Over break, I traveled to Israel on Taglit−Birthright, living on a bus for 10 days with approximately 40 Tufts students and eight Israeli soldiers. Fighting the increasingly compelling urge to fall asleep on long bus rides, I devoted my time to learning everything I could about those around me.
On one ride through the Galilee, I sat next to Moshe (names of active−duty soldiers have been changed), an Israeli submariner who thus far in the trip had been relatively quiet. We sat silently for a moment when he turned towards me and asked, "So what do you want to do with your life?" Taken aback, I sketched a very general overview of my interest in environmental law, thinking that as a soldier he would be removed from academic discourse. His response cited numerous papers, theories and this led to an impassioned discussion.
Afterwards, Moshe nonchalantly stated that he was taking online courses in his free time to get a degree in international economics while in the army.
"But how do you have time for that? Don't you already have a lot of studying to do for the submarine?" I asked.
"I don't really have time. But I study whenever I can."
Impressed, I asked about his post−army plans: "Lemme guess, a trip to South America like everyone else, right?"
"No, actually. I want to go to Germany for a few months to get fluent — my grandparents are from there — and then I want to go to graduate school for international relations in the U.S."
As I tried to digest my conversation with Moshe, I turned around to the back of the bus to find three other Israelis playing "I Want It That Way" (1999) on guitar and a melodica — a hybrid of a harmonica and piano. I watched them play — Areli; short, with a half−Israeli, half−British accent who described his job by asking whether we had seen "The Hurt Locker" (2008); Ori, a bear of a man who somehow fits into a submarine and possesses Buddah−esque wisdom and maturity; and Itai, a serious, stoic naval officer who at that moment was blowing into a winding tube while pushing keys on a small blue plastic piano, releasing a sound much like a squeak toy.
I have close family in Israel. But back in the United States, I sometimes find myself starting to refer to and think of "Israel" as a unitary, inanimate entity. The tenor of debate and media coverage of conflict makes it easy to forget that the story of Israel is one of life, love and beautiful people. The Israelis I know remind me of my friends here — looking for a good time, listening to American songs and hoping that their children will grow up and to eat their shawarma in peace.
Later that same day, we left the bus and began a hike past ancient Roman ruins and a small clear stream. I walked with Ori, talking about nature, the military and music. At one point he turned to me and said, "You know, before this trip, Americans were just in the movies. I've never really had any American friends or known what you were actually like. … It means a lot to see that even though we're on other sides of the world, we're really all the same."
I firmly believe that the paramount concern of the average Israeli and the average Palestinian is providing a good life for his or her children. One of the soldiers on our trip said, wholly hypothetically, that if the religion had never been created, and if Israelis could have a land somewhere else, somewhere where the world would let them live in peace, he would give up the very land for which he is fighting. I don't necessarily agree with him, but that's not the point. He is an Israeli soldier, a patriotic Israeli soldier, and, above all, he wants the fighting to stop. And though I know that most parties involved in the Israeli−Palestinian conflict want peace, so many people here in America don't believe that those most directly affected by the conflict — the Israelis and Palestinians themselves — desire that same peace.
I have met many people, even Jews, who believe that most, if not all, Israeli soldiers actively want to, and try to, kill Palestinians. They assert that Israelis aren't like other humans and certainly are nothing like Americans. But I've seen Israel, and I know Israelis. And the people I've met want the same things I do.
I've also met countless Jews, friends and others who think that all Palestinians and Arabs want to destroy Israel and kill Jews. This is equally naive. I truly believe that the vast majority of people on both sides want to eat their shawarma in peace — reflecting the profound humanity, spirit and joie de vivre that I found in Israel. But the problem is that many people just don't have the exposure and connections to know it.
True peace and understanding can blossom when two sides come to realize their common hopes, concerns and dreams. I have not had the good fortune to travel in Gaza, the West Bank or in Arab countries. Thus, as a follow−up to this piece, I ask those who have spent time in the Arab world to offer similar stories about friends made and mentors discovered, about good laughs and long days and about the humanity of us all.
Many of us care about the conflict and care about understanding it, but just don't make time to engage with those most directly involved in the conflict. I've been guilty of this for far too long at Tufts myself. And so, in addition to reading this piece and the follow−up pieces I hope will come, I ask all of us to do more this semester to further our understanding of the issue.
Tufts is blessed with international students from around the region and myriad students who have traveled abroad. We have established groups like the New Initiative for Middle East Peace that promote and lead dialogue. Make a point this semester to talk to those friends, check out those meetings and see what people are saying and thinking. The Institute for Global Leadership is bringing students from Israel, Turkey and Iraq to campus from Feb. 24 to Feb. 27 for the annual Education for Public Inquiry and International Citizenship Symposium. Look for these students around campus or come to the symposium that week (which I'd encourage on its own merits) and get to know them. Ask them what they want to do with their lives, what they like to do and about their stories of conflict and peace.
In my time at Tufts, I've seen that the most important learning happens outside of detached coursework. Theory is great, but for those of us who care about understanding and solving the Middle East conflict, it's time to redouble our efforts to step out of the classroom and understand our common humanity.
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