Christmas in Yanoun

By: Christine from the United Kingdom

 

 

 

Christmas Day in Yanoun was a strangely moving experience.  One doesn’t spend long in this oppressive situation, surrounded by illegal settlements on stolen land, without beginning to absorb the fears of local people. The unseen settlers become stereotypically demonized in one’s imagination.  I was continually troubled by this, and on Christmas morning I started the day with a heartfelt wish to recognize the humanity in them. Theoretically, I could figure that under the occupation, Israeli settlers and Palestinian farmers alike are living damaged lives, fearful of each other and, in their different ways, hemmed in and impoverished: the bully and the victim. But I longed to see something more human, with some spark of hope.

 

 

 

The first spark came in a conversation with the woman whom I was accompanying early in the morning while she was grazing her sheep. We saw two settlers on the opposite hill and, as usual, the woman tensed up and herded the flock away, out of sight of them. I spoke to her about Jewish friends, and the different outlooks among Israelis. “Yes,” she said, “I used to think all Jews were like the settlers, but not now.”  She had met two rabbis from Rabbis for Human Rightsand they had deeply impressed her and broken the stereotype.

 

 

 

Later in the day, this being Hanukkah, the Jewish Festival of Light, some teenage settlers came to picnic on the hill where two Palestinians were grazing their flocks. Two of the lads were carrying M16 rifles. They kept some distance from us, lit a fire, and cooked their food, watching the Palestinians cautiously. Then one came over and asked my fellow Ecumenical Accompanier some questions in Hebrew and cadged a cigarette. We all shared the hill that morning and there was no trouble.

 

 

 

In the afternoon, a six-year-old girl gave the traditional Arabic words of greeting “Assalaamu alayykum” (Peace be with you) to some settlers in the road.  Her mother was terrified and ushered all the children into the house.  But, once more, there was no trouble.

 

I felt I had witnessed three small sparks of hope.  Yet, two days later, I wondered whether I had been naive.

 

 

 

I had witnessed all these incidents but then I witnessed the harassment and intimidation that I had heard about so often. Two young men, about 20 and 17 years old, walked through Upper Yanouncarrying M16 rifles.  The rifles were not slung over their backs, but in their hands, ready to be fired. They threatened the villagers, trying to force the men into their houses. The women and children had already withdrawn to safety. The intruders made their way down the steep road, shouting at me and my colleague to go inside.  When we didn’t move but just kept watching them, one pointed his gun at us. They inspected the well and then walked across the valley and started up the track opposite the house of Abu Hani, one of the villagers. We saw the children run inside but the old man continued to sit outside. The two lads walked through the yard, guns at the ready. We saw Abu Hani rise and slowly follow them, as they moved across his property and out onto the hillside. Later we learnt from his son that Abu Hani had invited them to drink tea with him. What courage, what dignity, what graciousness. What a spectacle of nonviolence in action.

 

 

 

So, even as I was questioning the naivety of my Christmas Day reactions, Abu Hani was teaching me a lesson in discernment: it is not naivety; it is the practice, in each and every small way, of nonviolence.  An action is nonviolent if it challenges oppressive action, without damaging or demeaning the oppressor, and opens up the opportunity for silent or real dialogue for change.

 

 

 

I wish for us all a more just and peaceful New Year.      

 

 

 

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