Almond Tree Flowers and Tears (long)

Harrison Owen owenhh at mindspring.com
Tue Feb 5 05:47:35 PST 2002


Thanks to Tova Averbuch and Avner Haramati a little space has been opened 
in Israel and maybe Palestine as well. Actually, this is the continuation 
of "Space Opening," for Tova and Avner have been working together for the 
past several years. It was only now that I was privileged to join them for 
one of the most unique, painful and powerful experiences of my life. My 
admiration for these two knows no bounds. Each in their own way is doing 
truly remarkable work, and I felt honored to work at their side. In the 
following material I have attempted to capture something of what happened. 
You will notice that I have named no names in the article. Be assured that 
there are real people behind all parts of the tale, but I was more than a 
little concerned that I provide undesired exposure. Hopefully a number of 
the "Phantoms of the Tale" will make their own appearance here on the list 
-- at which point they can make their own statements. Also, I have offered 
this accounting to several International news sources. I have no idea 
whether they will avail themselves of my offer, but this should explain why 
I found it necessary to describe OST.


Harrison



----------


Almond Tree  Flowers and Tears

Harrison Owen


         The coming of Spring in the Middle East is announced by the 
flowering of the Almond Tree, at least that is the way things are in the 
hills surrounding Jerusalem. Over the years as armies of the faithful, and 
the faithful in armies surged across this sacred land, the delicate white 
flowers made their silent proclamation. Spring is here. Life is renewed. 
Hope returns.
         And this year is no exception, despite the bombings, shootings and 
shattered lives. The almond tree blooms. But somehow, hope seems to be in 
very short supply, along with those other essentials of the human 
community: Trust and Respect.
          For the past 10 days, I was the guest of two Israeli Families and 
a Palestinian who shared their lives with me. I am not a reporter and so 
what follows may lack a little of the crisp objectivity of that profession, 
but I can assure you the events are real, as are the sear marks on my soul.
         Twenty years ago one of the Israeli families who hosted me began 
their life together. Then, as now, it was Spring and the Almond Tree was in 
bloom. For their wedding, the simple white flowers were an obvious choice 
for decoration. And so 20 years later, in preparation for an anniversary 
party, we went to the hills to gather Almond Tree Flowers once again. Not 
many. Just enough to remember. Evening came and the guests arrived, filling 
the apartment with laughter and dancing. It was gay, but no gaiety could 
cover the pain of the times, and for the next several days, the bride of 20 
years found herself in uncontrollable tears. Perhaps it was the contrast 
between what was, and how things are at the moment – I don’t have a clue. 
But I know for sure it is a time of Almond Tree Flowers and tears.

*********************************

         The reasons for my visit are not important. Suffice it to say that 
I came to share what I know and what I am in the hope (perhaps desperate) 
that somehow my offering could be of some small help to those surrounded by 
the present madness, made all the starker by the absence of trust, respect 
and hope. We did a training program as well as an intense two day event in 
which an incredible diversity of Israelis and Palestinians searched for 
Peace. In between I was privileged to visit the World Bank program for 
Palestine as well as one of the few remaining (functional) programs 
dedicated to crossing the borders. There was also a visit to the Israeli 
Army Leadership School in addition to many conversations with all sorts and 
conditions of folks, including a gentleman who was introduced to me as the 
spiritual leader of Hamas in Jerusalem. I cannot begin to recount all the 
details, but the following vignettes may give something of the flavor.
         On the first evening of the Training Program at a conference 
center just outside Jerusalem, we were sitting in a circle. To my left was 
a young Palestinian woman who had said little, but her presence was 
impressive. Her Cell Phone rang, she took the call – and became even more 
silent. For ten minutes the group’s conversation continued and then softly 
she said – “There has been a shooting in Jerusalem. Many people are 
wounded, some are dead. The call was from my Husband. He was close.” She 
rose and left the room, and I stood to look out the window from which you 
could see the highway to Jerusalem now filled with the flashing lights of 
ambulances and police. When I turned back, the young lady had 
returned,  looking pale and tearful. Through the tears she said, “I am 
worried for my husband His name is Sam, but it used to be Osama. He was 
born in Lybia -- and sometimes the Israelis are not too particular after an 
event like this.” I learned later that Sam was a Applied Mathematician with 
a PhD from an American university. I found myself smiling at the thought of 
Sam coming back for a Alumni Reunion and greeting the Immigration 
Authorities with something like “My name is Osama and I was born in 
Lybia...” Black humor at the worst of times.
         Everybody went home that night, and I was left with my thoughts. I 
had been in the Middle East for just three days, but now it seemed that I 
was there for real. The madness is omnipresent. There is no escape and 
somehow – life goes on. A fact that I found massively depressing and 
strangely hopeful. For the next three days, our group continued because of 
course you can’t stop everything just because there had been an”event.” The 
American tradition of calling out an army of Grief Counselors could not be 
observed if only because there was neither the time nor personnel. We had 
to be our own Grief Counselors.
         For three days we talked of this and that, but never far beneath 
the surface was a deepening awareness of the true dimensions of the reality 
faced, which started with a blanket admission from all parties that the 
levels of trust, respect and hope were minimal, to non-existent. I can’t 
claim and don’t know that the group was fully representative of the 
feelings of the region, but the group was indeed enormously diverse. We had 
Settlers, Orthodox, Left and Right, teachers and business people, people 
from the Army and Police – and just plain people – and of course the young 
woman from Palestine. Some might view her participation as “tokenism” – but 
if so, it was a powerful token indeed. As the days passed,  the power of 
her presence expanded until she became (at least for me) the conscience and 
the soul of our conversation. At 28 years old, she carried a heavy burden 
with elegance. I could not help but think of my own daughter, also 28, and 
hope that some day they could meet.
         Somewhere, somehow, there was a turn in the life of our small 
group. It had nothing to do with changed conditions in the external world, 
for if anything they had grown worse with yet another bombing and the 
ongoing Israeli assault and occupation of the Palestinian land. Business as 
usual, you might say. And yet people found useful small steps they might 
take to build trust and respect, and thereby restore hope. The young lady 
from Palestine caught it neatly when she said to me (and I believe to all) 
“You have rebourned (sic)  my hope.” If it could happen once, it might 
happen again, and if it happened often enough, there might in truth be some 
light at the end of the tunnel.
         With our program over one of my Israeli friends who lived in 
Jerusalem took me to his home for the weekend. It was there we had the 
Wedding Anniversary which was but one of a tapestry of happenings the 
sequence of which is lost to my mind – but that loss does not diminish the 
impact. We went on a tour, but not the usual sort. It was a People Tour 
which included a visit to the study of a Senior Rabbi of the Ultra-Orthodox 
community. From him I was surprised to learn that the de facto Israeli 
policy of taking the land and excluding the Palestinians was not to his 
liking – in fact he felt it was dead wrong.
         And then to a Peace Now rally – Yes, the Peace movement in Israel 
exists in spite of government and press dismissal. Standing on a small 
square in downtown Jerusalem, Israelis and Palestinians (who came at great 
personal risk) made a statement that, in the face of the current madness, 
it was possible to seek peace – and they were. To be sure the number of 
demonstrators was small, but they were there. It was in fact a diverse crew 
– young people on their first experience, and old hands who had been on the 
same spot for 10 years. Talk about endurance! My favorite happened to be 
the mother-in-law of my host, who described herself as “Radical Left” but 
who looked and sounded like everybody’s  ideal grandmother. Petite, soft 
spoken, but a major presence. On this particular day she was being 
harangued by a gentleman from Brooklyn on the apostasy of her position. 
Better, he said, to wipe “them” all out. Ethnic Cleansing would do the 
job.  The lady held her peace, but the Brooklynite was challenged by a 
young soldier in battle dress, fully armed, who argued that the Arabs had a 
place in the land and  that place should be honored.
         Strange land – made all the stranger by the fact even as this 
confrontation was taking place some 50 reserve Israeli officers announced 
that they would not serve in the occupied territories. I understand from 
recent press reports that this number has grown to 100 and that the 
“authorities” were muttering something about “treason.”
         Meanwhile, it was off to another Peace Gathering – this one to 
announce the creation of a new Palestinian/Israeli association which would 
take up where some others had left off. I am ignorant of the details of 
their approach because by the time we got there the 100+ people from both 
sides had already concluded their business – but we were in time for taping 
of a NBC/Nightline segment. For a meeting with the press, I found the 
comments surprisingly candid perhaps because the whole thing had been 
thrown together so quickly that nobody had any time to prepare. One 
commentator in particular caught my attention, a Palestinian who noted that 
on that particular day both Vice President Chaney and the Israeli Premier 
had some nasty things to say about the legitimacy of Arafat’s presidency – 
however he noted that Arafat had won 87% of the vote in a carefully 
supervised election, and that for better or worse, “He is our President.” 
He was also kind enough not to make any comparisons to the recent American 
Presidential election.
         Scene changes and a day passes. I am now at the opening of a two 
day intense conversation about Peace and what must be given up and what 
held on to in, order to achieve it. Some 40 people participated, notable 
not for the size of the group but rather its diversity. Jewish Settlers 
from the occupied territories, Rabbis of all persuasions, educators, 
academics, housewives, and a few Palestinians. Too few, but once again, the 
power of their presence was enormous.
         We used a very simple process called Open Space Technology which 
enables large groups of conflicted people to deal with complex issues 
quickly, economically, and effectively. There is one facilitator, no 
advance agenda preparation, and in less than an hour the issues for 
discussion were identified and  multiple working groups are deeply engaged. 
Since the language of the day was Hebrew and some Arabic, neither of which 
are comprehensible to me, I cannot provide the details, but my friends and 
the participants kept me included, and the side conversations alone were 
incredible.
         For example, a senior ultra-orthodox Rabbi emerged from one 
session scratching his head and with a smile on his face. He said, “ I have 
never talked to an Arab before – and I think we can make a deal on the 
Temple Mount.” A 35 year old Settler taking a break on the porch, obviously 
deeply disturbed and strangely excited – “We have to leave,”  he said.. “We 
created the Settlements because we thought the people (of Israel) wanted us 
to – but now it is not working. And the cost is too high, not just in terms 
of blood and bullets, but the moral cost. We are becoming our own worst 
nightmare. Our actions and our values are at odds. I think it may be true. 
We have found our land and are in the process of losing our soul.” And so 
it went for two days.
         Perhaps more significant than the several comments was the flow of 
feelings over the time. As we began, tension and suspicion was palpable – 
not only dividing Palestinians from Israeli’s, but among the Israeli’s 
themselves, the fissures of distrust were, if anything, deeper. With mantra 
like regularity, conversations began with the words – I can’t trust. I 
don’t respect...  How can I hope? As the first day merged into the second, 
a subtle but profound change covered our space. It reminded me of the 
children’s story of the Little Engine that Could as the petit engine 
struggled up the steep mountain... I think I can, I think I can, I think I 
can ... trust, respect, hope. Did the Kingdom of God arrive? By no means, 
but maybe a little – for at the end of the second day, now quite late at 
night (10pm) the participants stood silently in a circle, holding each 
other in their gaze. No words, for words were not needed. Just for the 
moment there was trust, respect, and not a little bit of hope. There were 
also tears, but no longer just the tears of desperation. And the Almond 
Trees are still blooming.


And then ....?

         The bombings and the occupation continue, but perhaps something is 
changing in the calculus of survival. Not that you could perceive this from 
the official pronouncements which remain obdurate and un-yielding, but 
there are other voices. On my final day in Jerusalem my three friends and I 
walked the streets of the Old City. It was absolutely empty, and almost as 
silent as a tomb. Most of the shops were closed, and the shop keepers 
hardly spoke to each other. We went into a grand old hotel for coffee and a 
snack, and they seated us in the  main dining room, fully set for 200 
–  and totally deserted. We were greeted with the standard Israeli Shalom 
“Peace” – but clearly there was no peace. And when our beverages arrived we 
–  two Israelis, one American, and a Palestinian toasted each other – “To 
Life.” but it seemed that life had gone out of the city, the sacred core of 
that tormented land.
         It was massively depressing and strangely hopeful. The sources of 
depression are obvious. But the hope? The hope appeared for me in the 
possibly dawning realization that the Official policies of the moment were 
in fact destroying what they were designed to protect. That preservation of 
physical space meant little if the soul was in jeopardy. Slim hope, 
perhaps, but futures have been made on less, I believe.




Harrison Owen
7808 River Falls Drive
Potomac, MD 20854 USA
phone 301-365-2093
Open Space Training www.openspaceworld.com
Open Space Institute www.openspaceworld.org
Personal website www.mindspring.com/~owenhh

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