I would hope this might be the start of the presentation cycle for the Vision Fellows. It was neither my school nor community presentation, which are still upcoming, but getting in front of a crowd and explaining the Fellowship Program to benefactors of Abraham's Vision was a valuable experience. It allowed me to formulate, possibly for the first time, what the Fellowship meant to me after all, in the early long run. And it was no practice presentation, either, no test-run; this was the crowd that supports Abraham's Vision, and I'd better know what I'm doing.

So my partner Rebecca and I collaborated on it in the week running up to the presentation, and it took a good deal of focus to finally formulate the assorted thoughts we had coming from our summer into a coherent presentation. We worked on addressing who we were, what brought us, etc., but then got into the serious matters of what has changed in us since then. She can address them [her changes] herself, but my thoughts ran in the direction of a newfound focus in my character. Gandhi's ubiquitous quote, "Be the change you wish to see in the world," is one big area-- I now go about my life and my relationships in a quest for pure character. This means I now check my own thoughts and feelings, and am starting to develop empathy, an automatic one, for all injustices. This includes, as I stated in my presentation, the empathy for the Jewish experience, a sudden realization in Belgrade that only later could I put into words, first for this presentation.

Being up in front of this crowd was new, and did have an 'otherness' feel to it at times. This was not my community, not my class, not my age. That is more disarming than one might imagine; I was a visitor, I did not feel the pressure of any judgment. Still, an unspoken dissonance could be felt at times; irrelevant questions about whether my family left our homeland willingly in 1948 or was forced out, the assessment of just how radical I still was.

All told though, the crowd seemed moved by our presentation. The small audience noticed the air of jest and informality between me and Rebecca; she and I traded off her notes, joked, and whispered to each other, giving the audience an idea of something that we often don't address when we discuss the experience: the interpersonal bonds we developed during the Fellowship.

When made to think about it, I see a variety of ways that the participants have changed. Some have refocused themselves onto global issues of peace and justice. Some are revisited by their own ghosts. Some are reinvigorated in their struggles. Some are still sorting their thoughts out even now. As for me, in typical esoteric fashion, I've taken a powerful interest in the peoples and the tragedy of the Balkans. There is still room for further growth for me, though; possibly there is an opportunity to take a leading stand on this in my campus. This campus seems to demand it.

[Elias Ibrahim]

This morning I remembered an activity we did on one of our first days in Belgrade. Sitting in a circle in our small group, we passed around a ball of string. Each person held the string, loosening or tightening her hold on it to keep it between us, and said one hope for the trip. I barely remember what anybody said, but I do remember negotiating that string as we tried to keep it off of the floor, and passed it from Palestinian to Jew to Palestinian to Jew. When we were all connected, the string was pulled taut, and wound among our fingers it would have taken some effort to untangle ourselves. Then slowly, we began to say our fears, and the string was released, collapsed, rolled back up on its spool. And I remembering thinking how depressing that lost connection felt, like a once-glimpsed constellation now a group of random stars.

We were afraid—some of us—that the trip wouldn’t change anything. We were afraid that we would come home and be impotent or disinterested or petrified. Or that we would talk and talk and talk about this trip until nobody wanted to hear another word and that all the talking that we did wouldn’t change a single mind—or forget minds—change a single life.

We have lost the connection we had in Belgrade. Then, if someone had stepped out of the fold, we would have pulled more tightly to compensate for her absence, and in so doing brought ourselves more closely together. Now we are distinct, and when Eman and I have gone to speak to high school students, the trip itself seems like a reflection of my and her thoughts about the trip.

Last week, Eman, Hannah and I went to see a performance of The Vagina Monologues on Columbia’s campus. Eve Ensler, the playwright, based one of the monologues on the story of a young Bosnian Muslim woman who was brutally raped by a group of Bosnian Serb men. When the topic of the monologue was announced, we exchanged a look and braced ourselves.

The actor, in braids and a sweater, spoke of summer in the hills of Bosnia, of life before the war, and of the contrast of that idyll to the brutishness of the men who had violated her. But we had heard this story more intimately told. And the actor’s words were misplaced, insufficient, horrifying in their content and flat in their delivery. The actor was well out of her element, but her failure was not that she was a bad actor, but that she was an actor. Her monologue was just a pinch on the arm, and not a slap in the face.

I am reading a lot of Israeli literature these days—Amos Oz, David Grossman—and these authors, both heavily political and pro-Palestinian rights, recount the words that they have heard used in their lives to describe Arabs: “bloodthirsty.” One pinch. One day, I attend a Shabbat service and consider the words of the siddur: Bring peace to all Israel. Another pinch. Another day, the newspaper reports that no progress has been made in recent peace talks. Pinch. My friend, in Israel this semester, tells me a bad joke. A pinch, a pinch. A thousand pinches. I’m bracing myself. But never a slap in the face.

[Shira Danan]

Judaism and Zionism: A Convoluted Relationship

My campus involvements continually force me to reexamine my understanding of the relationship between Judaism and Zionism. Friday night services and dinner at Hillel are probably the most quintessential encounter your average Jewish student at the University of Michigan will have with the organized Jewish community in Ann Arbor. It is no surprise, then, that one of the thirty-nine Hillel affiliated student groups is invited to “sponsor” the evening through meretricious decorations and a short presentation about their group.

The largest pro-Israel student group on campus seized this very opportunity only a few weeks ago. Blue white ornaments bedizened the otherwise austere basement, where the masses of Jewish students on campus congregate to enjoy a scrumptious Shabbat dinner. A giant Israeli flag was posted in the middle of the room and small Israeli flags lay dispersed across the tables. “Fun facts” about Israel were also placed on the tables for Jewish students to read. Examples ranged from technological (e.g. “did you know that AOL instant messenger was created by Israeli scientists?) to political (e.g. did you know that Israel is the only democracy in the Middle East?) half-truths. The leadership of the organization even delivered a somewhat lengthy and seemingly well-prepared ballad, romanticizing the connection between American Jews and the glorious Jewish state. The students who came for an evening of prayer and yummy Kosher food were encouraged to join the effort in safeguarding the status quo position of political and economic power enjoyed by Israelis and loathed by Palestinians.

Asking around, I seemed to be the only student uncomfortable with the Zionist symbols plastered around the fundamentally Jewish function (there is a Jewish commandment to make three Seudot, or meals, on Shabbat). Indeed, for many of my Palestinian peers, the Israeli flag is a symbol of state-sponsored violence, subjugation and occupation. The students I talked to at dinner were utter oblivious to this reality. But I’m pluralistic. I support the freedom of the other students to express their political viewpoints even at religious events. I simply ask that my political viewpoints be treated with the same respect.

So I met with three Hillel professionals to see if Hillel would sponsor a new student organization called “Jews Against Zionism.” Then I could “sponsor” a Shabbat, post Palestinian flags around the room and warn students of Zionism’s consequences. How would Jewish students on campus react to the intrusion of politics (only this time, politics with which they disagree) into a Shabbat dinner? How would they react to symbols through which they see suicide bombings and a “culture of hatred?”

I guess I will never know. The very Hillel professionals paid to serve the needs and interests of Jewish students on campus informed me that I was misguided. They kindly notified me that Hillel is a Zionist organization and that anti-Zionism has no place in this so-called pluralistic “home away from home” for Jewish students on campus.

Anti-Zionism is all-too-often regarded by the organized Jewish community as anti-Semitism. Just read Alan Dershowitz’s Case for Israel or the recent article by the American Jewish Committee called “'Progressive' Jewish Thought and the New Anti-Semitism.” So why is it that opposition to Zionism is regarding as opposition to Judaism? Maybe because it is.

[Zach Foster]

A long time has passed since the Vision Program, but its significance in my life continues to be tremendous and trying. As a leader of the Pro-Israel group on my campus I am constantly thinking about issues related to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and I have become so acutely aware of the many nuances that infiltrate the way that each “side” speaks about their position versus that of the “other”.

It seems clear to me that campus activism is first and foremost a popularity contest, each group vying for the most positive public attention and more people to whom they can preach the real truth. However, I am so deeply embittered and pained by the desperate situation that actually exists in Israel-Palestine that I have no patience for these petty games and I am truly interested in figuring out what can we actually do to bring about some type of lasting positive change in the area. I waver back and forth between feeling useless, counterproductive, defeatist and hypocritical. Even my attempts to ignite dialogue and bring people together that share my initiatives, seem to be empty and always underappreciated when pinned next to events that glorify the army or attack the Palestinian education system.

Sometimes I feel like I’m going crazy because I play the double agent so well. In fact, I am often the driving force behind many of the programs that frustrate me so much. After taking a class about the theory and practice of Nonviolence last semester, I feel very strongly about the necessity of Constructive Program as a compliment to Obstructive Program. This idea emphasizes the importance of working within the limitations of one’s own community to become self-sustaining and end oppression.

I believe that it is so important for Jews to recognize the key role that they play in bringing about peace, not through blame and punishment, but by looking inward and improving what is within our own power. I believe that this idea of constructive program is of great value to the Palestinian cause as well, but I’m just not sure that either group is really ready to make these adjustments to their campaign strategies. So, where does that leave me? Waiting? Forcing? Retreating? I guess I’m still processing.

[Avital Aboody]