CPTnet
17 August 2001

HEBRON REFLECTION: Thoughts on being stoned

by Lorin Peters

[Note: The following is an excerpt from a longer piece that Peters wrote
about dealing with violence directed toward the team in Hebron.]

It was almost dark. Six of us were on our way home from Yara Abu Haikel's
first birthday party, 2006 January 6. At the bottom of the Tel Rumeida
hill, instead of going left through the usual checkpoint, someone in front
turned right onto Shuhada Street. The rest of us followed. I had never
come home this way before.

A single soldier, and half a dozen settler boys, stood in front of the Beit
Hadassah settlement. One of the smaller boys trotted over and spit on me.
The soldier started to scold him. Before he could finish, the other boys
began tossing stones at us. The soldier stopped in confusion. (I think his
unit may have been new to Hebron.)

About twenty boys were hanging out along Shuhada Street, from the settlement
down to the corner of the Israeli army base, a good 100 meters away. As we
came to each group of boys, they joined in the stoning. Each successive
group of boys seemed older, and to throw larger stones, and with greater
force. I was able to pull down, or deflect, some of the stones coming at
me. But some were getting through. Then a large stone, thrown with
considerable force, struck the center of my knapsack. Had it been aimed one
foot higher, it might have knocked me unconscious.

We turned down the side street toward the Beit Romano checkpoint. Most of
the boys continued to follow and stone us. Art began shouting "Stop it!"
very loudly. Some seconds later, Jerry began rushing towards the boys with
his arms flapping. I decided to walk as close as I could to the settler
cars parked along the street, hoping our assailants would hesitate for fear
of hitting their own vehicles.

Four months later I finally wrote my mentor, Michael Nagler, a Gandhian
scholar, an account of what happened, with this conclusion: "My primary
concern arises from my understanding of how nonviolence works. Suffering
accepted voluntarily "compels the (opponents') reason to be free." Our
willingness to accept the suffering they impose on us challenges their
dehumanized view of us. Our courage and self-discipline and selflessness
make their hate for us decrease, and their respect for us increase. But in
order for this principle to operate, they must be able to see our pain. In
the dark they could not see much of our faces, much less our pain."

In June I discussed the January incident with Rich Meyer. He said, "That
lone soldier probably thought about, and told his fellow soldier about,
what he saw. Many soldiers are changed by their experience of Hebron. Our
suffering is one part of that process."

Gandhi apparently had no fear of death threats. But Jesus himself, the
night before his crucifixion, was afraid. So perhaps we can allow
ourselves to be afraid of stoning.