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

I reflected on how such an unequivocal political and social consciousness had developed in him at such a young age. It spurred him to fight against restriction and arbitrariness. Out loud, I said that sometimes a disadvantage of that kind can give a person a certain sense of election, of having been set apart.

“Maybe it is a key,” the sheikh said, “that enables you, unconsciously, to open yourself. More and more I think of how I, at age twenty, studied under a certain teacher, a wise man who taught me Arabic literature, and of the texts we learned that year, especially the poets — one blind, one deaf. Disabled. That lit a candle with me — hey, what’s going on here. Why them? I read their poems eagerly. All of Arab literature from the early days of Islam, and from the Middle Ages, was founded on those writers. So I, at the age of twenty, began to think, Maybe that blind man, because he doesn’t see, has the opportunity to think more? To understand more? To feel more?

“So, at that young age, I decided to shut myself up in a room, not to see people, to be alone. To read. I read, in one year and three months, all the important books of Islamic philosophy. I wouldn’t leave the house except to pray in the mosque. Without people. Without arguments. It was easy and good for me that way. I had the chance to understand the spirit and depth of Islamic thinking.

“To this day I maintain that — what can I say, it is impossible to be modest about it — I can say that in the commentaries on the Koran, Sheikh Abdallah is among the best, the best , maybe, in the entire region! Because to interpret the verses of the Koran you have to have mastered the Arabic language, Arabic grammar, Arabic literature. And the wisdom of the Islamic judges, their way of thinking. Because what is the real teaching of Islam? The teaching of Islam is peace for all human beings. Period.”

In 1980 the Shin Bet uncovered the Family of the Holy War underground. Its members had a vision of an entirely Islamic Palestine, with whatever Jews remaining in it playing the role of an obedient minority. The Family of the Holy War set fire to fields and forests in the Negev and the Galilee, uprooted orchards, and stole weapons from Israeli army bases. The members of the group, which advocated a violent holy war, or jihad , against Israel, considered Sheikh Abdallah Nimr Darwish their spiritual leader. Sixty men, Sheikh Darwish among them, were convicted in a military court in Lod. The details of that trial are still classified. According to a leader of the underground, Farid Abu Muh, the prosecution was unable to prove that Darwish was indeed the ideological leader of the group. He was sentenced to prison and released after serving about three years.

After his release, he and his fellows founded the Islamic Movement, which committed itself to obeying the law. Its declared goals were much more moderate than those of the Family of the Holy War. The sheikh wisely found a special path his disciples could walk securely in Israel. They could declare their loyalty to Israel without infringing on their national identity. They found their national identity at a deeper level than Palestinian nationalism does — in the essence of the entire Arab nation, in Islam. It was possible to hear those gears whirring when the sheikh referred to the enthusiasm of the young Muslims of the work camps. “While all of them work under the green flag of the Islamic Movement, many of the young people don’t belong to us at all. Because even those young people of whom it is sometimes said that they are materialistic and not active, they, too, are searching for the opportunity to give of themselves. To contribute. And what other opportunity does the democratic and glorious State of Israel give to contribute voluntarily? To identify with an idea?”

By the light of projector lamps volunteers in Bara are preparing the foundation for a sidewalk in the southern neighborhood. They pour in the foundation and the gravel. They consult on how most efficiently to coordinate the work of the steamrollers that have been brought from other villages. The plan is to pave 3,500 square meters of sidewalk in four days. Since morning, up until this hour of the evening, they have paved 1,200. In the schoolyard a teacher and his pupils complete the planting of a small grove of trees. They survey their handiwork in the dusk: “We didn’t want to plant cypresses, because cypresses look like missiles on launch pads.” They planted eucalyptus instead, the tree used by Israeli pioneers to drain swamps. At that same moment a long file of children passes, half running, carrying pots with saplings in them. A special work detail is already preparing, on the sidewalks, the squares of edging stones to form boxes for the young trees. Bara is a green village. “Arab villages generally don’t pay much attention to green things; they plant today and it withers tomorrow. But I wanted it to look nice here,” Kamel Rian says. “And it turns out that if the people themselves plant the trees and the grass, they continue to take care of the tree near their house and the nearby lawn. If someone in the village dares pluck a leaf from a tree, everyone gangs up on him. Why? Because they themselves planted it.” As we speak we reach a pretty building, large and proud, lit in green light. Bara’s cultural center.

“Now tell me, have you ever seen such a building? Guess how much time it took us to build it.”

I answered that nothing he said would surprise me.

“Listen to the story. We were busy planning a volunteer operation in the village, and one of the planners died of a heart attack. He was young. I left him at one in the morning, and at three they called and said he was dead.

“I, at the height of the first three days of mourning, called my friends together here and said, Let’s change the plan. Let’s build a community center named after him. We checked and saw that the cost of putting up such a community center was more than $200,000. We didn’t have it. Where could we get it? The town council’s development budget, you know, was $4,800, for 1,400 residents. And I had to use that money to make a reception for the Minister of the Interior, who came here with fifty people, and they demanded that I bring a kosher cook from Petah Tikva, and there went the $4,800! That’s why I never invite any of those thieves.

“So what did we do? We set up a national team. We brought five engineers, from Kafr Kana, Um Elfahm, Kafr Kassem, and one of our own. That was the steering committee. We created five committees, one responsible for materials, one for labor, one for equipment, and so on. On the fourth day of the mourning period we’d already begun to work. We collected $35,000 from the people in the village: people withdrew savings. Women took rings from their fingers, gold earrings, we filled up a bag with gold and jewelry.”

“Just voluntarily? There are rumors that you force people to contribute.”

“Everything was voluntary. We are forbidden, religiously, to force a man to pay. Besides, what power do we have to take by force? I’ve got only peer pressure behind me. Everyone around you gives, you give, too, There are political parties that oppose us, but when we lay a sidewalk next to the house of an opponent, do you think he doesn’t come out to help? Of course he does!

“To make a long story short, eighteen days later we’d poured the last concrete for the community center. We worked day and night. Twelve-hour shifts — you finish, go to sleep, get up and work. It’s more than 700 square meters. A public library that will hold, God willing, 20,000 volumes. A huge conference hall. A stage for the Islamic Women’s Theater that we have in the village. And on the bottom floor, two private daycare classes that cost $13 a month per child.”