Interviewer trying to impose a religion on me

A telephone survey on the theme of Haifa city:

Interviewer: Are you from a Jewish, Muslim, or Christian family?
Me: Atheist
Interviewer: You have to choose from the three categories: Jewish, Muslim, or Christian?
Me: I already answered you. I’m from an atheist family.
Interviewer: But I have to indicate... ok, what’s your ethnic group? (she uses the word eda in Hebrew, which can also connote religious affiliation).
Me: Palestinian.
Interviewer: And the family background? Muslim or Christian?
Me: You can’t force a religion on me. I already answered your question.
Interviewer: But I have to indicate one of the three options. Jewish, Muslim or Christian?
Me: Listen, lady. I already responded to your question several times.
Interviewer: Your family. What background? Muslim or Christian?

At this point I informed her I was not interested in continuing the survey. I totally understand the need for categorization, especially if the survey’s goal is, for example, about mapping the needs of different groups in Haifa. But religious categorization doesn’t add any value. Yes, I would like to see the results of a survey with division according to Jews and Palestinians, as the needs of the Jewish society would be different than those of the Palestinian society in Haifa. But to do the division according to religion doesn’t contribute anything. It is another attempt at dividing the Palestinian society, nothing more than that. A gender categorization, for example, would be much more important, as the needs of women are unique and different than those of men. And with the current categorization they are forgetting that Haifa has more groups than the three offered. Have they forgotten that Haifa has a not so insignificant number of Bahai? What about those belonging to the Druze religion? Would she also try to force a Muslim/Christian choice upon them?

why I decided to vote for the Joint List

To vote or not to vote. That is not the question.

The Joint List has at first thrown me into confusion. I’ve always perceived voting as a personal responsibility as a citizen. But for the first time in my life, I had my doubts. I was confused. How can I vote for a list that has Islamists and nationalists and polygamists in it? So I decided I would not vote. But as the days passed, I realized that more than a responsibility, voting is my right. And it is a hard-earned right that women before me struggled for on my behalf. How can I not vote?
I started watching Ayman Odeh speak on TV. I read his statuses. Ayman, the shy kid who was my classmate in elementary school and then in high-school. Slowly, I began changing my mind. 

There is something I can’t quite put my finger on about Ayman. His discourse is at once fresh and nostalgic. He remains calm in every situation. He represents a new kind of leadership. Change. Something new.

I am voting for the Joint List because I’m sick of the old. With all its challenges and problematic aspects, I think it’s time to embrace change and uncertainty, because the old ways surely didn’t get us anywhere. So I am giving a chance, in the hopes that it will lead to change. Sometimes, we have to stride forward, change direction, and embrace uncertainty.

On Palestinians serving in the Israeli Defence Forces

I just had a short discussion on Facebook with a Palestinian living in Sweden, who claimed that MOST Palestinian citizens of Israel serve in the Israeli Defence Forces (IDF). He even said that Palestinians from Haifa, Jaffa, the West Bank, Al Khalil (Hebron), and Gaza serve in the IDF. I was quite taken aback from this statement, which is obviously not true. First, let me say that Palestinians from the West Bank (Al Khalil is in the West Bank) and Gaza do not and cannot serve in the IDF for obvious reasons.   

Now let’s move on to the issue of Palestinian citizens of Israel. It is true, there are several hundreds who serve in the army. Some for purely personal reasons, as they believe military service will grant them benefits – mainly economic, higher social status, and equality. Others have ideological grounds for their service. They believe they are Israeli, that Israel is their country, and they want to contribute and serve the country. They feel it is their obligation. Still others claim they are not Arabs at all, but only Arabic-speaking. They distinguish themselves completely from the Arabs and Palestinians.

But the problem is that mainstream Hebrew and foreign media are reflecting a distorted image of this reality. They focus on this small group, and the image viewers get is that the majority of Palestinian citizens of Israel are rushing to serve in the IDF. Yet they show only this partial image, ignoring the broad movement of youth mobilizing against all forms of recruitment – both military service and national/civil service. Palestinian youth within Israel are out on the streets protesting this, social media campaigns are running on Facebook and other new media channels. And not only the youth movement is out there, but also social change organizations are leading national campaigns against military and national service.

changing paradigms

Throughout my six years of experience in program and resource development in civil society organizations, I have often come across international donors who refuse funding programs that benefit Palestinian citizens of Israel. Their refusal is usually based on a conscious decision to focus their funding on projects directly working towards ending the occupation, or programs benefiting Palestinians in the Occupied Palestinian Territories (oPt).

The rationale behind the refusal to fund programs benefiting Palestinian citizens of Israel is, in my belief, false. It lies in the “either / or” paradigm and in comparing the oppression of Palestinians inside Israel with that of Palestinians in the oPt.

International donors must change their basis for decision-making in their grantmaking process, which requires a change in perceptions. I believe this change will not come unless we raise a clear voice and facilitate their understanding of the situation. Until then, we Palestinian citizens of Israel, will be further pushed into the margins, and our unique needs further ignored.

Donors who support the Palestinian cause and work towards ending the Israeli occupation must  understand that in order to build a strong and resilient Palestinian society and promote real conflict resolution, there is need to invest resources in all groups of the Palestinian society in the area: Palestinians in Gaza, the West Bank, and Israel. Prioritizing this or that group only further serves to fragment our already socially, economically, politically and geographically fragmented society.

It is not an issue of who is oppressed more. Comparison is irrelevant. When I discuss my oppression as a Palestinian citizen of Israel, I do not compare myself with Palestinians in the Occupied West Bank or Gaza, because this is not the point. It is not an issue of who is oppressed more or who is suffering more.

It is rather an issue of investing resources in empowering and supporting all groups of Palestinians – each group according to its unique characteristics and specific social, economic and political needs. The current trend in grantmaking only serves to marginalize the specific needs of the already disenfranchised Palestinian society inside Israel.

An Arab an the Pool

I buy a ticket to the pool, just like any other citizen, take a key and head to change into my black, one-piece bathing suit. After swimming ten pools, I decide I like it here and want to make a membership. I tie a towel around the upper part of my body, and walk to the reception desk. The woman at the desk smiles at me, how may I help you, young lady. I tell her I wish to subscribe to the center’s pool, get all the information—three month program, six month program, twelve-month program—and I settle on the twelve month membership. "I need your ID card please." So I hand her my ID card, knowing what to expect. She takes the ID card—at the bottom of which there is one word, the one word which always betrays. Not me, but the person studying it. Her reality slows down as she tries to figure out in her head—without being too conspicuous about it—how to react. Should she just ignore it? Should she comment? Say that some of her best friends are like that? Or that Mustafa is her favorite car mechanic?

Looking up at me in great surprise, and almost in a whisper, confessing, "You know, if it weren’t written down here, I would have never believed you were an Arab." What is there to react to such ignorance? The only thing I manage to do is come up with a faded smile, apologizing for not looking the part.

***

I wrote the piece above several years ago. Rereading it, it tickles me. These surprised looks used to trigger different emotions in me. But not anymore. Sadly, living in a place that is overflowing with racism, one gets immune to the more subtle forms of it. Otherwise, we couldn't function. Because it's everywhere, all the time, non-stop.

Raw Hatred

I just opened my Facebook page, and I see one of my friends sharing a photo of Channel 2 Newsstatus. The status is: “Jordan: at least 14 killed and 37 wounded in a bus accident near Allenby bridge crossing.”

The following comments were posted below the status by people:

[free translation from Hebrew]

v  Kululululu I couldn’t ask for a better morning than this… just a shame there isn’t another zero at the end [referring to the number of killed an injured].

v  Death to all Arabs, there is no place for an Arab in Eretz Israel. Maybe this sounds terrible to some people from North of Tel Aviv, but they also don’t deserve to live in this state. And yes, I am a proud racist, proud of my country and the soldiers protecting it.

v  Arabushim [a derogatory word for Arabs] – feel free to die, I don’t mind.

v  A pleasure, such a morning, big happiness, and if anybody has a problem with it is free to change countries because this is the country of the Jews, one people for all.

v  To all the leftists, you know what? I am h a p p y! There’s no happier person than me about what happened to the Jordanians… and I give you my word… that if, God forbid, this happened to us, and they published it for example on the news Facebook page of the Jordanians… I give you my word that all of them would write *

v  Hopa… nothing like starting the Saturday with a smile.

v  Arab son of a bitch die and burn Amen and get cancer.

v  14 people?????? But they are animals!

v  What happiness, a few Arabs less, it’s a shame that only 14.

v  Today is already beginning good!!!!

v  For every terrorist that died, an Israeli lives.

v  Wish for more such accidents Amen.

v  Not-pleasant, not-terrible.

By the time I write this, I found the original status with the picture of the overturned bus. There are more than 700 comments by now on the status, and most of them are similar to the ones I translated above.

You can read about the accident in English on YNET: "17 Palestinians Killed in Bus Crash."

I feel sick. I feel sick that when I walk outside of my home tomorrow morning, I will probably pass by these very same people.

On the deletion of the Arabic language

(c) photo by khulud kh, Haifa (2012)

It seems that I’ve been out of touch with the politics of television for quite some time, since I don’t own a television and only get to watch it sporadically when I’m at my parents’. I remember when I was young, there were always subtitles in Arabic on the Israeli channels. Or am I imagining things? I’m quite sure there were. In my memory, they ran in two black lines on a yellowish background – one line in Hebrew and the other in Arabic.

In recent years, I’ve noticed the Arabic disappeared, to be replaced by Russian. I think it’s very important to add Russian subtitles, as there are is a large Russian-speaking immigrant community here, and many of this community’s members do not speak or understand Hebrew. Making television programs accessible to this community is of course of great significance to facilitate their integration and their sense of belonging.

But why replace? Why not add? Why delete the Arabic? Replacing it by the Russian is an extremely strong political statement. Our language is being deleted. Television programs are not accessible anymore to many Palestinians who do not speak or understand the Hebrew language. It’s yet another step in making us feel unwanted here. Another step in this systematic deletion of our language. And language is one component of history and culture.

One wouldn’t even pay attention to such a “trivial” issue as replacing one language by another in the subtitles. Not if you understand the language being spoken. But in some cases, it gets really ridiculous – ironically sad I would even say. I noticed this on a cooking program, where the hosting woman is a Palestinian, and she was hosting a Palestinian chef, Haitham from Taybeh. They are both Arabic speakers, yet the program was in Hebrew, so they spoke in Hebrew. They cooked in Hebrew and they laughed in Hebrew. The subtitles ran in Hebrew and Russian.

The Arabic language, an official language in Israel – was completely absent.

On the same issue of deleting languages, I remember an incident several years ago, which also made an unforgettable impression on me. I had been waiting with my mom for an X-Ray examination. Forgetting to bring a book along, I studied the walls. There was quite a big sign with a cigarette in a red crossed circle, and below it written in both Arabic and Hebrew that smoking is prohibited in this building. A few meters away, a sign in Hebrew for pregnant mothers. It said that if you’re pregnant, you should inform the technician before having the examination. Realization was slow to come. How come the sign was only in Hebrew? What about the Ethiopian, Russian and Arab women who can’t read Hebrew?! Is the protection of their unborn babies less important than that of Jewish women’s?! The very least one could expect is that the sign be written in at least the official state languages, since the hospital is a state institution.

The sign prohibiting smoking struck me as ironic. That this sign, which clearly doesn’t need any words to accompany the image of the cigarette, was in both languages. It is also ironic that this is something prohibited by the hospital, so they want to make sure everybody understands it, whereas the sign about pregnant women is there to protect the women, so it’s perceived as less important.

These are but two very insignificant examples. But this is done systematically and strategically. The most prominent and known example is probably the deletion of the Arabic from signs of city names. The deletion of language is symbolic. It is not something solid like the deletion and destruction of whole villages. But it is fundamental in its symbolism. Language roots us and binds us, makes us feel we belong. It is the means for human communication. Deletion of a language is an undoable act.

another lynch in Jerusalem

Yet another lynch of a young Palestinian man in Jerusalem. Only about three weeks ago, in the impossible heat of mid-August in this forsaken place, three young Palestinians were brutally attacked. And now, another young man. In both instances, the attackers were young Jewish boys. Very young. In both instances, they were attacked because they are Palestinian. The media jumped on the hot news like vultures on prey and screamed “Lynch.” Actually almost everyone did: politicians, the president, educators, parents. They all rushed to criticize, to emphasize and to remove themselves from this raw hatred. They were surprised.

I am not surprised at all. A society that breeds blind hatred towards a whole people is bound to such extreme actions. But I am not here to write any “op-ed” article. As a writer of political fiction, among other genres, I had a strong sense of responsibility in writing down another story. Not the story of the attack. Not the story of the attackers, and not that of a society that has lost its way. No.

When I read about the lynch of Ibraheem AbuTa’ah on the night of September 5^th, I felt an urge to write his story. Of before the lynch. Of a young man finishing his morning shift at the hotel, going home, taking a nap, preparing for the party. Was he going alone to the party or was he taking a partner? What were his hopes? What was going on through his mind when his friend told him she wasn’t feeling well and if he could help her get home? Was he disappointed to leave the party early? Did the lynch that occurred there three weeks earlier pass through his mind at all? Did he walk with full confidence or did he feel insecure? And then – and then, when she called his name, disclosing his nationality, and he saw the pure hatred in his attackers’ eyes? Yes, this is the story I feel the urge to write. Gone writing.

Identity in Crisis

“Crisis of Identity” – we Palestinian citizens of Israel supposedly suffer from this disease. I’ve heard this term hurled at me in accusing anger, in psychological diagnosis, in pity, in sarcasm. It’s always been a statement – nobody ever bothered even to ask my opinion or if I feel I suffer from this disease. We Palestinian citizens of Israel suffer from an extremely severe and incurable “Crisis of Identity.” We are split between “loyalty” to the state of Israel and belonging to our people.

Well, dear accusers:

I’ve got some news for you. I DO NOT – repeat: I DO NOT – suffer from any crisis of identity. I know who I am, and I surely know where my loyalties are. My loyalties are first and foremost to my values and to justice.

And if you think you will read here any “justifications” – you can stop reading right now. I don’t need to justify myself or my values to anybody.

Some facts:

I am a Palestinian. I live in my own homeland, which happens to be under the official name of Israel in the present. I carry an Israeli citizenship and an Israeli passport. I am institutionally discriminated against as part of a national minority. I stand up for my rights. I fight for my rights. I have no inferiority complex. I have no identity crisis.

Some thoughts on identity:

My own identity is made up of a plethora of aspects. To constrict me to my national identity is not only not right, but it is untrue. I am made of a multitude of identities, which are liquid, flowing and flexible. And never fixed. They are all temporary. How boring it must be to get stuck in one identity your whole life!

(c) khulud kh, June 2012

Excluded from Women's World Boxing Championship

This is the kind of news that makes me angry. The cover news of the local Friday paper features a picture of a young woman boxer, with the headline “7,000 shekel, baby.” It caught my attention, partly because of the all too common chauvinistic culture-made connection between the words and the image of the woman. If it were a man boxer, the word “baby” would never have been used. But this is just an aside comment.

The young woman is Yelena Shelkovin (ילנה שלקובין), three times Israel champion in boxing (in three different weights). She’s been qualified to participate in the 2012 Women’s World Boxing Championship in Qinhuangdao, China, to take place in May. However, Yelena will probably not make it. Why? She can’t afford to pay the 7,000 NIS (about $1,900 or 1,400 EUR) for the round-trip ticket and accommodation. In her interview, Yelena says that Sports Associations around the world usually fund participations of athletes in world championships. Of course, she received a letter from the Israeli Boxing Association that she will participate in the world championship, but that she has to fund her own ticket and accommodation. The interviewer quotes the response of William Shehada, chair and general director of the Israeli Boxing Association: “No need to make a big tragedy. This is a very expensive championship and the Association cannot fund it. She’s not someone who’s going to take the world championship, she’s not ready for it and she’s not worth the money, so she’s not going. She’s only Israel champion.”

I was quite surprised to read his response. She’s been Israel champion three years in a row. How can he say that she’s not ready? And what’s this “she’s not worth the money?”

I think there is exclusion and marginalization here on several layers: first, she’s a woman. So of course “she’s not worth the money.” Then, she’s a Russian immigrant, and she comes from a low socio-economic background. Yelena has made it on hew own. She immigrated to Israel all by herself at the age of 19, leaving her family behind. During the day, she cleans hotel rooms. She practices boxing after work.

I bet that if she were a man, there would be no funding issues. I bet that if she were born in Israel to Ashkenazi parents, there would be no funding issues. This is just another “small” example of the inequalities in Israel, and the rift between the different groups – women and men, ethnic groups, national groups, immigrants and those who were born here, different socio-economic backgrounds, etc.

No. There are no equal opportunities in Israel. Not if you don’t belong to the elite hegemony.

body image (or: my magic training pants)

So I was again in this same group which made me want to scream last time. But this time we had a really good session. We discussed body image – what we like about our appearance, how important is it to us, the stereotype that all feminist women neglect their appearance, what is beauty and by whom is it defined, the perfect body and by whom is it defined, culture and society in relation to body image, and what not.
Anyway, as we were concluding the session, moving from our own private bodies to the public sphere of society and how it perceives beauty, I thought of one microcosmic example for how much society puts emphasis on external appearances.

They’re doing some construction work in my neighborhood, so it is literally teeming with young men bursting with hormones. I take the dogs out in the morning in my training suit and in my black jacket. I walk past the working men. I am air. Invisible.

Later on, I leave the house for the office – dressed in skinny jeans and boots. The same black jacket. My face and hair are exactly the same as in the morning, as I don’t use any makeup. So – practically the only difference is the clothes on the lower part of my body: skinny jeans and boots instead of baggy training pants and crocs. All men stop working. All heads turned in my direction, their eyes following me down the street. I am amazed how a pair of skinny jeans and boots can turn me from completely invisible to the center of their attention – for a few moments, at least.

The next morning, I put on my training suit, black jacket and crocs – and head out with the dogs again. I walk past the working men. And I am invisible again. I smile to myself. My baggy training pants are magical, having the superpower of making me invisible – well, in certain situations at least and for certain individuals. But. Nevertheless.

(c) by khulud kh. all rights reserved (2012)

"What is feminism?" (or - I just want to scream)

(c) photo by khulud kh - all rights reserved

Just wanted to scream.
Ok so I’m sitting in this group. We’re all sitting in a circle. We start like in a feminist Collective with a round of names. Then there’s time and space for thoughts we had since our last meeting. The group is containing. Pleasant atmosphere. Some of the women are my friends. Others are new to me. Then we work in small groups, answering the following questions: “When did I discover I was a feminist? What was my first feminist act?” So I share my thoughts. My first feminist act – I don’t remember. But I do remember my most significant feminist act, which continues to accompany me. That of bringing my voice into the open. The transition from the private to the public sphere in my writing. And with this transition, the contents of my writing also changed from the personal to the political. And this is feminism all about – at least to me.

Then we went back to the group, and we were asked to share personal stories. I shared mine. Another woman shared hers. Her first feminist act was as a young teenager, when she took part in organizing and holding a demonstration. She stressed the collective power, the power to change, and the action in the public sphere. We were both talking about the same thing. From the private to the public – these are our first and most significant feminist actions.

Then, several other women talked, and as I was listening, trying to understand them and contain their different views of feminism, a silent scream began to form inside of me. While thinking of my feminist act, my independence or the fact that I am a single provider for my household, or the fact that I don’t cook – all these didn’t even cross my mind. But this was the main thing these women talked about. They talked about the importance of being an economically independent woman, but at the same time expressed clear antagonism towards feminism. One of them said that she took care of an old lady who never married and never had children, and that this old lady was very sad because she felt she had missed on life. What does this have to do with feminism? The focus of their talk was relationships, with cooking sneaking in every now and then. Oh, and burning bras.

So this is what feminism means to them? I thought and wanted to let that scream loose. None of them talked about social struggles, structural oppression, the rule of hegemony, acting in the public sphere.

This was yesterday. 24 hours have passed, and I am left with some thoughts. Yes, I am an economically independent woman. Yes, I am the single provider for my household. No, I don’t have a husband or a partner who lives with me. No, I don’t know how to cook. Now the question is – is this because I’m a feminist? I want to say no! These choices have nothing to do with feminism. But that would be not looking the truth in the eye. Feminism for me is a wide worldview and a way of life. So I guess the choices – personal or not – I make in my life are always connected this way or that – to the fact that I am a feminist.

But what I want to say is that this is not the essence of feminism, and never has been. Many feminists love to cook, many feminists are married and have children, and many feminists wear bras (YES).

So, what did I want to say? Oh yes, I just wanted to let that scream out and make clear the fact that my feminism is about the political. It’s not about cooking, not about bras, not about living (or not) with a partner. It’s about my right to be present and act in the public sphere. Mainly, for me, at this stage – it’s about my voice! About my voice having the legitimacy to be heard in the public sphere. There you go – I let my silent scream out.

(c) all rights reserved to khulud kh (2011)

I REFUSE (or: on unpaid, indefinite leave from the conflict)

I was told the other day I’m using the strategy of “escapism,” as I claimed that I don’t have time to read the news! Now, that’s interesting. There are more racist laws being put on the Knesset table, the democratic space is shrinking right before our eyes, the next war is being planned out in the open, and what do I do? I write love poems! I don’t write any posts condemning what is happening, I’m not commenting on the Iranian “threat,” nada! I even stopped following the news. I have crawled into my seashell and decided that all that matters now is to write that perfect love poem. To find those elusive words that express that which words cannot express. Like being “intoxicated by the letters of – your name in my blood.” There you go! Words expressing that which cannot be expressed. Conflict? Nuclear weapons? Democracy under threat? Racist legislation? Now really – it’s the same old same old. And anyway – how much of this shit can one mind contain?! And didn’t I already say that I have taken unpaid, indefinite leave from the conflict? So for a while now – all I will be posting is love poems and fragments of my novel-in-progress. You don’t like that? That’s your problem, and to be honest, deal with it. And if you don’t deal with it, see who cares! Like seriously now – am I expected to put my dreams hopes goals loves on pause until all this shit ends? Am I supposed to be immersed in it and stink from it 24/7? Well – I REFUSE!!! I want to love I want to write I want to dream I want to love I want to be left alone I want to be me!

(c) all rights reserved for khulud kh (2011)

Women in the public sphere and language

A few days ago, I was watching a program in Arabic on television. I can't remember the name of the program, but it was an interview with an economist. He was analyzing the economic situation of Israel in the context of the economic situation of the Palestinian community within Israel. I liked what he was saying, though the idea itself was not new. He was saying that the Israeli economy cannot thrive unless the economy of the Palestinian community inside Israel thrives also. This idea caught my attention, so I continued listening to him. Then he went on to talk about the OECD, providing data and making an impression that he knows what he's talking about. So far, so good. What he was saying made sense. A country cannot thrive economically if it leaves out a whole group of people from the process. But then, in one moment, or actually with a few words, he completely messed up. He said the words "business men" and "men of economy" [although in Arabic there is a word referring to economists, he chose to use the words "men of economy" instead].

At this choice of words this, I stopped listening to him. I was enraged. He was recycling the same oppressing discourse and practices. He was talking about the state not providing fertile ground for Palestinians inside Israel to thrive economically, while he himself was using a language which oppresses women.

What, can't we women be business women? Can't we women be economists? Again, in the public sphere, only the men count. This view, this ancient patriarchal discourse, this whole frame of thought has to be eradicated. I am sick of being marginalized and excluded from the public sphere! I want my equal space in it – it's my basic right. And, guess what? Just like this man was saying about the exclusion of Palestinians citizens of Israel from the country's economy, the same goes about the exclusion of women from any process – be it economic, social, cultural, or other.

No society can thrive if it excludes women from its public sphere. Women have much to contribute to their communities and societies in all spheres of life, and it is high time to acknowledge our contribution and its importance.

I shared this thought with a close friend of mine, and he said that in Arabic, when you say a plural verb or noun, it is generally used in its masculine form, while referring to both women and men (in contrast to English, where the plural form is gender-neutral). But this very fact is also significant. The very choice to use the masculine when referring to both genders is inherently stating that men are more important than women. Although his claim was baseless in this case, as I was talking about the word "men," which does not refer to both genders at all. Close attention needs to be paid to the way we use language and words, as language shapes and designs reality.
(c) all rights reserved to khulud kh

A "Flat Taste" - Consumerism Insanity

We have a new product on the shelves!!! Wooohooo!!! “Flat Pretzel Rings” by OSEM. Of course, I was tempted to buy a bag and try them. Taste-wise, I couldn’t detect any change… on the contrary, I like the good-old kind much better. So, yet another marketing trick to raise sales. That’s what I thought to begin with. No big deal, huh? Most companies do these tricks every now and then – selling the same product but changing the packaging, the color of the package, the size of it, the shape of the product. And all just to make us consumers even more confused, and to raise sales. Well, so far so good. After all, it’s a free economic market and there’s a lot of competition out there. Not a big deal. But! What I discovered is the insane price of these periodic innovations. Here’s what OSEM had to say as a reply to the higher price of their Flat Pretzels: “In order to bring consumers the novelty of Shtuchim (Flats in Hebrew), the company invested more than 30 Million Shekels (more than 8.5 Million US Dollars) for over two years in developing the product and in establishing a new production line.” WOW! More than 30 Million NIS!!! And for what? Manipulating consumers.

In light of the Tent Protests all over Israel, demanding social justice, and the fact that in today’s “free” economic market big companies are making their profits on the backs of consumers, I have something to say here. As a person. As a consumer. As a feminist. To all these companies that believe their way to economic profit is through manipulating us:


We don’t need the same product in a new shape. We don’t need new Pretzels in a Flats shape. Instead of investing the 30 Million NIS in a new production line, why don’t you try to win my heart through socially responsible actions? I promise to buy your products if you in turn invest the 30 Million NIS back into the community. So many social change projects are waiting for your involvement in the community. And you know what? Spend some money on advertising your contribution and involvement in the community. Why not? Write on your products that you are supporting this or that social project for the welfare of this or that marginalized or disadvantaged community. And see how your sales rise. You don’t need engineers for that. All you have to do is come down from your tower and taste the life on the ground. Become socially responsible – do something for society. After all, you have 30 Million NIS to spend. For me, your 30 Million just went down the drain, and I’m not buying any more Shtuchim!

Saturation Point [?]

I feel that I have reached my saturation point with the conflict. It breaths through me, it invades my dreams, it passes by me on the street and it sits next to me on the bus. As strange as it may sound, it has become closer to me than a lover – in certain ways. This blog is about my personal experiences as related to the conflict – and its different elements and layers. The main theme running through my novel is the conflict. Even the contents of my paid work include the conflict. Almost everything in life becomes marginal as the conflict digs in further and deeper into my bones.

So – do we not also reach a saturation point? I wonder. Since last September, I’ve been going through a long process of distancing myself from the conflict in different ways. And now I see that this has become something systematic, and indicates a turning point. A turning point which also requires taking time to think.

So, what happened in September that initiated this process? I participated in a seminar on project planning, organized by a Swedish foundation. From inside Israel, we were four women – two working at Palestinian feminist organizations in Israel and two working for mixed Palestinian and Jewish organizations. The first two days of the seminar went by smoothly. On the third morning, one of the Jordanian participants stood up in front of the whole group of about 20 participants, and said that she is withdrawing from the seminar because there are women from Israeli organizations at the seminar. She claimed she didn’t know this beforehand (although she received a participants’ list with our organizational affiliations, and I introduced myself on the first day as a member of a mixed organization). She was only referring to me and the other participant from the mixed organization. Her claim was that this was a normalization of the occupation and thus she will have no dealings with any Israeli organizations. Her last sentence almost knocked me off my chair. She said: “It’s nothing personal.”

How dare she tell me that it’s not personal when it was my very personal decision to work at a mixed organization? This was a big trauma for me, the story of course doesn’t end here, but it just gets too complicated to write about.

Anyway, this is where the current phase started for me. Up until then, I was still in the steering committee of Isha L’Isha’s Women, Peace and Security project. When I returned from the seminar, I took a break from the steering committee, thinking that I only need some time off my activism. Well, I’m still on that break. Many activities have been going on since then – there was a learning group on citizenship and feminism, of which I only attended the first meeting. Now I hear about plans for a weekend retreat to work on a feminist vision of citizenship. I was excited at first, and was even looking forward to participate. Now I’m hesitating again. Isha L’Isha was also just approved a big grant from the EU for the Women, Peace and Security project, and I got excited and thought to come back to the steering committee. But nothing happened and I am still not back.

I’ve been preoccupied by this process for the past few weeks, feeling that something is not right here. How come I am applying so much resistance to going back? What is it I fear? Yes, the contents are difficult to cope with, but I have a community of supportive friends who make the burden bearable. Or have I just reached a saturation point? I even went so far as calling the coordinator of our Women and Medical Technologies project, telling her that I’d love to become more active and volunteer in the project she’s coordinating.

But today I stop to write. Today I stop to think. Putting thoughts into concrete words on the page helps to make things clear. It helps to see the process. In the past years, I’ve had my “vacations” from the conflict – short two-three month breaks to get some air and then go back with renewed energies. This time, it’s been almost a year. I still do write about the conflict on my blog, and it still takes up the bulk of my novel. But no actions. Only words.

And when I think of the saturation point, I get scared. Because do I have the moral right to turn my back on the conflict? Tutu’s sentence keeps popping up in my head: “If you are silent in situations of injustice, you have taken the side of the oppressor." Does this mean that if I go on to pursue other things and become active in other, less “urgent” issues, that I have taken the side of the oppressor? And then, who is to decide what issues are more urgent than others?

I’ve read something that Talma recently wrote. She wrote that her mother told her to do anything she wanted, as long as her reflection in the mirror was clean. I think I will adopt this sentence for myself. It is such a simple yet strong image. And I know that I want to see a clean reflection of myself in the mirror. Clean and clear.

No. I don’t have an answer. The writing of this is only part of the process, and I guess I will continue to think it over. Fur now, I am at the stage of saturation. But then, things change all the time. One thing I know for sure: that the conflict will keep getting into my bed at night, if only as a dream. It will keep occupying a central place in my life, even if there will be long periods of time where I am not active in any physical sense.

Tomorrow is a new day.

Yes, even Capital Letters can be Political

ok don't take this post too seriously. It's something I've been playing around in my mind with.

So I've dropped the caps from my name. This was after I've dropped all but the first letter of my family name [but that's in another post] I'm no longer Khulud Kh. I am khulud kh.

Why? No, not for the same reason that bell hooks dropped her caps.

It's for a much simpler reason - my name in its original language - Arabic - is خلود.
No caps. And since it's an Arabic name, why should it be Englishized or Anglicanized (yes, I'm making up words along the way) or Westernized?
I realize that many languages in the world use caps - and for good reasons. But there are many other languages - Arabic and Hebrew just two examples - that don't have caps, and don't see any reason for using caps.

My Arabic name doesn't have caps, and therefore, it will not have caps in English either.

I've been interviewed by a German friend for a German newspaper for a theater-festival. I've explicitly asked her to make sure that my name appears without the caps. The editors refused to drop them, claiming that "nobody would understand that this is an artist name." So I was once again Khulud Kh. But this is not my "artist name." It's MY name. And I think that one of my very basic rights is to decide how I spell my name.

No - I'm not making an issue of it - as I wrote in the beginning, no need to take it seriously. These are just my ramblings at a late hour of the night. Sometimes I laugh at this, but sometimes it does annoy me. This invasion even of my very name and my ownership of it [not to mention ways of spelling and why I spell it with a "kh" and why there are no "o"s in it].

Is there still Hope? - The Hebrew Version

Photograph by Sam Contis who also owns the cactus, which is a piece of art by Naomi Safran-Hon. The text in the image is by Hannah Safran. All rights reserved.

And so tonight I received a follow-up email from my friend Hannah Safran, with the Hebrew version of the cactus this time. In Hebrew, the words are different. It says: "and when they torture him, he will multiply and he will erupt." There is use of the affirmative in the sentence, stressing the act of multiplying and erupting. Thinking about it, the language is archaic and it may be something from the Torah.

Anyway - the Hebrew text only reinforces my second interpretation about the hope. That the desire of this cactus to live is so strong that it will even break through cement.

Is there still Hope?

Photograph by Sam Contis who also owns the cactus, which is a piece of art by Naomi Safran-Hon. The text in the image is by Hannah Safran. All rights reserved.

I received this photo today by email from a good friend of mine, Hannah Safran.
In the subject line, she wrote: "44 years against the occupation."
In the body of the email, she wrote: "the cactus grows inside the cement. is there still hope?"

The picture and the words can be interpreted in two contradicting ways.
When I first saw the picture and read the words, I felt sad. Something heavy settled in my stomach. Why? Because cement in this context connotes death for me - the solid end. And for a cactus to grow inside the cement - well, I thought to myself, it must have been out of desperation.

Then I closed the computer, went to bed, couldn't sleep, came back here, opened the email again, and read the words once again:
"the cactus grows inside the cement. is there still hope?"
I lingered on every word. The cactus is growing. It's growing. Yes, it's growing in the cement, but growing. Meaning that the cactus has not lost hope. On the contrary, this is one hell of a cactus! Won't give up! Life is so precious to it that it makes roots even in cement! It's rootedness - what we call SUMUD.

Then the other part of the sentence, "is there still hope?"
Well, let me tell you something! I have plans for a better tomorrow. If I didn't have dreams of a better tomorrow, then there would be no reason for me to be here.
And what is the alternative, anyway? To lose hope? Now that's the scary part. I don't even want to imagine what would happen if we do lose hope...

"How Arabs Stole Jewish Property"

Riding the bus this evening from the office, a man in his fifties sat across from me. He had a blue folder, and when he opened it, I could read the title "money" in big letters. I tried to think of what he does - is he a student? Or maybe a business man trying to learn how to make more money. He closed the folder. A few minutes later, he opened it again and flipped to an English article with the title "How Arabs Stole Jewish Property." Underneath, I could only vaguely glimpse the years 1946 and 1948. With this new knowledge of the material this man was reading, I suddenly became aware of my national identity, which minutes earlier was very much asleep. And I looked at his face, and all of a sudden it seemed somewhat different. The contents of the title of that article were somehow reflected in his eyes.