Subject: Looking the Holy Cow in the Eye Nov 6 1998

Friends,

"Had we had an army then, my family would not have burned in Auschwitz."

It was a day of powerful statements, and this was the one that greeted us last Friday as we arrived in Kibbutz HaOgen for the first Israeli conference about conscientious objection to or non-participation in army service. In a country where the army is regarded as not only an existential necessity but a revered holy cow, it is no wonder that a group of 10 kibbutz members refused to allow us to meet on their premises.

The group of kibbutzniks, some -- but not all -- aging Holocaust survivors, stalked the hall with its rows of chairs yet unclaimed, and shouted their pain as we trickled in: "How dare you hold this discussion in our hall"; "Your sons are not more precious than ours"; "You are trying to turn cowardice into ideology"; and, like a basso continuo, "My whole family burned in Auschwitz". In Israel, probably like elsewhere, one doesn't argue with Holocaust survivors. Although the powers-that-be at the kibbutz had agreed to rent us the hall months ago, we had no thought of defying this angry minority.

This was the apt beginning to a day of strong feelings and efforts to rethink -- to get past the veils of convention and myth -- the issues of militarism in Israeli society and service in the army. The conference was organized by a group of courageous independent women, some of whom were veterans of the peace movement and others for whom the road to this conference was paved by a year's participation in a women's consciousness- raising group. For some, the inspiration for asking these forbidden questions was their sons' impending conscription into the army. . . and the next war.

The conference left the kibbutz and reorganized itself into the backyard of one of the organizers, where 150 of us sat on plastic chairs and strained to hear the unamplified voices of speakers competing with the nearby whizzing of cars and helicopters. The effort made us focus very well, I think. But the material was also engrossing.

The day opened with testimonies of young men discharged from the army on grounds of "unfitness". These monologues, read by women, presented the reality of non-participation in military service as an act of conscious choice, often grounded in ideological objections to the current role of the Israeli army. As there is no legal provision for conscientious objection in Israel, this is often the only way open for those who object on ideological grounds -- to allow themselves to be declared "unfit", with all the negative repercussions this may later have on jobs and lives.

Four young men and a woman then presented in person the stories of the roads they had traveled to and through their ordeal of refusing to serve. Fahed Mu'adi, a Druse university student, described how he had offered the army two reasons for not serving: pacifism and a refusal as a Palestinian to fight his brother Arabs. "Inappropriate for army duty" read his exemption when it finally arrived, after he had already served time for his convictions, "which is what I had been telling them all along", said Fahed. The Druse have the reputation of being loyal and fierce fighters in Israels army, but Fahed reported that over 50% now refuse to serve, and the number is growing. Fahed brought greetings from the Druse women of the Galilee, especially from his mother, he said, who had instantly responded "Well done!" when he had first called to say he was in jail. Said Fahed, "I got my mother's spirit and I hope I will pass it on to my children."

Elly Gozansky, son of the much respected Tamar Gozansky, woman Knesset Member from the Hadash Party, opened by complimenting the women's peace movement for being able to do what the men in this country never manage to.

Elly noted that he is not a pacifist, but a "selective refuser" -- refusing to engage in any act that preserves the Occupation. This is the position of the Yesh Gvul movement in which Elly and several of those present are active. Elly believes that such selective refusal is much more difficult to engage in -- but ultimately more effective -- than general refusal to serve in the army. Selective refusal, explained Elly, is a powerful combination of conscience with a political message. The message, according to Elly: There is a limit to obedience, and every soldier must set this limit for him/herself.

"I refuse to harm any living creature", said animal rights activist Ori Stav, explaining his decision not to serve. When confronted with war, he notes, "The very least we can do is refuse to participate." Ori is one of only two men that we are aware of who have actually been discharged on the grounds of conscientious objection. Orna Cohen, the woman in the group, described her vacillations and ultimate decision. Although the law does allow women not to serve for reasons of conscience, Orna was discharged as "unfit", although she made her case clearly. Hardly "unfit", Orna today serves as a lawyer with Adala, the Association for Palestinian Civil Rights in Israel.

Finally, Yuval Lotem described his selective refusal when he found the unit -- in which he was an officer -- deep in Lebanon and on the outskirts of Beirut. For Yuval, it was his understanding of the Holocaust that led to his desire to set himself apart from collective behavior that is patently unacceptable.

The audience was a portrait in attentiveness while these quiet, soft-spoken young people described the thought process, the jail terms, the rejection -- or support -- of families. No one said it, but I recalled the words of critics of such behavior: Sensitive young people are needed inside the army to restrain the others, not removing themselves from the arena of action. And the words of Mohatma Gandhi in reply: Non-cooperation with evil is a sacred duty.

After lunch, the audience broke up into small discussion groups. My group was heavy with stories of broken lives after the death of a loved one in army service. It opened with the bitter monologue of a woman in her fifties whose brother, her only sibling, was killed in the army when she was 14. "He died in the attack on Green Island [part of Egypt]", she said. "Six boys killed, for what? For nothing. Today Green Island is a tourist center where Israelis go diving . . . 'grief and failure' as Brenner wrote, that's what my family's life has been like every since. Grief and failure." She described the special status and indulgence granted families of dead soldiers to say what they really feel. "Dont wait to earn that special status," she warned.

Haya told the story of her two brothers killed in the Independence War and Edna told of her son who had committed suicide in the army. This is what motivated them to attend the conference, they said. What did these women and their families go through? I could not begin to imagine.

Some of us who know Hava Keller, veteran activist, asked her to tell the story of her son Adam, who had a personal history of civil disobedience from the moment he realized that he had a problem with army service. In one of his early acts of protest as a soldier on a tank base, Adam went out one night and painted "IDF Soldiers: Refuse to be occupiers and oppressors!" on 150 tanks and the officers' latrine. He also pasted "Down with the occupation!" stickers on the tanks and posted a leaflet about the future Palestinean state on the base bulletin board. Needless to say, Adam spent a long time in prison for this and other good deeds. ("The army has no sense of humor", commented Hava.) Two years later, Adam resigned from the army altogether in a letter to the prime minister. His resignation, as you might have guessed, was not accepted, but the army psychologist wanted to be helpful and sought some evidence of irrationality to justify early release. "Do you hear voices?" he prompted, to which Adam brightly replied, "Yes, I hear the voice of history."

The plenary after lunch brought fascinating presentations moderated by the ever-patient Edna Toledano-Zaretzky. The issues: