The "wonders" of the Israeli fence

[kramadas]

http://www.haaretzdaily.com/hasen/pages/ShArt.jhtml?itemNo=218829&contrassID=2&subContrassID=5&sbSubContrassID=0&listSrc=Y&itemNo=218829

Separation anxiety

By Aviv Lavie

Good relations between the kibbutzniks of Metzer and the Palestinians of Kafin have withstood even the test of the past two years. Now, kibbutz members fear, the security fence currently under construction will cause these positive ties to unravel

Last week, under a blazing afternoon sun, about 40 members of Kibbutz Metzer took a large pot of coffee and made their way down to the small valley that lies at the foot of the kibbutz. They walked through rows of high banana trees, crossed the path that runs along the edge of the orchard and spread out their blankets in Area B. There, a few meters over the Green Line, several dozen residents of the Palestinian village of Kafin - their neighbors from the opposite hilltop - were waiting for them. Like the descendants of two ancient tribes, leaders from both communities sat and talked under the olive trees. The atmosphere was friendly but restrained. They knew that this might well be the last time that such a get-together was possible. Reality is being dictated by powers stronger than they, whom they have little hope of influencing. They expect that, very soon, a high fence will divide the two communities and spell the end of their neighborly relations. The fence is slated to be built on lands belonging to the Palestinian village and its construction will necessitate the uprooting of approximately 10,000 olive trees. The people from Metzer worry that the fence will transform their neighbors from friends into bitter enemies. The people from Kafin find the possibility hard to deny.

The security fence, an enormous undertaking that the Defense Ministry decided to embark upon due to the increase in terror attacks, is generally welcomed by residents on the Israeli side of the Green Line. On Metzer - a small kibbutz affiliated with the Hashomer Hatza'ir movement and located in northern Samaria, between Baka al-Gharbiyeh and the ghost town of Harish - there is no sense of euphoria. The kibbutzniks are not opposed to the idea of the fence. But they disagree with the Defense Ministry about where it should be built. They say it should follow the Green Line. An old patrol path already runs there, between Israeli banana trees and Palestinian olive trees, and a lower fence was built there a few months ago (painted in loud shades of orange and green, it was put there to prevent the passage of stolen cars from Israel to the territories).

Their main objection: Construction of the fence according to the Defense Ministry's plans, nearly a kilometer farther east and well inside Palestinian territory, means that thousands of olive trees from which the residents of Kafin earn their meager livelihood will be uprooted, and an artificial separation will be created between the villagers and most of their lands, which will be left on the western side of the fence. The people of Metzer are convinced that as soon as that happens, 50 years of quiet will come to an end. One kibbutznik bitterly refers to the project as the "anti-security fence."

"We're living in a fool's paradise here, compared to the situation in other parts of the country," says Doron Lieber, the kibbutz secretary. "I fear that once there is a fence here, we'll find that we've moved to hell."

Next year, the 220 members of Kibbutz Metzer will celebrate the kibbutz's 50th anniversary. In 1953, a group of immigrants from Argentina, imbued with the revolutionary South American spirit, were sent to this desolate hill to stake out a Zionist presence amid a cluster of Arab towns. To the south are Baka al-Gharbiyeh and Jatt, across the way is the Israeli-Arab village Meisar, to the north is Umm al-Fahm and the Green Line is just to the east. The initial conditions seemed to promise hostility from all directions, but things turned out differently. Lieber, a kibbutz member for 30 years, explains: "The group that came from Argentina landed here five years after the founding of the state. Their attitude was different from that of members of other kibbutzim. They didn't perceive the concept of making the land bloom in terms of a dispute over lands, and the fact that they had not taken part in the war affected the attitude of their Arab neighbors toward them. It didn't take long for both sides to see whom they were dealing with, and both realized that peaceful coexistence and cooperation was in everyone's interest."

The kibbutzniks developed especially close relations with the people of the nearby village of Meisar. The similarity of the names is just coincidental, by the way. Meisar was the servant of Khadija, wife of the Prophet Mohammed. His grave is in the village and is visited by the Muslim faithful. According to the Even Shoshan dictionary, the word metzer means border. There are differing views in the kibbutz over whether the place was given that particular name because it was built on what was once the border with Jordan, or whether it was taken from the Bible.

In the early years, the Arab farmers helped their new neighbors learn the secrets of tilling the land. Later, when the Jews began to introduce technological innovations into agricultural work, it was the Arabs who sought to learn from them and copy their methods. "The Jews are knowledgeable and educated," says Najib Abu Raqiya, a B'Tselem employee who lives in Meisar. "We saw them bringing tractors to the fields, so we wanted them, too, and they helped us get them. When our young people started to get interested in going to university, they'd go to talk to the neighbors who'd already been there."

In the early years, the two communities shared a well. Now their wells are connected to each other and provide back-up to each community when needed. Metzer and Meisar are situated at the end of the same road and for years, people from both places customarily hitched rides home with each other. On Meisar, there are several houses that stand out amid the typical Arab-style architecture. They are surprisingly similar to the kibbutz houses, and it's no wonder - they were designed by kibbutz movement architects.

When the men from the kibbutz were called up during the Six-Day War, the neighbors from Meisar pitched in to help with the kibbutz apple harvest. For a time, the two communities even had a joint soccer team. Toward evening, some villagers cross the road to stroll the pathways of the kibbutz or bring their children to the kibbutz playground, though everyone agrees, "It's not like it was before the intifada." People no longer hitch rides, since "You don't know who you're riding with," they say at Metzer, adding: "Today, our togetherness is most clearly seen when we stand together for hours at the checkpoints every time an alert is announced here."

Artificial means are now being used in an effort to rekindle the old closeness. On a recent Saturday, the kibbutz hosted an event dubbed "A Meeting of Tastes," in which the best cooks from both communities took part. It helped dispel some of the bad feelings that had been building up lately: After much heated argument, the kibbutz recently decided to lock its gates with an electronic control system. The neighboring villagers understood the reasons behind it, but the message was not lost on them either.

Naturally, relations with the Palestinians who live on the hilltop on the opposite side of the Green Line were not quite as close, but on Metzer, they say they also had "good neighborly relations marked by mutual pleasantness."

Some of the lands upon which the kibbutz was built belonged to the people of Kafin prior to 1948. The 1949 Rhodes Agreement, which set the armistice lines for the West Bank, included a land exchange: Jordan was given lands in the Dotan Valley area, while part of the lands of Kafin were transferred to Israeli territory. Taisir Harashe, the head of the Kafin council, says that there are still people in the village who carry the keys to their old houses there. On Metzer, they understand the sensitivity of the issue, but say that the lands were given to them legally and that is why they feel comfortable working them to the last dunam. Doron Lieber feels that this shared devotion to the land is the source of the appreciation that farmers from both sides feel for one another.

Until 1967, passage from the Jordanian to the Israeli side was almost completely unhindered: The kibbutzniks would go down to the valley, point out to their children the rocks marking the Mandatory border, walk along the patrol road and wave hello to the Legion soldiers. Villagers from Kafin used to come over to Israeli territory to visit relatives in Meisar. When the dust of the Six-Day War settled and Kafin became an occupied village, a summit meeting was held between a delegation of the kibbutz leaders and their counterparts from the village. The parties agreed that the changes around them need not keep them from preserving their previous alliance, and so they did.

The first difficult test occurred about 20 years later, with the outbreak of the first intifada. Several young people from Kafin took part in the disturbances and stone-throwing, and some of the kibbutz lands were set on fire. The IDF put its yoke on the village: "They imposed a closure before anyone knew what that was," says Doron Lieber. "No one came in and no one went out." The people of Kafin turned to their neighbors for help and asked them to try to get the army commanders to ease the restrictions. It was agreed that the kibbutzniks would do all they could to alleviate the military intrusion while the Palestinians would work to calm things down on their side. Both sides did their part.

The area has even weathered the upheaval of the past two years in relative quiet. "Not a single Metzer resident has been harmed in the slightest since the intifada started," says Lieber. Still, a change in the atmosphere can be felt: Clusters of bananas from the kibbutz orchards are stolen much more often, but the Metzer residents prefer to deal with the problem on their own and not to get the security forces involved. "Between us, I'd do it too if I was hungry," says Lieber. The rear gate of the kibbutz is also kept locked now and members now go for their daily jog within the kibbutz rather than in the open valley.

Once upon a time - it seems like light years ago at this point - people from Kafin used to come in through this gate in the morning and pass through the kibbutz on their way to work in Israel. Today, a Palestinian who wishes to cross the valley risks an encounter with the Border Police who patrol the area. If caught, he'll be sent to jail and fined thousands of shekels. Last summer, Ha'aretz reported on a case in which some Border Police officers abused several Kafin residents. Lieber subsequently called for an urgent meeting of all the Border Police commanders in the area, pointing out that "For many years, we have worked to maintain a good relationship with our neighbors, based on respect for human rights and liberty."

As the present intifada has progressed, contacts between the two communities have become fewer. "Now the youth are in control there," says Lieber. "We have the feeling that they're worried the PA won't look kindly on it if there is contact between us." The leaders of the new generation of Palestinians are also careful to speak with Israelis in English, even though some of them speak fluent Hebrew. It's a matter of honor.

But despite everything, the connection between the communities is still maintained, though to a lesser degree than before - mostly through several villagers who continue to work on the kibbutz. About a month ago, a girl from Kafin became seriously ill from food poisoning and the hospital in Tul Karm only made matters worse. People from Metzer helped arrange for the girl to be transferred to Hadassah Ein Karem Hospital in Jerusalem, where her life was saved. Maybe this is why Lieber says, "As long as I'm driving around with the Metzer logo on my car, I'm relatively safe."

Then, one fine day, the security fence landed smack in the middle of this delicate calm. "One day, one of my banana workers, a man from Kafin, came to me and told me that the villagers were in a panic because they'd heard that the fence was going to be built on their lands. I didn't take it very seriously. It didn't seem logical. We were sure that they would build the fence along the outline of the Green Line, both since there's already a fence there and because if there's ever a peace agreement, that's where we'll go back to, so why do it all twice and cause so much damage, too?"

But the rumors did not fade, and the people from Metzer finally sought answers from the Defense Ministry - only to learn that what they'd heard was true. The Defense Ministry had decided to locate the fence about 800 meters to the east, inside Palestinian territory. For the Kafin residents, it was disastrous: Along a six-kilometer stretch, their olive orchards would be mowed down in a 50-meter wide swath. Not only that, the fence would separate the villagers from the vast majority of their lands - about 6,000 dunams of fields in agricultural use. The Defense Ministry promised that there would be openings in the fence through which the villagers would be allowed to pass. But these assurances were met with more than a little skepticism by Palestinians made cynical by past experience with such things. Lieber is also pessimistic about the proposed arrangement: "One terror attack in Hadera and they'll close all the gates."

The arguments made by Lieber and his fellow Metzer residents contradict all the myths and assumptions upon which the accepted notions of Israeli security rest. These days, Metzer's geographic location would seem to be the epitome of Israeli nightmares: The Green Line passes by the edge of the kibbutz orchards and, aside from occasional Border Police patrols, there is nothing to stop a Palestinian from crossing that line and committing a terrorist attack on the kibbutz. After the fence is built, the border will be about a kilometer away from the kibbutz and will be hermetically sealed - or so they promise. So what's the problem? Lieber: "As soon as they don't have a life, neither will we. You put them in an impossible pressure cooker and I have no doubt that this pressure will spread in our direction. My insurance so far has been my neighbors' lack of motivation to cause me harm. This insurance will expire if there is a fence on their lands. There is no fence that cannot be crossed - from above or below, or cut through - and once you've done that, it's just a five-minute walk to the kibbutz."

When they realized what was about to happen, Lieber and his colleagues attempted to enlist the help of political figures. Meretz MK Ran Cohen went to the defense minister on their behalf and even met with Deputy Chief of Staff Gaby Ashkenazy. So far, such efforts have yielded no results. Then they wrote an open letter to the kibbutz members and invited them to the meeting with the people from Kafin. "To our surprise, we found that the spark of the tradition of good neighborliness had not gone out and several dozen members came to the meeting with a lot of good will. I didn't think the response would be that big."

The Metzer people are cautious in presenting their position. They fear that, in these sensitive times, openly challenging the prevailing Israeli conception that land equals security could get them in trouble. The last thing they want is to be perceived as "certified leftists who worry more about Palestinian lands than about our security," as one of them puts it. Therefore, they try to stick to practical arguments - to approach the issue from the security angle, but with different conclusions than those drawn by Defense Minister Benjamin Ben-Eliezer.

A number of disagreements arise during a conversation with several kibbutz leaders. Shmuelik Szczupak, a member of the kibbutz's land committee and the only one in the room who was born on the kibbutz, says: "Beyond the practical considerations, I also think that taking olive orchards away from farmers is simply something that shouldn't be done." On the other hand, Szczupak is among those who is not very pleased with B'Tselem's involvement in contacts with the Kafin residents. Meisar resident Najib Abu Raqiya, a B'Tselem investigator, studied the issue of the security fence and helped to write the report about it that was published by his organization. The Kafin people wanted him to "extend his patronage" to the joint activity with the neighbors from Metzer, but not everyone on the kibbutz was eager for that. "B'Tselem is one-sided," says Szczupak. "Its presence turns the whole thing into a political issue and we prefer to handle it as a local problem that needs solving."

The kibbutz members should be pleased to know they have an enthusiastic supporter at Kibbutz Movement headquarters. But unlike the people of Metzer, Gavri Bargil, one of the movement's two secretaries, does not wish to disguise the fact that, in his view, Metzer's dilemma is essentially a microcosm of Israel's existential condition: "I welcome Metzer's position. I think it fits in with the values that the kibbutz movement is working to promote, which is that we should strive for a historic compromise based on the 1967 borders and build good neighborly relations with the Palestinians. Metzer is an example that proves there is a chance for coexistence, and I think that more and more Israelis now understand that this is the only way to resolve the conflict."

From Metzer to Kafin, it's just a few minutes walk through the fields. By car, the trip takes several hours, most of which are spent waiting at the checkpoint set up at the edge of the Israeli town of Baka al-Gharbiyeh, which separates it from its twin to the east, Baka al-Sharqiyeh. The Defense Ministry is not wasting any time. About two kilometers past the checkpoint, bulldozers are already busy alongside the road, energetically taking down the olive orchards that belong to Kafin. Hundreds of uprooted trees lie scattered - and that's just the beginning.

Taisir Harashe describes the helplessness he feels regarding all that is happening to his village. "For years, the people of Kafin had two sources of income - work in Israel and olives. For the past two years, there has been no work and people are struggling to find bread. Now they're taking their lands, too. In 1948, we lost 70 percent of our lands. Now another 80 percent of what's left will be lost. There are 750 families in Kafin, 10,000 residents altogether, half of whom earn their livelihood from these orchards. Some people come to me in tears. Others just don't realize what a terrible thing has happened to them. A farmer goes out in the morning to work his land and is told, `From now on, this is no longer your land. It's a military area and you are not allowed to be here."

When Harashe first saw the appropriation order, he felt queasy. He understood that the dry terminology ("I hereby declare that the real estate be seized for military purposes," Major General Moshe Kaplinski, the IDF commander in Judea and Samaria, announces in the order) belied a heavy blow about to befall his village. So far, the bulldozers have managed to cover one kilometer out of the six. A bunch of people from the village run around between the machines and try to save the little they can. "How is this possible?" Harashe asks. "Don't the Israelis know that mid-October is when the olives ripen and the harvest that we've been waiting all year for begins?" The olives are not ripe yet, but the desperate farmers are rushing to harvest them before the bulldozers arrive, hoping that they'll somehow manage to get a little oil from them.

After meeting with the Metzer members, the people of Kafin decided to do something. The villagers took megaphones and banners and marched toward the intersection at the entrance to the kibbutz. "We did not have any violent intentions," says Harashe, "and I also explained to the officer, who was already waiting for us with his soldiers and a tank and a few jeeps, but it didn't help. While I'm standing there talking to him, the soldiers tossed teargas at the demonstrators. Then the people from the village started throwing rocks and there I was in the middle, crying from your gas and getting hit by stones from our side."

The neighbors from the kibbutz did not take part in the demonstration. Harashe says he understands that in the present situation, he can't expect them to cross the Green Line and join the protest. Asked to describe the relationship with the Israelis, he cautiously weighs every word: "Look, there's no direct contact between the leaderships now. The meeting in the orchard was the first one. I felt that they are against the appropriation, I think that they are good neighbors. Their stance is very important, since we don't have any chance of influencing you." Harashe also seems to wonder a bit whether the kibbutz members are genuinely troubled by the calamity that has befallen his village or whether they are more concerned about maintaining their reputation as good neighbors, in the hope that the tradition of calm will be preserved.

Ataf Hasib, a member of the village steering committee, speaks fluent Hebrew, which he learned in the course of "20 years of doing renovation work for the Levinsky family from Ramat Gan. I still have the key to their house in my pocket. Every year, I used to bring everyone jars of oil as a gift. Now, even if I wanted to, I wouldn't have anything to bring. I'm one of the people who were left without a single tree. I look at the bulldozers and I don't know what to feel. You're taking away our soul, making us refugees in our own home. If I wasn't embarrassed to do so in front of you, I'd cry."

Harashe is walking a tightrope. He makes sure to point out that the people from his village do not engage in terror and that "No soldier has ever been killed here, or anything like that." But he's also wary of portraying the people of Kafin as aloof onlookers to the Palestinian intifada. "I don't know why [that's the impression]," he says. "There have been a lot of quiet protest activities here, and once in a while, some children have thrown a rock here and there."

He's not ready to say what will happen once the shock of the appropriation passes. "I can't predict how people will react. From our perspective, there's no need for a fence, but if they want a fence, then why not put it where the Green Line is? By choosing to build the fence here, you're sending us a clear message that you're not interested in peace, that behind the excuse of security, you basically want to take more and more land from us. Otherwise, what's the logic in it?"

When asked what the chances are that it will end in violence, Harashe replies drily: "There's an Arabic saying that says, `Even the camel gives in to hunger.'"

On October 1, about a month after Doron Lieber's first appeal to the Defense Ministry, he received a reply from Amikam Sabirsky, the defense minister's aide on settlement matters. "Shifting the [fence's] outline would adversely impact its operational effectiveness," he wrote. "Should the security circumstances change in the future, or should a diplomatic accord be reached, it is possible that the outline will change and the land will be returned to its owners." In conclusion, Sabirsky says that while the request is being rejected, "We believe that an appropriate balance between the various needs exists."

But Lieber and his colleagues on Metzer are not willing to let matters rest there. They are continuing their efforts to harness support for their struggle. At this point, they are even considering submitting a petition to the High Court. Sabirsky: "Their request is legitimate. We greatly respect the sincerity of their intentions, but let's put it this way - For now, we're not dealing with this anymore."

In his letter, Sabirsky explains the Defense Ministry's insistence on sticking to its plan by saying that "This is territory necessary for the operation of the security forces." When compelled to respond to High Court petitions filed in regard to the fence, the Defense Ministry bases its arguments on "topographical considerations." The B'Tselem report refutes this claim: "... In most of the areas, the route passes through wadis or the lower slopes of hills and not necessarily by the highest points that would be preferable in terms of controlling the area. Moreover, the three large villages that lie along the route ... are situated on hills and thus, on many parts of the road, the planned patrol would not be able to observe them at all. In other parts, the observation posts would be poorly situated."

Amikam Sabirsky is not impressed: "If you were out there, you must have seen it for yourself. The fence is being built along a line where it will be possible to travel along its length, to guard it and to overlook other areas from it. You must understand - This is a security barrier, not a political one, so the considerations behind it are purely security-related."

Some would argue that the considerations are actually very political: You've done everything to distance the fence from the Green Line, in order to avoid a confrontation with the right-wing components of the government.

"I don't want to be dragged into the political question."

Did Yitzhak Rabin, Yigal Allon and Moshe Dayan, who served as observers for the army when the Rhodes Agreement was formulated, understand less about security considerations than today's decision-makers do?

"I can only say that a large part of the line that was agreed upon in 1949 had nothing to do with security considerations, and anyone who says differently simply doesn't understand."

In your letter, you say that the owners of the lands will be eligible for compensation. What amount of compensation will they receive?

"I don't have an answer to that yet. It's still being worked out."

You say in your letter that the uprooted olive trees are supposed to be replanted by the contractor. In fact, only a small percentage have been replanted.

"I don't know what you're talking about now. I'm willing to check into it."

On previous occasions, when the people of Metzer turned to the Defense Ministry with requests for assistance, they were told that they already enjoy a security asset that other communities lack - good neighborly relations. Now you yourselves are about to damage this asset.

"We were referring to the kibbutz's relationship with its Israeli Arab neighbors. When the whole country was in turmoil over the October riots, it was quiet in this area, and that's important. We weren't referring to relations with the Palestinians over the Green Line."

Twenty-four hours after our tour of the construction site, Palestinian snipers fired at the workers there and moderately wounded Abdel Rahim Balalta from Baka al-Gharbiyeh. On the phone, Doron Lieber sounds depressed: "It's what we were afraid of. And believe me, it's only the beginning." n

Kafin's olive trees are uprooted to make way for what Kibbutz Metzer fears will become the "anti-security fence."

[ketaman]

stop posting news that makes the IDF look bad.

Why dont you post about some arab suicide bombers

[kramadas]

Originally posted by ketaman

stop posting news that makes the IDF look bad.

Why dont you post about some arab suicide bombers

lol - a lot of people on here have the view the IDF and Israel do no wrong...and Israeli activities are not usually reported in the US media (unless its a big thing)....plus, we all know suicide bombers are bad, so there's little to be gained from posting articles otherwise.

When you have a point of view, you usually find articles and evidence to support you claim.

Unless your statement was dripping with sarcasm...

[sassa]

Originally posted by ketaman

stop posting news that makes the IDF look bad.

Why dont you post about some arab suicide bombers

he doesn't have to post anything about IDF, they already look bad doing the shit that they do.

i see you're a racist too, how nice.

this wall is such a bad idea, and won't solve anything but create more violence and chaos.

[djxeno]

i think he was being sarcastic, but who knows. FUCK the IDF.

[mr mahs]

THE WALL HAS TO GO UP....

It's the only way to protect ISREALI civilians waht else can be done? The other side pole vaulted over a line set by a flimsy 1 sided cease fire agreement, what else can be done? All out WAR? Noone wants that but I'll tell you one thing.. what would happen honestly if Syria for example had the military might of Isreal?? and the roles were reversed would there be the same scenario we are looking at now?? I won't answer but I bet you guys can figure it out..

[kramadas]

Originally posted by mr mahs

THE WALL HAS TO GO UP....

It's the only way to protect ISREALI civilians waht else can be done? The other side pole vaulted over a line set by a flimsy 1 sided cease fire agreement, what else can be done? All out WAR? Noone wants that but I'll tell you one thing.. what would happen honestly if Syria for example had the military might of Isreal?? and the roles were reversed would there be the same scenario we are looking at now?? I won't answer but I bet you guys can figure it out..

Do you support the fence even if it cuts off a great majority of Palestinian land, farmers from their farms, loved ones from each other, etc. I bet you wouldn't be saying the same if it was you affected in such a way.

I'm all for this fence if it follows the green line.

[normalnoises]

Originally posted by raver_mania

Do you support the fence even if it cuts off a great majority of Palestinian land, farmers from their farms, loved ones from each other, etc. I bet you wouldn't be saying the same if it was you affected in such a way.

I'm all for this fence if it follows the green line.

Well, we COULD build a wall surrounding his house.