CPTnet
June 12, 2004

HEBRON: Conversation with Israeli soldier on bus

Two days ago, I was pulling out a book to read on the bus when an Israeli
soldier in the seat in front of me asked me a question in Hebrew. I smiled
and shook my head.

 "Are you American?" he asked in English. "From where in America?"

"Washington, D.C." I replied.

Then he apologized, "I'm sorry. I don't speak English well. It is easier
for me to write it."

He pulled a notepad from his bag, wrote on it, and handed it to me. It
read, "Because I am in the army, I don't speak English well. If you want to
write in simple words and tell me about yourself."

For the next thirty minutes we wrote back and forth. He is a medic in the
army and has only one month left for military service. After his service,
he will go to medical school in Haifa. I wrote that I lived in Hebron; he
answered he served in Hebron last year at Jabar Johar checkpoint. When he
asked me what I do in Hebron, I hesitated for a moment.

 I remembered standing at the Beit Romano checkpoint for two hours watching
soldiers detain man after man. The hot winds rolled down the
emptied street like tumbleweeds. On a roof a soldier pointed a gun at me.
When I asked him to put the gun away, he replied, "Do you know how much
trouble I'll get if I put my gun away?

Later that day, another soldier asked me my age. I laughed, "Older than you
are." He said, "You don't know anything about this situation." I agreed.
I didn't even know his name.

So when the soldier on the bus asked me what I did in Hebron, I wasn't sure
I wanted to answer. I liked this man, his humble sad expression. This was
the most authentic conversation I had had with an Israel soldier to date.

"Do you know CPT?" I wrote.

"CPT is very good," he wrote.

I wanted to ask him why he thought CPT was good, because sometimes I wonder
if we really are more than the witnesses to a communal Palestinian wake.
Sometimes I feel that authentic reconciliation between the Israeli soldiers
and the Palestinians is impossible under these circumstances, because both
sides are becoming weary of war and resentful of promises for peace.

 The shadow of the soldier's semi-automatic
weapon cut his face like a permanent scar. I remembered the look on the
detained Palestinian men's faces when an elderly women passing by the
checkpoint sat with the men and handed them newly bought bread.

Before I could ask the soldier on the bus about CPT, the bus abruptly
stopped. "I have to go," he said.

He stood, picked up his weapon, swung his bag on his back. As he neared the
door, I yelled to him, "What is your name?"

 He looked at me, gave me a small smile, and said, "Evian."