One last item, somewhat different from those I normally send.
This evening, while watching Haim Yavin’s TV documentary on the military—the 3rd and final segment, which dealt with the question of whether Israel is a country with an army or is it the army that has a state—lo and behold one of the participants was a friend whom I have not seen nor spoken to for years: Manuela Dviri, who appeared towards the end of the program. Following it, I ran to the phone to call her. The line was busy, so I thought to write to her, but she phoned me back before I started writing.
We spoke among other things of the ritual being played before us in the Israeli media, in which TV, radio, and newspapers have non-stop the past few days dealt with nothing except Gilad Shalit returning home in exchange for 1,027 Palestinian prisoners. The rest of the world has disappeared. Nothing else is spoken of or written about, almost. For Manuela, as for me, it’s too much. It’s become sacrilegious–disgusting. How much can one keep repeating and digging about a single item. Evidently, though, this has impacted on Manuela’s 3 year old twin grandchildren, who informed her in all seriousness that the reason we celebrate the upcoming holiday, Simhat Torah, is because Gilad Shalit is coming home.
[For those who do not know, Simhat Torah (Rejoicing of the Torah) celebrates the last of the Torah readings and the new beginnings—a cycle, so to speak.]
Having spoken to Manuela, and having received her permission to transmit the story about her grandchildren, I wanted to send you one of her very personal, sad, and beautiful documents about her feelings on the rituals of Memorial Day in light of the loss of her own son. I could not find it (but if I do, will send it.) Meanwhile I came across her acceptance speech upon receiving the Peres Award for Peace and Reconciliation in 2005. I hope that Manuela will once again start sending me her writings to transmit to you, because, as you can see, she writes (and speaks) beautifully and meaningfully. I introduce her speech below.
Dorothy
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Date: Tue, 14 Jun 2005 10:23:55 +0200
From: Dorothy <dor_naor@netvision.net.il>
Subject: [alef] An Open Letter from Manuela Dviri
In response to Manuela’s request, I distribute this with pleasure, although the subject itself is not pleasurable, nor satire (as is Manuela’s usual wont). Manuela, I’m sure, realizes full well, that the cooperation she speaks of between Palestinian and Israeli medical personnel and the cooperation to save lives would be 1000% more meaningful were there no occupier and occupied. But Manuela has earned the right to call on all of us who care, has earned the right to call on us to continue to work to end the occupation and to find a resolution to the situation and to be proud of her achievements meanwhile. She has paid the highest price anyone can: the loss of a son, killed in battle in Lebanon.
Israel lost 1,800 boys there (not to mention the 17,824(?) Lebanese killed) from 1982 until the IOF pullout in 2000. For What??? Had each of these boys been sweeping Israel’s streets today, he would have been serving his country better than where he now is and was when killed. Israel has lost 20,369 soldiers since 1948 (not to mention the far greater number of Palestinian losses during those years).
How many more Palestinians and Israelis have to be killed before Israelis find and elect leaders who care more about lives and less about land?
can you please send around this letter of mine too?
thanks a lot, love
Manuela
On Thursday , June the ninth 2005 , i received together with an Italian and
Palestinian friend the Peres`award for Peace and Reconciliation for The
“saving children “project.
For those who are not acquainted with the project , it’s lead by two teams
of doctors, one Israeli one Palestinian , and the goal is to cure
palestinian children in Israeli hospitals (when the cure it is not available in Palestine of course) , as well as giving Palestinian doctors the possibility to specialize in Israeli Hospitals. In a year and a half 1200 children have been referred to this project by their palestinian doctors.
And this is my acceptance speech to the award.
I remember exactly the day. It was five years and two weeks ago. The day
the army left Lebanon. I remember how I felt . I was angry, sad, desperate
and proud at the same time. That day I fully understood the depth of my
loss and stopped hiding behind excuses. It was unbelievable on my part to
think that we had done it, that a small group of angry, talkative and
stubborn women ,” the 4 mothers”, had shown Ehud Barak the way out of
Lebanon .
That day I learnt , to my amazement, that even I can make a difference,
that even I can make a change. That I can do it. Until that moment deep in
my heart I had still hoped that soldiers and generals and politicians and
prime ministers would know something I didn’t know, understand something
that I didn’t. It was a high priced lesson to learn, but one I would never forget.
That day I decided that I would never ever again shut up and stand still in
front of injustice and stupidity that bring suffering and death to other
human beings . That I would do my utmost in order to make my children
and grand-childrens’ life bearable and worth living. That I would never ever say again
« but I didn’t know..» or « there is nothing I can do about it..», or « it’s useless»,
« it won’t change a thing..» … or « who cares..».
I started my second life. And here, tonight, I see most of the great people
I met since. My Palestinian friends and my Italian friends and my Israeli
friends. People who put aside all politics in order to take care of
Palestinian sick children .I see all the crazy people , the visionaries,
the fools and the dreamers, the optimistic against all chances, the people
I cherish and love and thank God still exist. We all did this together.
All of us. Behaving as if there were no no walls , no closures ,no war ,
but knowing perfectly well there was-is- a very mean and vicious one
going on.
Sickness makes things simple. Through sickness and death we learn that we are
all exactly the same , made of blood and bones and hair , and heart. And when you
hurt, who cares if you are Palestinian or Israeli, Jewish , Christian or Muslem? In fact,
to a stranger’s eye we look exactly the same. After all we live in the same small piece
of land , breathe the same air, eat the same houmous, and look and sound more alike every
day. It is my duty to save Palestinian children’s life as much as it is to save my own
children and granchildren’s.
Only one person is missing today: Yoni, my son. He was killed seven and a half years ago in Lebanon .
In a month and a day from today he would have been 28. And I haven’t the faintest idea of what he
would be like now or what he would be doing now. I have lost track of that part of him. But I know
where he is . Right here. With us . Smiling proudly. He probably would say to all of us « Don’t you
ever dare to give up. Go on fighting for life, cooperation and future of the two neighbouring people
