"Los pueblos no se miran nunca en el espejo y menos con una guerra entre las cejas". Carlos Ruiz Zafón en "La Sombra del Viento", pg. 26.
---------->><<---------- "(La) fraternidad nos enseña demasiado a las claras, como en un espejo, a qué nos parecemos. Quien no puede vivir sin matar a sus semejantes es porque sólo soporta la vida... matándose" - Fernando Savater, en El País, 20/10/2009.
“Cuando uno atribuye todos los errores a los otros y se cree irreprochable, está preparando el retorno de la violencia, revestida de un vocabulario nuevo, adaptada a unas circunstancias inéditas. Comprender al enemigo quiere decir también descubrir en qué nos parecemos a él.” – Tzvetan Todorov
Vancouver, Canadá, tierra neutral.Neutral y suficientemente lejana de retenes, misiles, muros y miedos que caracterizan su vida cotidiana.Se trata de jóvenes palestinos e israelíes que participan en el programa Peace it Together (“Paz juntos” o, siguiendo el juego de palabras “Junta las Piezas”).
Un proyecto que busca romper con los estereotipos que se reafirman cada día en la realidad del conflicto y la guerra.Jóvenes que lejos de esa tierra, en la que crecen bajo la creencia de que no se puede compartir, se confrontan, escuchan, conocen y aprenden del otro, de su historia.Enemigos jurados que terminan experimentando el sentido de amistad.Al menos saben que la realidad, su realidad, puede ser diferente.Conviven en situaciones que en Israel y Palestina quizá nunca sucedan.
Peace it Together es un programa que busca cambiar esa realidad a través de la realización de videos, situación que los obliga a conocerse, compartir ideas y trabajar en equipo para lograr un proyecto en común. A través de un proceso creativo, israelíes y palestinos logran el reconocimiento y legitimación del otro como un ser humano con miedos y aspiraciones.
Hasta el momento se han realizado tres campamentos.Los últimos dos dedicados precisamente a la realización de videos, como este, Retén de Humanidad, del verano de 2008:
Jóvenes que en Vancouver aprenden de la posibilidad de coexistir con el objeto de llevarse esa experiencia de vuelta y compartirla en sus comunidades.Compartirla en esa tierra todavía inhóspita para vivir en Libertad:
The Palestinian youths from a tough West Bank refugee camp stood facing the elderly Holocaust survivors on Wednesday, appearing somewhat defiant in a teenage sort of way. Then they began to sing.
The choir burst into songs for peace, bringing surprised smiles from the audience. But the event had another twist: Most of the Holocaust survivors did not know the youths were Palestinians from the West Bank, a rare sight in Israel these days. And the youths had no idea they were performing for people who lived through Nazi genocide - or even what the Holocaust was.
"I feel sympathy for them," said Ali Zeid, an 18-year-old keyboard player, who added that he was shocked by what he learned about the Holocaust, in which the Nazis killed 6 million Jews in their campaign to wipe out European Jewry.
"Only people who have been through suffering understand each other," said Zeid, who said his grandparents were Palestinian refugees forced to flee the northern city of Haifa during the war that followed Israel's creation in 1948.
The 13 musicians, aged 11 to 18, belong to Strings of Freedom, a modest orchestra from the Jenin refugee camp in the northern West Bank, the scene of a deadly 2002 battle between Palestinian militants and Israeli soldiers.
The event, held at the Holocaust Survivors Center in this tree-lined central Israeli town, was part of Good Deeds Day, an annual event run by an organization connected to billionaire Shari Arison, Israel's richest woman.
The two-hour meeting starkly highlighted how distant Palestinians and Israelis have become after more than eight years of bloody Palestinian militant attacks and deadly Israeli military reprisals.
Most of the Palestinian youths had not seen an Israeli civilian before - only gun-toting soldiers in military uniforms manning checkpoints, conducting arrest raids of wanted Palestinians or during army operations.
"They don't look like us," said Ahed Salameh, 12, who wore a black head scarf woven with silver.
Most of the elderly Israelis wore pants and T-shirts, with women sporting a smear of lipstick.
"Old people look different where we come from," Salameh said.
She said she was shocked to hear about the Nazi genocide against Jews. Ignorance and even denial of the Holocaust is widespread in Palestinian society.
Amnon Beeri of the Abraham Fund, which supports coexistence between Jews and Arabs, said most of the region's residents have no real idea about the other.
The youths said their feisty conductor, Wafa Younis, 50, tried to explain to them who the elderly people were, but chaos on the bus prevented them from listening.
The elderly audience said they assumed Arab children were from a nearby village - not from the refugee camp where 23 Israeli soldiers were killed, alongside 53 Palestinian militants and civilians, in several days of battle in April 2002.
Some 30 elderly survivors gathered in the center's hall as teenage boys and girls filed in 30 minutes late - delayed at an Israeli military checkpoint outside their town, they later explained.
Some of the young women wore Muslim head scarves - but also sunglasses and school ties.
As a host announced in Hebrew that the youths were from the Jenin refugee camp, there were gasps and muttering from the crowd. "Jenin?" one woman asked in jaw-dropped surprise.
Younis, from the Arab village of Ara in Israel, then explained in fluent Hebrew that the youths would sing for peace, prompting the audience to burst into applause.
"Inshallah," said Sarah Glickman, 68, using the Arabic term for God willing.
The encounter began with an Arabic song, "We sing for peace," and was followed by two musical pieces with violins and Arabic drums, as well as an impromptu song in Hebrew by two in the audience.
Glickman, whose family moved to the newly created Jewish state in 1949 after fleeing to Siberia to escape the Nazis, said she had no illusions the encounter would make the children understand the Holocaust. But she said it might make a small difference.
"They think we are strangers, because we came from abroad," Glickman said. "I agree: It's their land, also. But there was no other option for us after the Holocaust."
Later, she tapped her feet in tune as the teenagers played a catchy Mideast drum beat. After the event, some of the elderly Israelis chatted with students and took pictures together.
The encounter was not absent of politics. Younis dedicated a song to an Israeli soldier held captive by Palestinian militants in the Gaza Strip - and also criticized Israel's occupation of the West Bank.
But she said the main mission of the orchestra, formed seven years ago to help Palestinian children overcome war trauma, was to bring people together.
"I'm here to raise spirits," Younis said. "These are poor, old people."
Como los zorros de la historia bíblica de Sansón, unidos en parejas por la cola con una antorcha en llamas entre ellos, los palestinos y nosotros, los israelíes, nos arrastramos al desastre, a pesar de la fuerza que tiene cada uno, e incluso cuando tratamos por todos los medios de separarnos. Y al hacerlo, quemamos al otro que está ligado a nosotros, nuestro doble, nuestra némesis, nosotros mismos.
Por eso, en medio de la ola de invectivas nacionalistas que inunda Israel, convendría no olvidar que la última operación en Gaza no fue, al fin y al cabo, sino una etapa más en una vía de una sola dirección, asfaltada con fuego, violencia y odio. En esa vía, a veces se gana y a veces se pierde, pero el final siempre es la ruina.
Mientras los israelíes nos felicitamos porque esa campaña rectificó los errores militares de la segunda guerra de Líbano, deberíamos hacer caso a las voces que dicen que los triunfos de las Fuerzas de Defensa Israelíes (FDI) no son la prueba indudable de que Israel tenía razón al emprender una operación de semejantes proporciones; y, desde luego, no justifican la forma de llevar a cabo la misión. Los logros de las FDI sólo confirman que Israel es mucho más fuerte que Hamás y que, en ciertas circunstancias, puede ser muy duro y cruel.
Sin embargo, con el fin de las operaciones, ahora que todos conocen la magnitud de las matanzas y la destrucción, quizá la sociedad israelí sea capaz de controlar por un momento sus complejos mecanismos de represión y superioridad moral. Y quizá entonces se imprima en la conciencia israelí algún tipo de enseñanza. Tal vez entonces comprenderemos, por fin, algo profundo y fundamental: que nuestra conducta en esta región es, desde hace mucho tiempo, errónea, inmoral e imprudente. En concreto, que aviva sin cesar las llamas que nos consumen.
Desde luego, no puede absolverse a los palestinos de sus errores y sus crímenes. Sería una muestra de desprecio y condescendencia hacia ellos, como si no fueran adultos racionales, responsables de cada una de sus faltas y equivocaciones.
Es cierto que los habitantes de la Franja de Gaza estaban, en gran medida, "estrangulados" por Israel, pero también ellos tenían otras opciones, otras formas de protestar, de dar a conocer su difícil situación. Disparar miles de cohetes contra civiles inocentes en Israel no era la única posibilidad que tenían. No debemos olvidarlo. No debemos perdonar a los palestinos, como si fuera lo más natural que, cuando ellos están en dificultades, su respuesta casi automática tenga que ser la violencia.Pero, incluso cuando los palestinos actúan con una beligerancia temeraria -con atentados suicidas y misiles Qassam-, Israel, que es mucho más fuerte que ellos, tiene una inmensa capacidad de controlar el nivel de violencia en el conflicto en general. Y, por tanto, puede tener una profunda influencia a la hora de aplacar los ánimos y arrancar a ambas partes de esta espiral violenta. La última acción militar en Gaza indica que entre las autoridades israelíes no parece haber nadie que comprenda ese hecho, este aspecto fundamental de la disputa.
Al fin y al cabo, llegará un día en el que querremos tratar de restañar las heridas que acabamos de infligir. ¿Cómo puede llegar ese día si los israelíes no asumimos que nuestro poderío militar no puede ser nuestra principal herramienta para establecer nuestra presencia aquí, con las naciones árabes enfrente? ¿Cómo puede llegar ese día si no comprendemos la grave responsabilidad que nos imponen nuestros variopintos y fatídicos vínculos, pasados y futuros, con la nación palestina en Cisjordania, la Franja de Gaza y el propio Israel?
Cuando se despejen las nubes de humo de las declaraciones de los políticos sobre una victoria amplia y decisiva, cuando comprendamos lo que consiguió verdaderamente la operación en Gaza y cuánta diferencia hay entre esas declaraciones y lo que de verdad necesitamos saber para vivir una vida normal en esta región, cuando reconozcamos que toda una nación se dejó hipnotizar porque necesitaba creer como fuera que Gaza iba a curar la enfermedad de Líbano, entonces, podremos volver nuestra atención hacia quienes, una y otra vez, han instigado la soberbia y la euforia de poder de la sociedad israelí. Hacia quienes, desde hace tantos años, nos han enseñado a despreciar la fe en la paz y cualquier esperanza de cambio en nuestras relaciones con los árabes. Hacia quienes nos han convencido de que los árabes sólo entienden la fuerza y que, por tanto, sólo podemos hablarles en ese lenguaje. Como tantas veces les hemos hablado así, y sólo así, nos hemos olvidado de que existen otros lenguajes que pueden emplearse para hablar con otros seres humanos, incluso con los enemigos, incluso con enemigos tan acérrimos como Hamás; unos lenguajes que son tan propios de nosotros, los israelíes, como el lenguaje del avión y el carro de combate.
Hablar con los palestinos. Ésa debe ser la conclusión fundamental de este último y sangriento estallido bélico. Hablar incluso con quienes no reconocen nuestro derecho a existir aquí. En vez de ignorar a Hamás, conviene aprovechar la nueva situación y entablar un diálogo que haga posible un acuerdo con el pueblo palestino en su conjunto. Hablar, para comprender que la realidad no es sólo el relato herméticamente sellado que los palestinos y nosotros nos contamos desde hace generaciones y que, en buena parte, está formado por fantasías, deseos y pesadillas. Hablar para crear, en esta realidad opaca y sorda, una oportunidad de diálogo, de tener esa alternativa hoy tan despreciada y olvidada, que, en la tempestad de la guerra, casi no dispone de hueco, esperanza ni creyentes.
Hablar como estrategia muy meditada, iniciar el diálogo, insistir en la comunicación, hablar a las paredes, hablar aunque parezca que no sirve de nada. A largo plazo, ese tesón puede ayudar más a nuestro futuro que cientos de aviones arrojando bombas sobre una ciudad y sus habitantes. Hablar a partir de la comprensión, nacida de los horrores que acabamos de ver, de que la destrucción que somos capaces de infligirnos unos a otros, cada pueblo a su manera, es una fuerza inmensa y corruptora. Si nos rendimos a ella y su lógica, al final, nos destruirá a todos.
Hablar porque lo que ocurrió en la Franja de Gaza durante tres semanas de este invierno coloca ante nosotros, los israelíes, un espejo que refleja un rostro que nos horrorizaría si lo viéramos por un momento desde fuera o si lo observáramos en otro país. Entonces comprenderíamos que nuestra victoria no es una victoria auténtica y que la guerra de Gaza no nos ha ayudado a curar nada de lo que necesitábamos desesperadamente curar.
My affiliation with Israeli hospitals began some 20 years ago, after I read a book by Israeli researchers in the field of fertility, which was of particular interest to me. I had just returned to Gaza after completing a residency in obstetrics and gynecology in London, and working thereafter in Saudi Arabia. I got in touch with Prof. Mark Glazerman at Soroka Medical Center, Be'er Sheva, who agreed to receive female patients of mine for consultation and treatments not available in Gaza. Periodically I would bring patients in my own car, and sometimes in a small minibus that carried between 12-15 women to Soroka. I realized that cooperation with the Israeli health-care system would benefit many of the patients.
In 1994 the United Nations requested that I take charge of women's health care in Gaza. After three years of unsatisfying administrative work, I wanted to go back to practicing medicine. I learned Hebrew at an ulpan and, in 1997, I applied for a residency at Soroka. I loved every day spent at that hospital, and all of the people there. To this day, we maintain good friendships. Later on I completed a master's degree in the United States from the Harvard School of Public Health, and served in Kabul as an adviser to the Afghan health-care system.
Later I returned to the Gaza Strip.
I found a poor health-care system in the Strip. Anyone who steps into a pediatrics ward at Sheba Medical Center or Sourasky Medical Center will encounter a large number of Palestinian children. Many are happy to receive treatment in Israel, which has one of the best health-care systems in the world. Cooperation between the two systems exists, although not to a satisfactory degree.
This cooperation can be compared to "medical tourism," except that in places where such tourism exists, the person plans for the treatment, comes to the hospital, and even has fun. Here, one finds an abnormal system of medical tourism, between two peoples engaged in conflict - a fact that exacerbates the patients' suffering. The convoluted bureaucracy involved in obtaining guarantees of insurance coverage, and security permits for crossing into Israel from the Gaza Strip complicates matters. Even when someone manages to get treatment in Israel, he has difficulty returning for a follow-up appointment and continued treatment, because nobody promises to grant him those permits.
Another problem is the lack of communication between the physician who sends the patient from Gaza and the physician who handles the case in Israel. Frequently the patient's condition deteriorates upon returning to Gaza, and the doctor there is not up to date regarding his treatment history.
This system has been in place for years, but no one has looked into ways of improving treatment so as to make things easier for Gazans. In a research project I have initiated, we are studying the mechanism for transferring patients, with the aim of streamlining it.
I recently received a job offer from the University of Toronto. However, the tragedy we suffered changes all our plans, and I am now incapable of thinking about the future.
Dr. Ezzeldeen Abu al-Aish lost three daughters to IDF fire during Operation Cast Lead. His surviving children have received treatment in Israel.
Gaza doctor who lost daughters in IDF strike: Everyone makes mistakes
By Amos Harel, Haaretz Correspondent and Haaretz Service
Dr. Ezzeldeen Abu al-Aish, who lost three daughters and a niece in an Israel Defense Forces strike in the Gaza Strip last month, responded Wednesday to an IDF statement confirming that it was Israeli fire that killed his daughters, thanking those responsible for investigating the incident and saying that "we all make mistakes, and we don't repeat them."
Abu al-Aish, a father of eight, became one of the symbols of the Gaza offensive for Israelis after he captivated TV viewers with a sobbing live report on the death of his three daughters and his niece in Israeli shelling. The 55-year-old gynecologist trained in Israeli hospitals and speaks Hebrew.
The IDF announced earlier Wednesday that an investigation into the January 16 incident confirmed that it had been Israeli fire that killed the four girls.
"First of all, I would like to thank all those who worked, and had the courage and good conscience to shed light on the truth that I always believed. Thank you to everyone who took upon themselves to publicize this truth seeking investigation," Abu al-Aish said in an interview with Channel 2.
The Palestinian doctor went on to say "I have two options - the path of darkness or the path of light. The path of darkness is like choosing all the complications with diseases and depression, but the path of light is to focus on the future and my children. This strengthened my conviction to continue on the same path and not to give up."
Abu al-Aish did not neglect to thank the Israelis who met with him and offered him strength, saying "the love that I've received, from people I knew and people I didn't know, gave me strength."
The IDF released the conclusions of its investigation into the incident earlier Wednesday, explaining that Golani troops had been fired upon by snipers situated in the house adjacent to Abu al-Aish's home. The troops identified suspicious figures in the upper levels of the doctor's building, and deduced that they were serving as observers, directing the sniper fire from their vantage point.
Following long deliberations and assessments of the situation, the Golani commander decided to fire tank shells at the building, and when the soldiers heard the screams and realized civilians had been hit, they helped evacuate them, the investigation revealed.
The army argues further that the residents of the neighborhood were urged to evacuate the area prior to the attack via thousands of leaflets that were disseminated in the area, and that the doctor was personally asked by phone to evacuate his family from the neighborhood due to the fighting.
Abu al-Aish denied that there were any militants in the building at the time of the shelling.
The IDF spokesman's office issued a statement extending the IDF's condolences over the incident, but maintaining that the IDF operated within reason in light of the sniper fire directed at the troops and the heavy fighting in the region.
Tel Aviv University's School of Public Health held a conference this week on disaster-relief delegations. The date was set before the Gaza war broke out, and they invited me to participate.
Twice I headed relief and rescue delegations - once to Rwanda during the genocide, and once to Bosnia with Jordan's then-crown prince, Prince Hassan, who led his delegation.
Those were different times. Only 13 years have passed and it feels like ages. At the time, Israel pitched its tent on the enlightened part of the planet; now it is moving toward the dark side.
When we landed in the city of Goma on the Congo-Rwanda border we were told about dozens of orphaned children suffering from cholera, who were dying in a shelter for the needy in the thick of the forest. While we were still organizing to leave for there, the satellite phone rang.
The prime minister, Yitzhak Rabin, was on the line, asking to talk to the environment minister. That conversation cannot be forgotten or interrupted - I am conducting it to this day.
Rabin, in his baritone voice, played on the dreams that were beginning to turn into reality. "I'm in America," he said, "and you're in Rwanda; I'm making peace here with the Palestinians, and you're saving lives there, and we're all working in the name of Israel and the Jewish people."
Suddenly his voice was gentle and reflective, and when I put down the receiver it was replaced by the sounds of the African jungle.
We didn't find a shelter, only a few rickety huts, but we did manage to find the children. They were all unconscious, stark naked, covered with vomit and diarrhea - the stench almost made us flee. We picked them up one by one, unconscious and covered in excrement, to lay them down in an army truck, and they grabbed us in a desperate embrace - a last attempt to hide from death.
I am the man who traveled all the way to the back of beyond and returned another person; I am the man whose ears are deafened by the tom-toms; I am the man who saw the end of the world - that's how it looks, the end.
I told those attending the conference at the university - all of them experienced with delegations and familiar with natural and man-made disasters - that there is currently no point in sending an Israeli representative to distressed areas. After all, everywhere they will point to us and say "Go to Gaza. Heal them first. First bandage those in your midst who were burned by white phosphorus, and only then, if you'll excuse me, sail to the end of the world with your mercy."
The Israel Defense Forces is now promising that it will investigate whether it used prohibited substances. Perhaps during the next round they will check before striking, because it's simply more logical to check first, and a little more humane.
Today I'm a rank-and-file citizen, not a candidate to lead delegations. But even if I were an official, I would postpone the trip on behalf of my country to an unknown date. Israel 2009 is no longer Israel 1995 - it has changed its face and I find it difficult to recognize.
Let Olmert go on that mission, let Barak, Livni and Ramon go. They had better beware: There are places from which they will not be allowed to return, they had better make sure ahead of time.
Ezzeldin Abu al-Aish es un doctor palestino que en la guerra de Gaza perdió a tres de sus hijos. Uno pensaría que su dolor se convertiría en odio. Pero no. Abu al-Aish demuestra que la fuerza no reside en golpear o aguantar un golpe. La fortaleza reside, según sus palabras, en reconocer en el otro (en el llamado enemigo) a un Ser Humano. Avirama Golan, periodista israelí de Ha'aretz, responde a su reflejo.
Last update - 05:06 22/01/2009
Gaza doctor buries three daughters, visits 4th in Israeli hospital
By Vered Lee
Dr. Ezzeldin Abu al-Aish, whose three daughters were killed by Israeli tank fire in Gaza last Friday, left the Erez checkpost at about 3 P.M. yesterday for the Sheba Medical Center at Tel Hashomer, where one of his daughters, who was wounded, is hospitalized.
He was accompanied by four of his children who were not hurt.
"We are one united family. Despite the tragedy, we have tomorrow," he told the crowd of journalists waiting for him.
Six days have passed since al-Aish's apartment was shelled by the Israel Defence Forces, killing three of his daughters and wounding a fourth.
When the evacuation of the wounded was finally allowed, he accompanied his daughter, who was hit in the eye, to the hospital.
Yesterday morning he returned to see the extent of his home's destruction and to cry on the graves of his three daughters, whose funeral took place while he was tending his daughter in the hospital.
The remaining children - Dalal, 19, an engineering student who wasn't home during the shelling, Mohamed, 12, Rafa, 9, and Abdallah, 6 - wanted to be with their sister, he said.
"It's important to me to pull together what's left of the family," al-Aish said.
"I want to tell the Israelis that I was glad to see they opened their heart and eyes to what is happening on the other side. It's really time to wake up. The truth has two sides. If you want to judge you must look at both sides of the coin. God created us all the same way - we're all human beings, there's no difference between us," he said.
"My hope today is that as I can cross the border from Gaza into Israel, so will you be able to enter Gaza freely and that there would never be boundaries. This is the only way to achieve peace, trust and talks," he said.
There's no doubt that the terrible tragedy of Dr. Ezzeldeen Abu al-Aish, who told Israeli television viewers in fluent Hebrew that he lost three daughters and a niece to an Israeli tank shell during the fighting in Gaza, has managed to finally penetrate the layer of cast lead that has sealed the ears of the Israeli public since the Gaza operation began. He made the killing suddenly appear tangible, close, shocking and threatening.
It's Abu al-Aish's bad luck that he's "one of us" no less than "one of them." He's an educated and successful physician who was offered a job at a Canadian hospital after he worked and conducted research at Israel's Soroka and Sheba medical centers. Moreover, and perhaps more importantly, he speaks Hebrew and is proficient in the codes that govern Israeli thinking and behavior. At a press conference in which he pleaded for an end to the Gaza war - and to war in general - he unconsciously appealed to the agitated mix of familial dedication and longing for a peaceful life, the enlightened Western format that constitutes the Israeli self-image.
Woe to Abu al-Aish; his efforts have come to nothing. While many television viewers who had previously followed only what had been presented to them as glorious military achievements shed a tear for his loss, a woman called Levana Stern - who was apparently granted blanket permission to speak abusively because of her status as mother of three soldiers - disrupted the press conference by shouting at the top of her voice: "I feel your pain, I'm totally with you, but who knows what was going on in your house!"
People standing next to her, who were emboldened by her outburst, protested the audacity of the hospital where he spoke to the press for giving a platform to a Palestinian while Israeli soldiers were fighting in Gaza. One woman even passionately called him a "piece of trash." In despair, Abu al-Aish muttered, "They don't want to hear the other side."
So much ink has been spilled on academic research about the voice of the other in post-colonial society, and so many conferences and articles have determined that Israeli society has long ago passed the melting-pot stage and is now a multicultural society that makes space for the voice of the other. Now Abu al-Aish has inadvertently revealed how false that is. The residents of Gaza don't exist at all in the Israeli consciousness, failing even to merit the status of "other." But because the Gaza doctor works in Israel and has many Israeli acquaintances, he was given a chance that thousands of others have not had: the chance to speak on prime time (though only after the blood of his daughters Bisan, Mayer and Aya was spilled in his home).
Abu Al-Aish is not alone. Over the past years, Sderot residents have repeatedly been accused of failing to act responsibly when they stay there with their young children ("Why don't they evacuate them?" people ask). Even many reporters share the unfounded sentiment that everyone who could have left Sderot did so long ago, and only the unfortunates who have nowhere to go are still there.
True, residents of the periphery are not a hated "other" like the Palestinians, but they too are faceless and voiceless. Now the residents of Sderot have become the beloved children for whose sake the war was waged, but they will pay dearly for that. Some opponents of the war see them as extreme right-wingers whose complaints are exaggerated, saying that no Israeli child was killed by a rocket during the war, while thousands were killed in Gaza. And some of the war's supporters refuse to understand that the ongoing suffering of Negev residents has made them angry, frustrated and full of hate - but that the historic friendly ties they used to have with Gazans and the mutual desire for normalization are just as authentic. Those supporters also have contempt for the demand of thousands of residents of the south, led by the "A Different Voice" group from Sderot, who urged the government to do all it can to reach an agreement rather than go to war.
The warped logic that prevails on the left as well as the right means that whoever has not fled from Gaza to Canada is an impoverished laggard at best, and a Hamas supporter at worst, and whoever has not moved from Sderot to Tel Aviv's Rothschild Boulevard is an uneducated and irresponsible Likud voter who brought this bad situation upon himself. This is how the so-called "others" are used to defining the Israeli consensus - an opaque and hate-filled consensus that denies the complex reality in favor of intensifying frightened entrenchment.
