My relationship with Israel is distinctly “it’s complicated.” I harbor a deep fondness for this tiny cartographic footnote, which is in many ways a miracle in itself. Despite perpetual unpopularity and unbelievable geographic vulnerability, this scrappy little strip of land bravely persists. It’s an amazing, beautiful landscape of innovation and community. I just spent the best summer of my life in Tel Aviv, living and working in one of the most interesting, vibrant cities in the world. I formed strong relationships with Israelis, many of them active-duty soldiers, and was deeply moved by their pride in their complicated, improbable nation.
But as much as I love Israel, it’s also the most frustrating place I’ve ever been. I’m frustrated that my adorable six-year-old cousin will need to know how to assemble an Uzi before she’s old enough to buy a pack of cigarettes. I’m frustrated that Israel’s government is complicit as illegal Jewish settlers in the West Bank make a two-state solution less and less viable by the day. I’m frustrated that most of my Israeli friends have never studied Arabic or spent any meaningful length of time with a Palestinian. And most of all, I’m frustrated that my community is often silent in the face of injustice, preferring to stick with a semi-stable status quo rather than to publicly critique difficult issues.
My confusion began two years ago on my first trip to the region. Against the advice of essentially every Israeli adult I know, I resolved to visit the Palestinian territories. I was tired of being told that the conflict was “too complicated” and that I was “too young to understand.” So I went. And that decision changed my metaphorical Facebook relationship status with Israel forever. For the first time, I talked to Palestinians about their experience on the other side of the wall. I was profoundly upset and confused. How did Israel, a place I cared about so deeply, take part in something so obviously morally wrong? Why did security for one people come at the price of human rights for another? But how did I, as an American student living thousands of miles away from the physical conflict, have the right to tell Israelis and Palestinians how to live their lives?
I resolved to return to the region at a later date to get some closure. So I boarded El Al flight 008 this June, confident in my ability to kick ass, take names, and “understand Israel.” Ten weeks later, as my return flight landed at JFK, I realized my folly. While I had indeed kicked ass and taken a name or two, I couldn’t be further from understanding the place in which I had spent my summer.
No offense, but if you think you understand the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, you’re an idiot. It’s not an issue that ten weeks, ten years, or even a lifetime would fully allow you to appreciate.
But being confused about the conflict doesn’t mean you’re paralyzed. It means you’re listening and synthesizing diverse, often completely contradictory perspectives. It means you’re open and empathetic to the opinions of others, and that’s a great thing. And it means you’re not alone. Upon my return to Bowdoin after that initial trip to the region, I discovered a huge constituency of people just like me: activists who realize the complexity of the issues, but want to make a change for peace. So I have a request for all the other confused do-gooders out there: get involved, because your opinion really matters. Ask hard questions of yourself and others, and be critical of the answers you might find. But never stop being a little confused.
Erica Hummel ’16 is a leader of Bowdoin’s chapter of J-Street U.