Two Palestinian Men, Me, and Who We Are

It’s 18 years since I met Mahmoud, a young, ambitious, Bedouin man from Rahat. He joined the Israeli network of a Euromed Foundation that I was coordinating, dealing with cultural exchange, pluralism, and social justice by collaboration. For years, he texted good wishes every Jewish holiday, and I reciprocated for Muslim holidays. I was attuned to crime in Rahat and would text to check in when incidents made the media. I could hardly have imagined how the system would enable the crime and violence in Arab society throughout Israel to snowball. It’s systemic. It could be curbed. It’s bigger than this story and embedded in it.

I changed jobs. He changed jobs. We scheduled a meeting discussing mutual professional interests in 2017.  Our paths crossed in 2022, and I’m sure we’ll always stay in touch. But neither is he the story. Mahmoud introduced me to Salah in July 2023, to forge our collaboration on a project. Before that materialized, October 7 happened. I volunteered to find funders, sending proposals, collecting photos of where money received went in Rahat, and grew closer to Salah. We spoke daily, then weekly, until the urgency dissipated. We continued speaking frequently. He lost a close Jewish friend on October 7.

His adult children from his first marriage in Germany where he earned his Ph.D. in social psychology postponed their visit planned for October 2023. He worries incessantly about the future Israel holds for his children from his current marriage.

We discuss our struggles maintaining emotional health, acknowledging nuances of differences. Once recently, then twice, we texted without phone call follow-up. “Depression” recurred in his messages. Should I ask if he considered professional help? Then, I remembered, friends talk. The next morning, I called. I said it, “professional help.” Hardly the norm in Bedouin culture. Could he speak honestly, he asked. I assured him he could, imagining some personal crisis, forgetting momentarily the crisis of this war for each of us, each in personal ways.

Salah is wise, sensitive, usually a powerhouse. He began by saying he in no way undermines the tragedy or magnitude of October 7. Not a given. Saying it matters, like anything we do or do not say when framing what we say. He is disappointed by many, not all Jewish Israeli friends, professional acquaintances, and public figures. He has a friend, a retired IDF general, who subsequently held public and political offices. This man told him – because friends stick to the truth – that as bad as things will get after this war, it will be worse for Arab society in Israel. Arab society holds economic power that could be applied and make a difference – another conversational tangent.

Salah was cautious about being candid with me for the same reasons I’m cautious about talking with other Israelis. Not because I avoid people holding different political opinions, but to protect myself from judgmental intolerance, to walk the seam where my Jewish values engage with differences.

Salah asked rhetorically how much destruction and killing Israel will continue bringing upon Gaza. We discussed Israeli denial, Israeli obliviousness, buying into a popular narrative justifying everything Israel does. I am shamed by Israel’s government, by violent settlers enabled to attack Palestinians in the West Bank. Salah adds, “When the International Crime Court issued warrants to arrest Netanyahu and Gallant for war crimes, Jews yelled ‘anti-Semitism’.” I’m at a loss for an appropriate response. International disinterest in war crimes not committed by Israel is another subject.

Victim mentality excusing the victim of any responsibility disturbs me. I share candidly too. I distinguish between Palestinian citizens of the State of Israel and Palestinians residing in the West Bank.

I criticize my government, its war tactics, demonization of Arabs, norms of Jewish supremacy. I want to hear the Palestinian voice in the West Bank criticizing its historical role in the conflict and current norms rather than blaming Israel singularly.  I understand there is greater danger to a Palestinian than an Israeli criticizing their respective societies.

Much has been said about binational one-on-one conversations as opposed to binational group discussions in the last year. Empathy, not introspective criticism of their society, reaches Israelis from Palestinians, though rarely expressed in binational groups. The West Bank is a different society. Salah is helpless to respond, without needing to state that we live in our separate and intertwined societies, Israeli society, Palestinians within it, and Palestinians in the West Bank.

The next day I spoke to an East Jerusalemite colleague. We’ve been speaking three times a week since November, collaborating professionally. He is Christian, Arab, not an Israeli citizen. He met his American wife while studying in the US. His mother is Dutch. His father’s family wandered generations ago from Gaza to Jerusalem. He periodically visited Gaza, for weekend outings with his wife and two teenage daughters. He travels freely in Israel with his residency card. His brother, a veterinarian, born and raised in Jerusalem like him, needs a permit for every visit because he resides in Europe. I ask him about being part of the Christian minority in Palestinian society, with the added Jerusalemite category. His answer surprises me, not because I don’t know, but because of how it sounds, “I am a 46-year-old man who doesn’t have the right to vote.”

We live in our different societies. I return to mine. I pursued belonging to Israeli society as a new immigrant, over 40 years ago. My Jewish identity substantiated my Israeli identity, enhancing my desire to belong. Today, I belong to Israeli society, enough to reject much of it. I reject the role it attributes to a certain Jewish identity – that holds mine in contempt.

Harriet Gimpel, December 20, 2024