Much Needed Inspiration

As the conflict in Israel/Palestine drags on, optimism is becoming a real commodity. With a right-wing coalition likely to take over in Israel and a Palestinian unity government looking unlikely and problematic, it just does not seem like peace is coming soon. Most likely, we can look forward to more violent conflicts, which will invariably leave many people dead or injured, infrastructure damaged, and hateful ideologies hardened on both sides of the border.

It's hard to stay hopeful in times like this. That's why stories like Elik Elhanan's are so incredibly important to Israelis and Palestinians who want to move forward and live enjoyable lives. This is one of the most inspirational stories that I have seen in a while.

Turning Rage Into Reconciliation In Israel

I was born and raised in Jerusalem. I had a normal, happy childhood. I came from a liberal, left-wing family, which means I knew something of the situation. I was for peace, but I never saw myself as part of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. My life and dreams were very far away from all that. The reality of Israeli life helped a lot. Even though I grew up in Jerusalem, the biggest Israeli-Palestinian city, I never met with Palestinians and never talked to them. As far as I was concerned, we lived in different worlds.
When I was 18, I joined the army. It was mandatory, but I went gladly. I believed it was my civic duty. I believed one should contribute oneself to one's community. I believed I was going to protect the borders of my country and defend its citizens. But even there I couldn't see myself as part of it all. Again, my dreams lay very far away, and I knew this soldier thing would end one day. But a piece of reality burst my bubble.
I got the news that there had been a bombing while I was training for something or other far from home. My sister Smadar was missing. I remember the long ride home, hoping for the best. But the second I saw my parents, I knew. They had just come back from the morgue where they'd identified the body of my sister.
Smadar died on September 4, 1997. On that day, two Palestinians blew themselves up in the centre of Jerusalem, killing eight and wounding another 50. Smadar was 14 years old. She had gone downtown with some friends to buy things for school. My sister and her friends had the misfortune of being close to one of the bombers. She died instantly, as did her best friend. The third friend was critically injured.
When we're confronted with such a situation, the first question is, of course, How do I go on? How do I deal with the pain? Society offers several solutions to this problem. One is to be sad. Another is to be angry. I refused to take either path.
Life is too precious to be wasted in sombre reminiscence. I thought my sister, who was full of life and love, deserved better than to be remembered in such a sad fashion. I understood that the first victim of my anger would be me. It's easy to succumb to anger, hate and fear, especially when we're hurt by a faceless menace such as terrorism. You can't hate someone so you hate something--not a Palestinian, but the Palestinians, all of them.
But this prospect of living my life as someone who fears everything and hates everyone was unacceptable. The possibility of revenge didn't give me any peace either. Who would be the object of my revenge? Would it make me feel any better? The man who killed my sister was dead.
What was missing from my life was Smadar, my sister, not honour or satisfaction. It didn't matter how many Palestinians would die; she'd never come back. Because of my pain, should more lives be ruined? I decided I couldn't allow it.
What had happened to me was beyond repair. In trying to "fix" it, I'd only destroy myself. My sister didn't die so Israel would be safe; she didn't die because Arabs are naturally bad or because Islam is an evil religion. She died because of a political situation, man-made and solvable.
The events of our time show us there's no violent solution to violence. If you want people to stop trying to kill you and themselves, give them a reason to live. I became aware of the contaminating nature of violence, of its incapacity to generate anything but more violence.
If we really want to stop the violence, to make sure no more innocent lives are lost, we must struggle for a peace agreement. I work for peace in many ways, but the most significant one in my eyes is through the Israeli-Palestinian Families' Forum, a group of 500 families--250 from Israel and 250 from Palestine--that have lost a family member in this conflict. Through this group that I co-founded I've met Palestinians, real ones, not stereotypes or caricatures, but real people like Ali Abu Awwad, who spent four years in Israeli jails. He was shot by a settler, his brother murdered by a soldier. Nevertheless, Ali still wants peace. There are many others like him.
If I can talk to these people, many of them former members of Palestinian resistance movements like the one that killed my sister, and if they can talk to me after losing their family members, no one has a reason not to communicate.
We want to show people in pain that there's another way to deal with it, through hope rather than hate. In our group, we know peace will only be achieved with dialogue. We know it's imperative that each side knows the story, the suffering and the hopes of the other side. If we can speak to each other, anyone can!
Elik Elhanan is co-founder of the Israeli-Palestinian Families' Forum, known as Bereaved Parents for Peace. This is excerpted from a speech published in Occupation Magazine (kibush.co.il).