David Grossman - Sleeping on a Wire - Conversations with Palestinians in Israel

Kiwan’s face went sour. “First of all, the Israeli public — and you, I’m very sorry to say, are a part of it — doesn’t understand what the intifadah is. You don’t understand the pathetic state of the people there, how bitterness built up to the point that — how did that writer of yours, S. Yizhar, put it—‘a nation rose up.’ People had no way to remain silent any longer, so they used the stone. Not, God forbid, to insult you! They are certainly not treating you like a dog, God forbid. An Arab will also throw a stone at another Arab. It’s simply the only tool he has to make the world hear him! And besides, Jojo, you have to understand something important. When you’re there, you’re not a private citizen. You are an instrument in the hands of the Israeli regime…”

“I’m no instrument! What do you mean instrument? I’m part of this country, and because of that I’m also part of the government!”

“You’re an instrument in the hands of the Israeli occupation regime! I’d expect of you, my dear friend [Jojo nods with a smile, waiting in ambush for his prey], that you, as part of the progressive Israeli public [Jojo the whole time is going, “Yes, yes…”], you should be saying that you refuse to serve in the territories!”

Jojo pounces. “Aha! In other words, I should rebel against the law! Against the law that I previously agreed to accept as a citizen here! And that’s probably exactly what you’ll do to me tomorrow if you and I have that country of equality, and you suddenly don’t agree with me about the law, you’ll say, Wait a minute! I’m resigning from the army until you, Jojo, agree with me!”

Mohammed: “There are laws, and there are laws!”

“No, pal!” Jojo bangs on the wooden table; the coffee cups and soft-drink bottles shake. “When I was in Morocco with you, you were my boss. Did I come crying to you and throw stones at you? There were things I didn’t like there! I walked down the street and they threw stones at me, too, and they said dirty Jew and I got slapped in the face! Did I dare rebel then or say that there are laws and there are laws? I had two options then, to leave Morocco and come here or to accept what there was there, the good and the bad! You, if you don’t want to live with me, as you wish, I made you a Palestinian state over there, there you have your own laws, fine with me. I’ll go there with a visa, like a tourist!”

The conversation was interrupted for a moment. One of the workers from the restaurant came up to Jojo to ask him something. He was limping a bit. Jojo introduced him to us as Uzi. “Actually,” Jojo explained, “his name is Awad. I changed it to Uzi. Easier for him, easier for me.” A deep, heavy glance curdled for a long moment between Mohammed Kiwan and Uzi. “He doesn’t feel comfortable either when I call him Awad in front of people. Look at him, Mohammed. He lives in Gaza, and because he had good relations with Jews, your friends there put two bullets through his legs.” Jojo sent the man off and resumed his flood of words. “We said I’d visit you there with a visa. If you want, let me come in. If you don’t want, throw me back. But here, in Israel, you and I will live in equality. According to the laws we make together. We are not allowed to decide to take the law into our own hands. If you or I start deciding which laws to obey, it will start today with the law about military service in the territories, tomorrow it will be the income tax law, and the day after it will be the law about how many wives I can have. You have to understand what the real meaning of democracy is. It’s in your interest to understand, because you want democracy in the country you’ll have someday. Democracy is that if I don’t agree with the law I don’t have a choice! And I want to hear from you now an answer to one question about all this — you, as a citizen here in the State of Israel: Will the Palestinian state, when it is established, satisfy you for good?”

Mohammed: “I accept that, with two of my reservations. That I have my basic rights, and then there’s the last little problem that remains, my national identity.”

Jojo leaned over at him suspiciously. “What’s that? What did you say?”

Mohammed studied his fingers. “Give me recognition as a national minority. In other words, internal autonomy. In Israel. For the Arabs here.”

“Oho!” Jojo erupts. “Hello, trouble! So now you’ve made me another problem — that you know in advance you’re looking for as a problem, not a solution! Very nice! And here, from the start I’ve been telling you, Listen, let’s the two of us bake two cakes. When it comes to how much flour, how many eggs we’ll put in — about all that I’m willing to ask your advice. But the minute we’ve baked the two cakes, don’t eat mine! And you, Mohammed, you should understand from your nature and I’m also appealing to your logic and your sense of justice — you can’t take part of mine once I’ve given you yours! You got your country and flag and leadership, so leave me alone with my country and flag and leadership!”

He is breathing rapidly, wrathfully. Offended. An idea suddenly comes to him. “You know what? You want autonomy here? Fine! But all the Jewish settlements in your Palestinian state, give them autonomy, too! What you demand for yourself, demand for me, too! But listen, let it be, I’m telling you, let’s not fool around with leftovers. I won’t put my fish in your meat, and you won’t put your chicken in my steak. Let’s leave the fish to itself and the chicken to itself!”

Mohammed: “Even if a Palestinian state is established in the West Bank and Gaza — and of course I consider East Jerusalem to be part of it — there will still be our problem inside Israel. Am I forbidden to educate my son in accordance with my cultural heritage? Am I forbidden to foster my Palestinian nationalism? Am I forbidden to hope that the country’s flag should reflect my national sensibilities also?”

Jojo shakes his head in anger and amazement. “Look what kind of person you are. You came here to tell me that you want your flag, your leadership, independence. That you don’t want to live according to my law. And I’m saying, You’re 1,000 percent right! So why don’t you understand the same thing about me, that I want a flag that’s all mine and laws that are all mine? Why do I need to try so hard to understand you, despite the fact that today I’m stronger than you and I’ve got power, and you, with nothing, you exist just in theory, you’re already starting to tell me what to do here! So what will happen tomorrow when you’re strong? Where will I be? After all, you butcher your own brothers who don’t agree with you, so me you’ll grind to a pulp! You scare me, Mohammed! You’re scaring Jojo, the most moderate man in the country, who’s willing to listen and to talk. What you’re saying to me is, Listen, Jojo, now I’m getting something else ready for you! So what happens with people like me? They tell you, Hey, just a minute, if that’s the way it is, motherfucker, I’ll live my own life, and shit on all the rest! Let my kid burn out his brain with your kid in his own good time! But I’m saying no. I want your guts and my guts to stop fighting! I want to be able to look my kid straight in the eyes. I want my kid to live here, and if your kid wants to live here, that’s just fine.”

“Do you know that because of the land confiscations my child won’t have anywhere to live in Um Elfahm? My house is already on the very edge, and there’s nowhere to build for my son?”

Jojo stretches out his arms at him in an expansive gesture of brotherhood. “Hey, Mohammed, my son doesn’t have anywhere to live near me either! Jojo would also like a house with ten rooms — but he doesn’t have one! So what, the two of us will fight over ten rooms, or maybe we should both squeeze ourselves into five rooms so there will be room for both me and you? What do you say, Mohammed?” He gives him a smile of “Let’s shake, let’s find at least one thing in common to start with.”