 |
 |
 |
|
|
What happens when construction of the security fence separates Israeli farmers from their neighboring Palestinian villagers? A fictional account.
|
|
|
|
|
|
| By Ellis Shuman July 12, 2004 |
| Excerpted from The Virtual Kibbutz. |
| |
For many years, and for as long as each of them could remember, Giora worked his citrus orchard while a short distance away Ibrahim tended to his olive tree grove. Tall, lean Giora, with his balding head freckled by exposure to the sun, planted, irrigated, fertilized, pruned and weeded his trees, and each year he was rewarded by hearty crops of oranges and grapefruits. On the other side of the small valley, Ibrahim, with his round face and a dark complexion, irrigated, fertilized, pruned and weeded his grove, and each autumn he picked a plentiful harvest of olives, suitable for eating, pickling and pressing into olive oil.
Giora was from the kibbutz; Ibrahim was from the Arab village just down the road. The two communities had existed side by side peacefully since long before the two men began cultivating their crops. Once a border had separated the kibbutz from the village, but the passing of years had obliterated any physical separation in the valley. Each community concentrated on its own affairs, in the same way Giora's endeavors in the orchard continued year after year parallel to Ibrahim's efforts in the grove.
They never spoke. Giora didn't speak Arabic and Ibrahim's knowledge of Hebrew was rudimentary at best. But this didn't mean the two middle-aged men didn't or couldn't communicate. Over the years they had learned to interact with gestures, facial expressions and body language, developing a warm friendship that did not have to be expressed in words.
At Giora's invitation, Ibrahim often walked down the dirt path leading from his olive trees to the orchards and the two men would sit in a small clearing outside a wooden shack that served as a supplies storeroom. As Ibrahim rested on an overturned, rusty water container, a bit wary of Rex, Giora's German shepherd watchdog, the kibbutznik placed a small metal finjan on a gas burner. After the water heated to a boil, Giora added a generous helping of Turkish coffee, brought the mixture to a boil again and then poured the thick brew into two small glasses.
On other occasions, Giora would end his workday by trekking across the valley to Ibrahim's home at the edge of the olive trees. The two men relaxed on lounge chairs on a small porch overlooking the valley as the sun set over the kibbutz to the west. Susie, Ibrahim's Lebanese-born wife, approached the weary men with trays of sweet pastries, and the two enjoyed small cups of tea minced with na'ana - a palate-pleasing green mint.
[...]
The years passed and they were fruitful years for the Jews and Arabs on both sides of the small valley. Sometimes weeks would pass and Giora would not see Ibrahim among the olive trees. But then one day his Arab neighbor would be there, removing weeds growing around the trees or tilling the soil in the vegetable plot outside his home. The two men would greet each other as long-lost friends, and they lingered silently but contently over their glasses of Turkish coffee.
They were years of hope and faith as well. Most of the members of Giora's kibbutz supported Meretz, a left-wing political party. For them, the Oslo peace accords signaled the coming end of conflict between the Jewish state and her Arab neighbors. The two peoples of the region would at long last lay down their arms and farm their lands side by side, each in its own independent country. This leftist dream was adopted and promoted by many of the kibbutzniks, who went out of their way to develop special relations with the villagers.
For the residents of Ibrahim's village, the opportunities of peace were greeted warmly as well. Omar, who lived with his wife in a small apartment constructed above Ibrahim's home, found work at a construction site in Tel Aviv; his monthly wages helped raise the standard of living of the growing family. Mohammed worked in the kitchen of a Netanya restaurant and Mona had ambitions to study at an Israeli university.
The village prospered. Crowds of Israelis thronged its open marketplace on Saturdays, buying fresh vegetables, ceramic pottery, and jars of olive oil pressed from Ibrahim's trees. Motorists flocked to repair their cars in the garages, attracted by the cheap repair prices and reliable service. The village's little humus and shwarma restaurants were packed with hungry diners.
[...]
The hope and optimism of both the kibbutzniks and the villagers clouded over when a violent uprising swept through Israel and the Palestinian territories. Demonstrations and protests quickly erupted into violent confrontations. The so-called Intifada took an ugly turn as its organizers encouraged and promoted the use of firearms and bombs in a war of terror on Israeli citizens. Suicide bombers were recruited with promises of unbelievable rewards in heaven and encouraged to take as many lives as possible.
For the first time, there were uneasy tensions between the kibbutz and the village. Reports of shooting attacks nearby made the kibbutzniks security conscious and they added extra guard duty patrols at night and at the kibbutz's front gate. The villagers stayed close to their homes, their discontent growing over difficulties and humiliations experienced while passing through army checkpoints.
Giora continued to work in his orchards and across the valley Ibrahim tended to his olive trees. When the two men chanced to meet after work, or when Ibrahim and Susie paid an infrequent visit to Amalia and Giora in their kibbutz home on a Saturday afternoon, they were unable to voice the words that could explain or justify the unrest that was affecting their lives.
Now the once-crowded marketplace of the village was empty on weekends, as Israelis were advised not to visit Arab communities. Security forces arrested the son of one of the villagers on suspicion of belonging to a terrorist organization. Omar no longer had work at the Tel Aviv construction site; as a resident of the territories he had no permit to be in Israel.
[...]
One day Giora was maneuvering his tractor through his orchards, with Rex running alongside, when he saw an army jeep parked among the olive trees on the other side of the small valley. He stopped the tractor and walked along the dirt path towards Ibrahim's home. As he approached he saw three army officers talking to Ibrahim, who was waving his hands in wild gestures.
"What's the problem?" Giora asked the soldiers.
"There's no problem," a young lieutenant replied. "We're just discussing where the fence will be constructed. This man doesn't seem to understand what we're saying."
"He doesn't speak Hebrew," Giora explained.
"Do you know him?" the officer asked.
"Yes, he's my friend."
Omar came up to join his father and an organized translation of the conversation was quickly arranged. The officers informed Ibrahim that much of his olive tree grove was to be expropriated for the construction of the new fence. The separation plan called not only for a fence, they explained, but rather entailed a wide, open area to allow for patrol roads. Therefore, the fence could not be constructed only on the line separating the olive trees from Giora's orchard. Many of Ibrahim's trees would have to be uprooted, the officers said. Others would be left to the west of the fence, making access to them difficult, if not impossible for the villager.
"This is our family's livelihood," Omar said, speaking for his father. "You can't just uproot our trees. They are all we have."
"We have to construct this fence to save lives," the officer snapped. "Quite obviously he doesn't understand this," he told the other officers.
"Why should Ibrahim have to give up his trees for this fence?" Giora asked.
The army officers were taken aback, unaccustomed to encountering an Israeli who would stick up for an Arab villager. The fence was being built according to security considerations, they explained curtly, and that was why they were here - to set the process in motion.
[...]
How will Giora and Ibrahim, and their families, deal with the construction of the security fence? Read the rest of this story in "The Virtual Kibbutz" by Ellis Shuman.
"The Virtual Kibbutz" was selected as a finalist for ForeWord Magazine's 2003 Book of the Year in the Fiction - Short Stories category.
Order now for $15.95 by clicking here.
"The Virtual Kibbutz" is also available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.
|
|
 
|
|
|
|
Click on the blue headline to read a Talkback comment and respond to it. Click on the  icon to send a private email to the talkback writer. The icon appears only if the writer has decided to be contacted. If no popup window appears, please make sure your popup blocker allows israelinsider.com.
|
|
| |
|
|
