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Friday November 19, 2004
It's three in the morning and my Palestinian friends have decided now would be a good time to stand outside my window and sing. It's not like I could sleep. I'm going home tomorrow and my room is a mess. Whenever my room starts looking like a war zone I know something is amiss. Considering the fact that I've been fantasising about this weekend vacation for about a month, I try pretending there is no connection. Being both Jewish and Polish I soon realise guilt is involved. I am guilty of treason.
By coming to London I walked out on my two great loves: my boyfriend and my country. And as much as I miss them both I have to admit that I am having fun. I am officially on my way to becoming a proper Londoner. I bought a miniskirt (yes, I cracked), my coffee-shop guy knows me and I spend every Sunday morning buying flowers in Columbia market. I could also say that my terrible accent is starting to fade, but I know that it's just wishful thinking.
The eternal question of long-distance relationships is knocking at my door. Can I be a good Israeli and a good girlfriend from this chosen exile?
Sometimes I'm not sure. So even though I can't wait to get home, I'm suddenly afraid to realise that I can be happy here.
I grew up knowing that I belonged in Israel. Could it be that when I said Israel was the only place I ever wanted to live, it was simply that I hadn't checked the other options? This treacherous line of thought is completely unacceptable so I prefer to blame this blasphemy on cold weather freezing my brain.
The truth remains that in a way I have become a spectator. Through your screens I watch the Israeli parliament vote for evacuating Gaza. I see shocking footage of the terrorist attacks on Sinai and Tel-Aviv. I hear the news of Yasser Arafat's death (of course, these things are only reported after the important stories, like will Bird's custard go bankrupt). At times I feel I should drop everything and go home, where I am needed. Other times the distance is balm, relieving the weight of living in such a troubled country.
The spectator position has its advantages. It's from here that I can admire the new Palestinian leadership's decision not to turn the dispute of Arafat's burial place into the focal point of another series of riots. Instead, they chose a wise compromise that spared the lives of many man. I don't know if I could have understood that while in the eye of the storm.
I know it sounds as if getting a three-year scholarship to London fixes you up, but it's actually a lot harder than it sounds (but you don't have to feel sorry for me). In the short time that I have been here I have had to face up to the harsh reality of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict more than ever before and in a way most Israelis never will. I share my every day life and my thoughts and dreams with Palestinians. It's one thing to preach peace when you are up against right-wing fanatics, but it's completely different when you're "sleeping with the enemy" (no grandma, I don't have a Muslim boyfriend).
Our group is supposed to be the pillar of fire leading the camp, but sometimes it feels like we're just the firefighters. More than ever before I realise that peace is about trust. There is so much frustration and mistrust in our small micro cosmos that sometimes I feel we'll never get there. But than Hazem asks me if I want to come over for tea and I find myself humming that Lennon tune again. All we are saying is give peace a chance.
—The Guardian
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