Leagues and turn in neighbors and even family members...which in turn meant arrest, imprisonment, torture, and sometimes death.

At around the same time, for another university course, I wrote a long paper on the United States' and Israel’s unholy alliance with the dictators of Central America. I learned about Israel’s arming and counter-insurgency training of the Guatemalan military. Many sources credited Israel as the “brains” behind the Guatemalan genocide of the Mayans, which spiked significantly in 1982 with stepped up Israeli aide.

A quote from ABC News: “'The Israeli soldier is the model for our soldiers,' proclaimed the chief of staff of the Guatemalan army. In 1982, Efraín Ríos Montt—the country’s first evangelical president and a general who took power by a coup—told ABC that his success was due to the fact that 'our soldiers were trained by Israelis.'"

What I experience here in this Mayan village of 13,000, is continual evidence of the devastating loss of trust between people and families. Even now, 16 years after the Peace Accords were signed, the effects of the war are glaring. When I first heard about the “Civilian Patrol” that operated here in San Pedro and in just about every other Mayan village in Guatemala during the war, I thought it sounded strangely similar to what I witnessed in Palestine. What I finally realized and confirmed through research, is that the Israeli system of forced collaboration in Palestine through the Village Leagues, is exactly what was exported to Guatemala.

From another article: “It is no accident that the Guatemalans looked to the Israelis for assistance in organizing their campaign against the Maya, and having followed their mentors' advice, wound up with something that looked quite a bit like the Israeli occupation of the Palestinian territories of the West Bank and the Gaza strip. One of the most oppressive features of Guatemala's pacification program was the 'Civilian Patrols' whose ranks were filled by coercion, with most joining out of fear of being called subversive, and thus marked for torture or execution.

“Those who did serve in the Patrols had to turn in their quota of 'subversives'. Otherwise they were forced to denounce their own neighbors and to execute them with clubs and fists in the village plaza.

“The Patrols are believed by most analysts to have been created by Israel. They had a profound effect on Mayan society, both psychologically, ‘a permanent violation of our values,’ as the country's Catholic bishops charged, and practically, as long shifts on Patrol prevented fulfillment of family and economic obligations.

“In 1983 the Guatemalan government estimated that 850 villages in the highlands had ‘Civilian Patrol’ units. The following year the U.S. embassy in Guatemala estimated that 900,000 men had been enrolled in the units, armed with Israeli assistance.

“In 1982 Israeli military advisers helped develop and carry out Guatemala's 'Plan Victoria,' the devastating scorched earth campaign that Rios Montt unleashed on the highland population. Rios Montt himself reported that the Israeli government was giving his administration help with the counterinsurgency plan called "Techo, tortilla y trabajo" (shelter, food and work). The "three T's" followed an earlier Rios program called Fusiles y Frijoles, or beans and bullets, where wholesale slaughter was combined with the provision of life's necessities to those willing to cooperate with the military.”

Guatemala...welcome to Palestine.

Hitting Home: The American Dream

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Mon, 04 Feb 2013 01:13:00 +0000

U.S. - Mexican Border Wall

Here in San Pedro La Laguna, I am part of a group of Guatemalans and foreigners who have been meeting over the past month with the goal of founding a center to promote Mayan Culture. Many tourists here would love a deeper dive into Mayan culture and spirituality but are challenged to find a way in. We wish to help fill that gap, while supporting the growing efforts of locals who are working to revive their culture.

Currently, if you meet the right person, you will be able to visit and learn about a sacred site, attend a fire ceremony, have a reading of your Mayan Cross, visit a traditional bone healer (curandero), or learn about traditional plant medicine. You could even find the one woman in the village who you can pay to fire up a Mayan sauna, called a temescal or "toj". The new center will help people connect with these teachers, healers, leaders and families who are keeping Mayan traditions alive. It will also offer classes in the local indigenous language, Tz'utujil, and Spanish lessons that focus on Mayan spirituality, known as "Cosmovision". We also envision the center as a place where people can contribute their unique skills and collaborate on community projects. For example, Compassionate Listening circles will be offered as a way to help build relationships and trust, in a community that is suffering the trans-generational effects of war.

By now you might be wondering what the connection is between this beautiful new effort and the picture of the U.S. - Mexican Wall at the top of this post? As our group was meeting a few nights ago to discuss a possible location for the new center, our host received a phone call and left the room to take it. He returned visibly shaken. He told us he just learned that a close friend of his had been shot by U.S. border police at the U.S. - Mexican Wall, while trying to enter the United States. This friend had only recently shared his decision to try to make it to the U.S. It was an economic decision, as it is for the vast majority of Guatemalan's who enter the U.S. illegally every year.

Here in San Pedro, the majority of workers and farmers make $6.50 for a long day of hard work. A cleaning woman earns about $1.00 per hour. A Spanish teacher can make $2.00 per hour and $3.00 per hour is considered a high wage. With the combination of racism and oppression against the indigenous Maya in Guatemala, many young men feel the temptation to journey to the U.S. to work, in hopes of supporting their families and returning with enough money to build a house or start a business.

Upon hearing this sad news, we lit a candle and stuck it on the red concrete floor with melted wax, turned out the light, and prayed for Antonio. We then listened quietly to our friend Juan, as he tried to make sense of this tragic news. Another Mayan friend leaned over and whispered to me, "This is the 'American Dream'. I also wanted to go at one time, but it's not my dream anymore."

This post is in honor of a young man named Antonio, and his family and friends who are mourning his early departure. It's also in honor of Antonio's friend Juan, who he left behind in San Pedro with a dream of helping to rebuild his culture. Juan is bursting with energy to share his passion for culture with the children of San Pedro, this village of 13,000 Tz'utujil Maya. I pray for his success and for the success of all of the people working hard for a better future for their children; I pray for a future where the beautiful young men of San Pedro no longer think about the American Dream.

(**Please contact me if you'd like Spanish lessons on Skype with one of the men involved with the new center. They are linguists and Spanish teachers, and have a lot to teach about Mayan spirituality and culture. Wherever you live, this is one way that you can directly support the reclaiming of indigenous culture that is taking place here in San Pedro.)

Here are a few resources that I've collected about the Wall:

Article from Democracy Now website: Texas Agent Shoots Dead 2 Guatemalans Near Border

Video from The Onion: Mexico Builds Border Wall to Keep Out U.S. Assholes

A short piece about illegal immigration by an anonymous author that I stumbled on:

“Tortilla Curtain” or “Iron Curtain”

We have a long way to go to resolve why anyone wants to risk everything to come to an ungrateful country. Yes, illegal immigrants are a strain on our health system and our government provided human services. In exchange, they go to work in places most young workers perceive as undignified - yucky jobs that even the poorest Americans would turn away from. These enthusiastic pioneers step right in and roll up their sleeves without complaint, mostly out of fear. After improving their language skills, they move forward into their own service businesses. They are motivated and focused on upward mobility. Strange enough, they even send support back to their families back home.

They endure all the injustice America can dump on them. They are prey to crooked scams and believe the most despicable among us. They are profiled by police and set upon by bigoted youth gangs. Yes, crooks cross into this country, too. They become targets for America’s home-grown crooks who resent intrusions into their turf.

Illegal immigrants are the under-belly for our foundation service industries. Get used to cleaning up your own hotel room, paying more for child and elderly care and mowing your own lawn. These immigrants leave a poor system that offers respect from their peers to a ‘rich’ system that treats them like garbage.

Oh yeah, they must be crazy. Send them back to Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras. Lets start recruiting replacement workers from your family. Start now. The wages will surely improve because you are an American.

The Altar of this Moment

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Tue, 25 Oct 2011 20:45:00 +0000

Place everything you can perceive –
Everything you can
See, hear, smell, taste, or touch,
Upon the altar of this moment
And give thanks.
It is over so soon –

This expression,
This single moment of your precious life,
This one heart
Pounding itself open
With fear or wild joy,

This one breath rising
In the cold winter air
Smoothly and gently
Or coughing and sputtering,
Bow, while you can, before
This one taste
Of afternoon tea
Warming its way to your belly,
Or the fragrant orange
Exploding its sweet juice
In your grateful mouth.

You have to love
The antics of your mind,
Imagining life should only be sweet.
The bitter makes the sweet; and life is both.
It is whole, like you,
Before you think yourself to pieces.
Place this moment’s pain and confusion on the altar, too,
And give special thanks for such grace
That wakes you up from sleeping through life.
Pain is greatly under-rated as a pointer to Unknowing,
Yet greatly over-rated when taken as identity.

In this moment,
Your eyes meet mine and there is a single looking.
What is peering from behind our masks?
Can it touch itself across the room?
Place your palms together;
Touch your holy skin.

In another moment it will shed itself.
What will you be then?
What were you before you had two hands?
What are you now?
You cannot capture That
And place It on the altar of this moment.
It is the altar,
And this moment’s infinite expressions,
And the Seeing,
And its own devotion to itself.
You are That.

~Dorothy S. Hunt

My Birthday Wish, by Leah Green

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Sat, 16 Jul 2011 08:03:00 +0000

Today is my birthday. As facebook posts came in last night with birthday wishes from Palestinian and Israeli peacemakers – people who I’ve been so privileged to meet, listen to, work with and learn from over the past several decades, I realized that I have a birthday wish also.

Writing today as a woman, as a mother, a peacemaker, a global citizen, a spiritual human being and American Jew, my wish this year is for a Palestinian state. Not because I’m some great fan of the modern nation state with all of its many perils, not the least of which is nationalism and ethnocentrism…but because Palestine is a nation, and deserves its place among the other 192 sister countries that comprise the United Nations.

This September, the Palestinian Authority will petition the United Nations for membership, with plans to declare statehood by the end of the year. Most analysts believe that if it came to a vote today, the resolution would pass the U.N. General Assembly with the support of at least 130 out of 193 member nations. Gearing up to face what one Israeli leader called a “political and diplomatic tsunami” coming their way, some of our own political leaders in the U.S. are beginning to threaten the Palestinian leadership with severe measures if they persist with their “audacious” request for independence, including a Security Council veto on the vote, and cutting U.S. aid.

“Statehood is a game-changer,” said Gershon Baskin, co-Director of the respected think tank, Israel-Palestine Center for Research and Information. “Once Palestine is a member state of the United Nations, Israel is no longer occupying ‘undefined disputed territory.’”

"Palestinians prayed near Israeli soldiers on Friday.
They were protesting land confiscation
in the village of Qusra, near Nablus."
from NY times, April 2, 2011

This “game” is sorely in need of changing. These past decades, I’ve not only been listening, I’ve been watching. The territorial views from all of the high hills and vistas in the West Bank reveal a vast and sprawling network of Israeli settlements extending deep into the heart of Palestinian territory. Half a million settlers – roughly 15% of the Israeli population, now inhabit over 200 trailer outposts, towns and large cities in the West Bank and East Jerusalem, and their growth continues unabated. A comprehensive report published last year by the Israeli Human Rights Organization B’tselem, which included analysis of aerial photography and relied on Israeli military data, shows that settlements control 42% of West Bank land (this figure does not include substantial additional territory controlled by the Israeli military).

This year, we in the international community have a significant opportunity to help bring sanity and international law to bear on this disastrous and even suicidal settlement policy, by encouraging our lawmakers and governments to support Palestinian statehood, and nurture a healthy future for Israelis and Palestinians.

Even if this is not “your” cause; even if you don’t know much about it, please take some time today and join me in a heartfelt vision for historical and ancestral healing for Israel and Palestine. Send your love – because this is how it’s going to happen, with love, not with more hatred or anger or violence. We don’t need more arguing about victims and perpetrators, we need loving acts that will relieve this vicious polarization and acknowledge the humanity of everyone involved. Send your love – imagine the most graceful, peaceful transition to Palestinian statehood, with humane relations with her neighbors; imagine dignity, justice and safety for all…and please, peaceful nights and sweet dreams.

Thank you for listening. This has been my wish for decades, actually. I hope it will be your wish too. I’m blowing out the candles now.

Leah Green

Founder, Compassionate Listening Project.

"To be free is not merely to cast off one's chains,

but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others."

— Nelson Mandela

Walking with Death, by Leah Green

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Wed, 06 Oct 2010 05:40:00 +0000

Ten years ago, I discovered a beautiful guided mediation created by Joanna Macy, based on the four divine abodes of the Buddha, and I began to use it in my trainings. At one point in the exercise, you gaze in silence into the eyes of a partner, imagining that you have known this partner through all time and all relations: as a parent, as a child, as lovers, and as an enemy. The meditation - in its entirety - helps us experience the depth of our interconnectedness and awakens compassion for ourselves and others.

I don’t think I’ve ever experienced the power of this practice as strongly as I have over these past two months. My mother is dying, and with the turning of this wheel, our relationship has transformed - following an unspoken, natural order, where parent and child switch roles. And I find myself once again like a new mother, often with a fierce desire to take care of her needs and ease her discomforts.

For all those who have walked this path of losing a parent, my compassion flows out to you with new eyes. Like childbirth, there is no way I could possibly have known the taste and texture of this experience before walking this road myself. It is a unique experience for each person, and grief is often a common denominator. Wise teachers remind us that in our grief is our praise, because we can only grieve that which we love.

Grief comes in powerful, rolling waves. Sometimes the waves are gentle and they fill my heart with a kind of soft heat and light. Sometimes the waves are intense and knock me over. There’s no predicting when or where they will come, but I am learning to open to these waves, and the powerful opportunities they bring for praising and celebrating my mother’s life.

As I watch my mother turn inward day by day, losing her strength, losing her grip on her memory and other physical processes, there is also a more subtle process going on. It’s as if the onion-like layers of her self – her persona and personality, are shedding. And as these layers drop away, her essence shines more brightly. I see her with fresh eyes – I see the loving woman who so easily connects heart to heart with people; who hears their stories; who wants to bring a smile to their face. I see the gentle mother who did the best she could. There is nothing to forgive – there is only praise for her good intentions and for the greatest gift that a child can possibly receive in life – unconditional love.

As my mother is surrounded now by loving family and friends, it’s as if she is storing up all the love that she can for her great journey home. And we become her midwives – holding vigil with her and offering her the comforts that we can: scratching her back (her greatest joy), reading poetry, playing soft music, feeding her ice chips and sips of ginger ale, massaging her feet, sharing simple stories from our lives, holding her hand while she sleeps. Through it all, she is still joking – still making us and the hospice nurses laugh sometimes.

As I feel her struggle to let go of her attachments and surrender to the great mystery, I witness the immense courage that it takes for her to let go of all that she has loved in life. These days, there are moments when I see the beauty around me with a new intensity – as if I’m seeing it all for her, too. And I know that this is preparation for my own death as well - as I, too, must find the strength and courage to say goodbye.

Kindness

by Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go

so you know how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every wherelike a shadow or a friend.

Rethinking Our Idea of the 'Perpetrator'

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Sat, 21 Aug 2010 00:11:00 +0000

by guest blogger, Catherine Keene

Catherine Keene

When I first begin to talk to people about Compassionate Listening, I explain that our work requires us to listen to all sides of a conflict – both victims and perpetrators – in order to get a better understanding of the whole situation and find the humanity in all parties involved. Although most of the people I speak to believe compassion to be an important virtue, many of them have a difficult time understanding why we would want to listen to those whom we believe to be perpetrators. At best, they believe this is a misuse of our time, as we should be listening more to the ones who are suffering than to the ones who are causing the suffering. At worst, they worry that our work will cause us inadvertently to validate the actions of the perpetrators and thereby encourage them to continue doing harm. So although they admire our compassion for others and our good intentions, they think we are somewhat misled.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about this concern, and I've come to realize that it arises from a disagreement over what it is that causes someone to become a "perpetrator." If you believe a perpetrator has no conscience and is fundamentally destined toward committing evil actions, there might be no incentive to listen to this person, as there would be no hope for change. Or if you believe the perpetrator is completely illogical or even insane, you might see listening to this person as a waste of time because their perspective is outside reality and there is no point at which you can connect with them. In both instances, you might easily feel justified in listening only to the victims, rather than to all sides of a conflict.

But what if the party we think of as a perpetrator is neither sociopathic nor insane, but simply confused or acting out of fear? Will we help them see why they are wrong if we isolate ourselves from them or physically or emotionally attack them? Can we, as listeners, help to resolve a conflict by taking sides and labeling people? Based on my own personal experience – as well as the listening I have done overseas – I would argue that taking sides only causes all involved parties to cling more tightly to their own views and actions, regardless of which label they are given. Those who are called "perpetrators" often feel that they are being attacked by the outside party that labels them (and thus believe they are the victims), so in order to defend and justify themselves, they act out in retaliation and cause more pain. Similarly, those who are used to being called "victims" often believe themselves to be morally superior to the opposing party and look forward to a time when they can get their revenge. In this way, they become the next perpetrators. This polarization causes both parties to remain stuck in conflict, and the pain continues on.

I am reminded of Einstein's claim that "we can't solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them." So what new type of thinking can we use to break out of this cycle? I believe the answer comes in listening to both sides and admitting to ourselves and to others that we are all to blame for these conflicts. Every one of us has said and done things that hurt others – sometimes daily – and the more we attempt to justify ourselves and protect our egos, the more conflict we create. We are all victims and perpetrators in a multitude of ways. Even when we know that we are extremely fallible ourselves, it is so difficult for us to stop judging others and attempting to make them wrong, in order to assert our own identities. But we must keep in mind that when we label someone and judge them, we are internally distancing ourselves from this person. This eliminates the possibility for us to feel compassion towards them, as there can be no "suffering with" when we are caught up in making them wrong.

Just today I found myself becoming trapped in this polarization when I was reading the morning news. I read about a Christian Republican groupin Florida that is planning to commemorate September 11 this year by burning copies of the Quran. I will confess that my first reaction was outrage at the people planning this event, as I disagree that we will be able to make up for the trauma and loss of life in 2001 by insulting almost one quarter of the world's population and causing them to feel unsafe. At that moment, I most wanted to call these organizers and yell at them and tell them that their actions will only spread more hatred. But the more I thought about this response, the more I realized it would not be any more helpful for me to yell at them than it is for them to blame all Muslims for the 9/11 attacks. If I were to call them in anger, they would feel as though I were attacking them and not recognizing their right to observe the anniversary as they wish. They would then see themselves as the victims in this situation and try to convince others to stand up for their cause. I would get angrier, and they would feel more justified in planning their event. Nothing would be solved, and the tension would grow deeper.

So let's see if Compassionate Listening can free us from this trap. Instead of verbally attacking them and trying to make them wrong, I would like to do something truly courageous and attempt to listen to them. I will still call them, but instead of going in with the intent to "hit people with my peace sign," as Pema Chodron would say, I want to remain compassionate towards them and find out why they are so frightened of Muslims that they feel the need to launch an assault against them. If given the opportunity, I will explain that my fiancé is Muslim and I'm reading the Quran this month for Ramadan and that it is actually a book of peace that is full of wisdom, if we take the time to read it. Maybe I'll even ask them if one person there would be willing to read it, before they decide to burn it. (Of course this is based on the assumption that they have not yet read the Quran, but I find that most people who rant about how evil it is have never opened it.) But mostly I want to take the time to listen to them – not by pretending that I agree with what they are doing, but by explaining that it's important for me to understand why they feel the need to do this. It's important for me to remain connected to everyone, especially those with whom I most disagree.

In conclusion, I hope one day we will realize that the peace so many of us desire can never come from anger and hatred – it can only come when we are in harmony with all beings. So long as we insist on labeling some people "perpetrators," we must continue to label others "victims." But if we have the desire and courage, we can eventually get beyond these judgments and begin to practice real compassion.

Cathy Keene is the Managing Director of the Compassionate Listening Project

In Praise of Gene Knudsen Hoffman, Founder of Compassionate Listening

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Wed, 04 Aug 2010 03:11:00 +0000

Gene Knudsen Hoffman, the originator of Compassionate Listening as a practice, died peacefully on July 19, 2010. Gene was a mother and grandmother, international peacemaker, counselor, Quaker, poet, actress, writer, teacher and so much more. She was a remarkable individual who influenced many during her lifetime.

Gene was my treasured mentor from 1996 - 2004, until her mind rejected coherent patterns of recognition and communication. Even though I lost her years ago, her death has touched me deeply.

Over the past two weeks I've been sifting and reading through a huge file of her letters, transmissions, and articles. Carrying around my three-inch thick “Gene file” like a precious jewel, I have been amazed at her voluminous outpouring and sharing. Some people never find or recognize their mentors in life. I am grateful that I found Gene, and that we both recognized the nature of our relationship. (Photo of Gene and Leah by Carol Hwoschinsky, 1997)

In the early 1990s, I was leading citizen delegations to Israel and Palestine for the Earthstewards Network. I felt frustrated that my work seemed to be adding to the polarization of the conflict in a part of the world where I had lived, and that I loved so dearly. I brought participants from the United States who were mostly pro-Palestinian or pro-Israeli. Almost everyone seemed to be caught up with side-taking. I was seeking a new framework for my efforts and continued to be drawn to the field of reconciliation. I found the framework I was looking for in Gene's articles.

Gene had begun her international listening work in the 1980s in the former Soviet Union. After Glasnost, like many working in the citizen diplomacy arena, she turned her reconciliation efforts to Israel and Palestine. As a young peace activist, I came across Gene’s articles and pamphlets regularly. We were both members of the Fellowship of Reconciliation (F.O.R.), an organization she joined in 1952 and had worked with intimately. We both began our listening work in the Middle East in 1990 and had overlapping interests.

I finally called Gene in the spring of 1996, and invited her to join my next delegation and teach us how to practice Compassionate Listening with Israelis and Palestinians. Gene and I met the following week in Oregon. Despite our forty-year age difference, we discovered an instant “soul sister” connection that bridged the generation gap. It seemed that with every subject we discussed, we found another nest of connections. We knew and loved the same people, the same projects, authors, and ideas. We shared similar experiences and feelings about our activist histories, and the "enemy making" we experienced in the peace movement. We acknowledged the challenges of working with our own self-righteousness.

Gene immediately agreed to come with me to the Middle East that November. She also felt that Richard Deats, former Director of F.O.R. and then editor of Fellowship magazine, would be ideal for the delegation. Richard was an expert in nonviolence whom Gene had wanted to introduce to Yasser Arafat, founder of the Palestine Liberation Organization.

From the day we met, Gene had a mission to educate me about her reconciliation efforts, and most specifically, her “Compassionate Listening” work, and I had an equal hunger to absorb her transmissions. After our first delegation together, it was clear that she recognized me as one who would carry her work forward.

Gene writes about our partnership and our mutual commitment to reconciliation: “Sixteen years of one-on-one listening passed. My journeys resulted in more articles, more explanations, but no converts, as far as I knew. Before Leah, no one else had wanted to work with me because they said I didn’t advocate for anything. When you advocate, you pick a side and you have enemies. I didn’t take a side. When people asked me who I was advocating for, I told them, ‘I’m advocating for reconciliation.’ “
(excerpt from: “A Lifetime of Global Peacemaking: An Interview with Gene Knudsen Hoffman,” The Mindfulness Bell, 2002, and her 1997 essay, “An Enemy Is One Whose Story We Have Not Heard”)

I was the eager recipient of Gene’s typed notes, letters and articles on Compassionate Listening, Love, Forgiveness, Anger, and post traumatic stress syndrome (PTSD). She sent hand-written letters outlining details of our shared projects and practical applications. She sent notes and cards about her favorite books, and quotes and teachings from various teachers she admired. Two of the people she considered her closest mentors were Adam Curle, Senior Quaker Mediator, and Thich Nhat Hanh, Buddhist Monk, peacemaker, and poet.

It was F.O.R. who had sponsored Thich Nhat Hanh’s first U.S. and international speaking tour in 1966. Gene wrote, “I was so interested in this young Buddhist who had so much to contribute to peace. In 1985 I went for a month to Plum Village, his center in France. While there, he asked me to organize his first retreat with Vietnam Veterans, which I did. Thay, as we learned to call him, is particularly strong and powerful in his teachings on reconciliation. The international program I founded, Compassionate Listening, is based on his teachings.” (from the Mindfulness Bell)

Gene helped me secure funding to produce a film of our second Compassionate Listening delegation in Israel and Palestine – this time for Jewish participants only, including religious leaders. We dedicated the film, Children of Abraham, to “Gene Knudsen Hoffman, Compassionate Listening Pioneer.” In early 1999, shortly after the release of the film, Gene began to receive so many invitations to screen the film that she thought she would have to hire someone to help her. She wrote that she was “overwhelmed, but of course thrilled” to watch the active spread of Compassionate Listening. (In the same letter, she encouraged me to lead delegations to listen to Milosevic and Saddam Hussein.)

Gene developed a Compassionate Listening curriculum in 1998 and began offering classes in Santa Barbara. The following year, I began to offer Compassionate Listening trainings in the U.S. with a different training model. Neither of our trainings focused on the Middle East. By this point, we were teaching what we called the “pure practice” of Compassionate Listening in the U.S., which was applicable to everyone in daily life. Several times, Gene, our Training Director Carol Hwoschinsky and I would gather with our growing community of Compassionate Listening practitioners for special weekends to deepen our collective understanding and practices. (Gene’s curriculum is included in her Sourcebook on Compassionate Listening, referenced at the end of this article. You will find our calendar of trainings here)

Despite Gene’s intention of being a full partner in the non-profit organization (we had changed the name from Mid-East Citizen Diplomacy to the Compassionate Listening Project), she eventually came to terms with her limitations and wrote to me that her traveling days were over. She asked to remain on the Board of Directors as “Co-Founder, and originator of Compassionate Listening.”

In 2002, I founded the Jewish-German Compassionate Listening track with my German friend Beate Ronnefeldt, a trainer of Nonviolent Communication. In the last letter I received from Gene, dated April 10, 2004, she thanked and honored me for pioneering the Jewish-German work, which she called “thrilling” and “an ambitious undertaking.”

Gene had thanked me profusely those last two years for this project - a testimony to her passion for Jewish-German reconciliation. In her work in Israel in the early 1990s, Gene had researched and written extensively about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder among Jewish Holocaust survivors in Israel, and the role of PTSD in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. She had interviewed Israeli psychologists who were considered experts in the field, and published articles and a pamphlet on the subject called “No Royal Road to Reconciliation.”

Those of us who study, practice, and teach Compassionate Listening can continue to learn much from Gene’s articles and essays. We practitioners have a powerful lineage, and our work is infused with Gene’s research, study, and practice in the art of reconciliation.

She was a pioneer in a new field, always seeking to clarify and challenge her fellow peacemakers. In a letter from Gene to a fellow colleague, dated June 3, 2000, Gene writes:
“About nonviolence: I question whether a gospel of nonviolence will save us. I think we have the doctrine, but not the necessary respect and concern for the unhealed suffering of oppressors and other violent people. It seems we rarely consider listening to them as a possibility for wider understanding. Instead, we have Nuremberg laws, and kill or otherwise destroy perpetrators through vengeance. We forget that Gandhi spent much of his time with his ‘enemies,’ listening to them and learning how to love them. I think it was his loving truth which was grounded in his respect for them as human beings that enabled them to set India free.”

In August 2001, Gene wrote to me: “I think I’ve found a motto we can all use as the subtitle of ‘Compassionate Listening’ on publications, stationary, and brochures. I think it expresses in a ‘nutshell’ what we are doing. It’s the title of one of my essays – ‘An Enemy is One Whose Story We Have Not Heard.’ What do you think of that?”

I love to think about Gene’s delight, knowing how far her work has traveled, and how many thousands have embraced her understanding of listening to those we consider the “other” or our “enemy.” Anthony Manousos’ book about Gene has brought her life and teachings into the hands of thousands (I've referenced Anthony's book below. You can also read his beautiful tribute to Gene.)
We at the Compassionate Listening Project have taught all over the world at conferences, universities, churches, synagogues, mediation centers…with untold numbers of individuals integrating it into their own work and projects. We have taught Israeli and Palestinian peace leaders over the past decade, and in 2003 we created an Advanced Training and Facilitator Certification track in the U.S. We now have 23 facilitators with almost half that number currently working towards their certification. As a non-profit organization, our key challenge is having adequate staff to keep up with the requests for training.

The Compassionate Listening Project extends our loving arms to Gene and her family during this time of loss. We offer our deep respect and gratitude for all she gifted to us and to the world.

I honor you, Gene, for your remarkable lifetime quest in service to personal and collective healing. Thank you for your love, belief and investment in me personally, and in our wider community of compassionate listeners. You are and will remain the founder of Compassionate Listening, and the birth-mother of a movement.

With great love for you,

Leah
Executive Director, Compassionate Listening Project

To learn more about Gene and her Compassionate Listening work, I highly recommend reading:

Compassionate Listening and Other Writings, Essays by Gene Knudsen Hoffman, Quaker Peace Activist and Mystic; Edited, with introductory biography, by Anthony Manousos Click here to learn more about the book.

Sourcebook on Compassionate Listening
Click here to download Gene's free sourcebook.

Gene’s essays: Click here to read.

Gene’s memorial will be Sunday, August 8, at 2pm at La Casa de Maria (800 El Bosque Road, Santa Barbara 93108).

Listening Through Dementia

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 01:13:00 +0000

By Guest Blogger, YS Thorpe

My friend, who is 91, has non-Altzheimer's dementia. In 2003, already experiencing the frightening signs, she said "I think I'm entering a new phase of my life. I want to think of it as an adventure." She lives today in a locked-door Altzheimer's care facility. She does not know my name.

I cannot not go see her there. Some days I think I just can't go. I go anyway.

Once she was verbal, colorful, vivacious, an accomplished writer, actress, poet, outspoken activist. Now words escape her. All her story lines have come untied.

I think this relationship now asks more of me than lies within my capabilities, yet I show up. Something beyond understanding holds me steady just past what I'd think I'd choose. I listen.

With my entire body, the only listening that counts now, I take in her gestures and her eyes. The rhythms of her breathing, her uncertain gait, her changing face speak for her, teach me to hear.

When she still spoke she said of her condition "The worst is when I don't remember that I don't remember." Today there is nothing for this space without a past but to be a listening presence, embodied: beyond my preferences, my dread (will I be next?), beyond any other place I might think I'd rather be, beyond the insidious desire to make it better, to contribute something of more measurable value, to do something, I am required simply to be simple, bare attention with no frills no fix no facile hope.

On occasion she strikes out with trembling fists against those who would "redirect" her. She has always been a majestic force of nature and does not take easily to operating within reduced autonomy. I am grateful for those whose job it is to get her to the shower, then the dining room, to bed.

At times in spite of high intention my heart wilts. I promise to return tomorrow, or the next day, another day, soon. I wish I weren't so grateful I know the door code, I can leave.

I always return, refreshed. Kiss, touch, eyes, skin, gesture give back my friend to me through ever-changing rhythms, textures, and I hear her present "yes" with a sweetness I've not found in the fleeting enchantments of romance, the delights of measurable worldly success.

No romance, no measuring this! At best clear sight, clear-hearing heart, willing steps into a deep unknowing, a vast home I could find easy to resist.

The Buddhists speak of awareness, of sickness, old age, death as "dukkha" / "suffering." Of our shared time I catch myself starting to say "profound," then the word itself seems a rude, heavy timber crashing into the subtleties of body and mind I dreamed of telling you, lived only beyond words.

Her total silence offers a new and reassuring place for me to discover my own ways of knowing home.

It seems to me she is almost completely focused on an internal "beyond," in relation to which all else is peripheral. So that in brief moments of "reconnecting" it is as if her attention has slipped back out to us through a window, then retreats and the window silently closes again.

She resists intrusion, and I say bless her! I am with her mostly in silence. Yesterday I was feeding her and she smiled the most beatific smile & I melted, but when I whispered "I love you so much" the window closed; even whispered words seemed too much, intrusive. I think there was too much of "I" in them.

"For better or for worse." Plain friendship's vow. Who is not asked to befriend?

There is no escaping this call to care. I'll go today and every cell of my body will be required—no, invited—to be this stripped-down living unnamed yet recognized presence, a new compassion, a way of being listening itself. No more, no less, and absolutely nothing "else."

Within the condition our world calls dementia, I hear the angels sing. They sing for my friend, they sing for me.
(c)2010 YS Thorpe

Extending a hand in peace

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 20:23:00 +0000

By Guest Blogger, Yael Petretti, Jerusalem

For over four years, captive Israel Defense Forces soldier, Gilad Shalit, has been held by Hamas in Gaza. His fate has been the subject of an intensely emotional debate here in Israel. His parents, Noam and Aviva Shalit, have led the campaign to pressure the Israeli government to procure Gilad’s release, even if it means releasing hundreds of Palestinian prisoners, many of them perpetrators of violence against Israelis, from Israeli prisons. The Shalits are supported by much of the citizenry here, especially because almost everyone serves in the army, an army whose morale depends in large part on the assurance that no soldier will be left behind or abandoned in enemy hands.

Others point to the danger posed by freeing as many as a thousand potentially violent Palestinian prisoners into our midst. They say that, as painful as it is to decide against making the prisoner trade with Hamas, the greater public security demands it. Shalit’s family and their supporters counter that Israel’s security forces are capable of handling the threat. Besides, Aviva Shalit points out, Israel released hundreds of Palestinian prisoners in 2006, after Gilad’s abduction.

As this debate rages, a number of Palestinian families in East Jerusalem will be reaching the first anniversary of their being forcibly thrown out of their homes onto the street on August 2, 2009. Their homes have been taken over by Jewish settlers. Those who moved into the Ghawi family house placed a giant menorah and Israeli flag on its roof, just in case there was any question about ownership. Every Friday afternoon since November, there has been a demonstration against this settler takeover of Palestinian homes at the entrance of the Sheikh Jarrah neighborhood where the Ghawi and Hanoun families live.

Despite their own suffering, Nasser Ghawi persuaded his family and others in the Sheikh Jarrah neighborhood to “extend a hand in peace” to the Shalit family by joining the massive march from Shoresh into Jerusalem last week. When I learned of this, I called him to tell him what a strong and beautiful gesture this was.

Between 15,000 and 20,000 marchers arrived in Jerusalem’s Independence Park for a rally on behalf of Gilad Shalit. Just before the rally, I found Gilad’s father, Noam, behind the stage. I wanted him to know of the Sheikh Jarrah Palestinian families’ expression of solidarity with him and his family. He replied that he was grateful for support from everyone, regardless of religion or ethnicity. He asked me to relay his thanks to them.

Sadly, I was unsuccessful in getting the MC of the rally to name the Palestinian families along with all the others he thanked for joining the march.
A few days later, Nasser Ghawi told me, with his characteristic crooked smile, that he and his family had been stopped by the police near the Prime Minister's residence, as theiy marched with the Shalit supporters. They were held there, one block away from the rally, for two and a half hours until the rally was finished. I do not know how Nasser and his family manage to maintain their humanity and even a sense of sad-sack humor in the face of the brutal treatment they have received at the hands of the Israelis. I do know that Israeli society is the poorer for missing this opportunity to take that hand extended in human caring.

Yael Petretti is a Compassionate Listening facilitator. currently living in Jerusalem.

Israel and Palestine, from a Buddhist Perspective

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Wed, 07 Jul 2010 23:25:00 +0000

By Guest Blogger, Catherine Keene

"However innumerable sentient beings are, I vow to save them."

So begins the first line of the Bodhisattva Vow, a sacred prayer that Mahayana Buddhists recite when they make the commitment to postpone their own path to Nirvana so that they might stay behind on this earth and help free others from suffering. The purpose of the vow is to reassign one's own good deeds to the rest of humanity and to promise to return to this life again and again in order to offer assistance until all beings have reached enlightenment. For Mahayana Buddhists, this is the ultimate show of solidarity and compassion.

I took this vow three years ago out of my love for humanity and compulsion to help others, but I had no way of knowing then just how much this vow would affect my everyday life until I began traveling to Israel and Palestine. In a land trapped in the creation of enemies and violence and polarization, the concept of not resting until *all beings* have been saved is a bit unfamiliar, to say the least. Most people feel compassion for those who are suffering and want justice, but only when it's for the side that they determine is most deserving. If you call their attention to pain felt by the "others," they either refuse to accept that such pain exists, or they minimize it, as though it were inconsequential. Unfortunately, it seems that few people even attempt to "hold the whole" when it comes to the Holy Land.

I often joke that practicing Compassionate Listening makes you become strangely unpopular, and this is never as true as when it comes to discussing this conflict. Many of my Israeli and Jewish and Christian friends have simply told me that I must be lying when I've tried to talk to them about the settler violence in Hebron or the military actions taken in Gaza. I've been accused of being brainwashed and flat out anti-Semitic. Similarly, when I've tried to talk to some of my Palestinian and Muslim friends about why Israel needs to exist and why violence is immoral and hurts everyone, I've been called anti-Muslim and been told to "go back to America, because you'll never understand." No one is hated as much as the one who refuses to choose a side.

So what is a Buddhist to do? How do we tell people from both sides that we want to help them, but only when it doesn't involve forsaking anyone else? If we end the occupation of the West Bank and knock down the Separation Wall and end the blockade around Gaza, the status of human rights in the Middle East will be considerably better, but our work will still not be done until the Israelis are also safe. And if we stop the rocket attacks on Sderot and make it possible for Israelis to travel anywhere in the world and obliterate anti-Semitism once and for all, it will be a glorious day, but it won't be true progress until violence and racism against the Palestinians also end. No solution will be complete until it treats everyone on both sides as equals and protects them all from suffering.

This conflict is so intense and disturbing that I sometimes find myself at a loss for how to help or even what to think about the situation. It can become very easy to blame individual politicians or one particular subgroup - be them the settlers or Hamas - for all the violence and atrocities. But no matter how inhumane the situation becomes, my Buddhist practice reminds me that it does no good to take sides. The ones with the worst inner pain - who then act out in violence against others - are the ones with whom we will spend the most time, as they will continue to be reborn again and again. So we must remember that there is no separation or difference between us and them. We are just as responsible for their actions as we are our own. And the more we try to isolate ourselves and judge one another for our differences, the longer we're all going to be stuck here together.

In summary, I am reminded of a brief but wise koan that I call upon anytime I wish to regain inner balance and deepen my Compassionate Listening practice:

A group of monks once asked their Zen master how it was that he was always able to feel compassion for other people. His response: "What *other* people?"

Cathy Keene is the Administrative Director of the Compassionate Listening Project. She will be co-leading our next training delegation in Israel and Palestine, in late March, 2011

(Please feel free to post a comment. You won't see it immediately, as we have to confirm it, but we deeply appreciate your contributions.)

Gratitude from Sulhita Youth Project

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Fri, 02 Jul 2010 05:22:00 +0000

Dear compassionate listeners,

In the name of Sulhita youth leaders and many more youth participants who have been and will be in our Sulhita meetings, we would like to thank you from the depth of our hearts for the experience with you.

You gave us a great feeling of being listened to. At this time it's so hard to find someone to listen to you and to really be interested in who you are and how you feel. Sometimes our work can be so hard and exhausting, especially when the conflict and the violence is getting stronger...sometimes we feel so alone.
Your compassionate being was very energizing for all of us...we all went out full with vital energies and hope, with many ideas of more that can we do...you can't imagine.
I am excited to thank you for this.
With love from us,

Elad Vezana, Sulhita Youth Coordinator

(click here to read about our meeting with the Sulhita Youth Project director and participants)

to learn more:

visit the Sulha website
click here to read the story of young Leaders who meet despite the "walls of fear" (wait for the pdf to load)
click here to support the work of Sulhita Youth Project

Thank you to the beautiful women of Palestine

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Sat, 19 Jun 2010 20:41:00 +0000

...for your participation in the Compassionate Listening training. It was a great joy and honor to be with these women who came from Nablus, Jenin, Ramallah, Bethlehem, Beit Jala and Hebron. A special thank you to the Holy Land Trust for hosting/organizing this training, and to the Foundation for Global Community, the Tikvah Fund, and individual donors for making this a reality. The women expressed great appreciation for the 2.5 day training, and we'll be considering next steps...including Palestinian men and women together, Advanced Training, and training for leaders from Palestinian factions.. Stay tuned!

Publish Post

A Palestinian Boy

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Thu, 17 Jun 2010 20:07:00 +0000

For the past two days I've been facilitating a Compassionate Listening training for Palestinian women from all corners of the West Bank. It's a privilege to listen to these strong and courageous women. I've heard a lot of stories about the children, so tonight, I decided to finish this post I began last week about Ibrahim, a fourteen year old boy whose parents we met two weeks ago, during our delegation.

Our group of 25 compassionate listeners travelled to Jamal and Saadiye’s West Bank home to meet with members of "Wounded Crossing Borders" - Israeli Jews and West Bank Palestinians who have been wounded in the conflict, and have decided to reach out to do the hard work of seeking the humanity on the "other side". We were about forty people altogether, and we happily mingled on the patio, talking in small groups for the first hour, until we gathered for formal introductions and dialogue.

A Palestinian member introduced himself and told us that at the beginning it was very difficult for him to meet Israelis: “I was in prison 3 times and I was shot. I got an invitation to meet with Israelis at the Dead Sea. There have been many, many meetings, including in Bosnia, Switzerland, Jerusalem and in the West Bank.”

An Israeli member added: “We are forty members, working together for two and a half years now. ‘Working’ is a big word for us. Because we see this as a grassroots effort. We are, as you heard, wounded, and crossing borders. I am 85% disabled, and we’ve all spent much time in the hospital. Even now, it’s not so easy…our meetings are full of feelings and emotions. And I can say, is that we are friends. We visit each other. We don’t work on a political level, but we can’t avoid it either. Recently we worked on a document that expresses our values. We are all for a two state solution, and don’t believe in violence. Working people-to-people is not less important than anything else”.

Jamal’s brother Mohammad and sister-in-law (on the far right in the photo) looked quite agitated and depressed. Jamal invited them to speak to the group, so Mohammad shared their story: “The Israeli soldiers came to my house at midnight two nights ago. They surrounded the house for two hours, until 2:00am. Then they asked me to open the door. I have ten children, from age 1- 18. The soldiers asked me to wake all of the children up and to come outside of the house. They took my ID and looked at the IDs of all of the kids.

"Then they asked for my son Ibrahim, who is fourteen and a half years old. They took him with only a shirt, and nothing on his feet. I asked the soldiers if I could bring some clothes for Ibrahim, but they refused. They beat Ibrahim in front of all of his brothers and sisters, and put a blindfold on him and put him in the jeep. They took him to a nearby Israeli settlement called Karmi Tzur. I went to the Red Cross the next day to tell them what happened. That same day at 11:00 I got a call from Ofer prison to say that my son will be in court the next day. We went there about 5:30 am and stayed until 2:00 pm, waiting. When we got inside the court, they brought Ibrahim in, in handcuffs and footcuffs. They told us that they could not proceed with the trial because the report was not ready.

“Today we also went from 5:00am – 11:00am. As ususal, they cuffed his legs and hands, and his legs were bruised from the metal. The lawyer told Ibrahim to speak today and he told the judge that he had been beaten and threatened with electrocution, and that he had only admitted to throwing stones because he was tortured. He told the judge he did not do it.

"Today the court asked me to pay 1,500 shekels to release him (about $400). In addition, they said that every Sunday, Ibrahim must report to Gush Etzion police station from 4:00pm – 6:00pm. This is a child – not even 15 years old and I refused to let him go to Gush Etzion again. I refused to pay.”

Mohammad appealed to the Israeli members of Wounded Crossing Borders to come to the next court appointment, and speak on behalf of the family. They know that having Israeli civilians show up in court on your behalf would be a major event in their favor. But the Israelis told us that the case is complicated - that all is not as it seems. One of the men said, “We do our best to help each other to try to find solutions, but it’s complicated.” Apparently, one of the Israelis found out through army connections that there is strong evidence implicating young Ibrahim in the stone-throwing incident.

Jamal (our host and the boy’s uncle, in the photo on the right), said, “Last week, 25 Israeli soldiers surrounded me and my brother and beat us both. The children saw all of this – it happened close to our house. We live under the occupation – our homes are tear-gassed all of the time. We are prevented from going in and out of our village on a regular basis. The pressures on us are enormous. The children feel everything. They are frustrated. Throwing stones is a way the children release it. My brother, Mohammad, said to one of the soldiers, ‘I am an old man with 8 children, why are you hitting me?’”

We, Compassionate Listeners, managed to continue breathing throughout this painful story. Ibrahim's mother was in tears and could barely speak. As the mother of a 17-year old son, my heart went out to her. It is so painful when we, as parents, cannot project our children.

We found out two days later that Ibrahim was released from prison. Though the Israelis did not show up in court, they wrote a letter to the court about their long-standing relationship with Jamal’s family. The family was overjoyed with Ibrahim’s release. Apparently, hundreds of people came to welcome him home that evening.

Although this story had a positive ending, I was left with troubling thoughts. At Jamal’s house, when the boy’s imprisonment was being discussed, it was clear that the Israeli members had doubts about his innocence. But at no time did anyone stand up against or mention the beating and threat of electrocution. Let’s remember – this is a fourteen year old boy. And this is not an isolated story. I’ve spent too much time in Palestine to know that.

According to Amnesty International in an April 2010 press release:

"Palestinian children face routine beatings, torture and strip searches.

While some children only spend a few days in detention before their release, others could end up spending years behind bars, the report added.

"These measures run counter to international laws, especially the [United Nations] Convention on the Rights of the Child, which Israel has signed and agreed to," said lawyer Khaled Kuzmar.

There are currently 7,200 Palestinian prisoners in Israeli jails, including 306 children under the age of 18."

I have a issue with imprisoning children. Nearly twenty years ago, during the first Intifada, I admit to taking part in "unarresting" Palestinian youth. It was 1991, and our delegation was staying in the National Palace Hotel in the heart of Palestinian East Jerusalem. There were almost daily skirmishes in the vicinity, and one day, our group was returning back to the hotel when we saw scores of Palestinian youth gathered in the street outside - the numbers quickly mounting. Israeli soldiers had arrested some teenagers, and an atmosphere of fear, panic and chaos ensued as more and more youth streamed into the street to protest.

Some of us ventured into the crowd for a better look at what was going on. I soon found myself close to the military jeeps, and any time I witnessed a Palestinian youth arrested and placed in a jeep, a group of us would surround the jeep, pull the child out, and push him through the crowd behind us so that he could escape. To me, it felt like that story of the hummingbird who tried to put out a fire by dropping a beak's worth of water on it at a time. These efforts didn't amount to much, but it certainly meant a lot to the 14 and 15 year olds who ate dinner with their families that night instead of sitting in prison.

1990 and 1991 were defining years for me. I had the opportunity to stay with Palestinian families, sometimes under Israeli curfew - which would trap me in a West Bank or Gaza home for hours or days. There was nothing to do but visit and listen to all of the people in the immediate vicinity. And I was shocked with what I heard and saw. Every single Palestinian family had many horror stories concerning life under occupation. There was simply no way to rationalize it. My Israeli friends had told me that if a Palestinian family was hurt, there had to be a reason for that. But I spoke with many mothers and elderly people during those years, since the husbands and older sons were often in prison, and I was left with no doubt that the violence was systemic.

To this day, almost 20 years later, I see that it's very difficult for Israeli Jews to believe how harsh the occupation is. People that I speak with want to believe that if a Palestinian home is destroyed, or a family is beaten, or a child arrested, that they did something to deserve that treatment. Israelis predominantly see themselves as the victims in relation to Palestinians, and it's difficult for anyone who defines oneself as a victim to simultaneously see himself as an aggressor. Israeli leaders assure their citizens over and over that if an innocent Palestinian is hurt, it falls under the unfortunately broad banner of "collateral damage" in the line of self-defense.

I don't hear many people talking about electrocution, except the boys themselves, prisoner rights groups, and international human rights agencies who collect testimonies from the youth.

(To read Israeli soldiers' testimony directly, click on Breaking the Silence/Shovrim Stika; for testimonies from the children and reports on the subject, click on Defense for Children International).

I interviewed a group of Palestinian college students today - all young men, who told me that most of the Palestinian youth in prison are boys from high-conflict areas - including refugee camps, Hebron, and towns like Jamal's where contact with the Israeli military presence is the highest. Indeed, Jamal's family lives in a high conflict zone. He wrote us after the delegation to let us know that his wife's nephew had been arrested and released after three days...and so it goes.

I grieve for all the youth in this story - including the young Israeli soldiers who are asked to do the impossible by their government. There is simply no military solution...

Nostalia and thoughts from the bus

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Sat, 12 Jun 2010 14:21:00 +0000

I have weeks of editing and writing from the delegation to catch up with for the blog. This, however, is a personal entry. I am sitting on an Israeli bus. My destination is the beautiful hills of Galilee, overlooking the Sea. I’m going north for an interlude with dear Israeli friends for a couple of days to visit and relax.

Without being too scientific about it, I figure this must be about my 30^th trip to Israel. And, sitting on this bus, I’m nostalgic. On my first flight over at age 19, I was sitting towards the back of the plane, engaged in conversation with a group of young travelers like myself. I was the only “first-timer” to Israel among them, so I was eager to pick up any tips and insights I could. After several hours of conversation, one of the guys looked at me, shook his head sadly, and said, “Israel is going to eat you up. You’re too nice for this country.” That worried me.

But it turned out that he was wrong. Not that I wasn't nice, but I found myself in a nest of nice Israelis. I ended up on a small kibbutz in the Judean hills, with kind Europeans, and sweet Israelis who valued my presence and made my time there a memorable experience that I’ll be forever grateful for. One of my former bosses in the orchard became a friend, and I even bring delegations to the kibbutz every few years, to walk the ruins that date back 3,000 years, meet some kibbutzniks, walk in their beautiful, intentional community and gardens, and listen to their stories.

But everyone here knows that the kibbutzim are (were) a different and unique slice of Israeli life. Especially the small, less wealthy ones where you didn’t find snobbery and rank issues that persisted elsewhere. That was the first Israel that I came to know, and it was a fit. It was a very sheltered life with 250 people on a huge piece of land. My love for the ancient “bible” terraces, archeology, and the Jerusalem hills was born that year.

When I returned to Jerusalem at age 22, I met a vastly more multidimensional Israel, and it was a shock. I can’t tell you how many buses I missed, on account of the Israeli habit of pushing and shoving themselves through the bus doors as if their lives depended on boarding. It was not uncommon to see buses drive off with limbs and body parts hanging out of the hydraulically controlled doors.

Boarding my bus today, at the Central Bus Station in Jerusalem, brought it all back. The fight to board is something that is hard for me to engage in. And the cost of not engaging is that you may be left behind. My tiny, even insignificant experience at the bus station today, is a part of daily life for many Israelis, who use the practical bus system extensively in their small country. I’m afraid I didn’t do any better today than I did all those decades ago. And I nearly got left behind.

As it turned out, I did discover at age 22 that I was too sensitive to live comfortably in Israel. Nothing in my younger years had hardened me for the daily realities here. That year, it was Israel’s first invasion into Lebanon, and all of the horrible events that followed. I remember bursting out in tears on buses frequently – usually on the hour when the news came on and had nothing positive to offer. One time, just after the Sabra-Shatilla massacre, an elderly Israeli man called out to the bus driver, “Turn down the news – it’s making this girl cry!”

Yelling seemed to be the national outlet – for everything. The wars, the holocaust, two thousand years of “issues.” I tried to stay emotionally stable despite the daily dose of yelling. Anyone who remembers life in Jerusalem 30 years ago may smile with a shared memory. I was yelled at in all the places where one engages in regular life – there was no way to avoid it…I was yelled at in the grocery store, at the bus stop, book stores, the clothing stores, in the streets, even in the library…

My own mother once broke off an engagement because her fiancé yelled at her. I managed better than she would have. But I won’t deny the toll it took. I never asked for, nor wanted, citizenship here, but the problem was well acknowledged among those who did. Many new immigrants from North America did not last more than a year here, because of the aggressiveness of society. Maybe some will remember the campaigns to help Israelis learn to treat others kindly. I remember a radio jingle from that campaign that ended with a melodic plea to “be pleasant!” But I had already purchased my exit ticket.

No need to go into all of the reasons why there is such aggression here – it’s been studied and explained for decades. People are much more courteous than 30 years ago. But it can still be hard for a softy like me. On this bus I’m riding on, half of the passengers are soldiers with their guns awkwardly tucked to their sides or between their legs. Israel is a militaristic environment, with more and more sophisticated weapons. Right now I’m surrounded by M-16s...

I’m now 45 minutes North of Jerusalem, and the highway is paralleling the “Security Barrier”. The earth is mounded up on this side of the highway about 20 feet high, to make the part of the Wall that’s showing look like a low fence with barbed wire and surveillance cameras on top. It’s even painted in places with pleasant scenes to help the drivers keep their anxiety levels down. But I am looking beyond the Wall (as I’m prone to doing), at the West Bank towns of Qalqiliya and Tulkarem, just meters away behind the Wall – crowded and poor. The Walls here don’t give me a feeling of security, and I’m always thinking about the people on the other side. As my friend Zoughbi likes to say, “Good neighbors make good fences,” and I wish this were the reality that both people could feel here.

Two days ago in the hair salon, cramped into a corner near the hair-washing basin, I got into a conversation with an Israeli woman as she was enjoying her shampoo and cream rinse. All of the talk is about the flotilla these days, and speculation about the Turkish and Iranian threat. At one point in the conversation, she said to me, “I’m so tired of Israel always having to apologize to the world for everything we do. No matter what, we always have to say ‘I’m sorry…I’m sorry – we’re sorry for our existence!'” At that point she closed her eyes to enjoy a few pleasant moments of the hot water rinse.

I know she speaks for the far majority of Israeli Jews. Israeli friends have spoken to me this week about the existential fear that the flotilla event triggered for them. Activist friends who have worked for years for Palestinian justice and a homeland, say that for the first time, they truly feel afraid that the world is so angry at Israel, that there will no longer be support for the Jewish right to a homeland. One friend, upon hearing an American journalist telling Israeli Jews this week to go back to Germany and Poland, said, “And where shall the Americans go back to? Wasn’t that a takeover too?”

I look around the bus, at all of the beautiful faces – black Ethiopian Jews, brown Jews from Middle Eastern countries, lighter-skinned Ashkenazi Jews, Jews from Russia, and dubious looking “Russian Jews” who may have used the "Jewish" card to escape their empty shelves, cold winters, and challenging economy. There are also Palestinian Israelis on this bus, who make up 20% of the citizens in Israel (I’m not talking about the 4 million Palestinians living in the West Bank, E. Jerusalem or Gaza).

What helps me to understand the societal aggression here is the comment spoken in the hair salon. Forget the wars, the militarism, the army. Just imagine how a whole people might behave if they feel that whatever they do, the world will not love them. Okay, forget love, that’s too idealistic. Let’s try “accept”. I’ve heard it said here for decades by Israelis – that “it doesn’t matter what we do – whether we’re nice or not to the Palestinians and to our other Arab neighbors, the whole world hates us and will always hate us.” Put the long history of anti-Semitism in the mix and you can see the ramifications.

To top it off, Israelis and Palestinians are now in a permanent state of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Some psychologists have made the connection between PTSD, and the “addiction” to the adrenaline state, thus concluding that both sides unconsciously perpetuate the high conflict state. And Israelis will be the first to admit that they shine during wartime – the tribe knows how to pull together for the sake of collective survival. Their endless factions and internal conflicts for the most part melt away during wartime, for the sake of the tribe. A cynical observer might conclude that Israeli leaders know it’s in their interest to hold the population on the brink of war. One of the Israelis we listened to last week told our group, “It’s much easier to control the general population when they are afraid.”

Another Israeli friend – an astute psychologist, warned me about discounting the scapegoat phenomenon…of course the occupation needs to end, as well as the siege of Gaza. And at the same time, how easy it is for Americans and other nationals to ignore their own countries’ violence and aggression, and look to Israel as the only violent country on the block.

Now, passing the sign for Jenin, (the northernmost Palestinian city in the West Bank), my battery is running out, and the hills of the Galilee are before me. It’s time for a mental vacation from “hamatzav” (the situation). So I’m going to relax for the rest of the ride, and be grateful that I won’t have to push to get off of the bus. I’ll happily wait, and will exit last.

Friendship across the Gaza Border: “Hope Man” and “Peace Man” start a movement.

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Mon, 07 Jun 2010 13:58:00 +0000

Over two years ago, an Israeli man named Eric Yellin, living in Sderot, created a blog with a Gazan man from Sajaia Refugee Camp. They co-authored the blog anonymously, under the names “Hope Man” and “Peace Man”. The blog spurred a movement, now an organization called “Other Voice”.

On June 3, 2010, our Compassionate Listening delegation met with two remarkable women from Other Voice, in the community center in Moshav Netiv HaAsara, an Israeli community that literally bumps up against the Gaza border. (In the photo on the left, you can see the first of three walls separating the community from Gaza...the town of Beit Lahiya is only 400 meters away).

Here is an introduction to Other Voice, taken from their website:

"Other Voice" consists of citizens who live in Sderot and Israeli communities surrounding the Gaza Strip. It is a non-partisan group; we are not affiliated with any political party or organization. Other Voice represents a wide array of the public and its members come from diverse backgrounds and hold a broad range of opinions and beliefs.

We live in a violent and unstable region, in which thousands of people from both sides of the border have been killed, wounded and hurt, including children, the elderly and other innocent civilians. The ongoing violence and escalation of the conflict have deepened the mutual fear and hatred, and destroyed feelings of personal safety. We call for creative action that will bring about a long-term and real solution to the region. We call for creative action that will take the civilians out of the circle of violence.

Meet Roni (left) and Julia, from Other Voice:

Roni:

“You are visiting us here today in Moshav Nativ HaAsara, my home, with 480 families with an average of four children per family. We grow vegetables, flowers and fruit. We also grow vegetables for seed production.

Beginning ten years ago, life became much more difficult. Before that, we had good relationships with our Gazan neighbors. They walked over to work here. We used to visit them and celebrate their holidays and special occasions with them. These relationships were undermined from all of the military involvement over the years, and the greater political conflict.

In 2005, our government decided to withdraw the Israeli settlers from the Gaza Strip, because the Palestinians wanted us out. And the day after the withdrawal, we had a rocket sent over. It was a direct hit, and killed 22 year old Dana Galkowicz, who was visiting her boyfriend here in our community.

We are living under constant threat – we never know when it will not be a miracle. We’re all deeply affected. If I’m walking down the room, I’m always thinking about where I will go if I hear the rocket alarm. A Thai worker was killed by a rocket just two months ago, here in our community.

(photo: Israeli soldiers pack up for patrol during our listening session. These soldiers are stationed at the community center.)

Children are quite fearful – many can’t sleep at night. Even so, even with all this uncertainty and fear, no one leaves our community. We have many rental houses here and not one is available. We have a very strong and supportive community. Some in the community think that the only way to be is very strong militarily…and some of us think we need to come to terms with our neighbors and have a good relationship. I’m in the latter camp.

I’m originally from England and my parents came here when I was 8 years old. My husband is an agriculturalist. The Israeli government asked my husband to go to help Israeli settlers in the Sinai (now Egypt) to develop agriculture. My husband left and we eventually joined him for five years there – near Yamit.

My youngest daughter was five years old at the time, and did not know any Arabic or English. An Egyptian girl in her class handed out birthday invitations to every girl in class, except for our daughter. It took our two families two years to break down the defenses and become friends. Our house became a meeting place for Egyptians and Israelis. From my experience in the Sinai, I realized the importance of dialogue. When Camp David was signed, our community was evacuated, and reestablished here, directly on the Gaza border.

In our group, Other Voice, we have different projects. We have friends in Gaza who we can only talk with over the phone or the internet. They’ve come a few times to be with us in Israel. There are many obstacles but we are very determined.

Julia Chaitin:

I live in Kibbutz Urim, which is 15 minutes from the Gaza border. I am a professor of Social Work at Sapir Academic College. The College is just two kilometers away from the Gaza Strip and has received many rockets.

There was a red alert (signaling a rocket attack), and a student at the college tried to hide under a tree, and he was hit directly. We’ve had so many injured. Their worst effect is the psychological effect - 75-80% of the people here are diagnosed with PTSD.

The communities here are strong, with lots of educational support. There is no-one who lives here who hasn’t had a close call, who doesn’t know someone killed or wounded. My field is the effects of long-term trauma on people. I’ve done many many studies, including the last ten years on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

(Photo: mural on a rocket shelter on the moshav with the words: "from love, peace is born")

I came from the United States in 1972 when I was nineteen years old. I have three children and a grandson. My first war was the 1973 war. Ten of us couples got married that summer on the kibbutz, and on the first day of the war, 2,500 of our soldiers were killed. My husband was called for reserve duty, and he was gone for 6 months…we had only been married for one month. He was on the Egyptian front. I was okay through all of the wars, but I started having a really hard time when my youngest son joined the Army. (I consider myself a pacifist.)

He did go in the army – into a combat unit, and he ended up in the last war with Lebanon - on the border. I spoke to him ten times a day on the phone. He was terrified and asked what I could do. I told him "I can speak with you".

When I came here I believed that Palestinians hated us and wanted to kill us. I went to Hebrew school and studied but I never learned about Palestinians. I did a lot of things, but all with Jewish Israelis. Since the 1990s I have been much more active and have gotten to know and work with Palestinians.

Conditions in Gaza are one thousand times worse than in the West Bank, if you can believe it. Over two years ago, a man named Eric Yellin in Sderot, created a blog with a Gazan man. They co-authored the blog anonymously, under the names “Hope Man” and “Peace Man”. This was the birth of Other Voice. Eric is the founder. I joined two years ago. (Photo: the Walls separating Gaza and Netiv HaAsara)

We have 150 people in Other Voice and the core group is about 15-20 people. We sit in someone’s home or in Sapir College, in a circle, take a cell phone and put it in the middle of the room, and we would speak with our friends in Gaza….men and women, old, young, secular, professional, religious. Since 2007 since Hamas took over, it’s considered an enemy entity, and we are not allowed in and they are not allowed out. All of the borders are sealed. That’s why the lifelines of the telephone and internet are so important.

One very “normal” thing we do is that we all play Farmville on Facebook. I give Ahmad an olive tree…they give us things. All of my neighbors in Farmville are Palestinians in Gaza.

Over the last few days they’ve asked that we don’t call them. Eric has managed to get permits for young people in Gaza for two seminars that we’ve held now. The young people feel caught between Hamas, Fatah, Israel and Egypt. So they lie and say that they’re going to seminars, instead of to meetings with us (Israelis). These last months some of the young people have been questioned by Hamas.

During the war, a number of us came out against it. Within our group, some folks thought the war was a necessity. We sent an open letter to Bibi Netanyahu a few months ago, calling for an end to the siege. Please download the letter and send it to everyone you know.

The flotilla was a horrible thing. But at least people who have never talked about the siege of Gaza or wanted to think about it, are now talking about it. Just Monday, when the flotilla event happened, our two Israeli friends who live near the Gaza Border went to protest against the Israeli attack. There was a much larger contingent there of pro-Israeli supporters, and our friends were threatened.

One is a single mother in the moshav, and she was told, “if you don’t write a letter apologizing, we have ways to see that you will no longer be able to live here.” Our reality here is much more polarized, much more black and white. That’s what we’re living here with now, in Israel.

Please send our letter to anyone and everyone you think would be interested in our work. There are enough of us here who are fueling the conflict, and we don’t need more of them. But if it were up to me, I wold stop U.S. aid to Israel. I do this because I love my country, not because I’m against my country. The message from Monday, from the flotilla incident, should be, “stop the siege, life and dignity for all.”

Roni: Last week I returned from a family trip to Poland – to concentration camps, etc. My thoughts kept returning to this: that we cannot let this happen, given what happened to us as a people. Other family members said, “but you can’t compare.” But it’s not about comparison…it doesn’t have to be as bad as the holocaust for us to be concerned.

Julia: Israeli Professor Dan Bar-On wrote a lot during his lifetime about the “hierarchy of suffering.” Being in the victim situation lets you off the hook. Trying to compare suffering is a no win. And you see it everywhere: “Oh, you weren’t in a concentration camp, you were just in the Ghetto…” and these discussions really happen. I try to tell my students to get off the victim track.

During the second Intifada (Palestinian uprising), there was one front line street in the Israeli neighborhood of Gilo that was getting all the fire from Beit Jala, the Palestinian town across the valley. There was a joke going around at that time that went: okay we’ll sit together in the terrace then…okay, we’ll sit in the living room then… okay we’ll sit in the kitchen then…okay I guess we’ll sit in the freezer – anyone want some schnitzel? We can’t get away from it. We’ve tried to solve it militarily and there is no military solution. The rockets from Hizbollah almost hit the center of Israel. The next rockets from Gaza will hit Tel Aviv – they’ll be GRAD rockets that are much more sophisticated. I think I have a right not to run to a bomb shelter 3-4 times/day. And I think it’s their right in Gaza to live in peace and dignity.

Even if we sign the peace treaty tomorrow, we’re still going to be working all this out for hundreds of years – the fear and dehumanization.

Roni: I have 13 grandchildren and 7 of them live here. Anything I do today, I do for them….for their future. (photo on the right: Israeli soldiers stationed at the Moshav.)

(note: Julia is also senior staff member at the Negev Institute for Strategies of Peace and Development (NISPED) – an NGO that works on peace and sustainable human development between Jews and Palestinians within Israel and between Israel/Palestine. See their products that are co-designed, co-designed, co-produced.)

Read Julia's article in the Washington Post, written during the Gaza War.

All photos taken by Leah Green and Ellen Greene

Life near the Gaza Border

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Sun, 06 Jun 2010 22:30:00 +0000

Life and Trauma Treatment near the Gaza Border

(photos by Leah Green and Ellen Greene - below, Gaza Wall and Border)

On June 3^rd, our Compassionate Listening delegation visited Shaar HaNegev Psychological Services Center, located at Sapir College in Sderot (near the Gaza border). This is the most important psychological center in the Northwest Negev for those suffering with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). They also have an educational unit that works with the schools, kindergardens, and preschool children, including physiotherapy and occupational therapy.

Tvi, Fajerman, Senior Clinical Psychologist and General Director

There are 230 therapists working in this project. We’re studying a lot about what happens here. We have no access to Gaza, we tried – we wanted to help train trauma specialists there too, but we are denied access. We know that the suffering in Gaza is more than here.

I work here at the Center in Sderot, but I don’t live here. So at night I am safe. Sometimes we have questions, what does it mean to work in this kind of psychotherapy - sometimes you’re with your client working and suddenly you have a rocket alarm…all the therapists and all the clients and all the staff run into the shelter and have very interesting meetings and discussions there.

When the rockets fall, and you go to the site and try to help, you also pick up “Acute Stress Response.” What happens with those who help? The helpers run to the site – with an illusion as if they are totally safe. Five years ago a person was wounded and we saw that the helpers returned with a feeling that they really helped a lot, and that it was something they were removed from. We had a meeting a few days later, and I asked them how this experience was for them. And suddenly some of them started to cry. We see this phenomenon that the helper becomes “superhuman” and loses all fear as they are helping. We work with them to return them to their normal state – the first step is to realize that they suffered too.

We think a lot about ongoing trauma…The situation that we are in is not like September 11^th in the United States - one very traumatic event, and you treat people for post traumatic stress. Here, there is no “post” – it’s ongoing traumatic stress disorder. I treated a 4 year old, and in one of the last sessions, there was a rocket attack. She jumped, and she looked at me, and I kept my balanced attitude. Just seeing the mother or the care-giver staying calm, the child will stay calm too. We accomplished wonderful work with this family, and one year later, a Qassem Rocket fell on their home and destroyed part of the home. The next year a third rocket fell and wounded the father. At times like this I ask myself, what am I doing? How can I help when there is no end to the trauma?

Or Tal, Staff Psychologist

I’ve worked here for six years. I have two small children. I live in Kibbutz nearby.

I had an experience here a year ago, during the war in Gaza. In the war, every time when I met with parents and children, I really identified with them, but not totally, because at 3:00pm or 4:00pm I would go home and be safe, since I do not live here where people have experienced the worst of the rocket attacks. But we received bullet-proof vests and helmets and it was clear to me that I would continue my work – continue coming to the center.

I was in the car driving when a rocket alarm went off. My kids were asleep in the car. I had 1 minute to get to a shelter (here at Sapir College, you have 15 seconds to get to a shelter, just to show you it matters where you live). In that one minute, I had to choose what to do. You have no control of what will happen. I was screaming at my 5 year old to wake up and I took my small son into the house. This was a very crucial experience for me, not just to empathize with the people I work with, but to feel it in my entire body. After that, there was no question that I can identify with what people go through here…

Shimona, Educational Psychologist

I started working here 8 years ago and as of 6 years ago, I now live in a kibbutz close to the Center. It’s terrifying when the rocket alarm goes off. It literally says “red color, red color….” Even small children, age 2 or 3, know that they have to get to a shelter. When I look at my children, in a way it makes me feel proud, but in another way, I have to ask myself hard questions. Why am I living in a place where I’m exposing my kids to this danger? In the difficult times, as I’m driving in my car, or walking along a street or in a park, literally every 200 meters, the thought comes to my mind, “if the alarm goes off now, where will I run to?” Depending on where I am I may have 15 seconds or a minute. So it’s a constant process in my mind.

I don’t want to talk about politics – I know the Gazans suffer much more than we do…

Three years ago, I gave birth to a child. I also had a 6 year old. I was near a safe place in a park when the rocket alarm went off, and I had 15 seconds to get to a safe place. I had a 1 month-old baby. What will I do? I told my friend “Take the baby” – I knew my friend knew what to do. And then I ran again to my older child to see that she was safe, but I knew I was out of time. It was the worst ten seconds in my life. I know it sounds strange, but those ten seconds confirmed my decision to stay and live here. I don’t think I can explain exactly why. For me, it confirmed that there is no safe place – it’s an illusion we try to tell ourselves in life – that we can create safety.

At the beginning of our work here, we taught guided imagery with the kids. We told them to “go to a safe place,” and the kids would say, “but there is no safe place.” So we changed the language to a “calmer place, when you feel good about yourself.” When I accept that there is no true “safe space”, I am forced to see that this moment is all I truly have. I can bring love and beauty to the world in every moment. Living here reminds me of my higher purpose – I want to love, to do good in the world.

The main problem here is the ongoing trauma. Sometimes we’ve had 50 qassem rockets per day. We have no theories for ongoing trauma. So we’re inventing it. The rocket alarms started 5 years ago.

I had a patient recently who was 5 years old – she lived in Sderot, the most frequently bombed city. She wouldn’t use red in her paintings or in her language, because the alarm literally screams “Red alert, red alert”. So she had to block out the word “red” entirely.

In my psychologist’s hat, I can look and feel strong, but it’s a very different story as a mother. Being a psychologist can give me a feeling of safety and strength. I have a role, a helper…but as a parent, it’s completely different. When my young son was one year old, I picked him up during a rocket alarm and ran to a shelter. I was out of breath and panting. When we got inside, I looked at him, and he was panting exactly like I was. The kids mirror exactly what we do.

Why am I choosing to live here? Here, the community is highly important. As an educational psychologist, I believe that mental health is in community. There’s a sense of not being alone here. In difficult times for example, we prefer to eat in the park – we eat together. It’s less safe than to be at home, but we feel that sense of safety with each other. There are always people to talk with and share your experiences.

Many people live and also work here. It’s hard to always do the right thing in our jobs. There was a bomb alarm once, here at Sapir College where our Center is. Everyone knew where the rocket fell. Many of the teachers panicked and left their students and ran to their children, who are in day care or school here. The school needed so much assistance at that time. It’s not right to judge those teachers – it’s a natural reaction. Some of them were treated like traitors….we did a lot of work in the teacher’s lounge to bring healing to that situation.

When there’s a rocket attack, first, we go to the place of the attack. We help the people to vent – we let them speak - what were they thinking; what were they doing…what were they wearing. Next, we help them to normalize their experience – letting them know that whatever they did was okay – yelling, crying, peeing in their pants, etc. Saying it’s okay. If they are teachers, we talk about what they might expect to happen with their students, down the road. Often, the ones who used to talk a lot, now become silent, and the quiet ones become talkative. We tell them what to expect and what to look for.

I wanted to assist people from the Gaza strip who wanted to come for trauma training. They even asked me if I agreed to take part in it. But we were prevented from doing this.

PTSD is a felt sense of being injured or in danger of death. Israel is not safe in general. If I live in Jerusalem, there could be a suicide bus bombing, and if I live in the north, I could get hit from a Hizbullah rocket from Lebanon. You find a cavalier attitude – “drink today, we have no idea what will happen tomorrow.” We know that much of this comes from the experience in the holocaust and the famine and hard times in Europe and even here in the early days of the country.

In Sderot, very old kids, sometimes teenagers, want to sleep with their parents. We used to say, that’s wrong. Nowadays, we’ve changed our minds. It’s okay for your kids to be with you for periods of time, but we recommend that they sleep in a mattress next to the parents, not between the parents. We do what we can to make things easier...

Describing the Indescribable - Thoughts and Feelings from the "Holy Land", by John Shaffer

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Wed, 02 Jun 2010 12:32:00 +0000

There is no way to adequately describe in words the experience of being here with Leah, Cathy and Yael, in the "Holy Land", the land of history, the land of the foundations of three major religions, the land of love and strife, goodwill, open arms and pain, deep pain, anger and fear.
You would have to look into our eyes, and see with your "eyes", you would have to listen to our words, and hear with your "ears", you would have to touch my heart, and let me touch yours, and do the same for the scores of people of all ages we have met, touched, listened to, been a part of at the level of heart while we have been here. You and I are privileged to be a part of something grand that is in the process of being born, and I have never heard it said more clearly than by our compassionate angels guiding us, instructing us and helping us here. Their work is truly remarkable. You feel it yourself, deep down to your toes, and you hear and see it in the others with whom you are travelling.
We share in warmth, and love, laughter and tears, and we see and hear and feel it in the warmth, and love and laughter and tears of the others, the Palestinians, the Israelis, and others with whom we have been brought together in this amazing trip. We all experience the feeling we have been truly blessed to have been born in this time and this Earth, this beautiful globe, with all its diversity - each of us in our way, awakening to be an entry point for compassion, compassion even in the face of anger and hurt and fear, or as others might say, to be an entry point for the light of the Universe, or the hand of God, or the Way of the Tao, or whatever you might choose to call it.
Shalom, Salaam, Peace Be with You. John

(John is an attorney and mediator from Bellevue, Washington. Photo: Cathy Keene and John Shaffer, photo by Ellen Greene)

Palestinian Refugee Children perform for Compassionate Listeners

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Wed, 02 Jun 2010 07:50:00 +0000

Yesterday, during our visit to al-Aroub Refugee Camp in the West Bank, they held three performances for us. This is a short video of the children performing their national dance, the dabke. Most of the group stayed overnight in the Camp with families, where they enjoyed the warm hospitality of their hosts. They arrived back to our hotel this morning, tired, thrilled with their experiences, and as one participant said, "it was beyond words...I have never experienced such incredible hospitality."

Today our five days in the West Bank with Palestinians and Settlers is coming to an end. As soon as I have some time I have to backtrack and report on our meetings with settlers and Palestinians, which were all very special. We're heading to Ein Karem today, and tomorrow I'll be reporting from Sderot, as well as a small Israeli village closest to the Gaza border. We'll be meeting with Israeli psychologist, trauma specialists, and Israelis working actively for peace by cultivating relationships with their Gazan neighbors, across the border. Stay tuned!

Sami Awad, on Auschwitz, fear, and the meaning of nonviolence

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Tue, 01 Jun 2010 00:08:00 +0000

The Israeli attack today on the ships trying to break the blockade on Gaza, brought great sorrow throughout the world. On this dark day, our delegation here in Palestine received the profound gift of listening to Sami Awad, Palestinian non-violence leader. Sami is the founding director of the Holy Land Trust.

Learn more about their work at: http://www.holylandtrust.org/

I am partnering with Holy Land Trust to bring Compassionate Listening training to 30 Palestinian women, June 16th - 18th, at the Everest Hotel in Beit Jala. If you know any women from Palestine who would like to join the training, please have them contact Holy Land Trust directly.

Love and courage in the heart of darkness...

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Sun, 30 May 2010 20:48:00 +0000

Today we had two inspiring home visits in the West Bank. One with the former Mayor of Beit Ummar - a member of Hamas with the soul of a poet. We met him once before, and tried to meet with him again on our last delegation, but found that he had been arrested and imprisoned with many of the other elected Hamas legislators and officials from the West Bank. After his release from prison, he was not allowed to resume his post.

Today we met Farhan at his parent's home, with many family members joining us, including his mother, and his son Salaheddin (in the photo). We spoke of many things today. At one point in our time together, it seemed that many of us in the circle were in tears. This was unusual, and I continued to wonder what was going on. After a while, this is what came to me: Hamas, who won democratic elections in Palestine, under the intense scrutiny of international monitors including Jimmy Carter, has been existing under an international boycott since just after their election. They received the label of "terrorist organization" from Israel and the United States, which provides a justification for members to be arrested and held without trial at any time. This group has been marginalized within the global community, and very few people take the time to really listen to them - or to understand the distinctions between Hamas in the West Bank and Hamas in Gaza (Hamas in Gaza is a much more muddied situation due to the complete closure for many years now. In Gaza, Hamas includes mafia-like elements, complete with family gangs and feuds. With no access to the outside world, a much more fundamentalist strain has taken hold there.)

The experience of sitting with a West Bank leader, of a marginalized community - one that is suppose to be scary and wicked even, and to find such a beautiful human being - a poet, who speaks the language of the heart...and this, despite multiple arrests, imprisonment, and torture by the Israeli military...
I dare to say that some of us were experiencing the blessing and grace that comes from creating a sense of "wholeness" in the world. Listening to marginalized voices is a deep precept of Compassionate Listening. As Carol Hwoschinsky says so beautifully, each one of us holds pieces of the puzzle, and if we don't listen to one another, we'll never find the answer."

After hearing too many painful stories, Farhan told us near the end of our time together: "I have hope in my heart, so every good act gives me more hope. Even if it’s a very small action, it’s like a hole for more light to pass through. The important thing is to hold the hope that change is coming... People must be honest with themselves. You can cheat others, but you will never be able to cheat yourself. So every small action is important.

"If you notice water, falling down drop by drop, and if you look just under the ground, where the drops are falling, there is a softening there, under the hard surface. We will have it – change must come. If all of us can turn our tears into action – to tear down the walls from within, we can turn our fears into good actions. If you can see me and hear me, and I can see you and hear you, this is one of the starting points. We need to allow ourselves to truly see each other...Don’t look for the empty part of the cup, but always keep looking for the full part, even if it is very small. That will give us the hope and courage to live and love and have the strength to keep standing."
Thank you Farhan, for your incredible hospitality and friendship to us today. I was especially moved by your interaction with your Mother, when you told her that she is your heart. And your mother shared the same about you. I think about the agony of a mother's heart when her child is imprisoned and she is unable to help. Seeing the joy and love in your family was a beautiful gift and we wish for your safety always.

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Our second visit was in the same village, at our friend Jamal's home, where about 10 Israeli Jewish members of "Wounded Crossing Borders" joined us. These are Israeli Jews and West Bank Palestinians who have been wounded in the conflict, and have decided to reach out to do the hard work of seeking the humanity on the "other side". One of the Israelis was the former head of the Hebron prison (for Palestinian political prisoners); another was the wife of an Israeli politician who doesn't understand why she is doing this work...

It was beautiful to sit together with these courageous people. For many of the Israelis, this was their first visit to Jamal's home in the West Bank, even though they have all been to Bosnia and Switzerland together, as well as attending numerous meetings together in Jerusalem. The psychological barrier and fear involved in coming to a Palestinian village is immense (especially when your host's home is tear gassed on a regular basis). So this was a special occasion with an atmosphere of friendship, love and celebration (and amazing food, lovingly prepared by Jamal's wife, Saadiye).

Today we have learned so much about love and courage in the heart of darkness. Thank you to all of our incredible teachers.

(here is a slideshow from our day in Hebron yesterday. To see the photo captions, you have to click the arrow, and it will open the slideshow on flickr. The two photos above are by Ellen Greene, and I took the ones below.)
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Sunday, May 30th

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Sun, 30 May 2010 04:38:00 +0000

After our sessions yesterday, it seems there is no crazier place on the planet than Hebron. It's going to take a bit to catch up and compose that post.

Today we'll be visiting with two families in Beit Ummar, in the West Bank. Both families are suffering daily from the occupation. Tear gas, beating, arrest, detention (our friend's nephews, ages 14 and 16, were just arrested a few days ago)...I'll post more about our visit there later.

Tomorrow we'll visit Bethlehem University. I'm looking forward to small group listening sessions and hearing about the lives and visions of more young people.

This morning, a facebook friend from Gaza posted this video. More and more, my inspiration is coming from the youth, who are tired of the world that they are being handed. Their message to us all: come on friends, we can do better!

Meet Hashem Azzeh

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Sun, 30 May 2010 04:00:00 +0000

I'll be adding on to this blog in the days to come, to tell more about our time in Hebron. For now, please meet Hashem Azzeh, a Palestinian man living with his family, sandwiched between Israeli settlers.

The battle for Sheikh Jarrah

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Sat, 29 May 2010 05:47:00 +0000

Avital in her home in Sheikh Jarrah (Photo credit: Ellen Greene)

Thursday, May 27, 2010, Visiting the Settlers in Sheikh Jarrah, East Jerusalem.
Avital is a young, orthodox Israeli Jewish woman and mother of three young children. She grew up in the Israeli city of Netanya on the Mediterranean coast, and has lived in Sheikh Jarrah, a Palestinian neighborhood of East Jerusalem, for the past 6 years. Avital and her family won the right to occupy their current house by a court decree that the home is owned by Jews. Avital tells us that this area – approximately 40 acres – was actually purchased in the late 1800s by a mixed group of Ashkenazi and Sepharic Jews, who then began to settle there. The area surrounds the tomb of Shimon HaZaddik, a pilgrimage site for Jews since ancient times.

In 1948, when the land fell under Jordanian occupation, Jordan resettled Palestinian refugees from Jerusalem in the empty houses, with help from the United Nations. Nasser Ghawi’s family was one of the recipients of the homes, and his family has lived there continuously since 1954…until the day last summer in early August, when settlers and the military moved him and his family out by force, along with all of their possessions.
Now eight Palestinian families have been forcibly evicted from their homes in Sheikh Jarrah, and there is fear that more evictions are coming. Some of the families are still living in makeshift tents across the street, holding vigil and lifting the injustice to the level of international observation.

Avital tell us, “The last year has been very hard. There is a demonstration every Friday here, to protest the decision of the courts. We feel that we are under the eyes of the world. Everyone has something to say about this neighborhood. I feel that the demonstrations that have been here every Friday are saying ‘we want this neighborhood to belong to Palestine’. The issue is, if Jews don’t have the right to live if Jerusalem, then where do we have the right to live?”
Avital continues, “It was a problem, what to tell the children during the demonstrations. I don’t want to hide it from them, as some of the other families do. My children know the chants and actually sing with the demonstrators now. We say that this is their right to demonstrate. We are here because the judge and the court say we have the right to be here. The demonstration is always before Shabbat – we can time Shabbat by them. I don’t believe that I stole this house. I’m here because the courts say I could be here. When I met the families that lived here, I respect them. I feel for them. We have to answer many questions that we had for ourselves. With the demonstrations, I think we’ve gotten stronger. I feel more right, more moral.”
“I cannot lie to you – these are difficult times. People call you thief. Chase you, threaten you. I want to have a perfect life for my children.”
“I don’t think they want to hear us. They are trying to picture us to the media that we are violent. We’re more concerned with what we’re having for dinner. I think it’s comfortable for them to picture me as an evil person.”
“It’s hard for both sides. We don’t want to conquer them, and they don’t want to conquer us. In this neighborhood, we lived as normal families, we all have children. If we all respect each other, we can live together.”
In 2001 in the 2nd Intifada, my nephew was killed when a Palestinian threw a stone that hit him in the head. He was 6 months old - he was the youngest victim. Respect is the key to life. “
“The bible gives me my courage. We think that this is our country. Until a real peace is here, I would never submit to living under Palestinian control.”

Friday, May 28, 2010
Today we visited with the evicted Palestinian families in Sheikh Jarrah, and witnessed the Friday protest.

On August 2, 2009, following an Israeli court decision, two Palestinian families (al-Hanoun and al-Ghawi), consisting of 53 persons, were evicted from two homes in Sheikh Jarrah. Jewish settlers moved into the houses almost immediately. The Israeli Supreme Court previously ruled that Jewish families had owned the land. The municipality of Jerusalem intends to build a block of 20 apartments in the area. The United Nations coordinator for the Middle East Peace Process, Robert H. Serry, said the evictions were "totally unacceptable actions... contrary to the provisions of the Geneva Conventions related to occupied territory. These actions heighten tensions and undermine international efforts to create conditions for fruitful negotiations to achieve peace."[21] United States State Department spokeswoman Megan Mattson said they constitute violations of Israel's obligations under US-backed "road map" peace plan.[22] Palestinian negotiator Saeb Erekat condemned the move, saying "Tonight, while these new settlers from abroad will be accommodating themselves and their belongings in these Palestinian houses, 19 newly homeless children will have nowhere to sleep."[21] Yakir Segev, a member of Jerusalem's municipal council, countered the condemnations stating "This is a matter of the court. It is a civil dispute between Palestinian families and those of Israeli settlers, regarding who is the rightful owner of this property... Israeli law is the only law we are obliged to obey."[23]
While Jews maintain they legally own the land based on documents from the Ottoman Empire, Palestinian lawyers claim that they have a document from Turkish archives that says the Jews who claim to own the land are not the rightful owners.[24] As such, the Palestinian families and their supporters maintain that the legal decision is based on forgeries and should be reversed.[25][26] The lawyer of Israeli families claim that the land deeds were checked by many courts and found to be authentic.[24]
Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sheikh_Jarrah

Sulhita Youth

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Fri, 28 May 2010 10:53:00 +0000

(photo credit: Sulhita Youth Project)

In the harsh reality of our region, Jewish and Arab youth have few opportunities to meet their peers of "the other side". In such a formative period of their lives, gaining first-hand experience beyond rigid stereotypes, social norms and negative media coverage is crucial for creating a different future for our nations. - Sulhita Peace Project

The far majority of Israeli and Palestinian teenagers grow up here in Israel and Palestine in a climate of intense fear of the “other’. With only a few exceptions, villages, towns and schools are all segregated, with little opportunity to meet one another, let alone in any kind of humanizing way. Thus, it’s easy to perpetuate the fears and stereotypes that hold the psychological barriers in place. And since most Israeli Jews do not learn Arabic, and most Palestinians, whether living in Israel, the West Bank or Gaza, do not learn adequate Hebrew, the language barrier is yet another hurdle even for those who wish to connect.

(Photos: Ellen Greene and Leah Green)

In this general climate of disconnection and fear, the work of Elad Vezana, director of the Sulhita Peace Project, is like a pristine spring in the desert. Sulha, the parent organization, is well known for their summer festivals that have brought over 12,000 seekers together from across the region for music, ritual, listening circles and healing. Since 2001, Sulha has created many opportunities for personal encounter across ethnic and religious lines, for those wanting to break through the barriers and meet their neighbors. (“Sulha” is the actual name for the ancient, indigenous Palestinian conflict resolution process, that is still practiced today in Palestinians and Bedouin towns and villages throughout the region.)

A newer development within the Sulha organization is the Sulhita Youth Program. Yesterday evening we waited excitedly for Elad’s visit – our first listening session of the delegation. After careful thought, Elad decided to give the lead to the youth. He arrived at our guesthouse in the Old City of Jerusalem with his Sulhita caravan - including seven Jewish and Palestinian Sulhita facilitators, ages 17-20.

These young men and women have participated in numerous Sulhita gatherings – including their trademark 5-day program in the desert that brings together up to 80 young Jews and Palestinians - including from Gaza and the West Bank – for a powerful encounter program.
We were eager to hear from the youth and they took the lead. They led us in a name game and another ice-breaker that had us all laughing and relaxing together within minutes. Afterwards, we sat down to listen to their stories.

A young Israeli woman who deferred her army service until next year, and is now completing a year of national service, told us about her first time at the Sulhita, which was just this past year. “I was shocked how quickly we came together. Before this I never had the chance to know a Palestinian. It was so hard when it was over. I felt like it was a beautiful dream. I stay in touch with my friends and that makes me strong. I feel I really know them now. I live near Tel Aviv and out there we don’t have a lot of opportunities to meet Palestinians. Sometimes now, my friends from home express jealousy that I’ve had this opportunity. When they see my Palestinian friends writing on my Facebook page, they are curious, and envious that I have these connections. I think the only way anything will change is if we connect with ‘the other’ when you’re young. I’m nervous about entering the army. I deferred my service by one year. This year, I’m doing national service. I’m afraid how going into the army will change things for me.”

The Sulhita youth project is now five years old. We heard about one of the oldest participants, a young Israeli man who became a Sulhita facilitator, and then began his army service two years ago. The Israeli army put him at the toughest checkpoint in the Bethlehem area, and he suffered a lot from the stress and level of dehumanization.

One day, a Palestinian Sulhita member from Bethlehem needed to travel to Jerusalem for a Sulhita meeting. The Israeli soldier noticed him at the checkpoint and greeting him warmly. After arriving at the Sulha meeting, the Palestinian participant shared about this interaction, and actually cried, he was so moved that the Israeli soldier reached out to make a human connection. Such a simple act, in the midst of the insanity of the checkpoint was a profound gesture (checkpoints are known for the harsh and dehumanizing behavior of the Israeli soldiers). The Israeli soldier recently reported that one of the ways he feels he’s been able to help in his army unit, is by having informal listening sessions in the evening with the other soldiers. The daily stress of working at the checkpoint is immense, and this soldier feels it’s his way of bringing healing energy – to allow some of the stress to deescalate.

One young Palestinian man in our circle described his frustration with the checkpoints – how they separate him from being able to visit other towns and cities nearby, to be with his friends in a casual way after their sports events, etc. He said that at any Sulhita gathering, there are those who come late. While it’s clear that the Jewish participants suffer from “personal problems”, which always account for their tardiness, it’s always the checkpoints that hold up the Palestinian participants by as much as 5 hours. He described his own thought process when he approaches a checkpoint: “I see the soldier that I’ll have to deal with, and I am always asking himself, ‘who is this person in front of me and how is he going to deal with me?’ I will often try to joke or make contact with the soldier. Often, the soldier will be rude, and say something obnoxious to me. But ultimately, I believe in peace with all my heart, and I always try my best to stay positive in my thinking, and to continue loving everyone as my personal commitment to the path of peace.”

Elad, the Sulhita director, is so clearly dedicated to the empowerment of these youth leaders. He never interrupts them, or tries to talk about his own life or work. When I asked him if we could hear about his background and what led him to this work, Elad told us about a transformative moment in his life: “I was a tank commander in the Army. I served in Lebanon and Gaza…I saw my good friend killed nearby me, and I also killed people during my army service. One day, I was part of an ambush for Palestinians who were wanted from the Jenin area. At one point, I was told to move to the south one kilometer. There, I found a young Palestinian boy - perhaps 8 years old - sitting on a rock, reading a book. My commander told me to tie his arms and lets with plastic cuffs until we were finished with the operation. So I cuffed him. I walked away from the boy for a second and turned around to look back at him, and suddenly I felt completely naked…it was as if I was looking at the situation and seeing myself with different eyes. I told the guys in my unit that I have to release the boy. They told me that I would be court marshaled – they urged me not to do it. But I had to. I said I can’t live another second like this, and I untied him. The boy ran back down the hill to Jenin, and within minutes we all heard the whistles, which is how Palestinians communicate to one another that Israeli soldiers are near. We were discovered, and our operation was ruined. That was the first time I ever looked into the eyes of a Palestinian person – it was like humanity cracked through. So many other experiences came later, but that was the first."

At the end of the evening, we asked the young men and women from Sulhita if they wanted to share a powerful moment that they experienced in the camp. A young Israeli woman told this story: "We had a listening circle, and afterwards I collapsed. I just cried and cried. All I wanted was a hug, but I didn't know how to say it. There was a Palestinian mother there. Without saying a word, she came to me and held me and spoke to me. I couldn't understand any of her Arabic, but somehow, I knew what she was saying to me. Afterwards, they translated her words to me and it was confirmed...I had understood every word.

Learn more about the Sulhita Youth Project

The Empathic Civilization

noreply@blogger.com (Leah Green) — Thu, 20 May 2010 20:59:00 +0000

A friend sent me this video today. It speaks to the very essence of our collective work in the Compassionate Listening Project, along with millions and millions of people and organizations all around the world who are working towards an empathic civilization. As Paul Hawken, Four Years. Go., and others have brought to our attention, the times that we're living in are simply unprecedented - never has there been such a groundswell of individual and grassroots efforts working towards restoring the environment and fostering social justice. As Hawken says, "humanity's collective genius" is bursting through.

I'm dedicating this post to Dan Nichols, a great model for the empathic civilization, who passed on yesterday here in our Indianola community. In his 51 years, Dan taught us much about empathy by how he lived his daily life...a gentle, powerful teacher for so many.