<html>
<font face="Arial, Helvetica">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.<br><br>
<br>
Harrison <br>
<br><br>
</font><hr>
<div align="center"><font face="Arial, Helvetica" size=5><br><br>
Almond Tree Flowers and Tears<br><br>
</font><font face="Arial, Helvetica" size=4>Harrison Owen<br><br>
<br>
</div>
<x-tab> </x-tab>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.<br>
<x-tab> </x-tab>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.<br>
<x-tab> </x-tab> 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. <br>
<x-tab> </x-tab>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.<br><br>
<div align="center">*********************************<br><br>
</div>
<x-tab> </x-tab>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.<br>
<x-tab> </x-tab>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. <br>
<x-tab> </x-tab>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.<br>
<x-tab> </x-tab>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.<br>
<x-tab> </x-tab>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.<br>
<x-tab> </x-tab>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 <i>de facto</i> Israeli policy
of taking the land and excluding the Palestinians was not to his liking –
in fact he felt it was dead wrong. <br>
<x-tab> </x-tab>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. <br>
<x-tab> </x-tab>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.” <br>
<x-tab> </x-tab>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.<br>
<x-tab> </x-tab>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. <br>
<x-tab> </x-tab>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.<br>
<x-tab> </x-tab>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. <br>
<x-tab> </x-tab>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 <i>Little Engine that Could</i> 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.<br><br>
<br>
And then ....?<br><br>
<x-tab> </x-tab>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 <i>Shalom</i> “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. <br>
<x-tab> </x-tab>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. <br><br>
<br>
<x-tab> </x-tab><x-tab> </x-tab><br>
</font><x-sigsep><p></x-sigsep>
<div align="center">Harrison Owen<br>
7808 River Falls Drive<br>
Potomac, MD 20854 USA<br>
phone 301-365-2093<br>
Open Space Training
<a href="http://www.openspaceworld.com/" eudora="autourl">www.openspaceworld.com</a>
<br>
Open Space Institute <a href="http://www.openspaceworld.org/" eudora="autourl">www.openspaceworld.org</a><br>
Personal website <a href="http://www.mindspring.com/~owenhh" eudora="autourl">www.mindspring.com/~owenhh</a><br><br>
<font color="#0000FF"><u>OSLIST@LISTSERV.BOISESTATE.EDU<br>
</u></font>To subscribe, unsubscribe, change your options,<br>
view the archives of <font color="#0000FF"><u>oslist@listserv.boisestate.edu<br>
</u></font>Visit: <a href="http://listserv.boisestate.edu/archives/oslist.html" eudora="autourl"><font color="#0000FF"><u>http://listserv.boisestate.edu/archives/oslist.html</a><br><br>
<br><br>
</font></u></div>
</html>