Life Story

Hanna walks into the classroom and apologizes for her lateness. She explains that she had to walk from her house because there is no bus service. The haredim blocked everything this side of the Central Bus Station as a part of the protest against the Gay Pride Parade taking place not far away from the college. Everybody is curious to see what's going on in the streets but have to remain in this small classroom for another couple of hours. The conversation continues. The pace is slow and nobody really wants to add anything. What's there to add anyway? This is the fifth and final meeting of the project. A project whose point is just as far from understanding now as it was when we signed up for it more than two months ago. We are the poor new immigrants and the lure of 850 shekel stipend was stronger than worrying about such mundane details as questions of "what", "who" and "why". "What" turned out to be two hours of talks every other Thursday afternoon. "Who" is five groups comprising of ten participants half of whom are other TAKA members like me and the rest are Jewish and Arab students of Hadassah College. "Why"... Well, that's the question that would finally be answered later on by Nomi, creator of this project with a curious name "Life Story". Nomi was also late today. Even though she drove her car to get here, the journey was just as inconvenient for her as it was for Hanna. First Gay Pride Parade in Jerusalem history effectively paralyzed the entire city even though the number of participants (less than 5000) was overshadowed by the number of police officers assigned to keep up the order (more than 7500).
Pablo finishes talking about his favorite subject - food, and tries to illustrate his point about differences in culture between his homeland, Argentina and Israel. The silence that falls upon everybody after Pablo's words float out through an open window is long enough for people to start looking upon each other awkwardly while waiting for the next brave soul to say anything. Nomi has to try and revive the conversation by asking David about his opinion on culture shock he had to go through. However, David's probably not the right person for such a question. 2007 is his sixth year in the country and he has to struggle in recollecting his feelings when he moved here from Peru. He tries to explain that serving in IDF is a good way to adjust to this strange land and its people. He proudly names his infantry division and talks about good friends he made in his three years in the army.
"What about Arabs? You probably never had to make friends among them", asks Samira, a 32-year-old photography student from Nazareth.
"You're right. For the most part there was no exposure. Only at check posts. In the army I saw Arabs as...", he stops for a few seconds struggling to find a suitable expression.
"Enemies", finishes Samira with a slight smile.
"No, not enemies", exclaims David with notes of surprise and hurt in his voice. "We were never... I never thought of you as enemies. Maybe I didn't know you but I knew that you're just people like me."
The classroom is alive. The first nervous laughs after the "E" word have been replaced by a feeling of tension.
"Samira probably just meant that as a soldier you're trained to not see human beings but to look at a small picture. It's like looking out of a bunker. I'm sure that she doesn't see you as an enemy", says Nomi, seemingly trying to seize control of a delicate situation.
"No, David, you're not my enemy, but I think that for us every soldier is a threat. We see uniforms and guns and we see enemies", expands Samira.
"I can not believe you just said that", Mattan, 21, enters the conversation. "How can you even sit here calling me an enemy?"
"It's what...", tries to explain Samira
"No, I'm going to finish what I'm saying", Mattan's voice is growing louder. "I go out there guarding my family from people that try to kill absolutely everyone. I stood at nights in godforsaken places that you don't even know about. I defended you also. And you call me an enemy? Go to Gaza to see what Hamas is doing. It's what you chose."
"Let's not get into politics. I'm sure that we all have different views", pleads Ilana.
"Why can't we talk about politics? It's important", asserts Samira. "We never talk about it here. But why? I'm not going to stop talking to Mattan if he doesn't agree with what I'm saying. But if we don't, then he's not going to know what the soldiers put us through. He hasn't seen what I have seen and what I had to deal with when I was growing up and what I have to deal with now", she continues. "I can't live on my land normally. On the land that they stole from us."
"It's not about politics. And it's not about the lies that you've been fed all your life. You study in this Jewish college with Jews and you still think that everyone Jewish is bad. You hang out with me but you don't want to get to know me. You call me an enemy and... I was deeply hurt when you said that. It's not something that I wanted to hear here from you", Mattan finishes quietly.
Before Samira has a chance to add anything, Nomi finally steps in.
"This is what I wanted to hear", she says. "When Mattan said that the word 'enemy' hurt him he told Samira what he feels. And he was hurt because of what he has experienced in his life. This is what Life Story is for. To talk about our past and understand what we feel. In your groups you had to tell your stories. What you remembered most as children. What had the most impact on your life. What you learned. And who you learned from. I want to tell my story now.
I learned a lot from my son. He always had a lot of friends. And they were all different. He tutored math to a Bedouin friend when he was a volunteer in the Negev. And he helped him get his bagrut. This kid had to walk for hours just to get to Be'er Sheva to take the tests but he got accepted into a university thanks to my son. Every time my son would leave anywhere to travel, he'd come back with new friends. One time he brought a ninety three year old man as a friend. And they really were friends. How did he do it? He just talked. He talked to everyone. He even talked to religious girls who would never talk to a boy. But they all talked back to him. He'd get on the bus and just start talking. And I didn't understand how important it was until he died fourteen years ago. He was twenty three, in the army, and he fell in Lebanon. In one of those bunkers.
I didn't know how to deal with it. I thought about him a lot. After a while I decided that I needed to learn from how he lived and not to think about how he died. I created Life Story so that we would just talk. Even if it's about nothing important. When people talk, they understand each other regardless of where they're from or how well they know Hebrew. I hope that by participating in this project you will keep talking to each other and to everybody you meet and you will not be in a bunker when all you see is enemies", finishes Nomi.
An hour later, well over the allotted time for the session, the participants of this unique project are still inside the classroom talking. Outside, the angry city is still drowning in protests.