Tel Aviv and Tali Fahima's court hearing (December 2005)

(more from Israel, December 2005)
So what is Tel Aviv like today (2005) in comparison to 1976-77?
Bigger.
Much bigger … and, seemingly, much more affluent.
And, the people living there, are, if possible, even more direct, plainspoken, and forceful in word and deed than I remember.
Almost 30 years ago I believe I experienced Tel Aviv as a “fun place” and bus, taxi and sherute rides were friendly events where lively passengers shared laughter and information. The half dozen or more Israeli taxi drivers I encountered in TA were dour, brusque, and hostile. When I arrived in Jerusalem the next day I found the same thing with the additional hassle that, to a man, each refused to drive anywhere near the Old City of Jerusalem where I stayed.

Before I go any further, I’m aware that I may be falling into a common stereotype that goes something like this: Intellectuals go to a country for a week and write THE definitive article about the place; they go for a fortnight and write THE definitive dissertation about the place; they go for a month and write THE definitive book about the place.
Let me be clear: at the beginning of this trip I spent 2 nights in Tel Aviv and at the end of the trip (6 days later) I spent another night traveling to and interviewing in the Tel Aviv “suburbs” of Netanya and Nof Yam. I may have gleaned hardly enough data for an article (but enough for the blogosphere?). Nevertheless, I formed impressions of Tel Aviv that I compare to vague 30-year-old romantic memories and describe as they occurred. Take what you will from the following vignettes.
Travel from SFO to Tel Aviv on KLM airlines was relatively uneventful after Amsterdam. There I was questioned quite thoroughly about the presence of visas from Iraq and Jordan in my passport. I explained that I’d landed in Amman, Jordan, and driven to Baghdad, Iraq, during the war, that I’d visited my son on a military base north of Baghdad, and that I met and talked to many other people while in Iraq. The Dutch official at Schipol Airport appeared skeptical and checked my answers with an Israeli security agent several times before I was allowed to pass through the security gate, my bags tagged with multiple security stickers.
On the ‘plane I listened carefully to the Hebrew spoken around me and tried to follow the gist of various conversations. Since I’ve not been immersed in Hebrew for years, it was tough going. I picked out an occasional word but couldn’t string together enough words to understand anything of consequence.
We landed at 1:15am. After the thorough questioning in Amsterdam, I was uneasy about those two visas. The passport control agent, however, didn’t blink an eye at them and passed me through with a “welcome back to Israel.”
Ben Gurion airport is vast and recently renovated. The architecture has the feel of an updated Wailing Wall: stone, large open spaces and a sense of being encompassed by the Wall as one heads towards Baggage Claim and the exit.
At the mobile phone rental center (“Pelephone”) I struck up a conversation with a passenger from the same flight and we agreed to share a taxi to the city. Aram is Israeli born, living in Oakland with his American wife and two small kids, and returned to visit his ailing father located in Haifa. Aram expressed deep love for Tel Aviv’s vibrant social life, the current art scene, dining, and late hours (but he didn’t want to return there to live). Indeed, in the section of town Aram would stay overnight, there were several small parks and plazas designed with colorful sculptures. Thanks to Aram for managing our business with the taxi driver so I didn’t have to struggle with elementary Hebrew at 2 o’clock in the morning exhausted after an 8 hour flight.
Turned out the hotel where I’d reserved a room was a bit of a fleabag but conveniently located near Dizengoff Street and the beach.
Next morning I braved the streets of Tel Aviv in search of the Law Court.
Word of warning: if you are headed to the Law Court (or anywhere in TA) ensure you’re going in the correct direction before you get on a bus…or into a sherute…. And remember that the folks of whom you ask direction may want to help and may believe that they are helping but may not actually understand your pronunciation of the place you’re seeking.
Luckily I’d set out early and built in time for getting lost. After several false starts I hired a taxi … and the Law Court turned out to be only about five or six blocks away!

I'd been warned that the security into the building was tight and to expect a long wait. I was pleasantly surprised to find a line of people only about 10 deep. Security is tight and my backpack, camera case, jacket, and all my pockets were scanned by man and machine but I was cleared within 10 minutes.
Tali Fahima is about 27 years old, an Israeli of Misrag descent (north africa) who became curious about the Israeli occupation of The Territories. One day she decided to travel to the Occupied Territories ("OT") to satisfy her curiosity. She traveled to Jenin camp just after the Israeli Defense Force (IDF) had been into the camp to locate terrorists.
You may have heard of what transpired there in that search: many, many homes were destroyed, people killed, people were sheltering wherever they could, and surviving however they could. Even one Israeli minister had been alarmed at the destruction in Jenin. He noticed an old woman scratching in the rubble of her family home trying to save family heirlooms and, without thinking, he uttered, "she reminds me of my grandmother in the ghetto ...". That comment made the news for a day or so then was shut down and no longer talked about...

In Jenin, Tali was so struck by the devastation she decided to stay and learn more. (BTW, Israeli citizens are not allowed into Palestinian camps, cities, villages, etc.) She found Zukuriya Zubeidi, the leader of Al Aqsa Martyrs Brigade, and stayed with him and his family for 3 weeks. Eventually the IDF found her after a long search. To cut a long story short (search "Tali Fahima" on the Internet to learn more about Tali and her stay in Jenin) Tali was held in "Administrative Detention" - aka jail - for almost a year. During this time she became and has remained a controversial figure in Israeli society.

Up until the morning I arrived in court to witness events (the proceedings are conducted in Hebrew and my Hebrew is almost nonexistent...certainly not of the sophistication required for the hearing. It was generally accepted that she'd receive about a 20 - 30 year sentence for contravening Israel's unspoken assumption that no Israeli would go into Palestinian camps nor speak out in the manner that Tali did.
The people who invited me to the court noticied immediately that the atmosphere in the court that day was unusually "festive". People were chatting, Tali appeared in the witness box, then left, then re-appeared. When she was there, her sister went up and talked to her, so did her aunt. Since I was sitting next to her aunt, I asked to speak to Tali as she sat in the witness box.

I found a very energetic, very strong, very determined young woman unbowed by the court system. She said, "how can I go back to my life after what I saw? I can never "unsee" what I saw and I can never remain silent about it. I am ashamed of my country for what it did in Jenin and for what it is doing in the OT. How can I just go back and pretend I know nothing?"

That day, after a threat of a 30 year sentence, Tali took a plea bargain and accepted 3 years; one year was already served, and, considering good behavior, Tali may spend another year in jail.
I suppose a victory of sorts...in comparison to 30 years of jail...but, for what?

I shared the elevator from the court room to the court house exit with severaljovial Israeli men. As we entered the elevator, these med joked about not wanting to share the space with "left wingers" but, nevertheless made room for us. Then they opined that Tali was a traitor who should be hanged from the highest tree and made an example of.

After the hearing, I walked along Dizengoff Street to find lunch: a falafel and glass of fresh squeezed orange juice followed by a stint at an Internet Café.
Falafel and fresh squeezed orange juice may not be as common in Israel and the West Bank as I recall but, with a little determination, these items can still be found nestled amongst the shoe shops, dress shops, cafes, and the money changers of Dizengoff Street. As I munched I tried to imagine myself an ordinary Israeli. Does such a person worry about suicide bombers as she munches on falafel or went about her business? (Actually, I didn’t see anyone else munching on the street but local coffee shops - a la Paris or San Francisco -- were busy.)
Later that afternoon, using a public computer in an Internet Café I wrote an email about Tali’s hearing and mentioned “Fatah.” I’d already struck up a conversation with the young man managing the Café – a graduate of Berkley School of Music in Boston, MA – and, unbeknownst to me, he had been standing quietly behind me reading over my shoulder.
When I turned around to comment on something, he asked, “Are you one of those UN Political People?”
“What is a UN Political Person and why do you ask?”
“Oh, you know, those people who don’t know about how those little Palestinian kids look at you with those big eyes so you feel sorry for them then, bang, the next thing you know they’ve blown you up.”
“I’m not with the UN….”
“I see you are writing about Fatah.”
“Yes, I just came from the a hearing for Tali Fahima. Do you know of her?”
“No, I don’t know her. Is she a UN person?”
“No, she is Israeli, like you. You should look her up on the Internet.”
“Like me? I come from Russia. Does she come from Russia?”
“North Africa, I think.”
“They’re different to us, the North Africans.”
“But still Israeli, no?”
“But not like us. We’re educated, they’re not.”
Just then two customers arrived and the manager turned away to tend them.
I departed.