A pearl (with my emphases) from my translation of Rachel Elior’s illuminating essay, “On Three Important Books”


pearlior memeShealtiel Abravanel is a (dead) protagonist in Amos Oz’s The Gospel According to Judas, one of the “… Three Important Books”…


“On Three Important Books”: my translation of an important essay by Rachel Elior

[The Hebrew original of this essay may be found here.]

elior3bks corr


Three books I read during the past year marked what I see as an important breakthrough that indicates a shift which is taking place beneath the surface, as always indicated first by literature, art and research that direct discussion to an unexpected place. The books are Hillel Cohen’s 5689 [1929]: The Zero Year in the Arab–Jewish Conflict (Jerusalem: Keter, 2013); Amos Oz’s The Gospel According to Judas (Jerusalem: Keter, 2014); and Gish Amit’s Ex Libris: A History of Theft, Conservation and Appropriation in the National Library in Jerusalem (Jerusalem: Van Leer Institute and Hakibbutz Hameuhad Publishing House, 2014).

The common denominator of these three disturbing books, which are so different in their subject matters, their genres, and their styles, yet so similar in that they’re written with much wisdom, with bold daring, with compassion and breadth of vision, are based on comprehensive, multi-lingual research and excel in complexity of argument and clarity of expression, is that they tell unfamiliar, alternative stories which create a crack in what seems to be a known reality. These stories are based on attentive listening to silenced voices raised from the archives that preserve forgotten memories, and on reading inner pages of newspapers from the period that reveal forgotten positions, as well as on study of protected documents and unknown testimonies, all of which tell familiar stories from a different, unfamiliar angle. All three engage in exposing unexpected perspectives on the complex story that underlies our existence here.

The three books, which deal with the tragedies connected with riots and wars, with the terrible price of bloodshed, and with the suffering that has stemmed from various injustices that occurred in the 20th century and with their complex contexts, pave an indirect road to understanding, to dialogue, to reconciliation and apology/forgiveness, by virtue of the supremely important acknowledgment that in Palestine/Israeland until 1948 and in the State of Israel since 1948 there is more than one historiography with which people know who is right and who is guilty in everything concerned with relations between Jews and Arabs before and after the establishment of the state, and relations between the various Jewish ethnicities that arrived here from all over the world as to a land of sanctuary, or as to the land and the home of the Jewish people, and not infrequently found it – as their testimonies horrendously reveal – to be, for them, a land of desolation.

All three books clearly show that that there are many more perspectives than one certain and decisive narrative of the complex reality in a period of catastrophe, war and destruction, in a place of suffering, bereavement, injustice and loss. In such a complex period and a place so full of such challenges and difficulties, it is of great importance to listen attentively to alternative stories of individuals, peoples and groups, which tell of diverse experiences and memories, and recount contradictory, subversive and diverse national stories about the same stretch of land in which different cultures and different languages exist and in which different nations live, just as it is supremely important to become acquainted with the stories of repressed or forgotten ethnic or other groups that feel they have suffered injustice, that feel excluded, silenced, humiliated, robbed or dispossessed. It is most advisable to become acquainted with the arguments of the various sides, which are based on diverse memories and initial claims – and to examine these, even if one is not obliged to agree with everything, to justify uncritically, or to identify automatically with the alternative stories. This is necessary because it is our duty to remember and to remind others that in an open society no person, body or institution has a monopoly on the truth, and diverse truths can co-exist peacefully beside one another. It is very advisable, too, to remember that any attempt to make the other side – be that a nation, or people, or ethnicity, exile or dispersion, culture or language – forget its life experience and its testimony, to erase its story, to delete its memories and to deny its experiences, or to make it give up its past and its pain, is doomed to failure, not only because this position is immoral, but also because it isn’t practical or effective and isn’t possible as long as even only one witness or one testimony remains. On the matters that these three books deal with, there exist since 1882 thousands of documents and thousands of written and oral testimonies in archives and libraries throughout the world, in a multiplicity of languages.


Hillel Cohen, 5689 [1929]: The Zero Year in the Arab–Jewish Conflict (Jerusalem: Keter, 2013)

Hillel Cohen’s 5689 [1929] deals with the ‘riots’ that occurred in 1929, when the Arab offensive against Jewish communities in Palestine began. The author sees this as the zero year in the Arab-Jewish conflict, when Jewish communities – old and new, Zionist and ultra-Orthodox, Ashkenazi and Mizrahi, religious and secular, socialistic and traditional (which were known as ‘the old Yishuv’ and ‘the pioneers’) – were attacked without distinction of political tendency or length of residence in the country, because in the eyes of the Muslims in the late ’20s – who most probably identified the potential for Jewish unity in the framework of Zionism even before it first became a reality during the ’30s – what was common to all these Jewish groupings, which were very different to one another –  that all of them believed in the existence of the Jewish people and in its right to immigrate to the land of its fathers and to establish a Jewish state there, whether by human agency or divine agency – was far greater than what was different.

The uniqueness of 5689 lies in the fact that its author – who deserves all praise for his meticulous reading in the State of Israel Archive, the Central Zionist Archive, the Meiri House Archive in Safed, the British National Archive, the Archive of the Supreme Muslim Council, documents published in the Havliyat Alquds periodical, historical and literary research studies, and many other newspapers in Arabic, English and Hebrew – has juxtaposed two opposed national narratives as well as alternative stories that arose in each of these communities, in order to propose a comprehensive and less one-sided view than the one that is common in Israel. He has shown that from the point of view of the Muslim attackers in 1929–30, the Arabs were targeting not Jewish neighbors, but enemies and invaders who were trying to take control of their land. To the attackers – according to testimonies from the period – the attacked, because of the protection they had received from the British since the Balfour Declaration, were allies of a foreign power and agents of a colonialist regime that had to be resisted, and were therefore a legitimate target for attack. From the point of view of the Jews, who saw themselves as returning to the land of their fathers of their own will, and certainly not as enemies or invaders doing the bidding of others, and as victims being slaughtered although they’d committed no injustice, the Arab offensive accelerated Jewish unity in the framework of Zionism, because after the bloody offensive all the diverse currents in the Jewish Yishuv understood that as Jews they had no political home other than the Zionist home. They could participate in it actively or merely shelter in it at times of storm, but they could not propose a real political alternative in the form of joining with the Arabs in the country, because the Arabs, who saw all the Jews as enemies trying to take control of their land, were not interested in this.

Many in the Jewish Yishuv with all its branches saw the massacres that occurred in places where no secular Hebrew/Jewish defense force sponsored by the organized Jewish workers movement was active, and the successes of the Jewish defenders in warding away attacks in places where they were active, as decisive proof that only the Jewish fighters of the ‘Haganah’ stood between the continued existence of the Jewish Yishuv and its annihilation. The Zionist movement, which always saw itself as a national liberation movement and as a project to rescue a persecuted people that was seeking sanctuary in the land of its fathers to escape the threat of anti-Semitism, has always rejected the colonialist analysis framed by the Arab side.

This book, which conducts a broad and deep analysis of all that has not been told about what happened at this turning point in the relations between Jews and Arabs, proposes not only  a comprehensive and less one-sided view, but also a new point of view, one that show how a very bold moral position has been revealed surprisingly at times on both sides, and attests to the ability at every given moment to make a different choice and decision in a universal human context that transcends national affinity, and to act quite differently to what is usual in cases of bloody clashes between two nations living on the same piece of land: the acts of individuals and of groups on both sides who adopted an alternative approach to the power-oriented national one and attempted to shift the peoples from the path of bloody conflict, or rescued Jews and Arabs who were being attacked from their attackers. These acts teach us that beneath the national enmity, the nationalistic power-orientation, the familiar religious hostility, there always also exist deep currents of universal feelings, of human partnership, of hope for peaceful coexistence and of recognition of the value of human life. Hillel Cohen, who has written the first book devoted entirely to an analysis of the events of 1929–30 from a many-sided point of view, concludes his book with the sentence: “In this sense one can say that the killings of 1929–30, and other killings of Jews by Arabs and of Arabs by Jews that have occurred and may yet occur, are not decreed by fate. Perhaps this is the lesson of 1929.”


Amos Oz, The Gospel According to Judas (Jerusalem: Keter, 2014)

Amos Oz’s latest book, The Gospel According to Judas, deals with human aloneness beyond the everyday discourse, with the trenchant muteness that lies behind polite speech, and with the incurable abysses of pain and despair borne by bereaved parents and spouses of people killed in riots and wars, people who mourn all their lives for their fallen children or loved ones and for whose suffering, pain, anger and feelings of guilt there is no consolation. This is even stronger in the cases of those who opposed the war and its aims, those whose children, relatives and/or loved ones paid the terrible price with their lives, in opposition to the opinions and beliefs of their relatives who protested against it with all their might, and tried in every way possible to halt it and them. The book, which deals with these tormented people and their bitter fate, also deals with an alternative story about what could have occurred in the decades prior to the War of Independence and during it, had people listened to one of the leaders of the Yishuv who opposed the establishment of the state at the cost of a war that endangered the existence of the entire Zionist project, and had they followed him and his colleagues from the circles such as Brit  Shalom [the “Peace Covenant”] that supported peaceful coexistence with no sovereign borders.

The story revolves around two protagonists, one alive and one dead. The former, Shmuel Asch, is a student at the Hebrew University. He is a proponent of peace who is aware of the limitations of power and opposes violence, sides with a policy of non-identification with the colonialist West and opposes the ties made by Ben-Gurion with the Western powers, which he sees as ties of vassalage and slavery. His subject of research is treachery and loyalty, with a focus on Judas Iscariot in the ‘New Testament’.  He says: “The truth is that all the power in the world cannot turn a hater into a lover… and all the power in the world cannot turn someone who thirsts for revenge into a friend… Power can only prevent. It cannot settle or resolve.” He understands the Arab resistance to the sudden invasion of hundreds and thousands of foreigners into their land during the ’40s with “the strange claim that their holy books, which they brought with them from distant lands, promise the entire land to them and only to them.”

The dead protagonist is actually two: Shealtiel Abravanel, a renowned lawyer, Orientalist, and a senior member of the institutions administering the Yishuv, who died as a tormented and despised traitor because he opposed with all his might the war entailed in establishing the state; and his son-in-law Micha Wald, a brilliant researcher of mathematics at the Hebrew University, a cripple who volunteered for combat and was slaughtered and castrated in the battles at Shaar Hagai on April 2, 1948. The living protagonist, Shmuel, researcher of treachery and loyalty and opponent of wars, is very interested in the fate of the dead protagonist Shealtiel Abravanel the “traitor”, in whose former home he lives as a tenant, together with Abravanel’s daughter, Atalia, the widowed bride of the war victim Micha Wald, and Micha’s bereaved father, Gershom Wald, an old, solitary, crippled, scholarly man, a retired teacher of History at the Gymnasia Herzlia high school in Jerusalem, whom Shmuel takes care of and keeps company several hours a day for his rent and a modest allowance.

The former owner of the house, the learned Orientalist Shealtiel Abravanel, who viewed the entire war as “Ben-Gurion’s madness and the madness of an entire people.  Actually the madness of two peoples”, and who, during the ’30s and ’40s believed with his entire being in Arab-Jewish co-existence, tried in vain to convince Ben-Gurion in ’48 that it was still possible to reach an agreement with the Arabs on expelling the British and constituting a joint community of Arabs and Jews. He believed it was possible to propose an original solution in peaceful ways, “If we only agree to abandon the idea of the Jewish state”. He too believed that the acts of killing, of Jews by Arabs and of Arabs by Jews, that had occurred so far and could still occur, were not the decree of fate, and “in his opinion the youth on both sides should throw all their weapons to the ground and refuse to fight.” And “For this reason he was expelled from the Zionist Actions Committee and from the Directorate of the Jewish Agency” of which he had been a member, and was branded as a traitor by the Yishuv’s leadership, because he opposed the establishment of the state and the war it entailed, and viewed Ben-Gurion as “a false Messiah who will bring a disaster upon all of us, Jews, Arabs, and in fact the entire world. A disaster of continuous and unending bloodshed.” The story depicts Abravanel – who knew Arabic since his childhood and lived for many years among Arab and Jewish friends, and saw himself as the last student of Ahad Ha’am – as a dreamer who dreamed of a different life for the children of Ishmael and of Israel, and acted in every way possible to promote ideas that deviated from the way accepted by the Yishuv leadership, because he believed that “it will be impossible to realize Zionism through confrontation with the Arabs.” According to his widowed daughter and his bereaved in-law, “He died alone, hated and slandered and dead”, and was “a rejected and hated man who lived out his last years in total solitude” because “no-one wanted to be in contact with a traitor”.

The book tells the story of Atalia, Shealtiel’s widowed daughter, who every day and night relives the horror of how her beloved was slaughtered in the battle of Bab el Wad. She too had opposed and still opposes the war and its terrible price, and claims that “the entire existence of the Jews in the Land of Israel is based on an injustice.” It also tells the story of Micha, Shealtiel’s son in law, Atalia’s husband, who was tortured before he was killed in a war that he had opposed with all his might, and Micha’s bereaved father, Gershom, who understood that “it will be impossible to realize Zionism without confrontation with the Arabs,” and therefore supported the war and supported Ben-Gurion – until the night of April 2, 1948, the day his son was killed, when he said about himself “I’ve already become a dead man”, and from then on tormented himself each day anew with the wounding question “Do I still believe all this was worthwhile?”

The book goes deeply into the themes of bereavement, mourning, death, guilt, punishment, fissures and doubts, and explores missed opportunities that might have constituted an alternative reality. It deals with dead people who determine the fate of living people as bereaved parents, as grandparents without grandchildren and as tormented, childless widows of men who fell in battle, and asks profound questions about the meaning of sanctified basic values of the first order, while rethinking the concepts of loyalty and treachery, love and duty, and reflecting on the self-sacrifice of the dead and the self-punishment of the living for their loss of those they loved. The author does this while discussing Judas Iscariot, the Christian world’s ultimate ‘traitor’, about whom Shmuel Asch is writing a seminar paper titled “Jesus in the Eyes of the Jews”, provoking his readers to re-examine their moral positions and to ask: What is the supreme value? What is loyalty, and why? And in the name of what? And at what price? What is ostracism and what is one ostracized for? What is treason? Betrayal of what? And why? Amos Oz says, in the character of Gershom Wald: “In every language that I know, and also in languages I don’t know, the name Judas has become a synonym for ‘betrayer’. And perhaps also a synonym for Jew. In the eyes of millions of simple Christians every single Jew is infected with the virus of treachery.” In the character of Shmuel, he adds: “Throughout history, from time to time courageous people have appeared who were ahead of their time and were therefore called traitors… Herzl was called a traitor… Abraham Lincoln the emancipator of the slaves was considered a traitor… Even Ben-Gurion, who twelve years ago agreed to the partition of the country into two states, a Jewish state and an Arab state, was called a traitor by many people here.”

The juxtaposition of the warp threads – of the relations of Christianity to Judaism and of Jews to Christians since the time of Jesus, the ultimate victim of betrayal, and Judas Iscariot, the absolute betrayer, after whom in the Christian world all the Jews were called “perfidis Judaeis”, “perfidious Jews” (and Shmuel Asch sees him as the truly loyal disciple) – with the weft threads – of the relations of Jews and Muslims who generally see one another as enemies, invaders, treacherous and murderous neighbors, and only in rare instances see one another as good neighbors, comrades, and partners in coexistence – provokes thought from unexpected angles.

The trenchant sentence that initiated the writing of the book, “But he was a traitor”, which was uttered by the spokesman of the leadership about Shealtiel Abravanel when he explained the erasure of the memory of the far-sighted dreamer from the archive – the dreamer who believed in the sanctity of the life of both sides and viewed the casualties of the war as “people who died completely in vain”, […] and envisaged an alternative reality of peace and partnership based on a historic compromise between the two peoples living in the land […] – is one of the deepest threads running through this book, which courageously poses the question of the price of war that is paid by those who are killed and wounded and by their bereaved and mourning relatives and the people who loved them; the question of the chances of peace in a reality where the common and universal overcomes the differentiating and separating national; as well as the question of loyalty and betrayal to and of what and whom, in everything related to the daring entailed in a different perspective that deviates from the commonly accepted one, and an understanding of the point of view of the other, who is perceived from different points of views of the people of the period who are loyal to diverse values, national or universal, and who betray other values, human or nationalistic , as a possible ally or as an enemy that has to be exterminated.  Shmuel, the researcher of betrayal, says: “Someone who’s willing to change, someone who has the courage to change, will always be considered a traitor by those who are incapable of any change and are scared to death of change and don’t understand change and loathe any change.”


Gish Amit, Ex Libris: A History of Theft, Conservation and Appropriation in the National Library in Jerusalem (Jerusalem: Van Leer Institute and Hakibbutz Hameuhad Publishing House, 2014)

Gish Amit’s Ex Libris deals with three events that occurred inside the National Library in Jerusalem between 1946 and 1955, about which it may be said “The more you know, the more you grieve”: the “Treasures of the Diaspora” project, in which hundreds of thousands of books belonging to Jews plundered by the Nazis were brought to Jerusalem after the Second World War; the collecting, in the course of the 1948 war, of some 30,000 books that had been privately owned by Palestinians, and of thousands of abandoned books that had belonged to Moslem and Christian educational institutions and churches, and making them part of the National Library’s collections; and the collecting of thousands of books and manuscripts of Jews from Yemen who immigrated to Israel in 1949–1950, which were transferred without their owners’ knowledge and certainly against their will to the cellars of the National Library.

The author argues that these three historical projects are closely inter-related, in that they show the ways in which Zionism appropriated the treasures of cultures and heritages that it negated – the heritage of the European Jewish diaspora, the native Palestinian heritage, and the heritage of Jews from Arab and Islamic countries. All three cases, he says, display a movement that separates people from their cultures in a framework of shaping a new national identity and a sovereign national culture.

Two opposing points of view about the books that were brought to the National Library in 1948 from private and public Palestinian libraries illustrate this. During the War of Independence the National Library saw itself as having “developed extensive action of rescuing books from ruin in the abandoned Arab neighborhoods. As a consequence of this, tens of thousands of books were collected, and they are being preserved safely until their fate becomes clear” (Shlomo Shumani, “The National Library”, The Hebrew Encyclopedia, 1957). For the Palestinians, on the other hand, ever since 1948 “this was an event of cultural dispossession and a disaster that the war brought down upon Palestinian culture”. The question of the victor’s right over the cultural property of the enemy (and equally over that of the refugee, the occupied and the exiled) is an important part of the international law that was consolidated following the world wars, and “absolutely prohibits the confiscation or looting of private property and demands that this property be returned to its owner at the war’s end. The confiscation and appropriation of the Palestinians’ books as part of the National Library’s collections thus constitutes a violation of international law. … The questions about identity that these books and their ownership represent are an inseparable part of a national struggle over culture and heritage,” writes Amit. The debate about the status of the books’ owners and their heirs who live with us in this country or outside it, and who have failed in their efforts to get their libraries back, is described at length in this book and illustrates the saying “The more you know, the more you grieve”.

That saying applies just as strongly to the collecting of manuscripts of Jews from Yemen, which stemmed “from the Zionist perception of the Yemenites as ancient Jews, bearers and preservers of an ancient culture, but also as inferior in cultural, religious and national terms”; hence it was best to take their cultural property from them in order to preserve it for the nation. The book, which expatiates on these cases, the circumstances in which they occurred, and their meaning both then and now, presents an alternative view on these issues of theft, preservation and appropriation of cultural treasures. The author argues that “the National Library is not a site for impartially and innocently collected knowledge; it is a site for the creation of power and the institutionalizing of identity. It is the place where knowledge is produced, organized and divided into vertical and horizontal ethnic, class and national categories,” because the library, like every other national library, maintains a dialectical relationship between preservation and plunder and between rescuing and stealing – and preserves the traces of the injustice and the memory of the disaster.

These traces that are preserved in the library, says Gish Amit, also preserve a possibility of reparation with regard to the stolen book collections of Palestinians, as well as of those stolen from the immigrants from Yemen. This last chapter, which is amazing in the cruelty and arbitrariness reflected in it of the attitudes to the immigrants from Yemen who live among us, describes the thefts by the absorbing institutions (the immigration department of the Jewish Agency, and other departments) of cultural property of the arrivals from Yemen, who to this day repeat “They stole children too. Why shouldn’t they also steal sacred books?”, as Yosef Dahuah Halevi, editor of the Afikim periodical for the study of Yemenite Jewry, once wrote. In the years that have passed since the arrival of the immigrants from Yemen very little has been done to undo the injustice, also “because the archives that might have cast some light on this case – among them the Jewish Agency archive in Sarafend and the archives of the Medical Service for Immigrants – were thrown away as garbage or destroyed, some of them in the ’90s, ‘under the nose’ of the State Investigative Commission into the case of the disappearance of Yemenite children.”

Amit opens the discussion with a quotation from Mary Beard: “Libraries are not simply the storehouses of books. They are the means of organising knowledge and … of controlling that knowledge and restricting access to it. They are symbols of intellectual and political power, and the far from innocent focus of conflict and opposition,” and concludes it with a quotation from Mary Douglas: “Objects are always coded signs of social meanings”. Amit adds: “The National Library is a place that turns objects into an inseparable part of a social world that weighs them and accords them their value according to its own values and needs”, and adduces the Archbishop of Capetown Desmond Tutu’s statement that apology/forgiveness is a very powerful third way between forgetting and revenge, one that could extricate communities from historical cycles of violence and counter-violence.

I’ve cited only a little of the detailed, complex and illuminating discussion in this book, which draws on archives, documents, books, stories, interviews and memoirs in several languages. Clearly one could argue with the author and present the entirely different viewpoints of the library’s management and staff, who believed they were engaged in work of rescue and preservation in relation to all three cases that the author discusses, but it’s impossible not to be astonished at the new angle of vision that is revealed to those of us who use and love the library, things we didn’t know about regarding how the library’s open and hidden collections were created, about the circumstances in which they were collected, and about their origins and their disputed political, national, cultural and legal status.


Some Thoughts in Conclusion

Getting to know the alternative stories– as painful, horrifying and illuminating as they may be – in the three books reviewed above shows us that there are many ethnic stories and several national stories, not only one: not only the hegemonic national-Zionist story about what happened in the first half of the 20th century and not only the national-Arab story; not only the story of the Ashkenazi hegemony that wrote the history books in the first decades after the establishment of the state, but also alternative stories of groups which feel that injustice has been done to them in various contexts, in a period in which they were excluded, discriminated against, silenced in the public discourse or dispossessed of their cultural property. The three books, which courageously confront some dark and decisive moments in times of crisis and tragedy, show , from different angles, that everywhere, beyond the darkness of enmity, beyond the incitement, the nationalism, and the religious or ideological tension, and beyond the dispossession, the stealing and the injustice, there were and there are various possibilities of apology/forgiveness and reconciliation, and there were and there are unexpected displays of mercy and grace and of universal humaneness; of recognition of the value of human life and of a complex approach to the other’s culture, identity, story and point of view.

I will conclude this review of three books that I’m recommending for Book Week with the words of a loyal Zionist, who was in the Scouts, a supporter of Betar, a member of Herut, a senior Intelligence officer, son of an Orientalist, a lawyer who studied at the Hebrew University – President Rubi Rivlin, who recently said:

“The mission of building trust between the Jewish and Arab communities is not solely the task of the left or any particular political camp. It is the mission of all to whom this land is dear. No single political camp can be allowed to take ownership of this task or to dictate its language, just as no other camp can shake off its responsibility to it. The fact that the subject has become associated with a particular camp, both on the Jewish and Arab sides, is nothing short of tragic. For the building of trust between Jews and Arabs in the State of Israel and in the Land of Israel [i.e., Palestine (Tr.)] is the key to our very existence here, to our fate and to our future. Anyone who is truly interested in promoting a change cannot dig themselves into accusations, guilt feelings or a sense of sanctified righteousness. In the situation of the relations between Jews and Arabs in the State of Israel and between the Jordan and the sea there is not just one guilty side. There are two peoples here who have focused too much on the past and too little on the future; too much on their sense of righteousness and too little on the other side’s story; too much on vain hopes that the other side will disappear and too little on taking it in that the two sides are here to stay; too much on pain, bereavement and remembering and too little on hope and on the joy of mutual discovery. Self-punishment and international court processes will not be able to burst through the gates of the hearts of the majority on both sides. And without a majority on both sides, without a mobilization of new, diverse forces from the central avenues of the two societies, we will not be able to reach the goal. The cultivation of Arab-Jewish relations has to rise onto the central avenue of political, public and media consciousness, and anything less than this is no more than our negligence and our abandoning of our future and our children’s future.”

Two Nations, Two Languages, Two Cultures, in One (Little) Land: A Short Preamble, & 2 Translations — of a poem by Tamer Massalha, & of a Facebook status by Ayala Shalev in which she shared Tamer’s poem

A Short Preamble

I’ve written about these things before (see IsraelandPalestine), but now they seem to be getting clearer, to me at least. It’s also clear to me that a two-state solution, with a “State of Palestine” limited to the territories left to the Arab Palestinians since Oslo, is no longer viable, if it ever was. But it’s becoming equally clear to me that only a two-state solution (which need not be based on territorial division) can fulfill the emotional & spiritual needs of the people of the two nations that live (in terrible inequality & inequity) in this little land. & the reason for this is that these people have two different languages, two different cultures, with all their symbols, etc. I see all these images of Palestinian protesters waving their flags, & of Israelis waving theirs, but the crux of the matter goes deeper, & it begins with language, the first of all these things that people need to feel they belong to a nation. & apparently most people do feel this need. Could two nations do this in one state? Perhaps in time, if some sort of cultural autonomy were assured for both.  But more probably, it seems to me, before such a time, the Arab Palestinians will need to feel at long last the dignity & pride of national independence, & Jewish Israelis will need to feel (also at long last) the dignity & pride of no longer being oppressors.

How a just two-state solution could be achieved is still beyond me: I have not yet been able to imagine it, & have not seen any imagining that comes close to offering anything practical. But if I believe in anything, it’s the power of the imagination. & so I continue to contribute what I can to the discourse on this issue — sometimes my own thoughts, sometimes translations of writings by others that I feel add to our understanding of what is at stake. Today I’m publishing two translations — of a poem & of a Facebook status that deeply & very movingly touch on the core of these issues. The poem was written in Hebrew by Tamer Massalha, & was translated by him into Arabic.  (My English translation follows, & can also be read separately here.) I found it on Facebook, where it was shared  by my friend Ayala Shalev, who also wrote a very moving status about her experience of reading the poem with a group of Jewish & Arab adults who meet together regularly to discuss matters relating to their shared life in Israel in Palestine.  I’ve also translated that status, & it appears below the poem. It can also be read separately here.]

The Hebrew original, as posted by Ayala. The Arabic translation appears below my English translation

The Hebrew original, as posted by Ayala. The Arabic translation appears below my English translation

The Muezzin’s Prayer / Tamer Massalha

A voice that sounded like the Muezzin’s praying
called to me between the words of my poem:
Who is it that’s there?
It’s me, Imam, I replied to the prayer,
Your son who’s lost in the web of Hebrew,
who suffers from its curvings and its lack of will
to carry my pain for me.
But who is it that shackled Arabic to you, my son?
And why will you sing in a foreign tongue?
Who is that tore the word from the place
and exiled the Arabic melody?
I replied, my voice a choking rupture in my throat,
The Naqba, Imam.
It was the Naqba that expelled my language
to beyond the border,
and since then, my father, I’ve been tracking my pain
in the foreignness of the Hebrew language.
And how do you lament, my son?
How do you lament? the prayer’s voice asked pityingly.
I wait for the darkness of night, my father,
like an illegal inhabitant in his homeland.
like a ghost that steals in at a checkpoint,
like a food-smuggler in the tunnels of Gaza,
like a worker marching to his daily bread,
like a terminal patient on a stretcher in a line
like a husband and wife waiting for a permit at the Wall,
for a moment of family unification.
And when all the poets of the Hebrew language are sleeping,
my father,
quietly… quietly… my dear father
I gather from their poems the loveliest threads of language,
weave from them the flag of my homeland
and hang it, every night anew,
on an electricity pole.
tamer muezzin arab

Ayala Shalev’s Facebook status

Words, words, words… Mountains of philosophies have been written about words & language & still, the power, the representational character & the meaning of words always remains partly subjective & mysterious, not fully grasped. Something that can’t be defined precisely, something you can only understand something about through examples, a little like God, or love.

Our group of adults for joint Jewish-Arab life here met again yesterday, and together we worked on this poem that is attached here – The Muezzin’s Prayer, by Tamer Massalha. This poem threw me – for whom words are such a major and important part of my world – in so many directions, that there’s not enough space, and in any case there’s never enough time to pause over everything, so I’ll lay them down here, the words that filled me, so as to see what picture they’ll return to me.

A Personal Experience
When we were asked to share a personal experience the poem evoked in us, I remembered one time, long ago, more than a decade ago, when I was facilitating a meeting of Jews and Arabs in an activity of the Peres Center for Peace. I remember in particular how astounded I was, then, that the meeting of Arabic speakers & Hebrew speakers was being conducted in English. How can this be, I thought, it’s ridiculous, especially since everyone speaks Hebrew. “We don’t want to speak in the language of the occupier”, they said then, though all of them could speak Hebrew fluently, and only then I began to understand what this means.

Another Personal Experience
In the group there are people who prefer “to do” than “to be”, & one of the proposals for doing that’s always on the table is the matter of signs on the Israel National Trail. I’m not a trekker, so I haven’t seen this myself, but I understand that all the signs along the trail are only in Hebrew, not in Arabic.

During the talk yesterday the matter of signing came up again, from another angle. The disregard for signing. How on signs throughout the country the writing in Arabic is full of errors, distorted names and incorrect spelling of existing names.

& I recalled yet another angle, how, years ago, for some reason, I agreed to go to a meeting at the Shiloh settlement. I think it was the first time I’d been in the [Occupied] Territories. The landscape was spectacular, a truly biblical experience. & within all this beauty I was astounded to see that all the signs pointed only to Jewish settlements, in Hebrew. Every trace of the Arab villages that exist there was simply erased. I remember how horrified I was then. How was it possible to nullify parts of reality like this, what does it say about the people who do this, & how easy it is to do this by means of language.

“There are words,” some Arab friends said in this conversation, “that we, among ourselves, in our everyday speech, will say in Hebrew. We have no words in Arabic for those things”. A shackled language, Tamer Massalha wrote in his poem. & I recalled conversations I have with my relatives in the USA, in English, which I speak very well, yet there’s not even one time that I don’t have the feeling that no matter how precise I am, it will never be as precise as I can be in Hebrew, my mother-tongue, my language. A feeling of sadness & loneliness & helplessness. True, it passes, it’s momentary, but it’s always there, that moment of knowing that there’s no chance that they’ll understand me truly, in English, the way I intended. Because a language is a culture & a history & a society, & when the language doesn’t develop, when it’s shackled, that diminishes the culture & the history & the society.

Haneen Zoabi
& so the conversation came to this disputed woman. Zoabi, said one of the Jewish participants. Say Haneen, an Arab woman corrected him. & I thought: how is it that she’s insisting on something that to me seems like a diminishing. When I see that in the newspapers they refer to Tsipi Livni as “Tsipi” and Isaac Herzog as “Herzog”, I see it as a classic expression of male chauvinism. And here, it’s the opposite. Another little instance of a different language, behind which is a representation of a different culture. A different understanding of the nuances of the language, which in the best of cases produces friction, and in the worst – war.

Our discussions are conducted entirely in Hebrew. Initially we were strict about translation – whatever was said in Hebrew was translated into Arabic, and vice versa. But as the relationship developed & trust was built, we understood that this complication slowed us down, and we remained with “if something’s not understood, it’ll be translated into Arabic”. And for me, every time I hear them speaking that soft language of theirs – with its sounds that I’ve found pleasant from encounters since I was 18, but I’ve never been able to make time to learn it – for me it always brings sorrow. & appreciation. I respect & appreciate them for their deep knowledge of my language, & am sorry I don’t have such a knowledge of their language. There’s a statement there, in the fact that there really isn’t a common language.

“Death and life are in the hands of language”, it says in Proverbs (18.21). Aha. Exactly.

A new word I learned yesterday. It has no equivalent in Hebrew, as far as I know. “It has to do with music”, the friend who taught me the word explained. “it’s when you fully enjoy music, you’re entirely in the music, you reach a transcendence through music”, he said, searching for words to describe it. & I felt a new field opening up in my mind, & I started to sprout this word there. Tarab. It’s like tarbut [the Hebrew word for ‘culture’], I thought. A culture of music. & in this new field, this connected for me with the well-known saying that the Eskimos have lots of words for snow, because snow is so much a part of their lives. & here, opposite us, there’s a culture that we don’t trouble to know, and indeed we even seem to do the opposite.

This was a powerful meeting. A meeting with others, with other opinions, other ways of looking at a shared reality, a collision of concepts. & nonetheless, & above it all, we already have such a cloud that cannot be defined precisely, that we can only understand something of it through examples. A little like God, or love, or Tarab.

For other posts with translations of Ayala Shalev, see Hope for Palestine[..]? & Identity?

The Sulha Party Poem

Original title: It isn’t easy being a person, & Why there isn’t a charismatic person to lead the silent majority to elect a Sulha(Reconciliation)-oriented government & to rechannel Israeli & Palestinian minds & energies to the battle to save the planet [a first draft])


It isn’t easy being a person.
So much to do
in & around
one’s own life.

So we’re unlikely to find a person
who in mid-life
can conceive & bring out the narrative
that will move the silent majority
to follow their true humane impulses.

& the polls are saying more people than ever
have become more & more right
& the right, it’s said, is stronger than ever.

But what does the silent majority really feel?
How do they really deal
with the knowledge that their daily existence
depends on the continued oppression,
exclusion, occupation, blockading, devastation
& traumatizing of millions of other people
(even if they keep telling themselves:
We, our people, have suffered these things for centuries
& it seems the only choice is oppress or be oppressed
so we choose to be oppressors.
It’s a dog eat dog world)?

& what would the narrative be
that could connect the silent majority
with their true humane impulses?

Someone would have to get out there & get up there
& say something like:

I believe that the silent majority are neither right nor left,
neither violent racists or nationalists or goodie-goodie idiots.
I believe that the silent majority are not fools,
that they’re mostly good people, who care for their & their families’
& their nation’s well-being & security,
& because they see that they are beset by enemies
who resent their very presence
around & within the country,
& they think that as things stand the choice
is between being overrun by those enemies
& keeping them at bay, by whatever means it takes –
increased exclusion & humiliation of Arab citizens
within the “State of Israel”,
& continued dispossession, occupation,
blockade, devastations & traumas
like Protective Edge, Pillar of Defense, Cast Lead –
& they will vote for the parties of the right
almost wholeheartedly.Almost. But if they are honest with themselves,
sometimes, maybe in the night,
they will hear their hearts say,
Yes, the dangers are real, but it is we
who have brought them upon ourselves,
& it is we who have created the situation
in which, just to survive & continue living
the life we love in this country, we have to be
excluders & humiliators & dispossessors & occupiers
& blockaders & devastators & traumatizers,
& have to cause the daily miseries of millions
of excluded & humiliated & dispossessed & occupied
& blockaded & devastated & traumatized
human beings of all ages
who happened to be born
not Jews but Arabs
in Palestine

& somewhere in that night they will feel shame,
& guilt, & pain, that they have been & continue to be
the cause of so much suffering to so many,
who resent their presence not because they are Jews
but because, since the beginning of their project in Palestine,
Zionists have treated the indigenous Arabs with disrespect,
with dishonor, with dishonesty, with intent
to exclude them from their homeland,
& have generated the indignant & violent acts of resistance
&/or revenge that have killed, bereaved, wounded & maimed
many human beings of all ages who happened to be born Jews
anywhere in the world, or Arabs, or others, who happened then
to be living in Israel
in Palestine.

& they will feel shame, & guilt, & pain, that also to protect
what they believe is their security & well-being they have been
& continue to be the cause of so much suffering to the asylum seekers
held in hopeless & heartless detention in the desert concentration camp
called “Holot”, “Sands”.

& there will be moments when the shame, the guilt, the pain,
will be so strong, when each person of voting age will ask:
Is this who I want to be? Is this what it is to be human?
Is this what it is to be a Jew? “Love your neighbor,”
“love the stranger,” Judaism says. Is how it is how I want it to be?

These feelings & these thoughts are too painful to bear
in one’s daily consciousness. They are quickly suppressed.
We are all well-practiced at this, concealing from ourselves
our dishonesties, our complicities in collective crimes,
whatever we don’t really like about ourselves, our true natures.
& we all pay the price of such suppression,
no less than we pay the price of our oppression of others
whether we’re conscious of it or not.

&, some nights, even before we can suppress these thoughts,
another thread of thoughts may come, saying:
& the more we continue this way
the greater will grow the danger
the greater will grow their resentment
the greater will grow their resistance
for no human will willingly accept such oppression.

& the greater too will grow Israeli Jewish hatred of Arab Palestinians:
already in the last few months things have been getting worse.
Settlers in the West Bank attacking & killing Arab Palestinians
cutting down olive trees, poisoning sheep,
Price Tag & Lehava & increased anti-Arab actions & articulations in Israel,
the IDF detaining more Palestinians than in any previous year,
& the list could go on & on: check out The Palestine Project‘s updates.

& then a third thread may begin, maybe more terrible even
than the first two: the horrible devastation that lies ahead
for our grandchidren &/or their children as the earth heats
& nothing serious enough is yet being done about it?
& all our best minds, Jewish-Israeli & Arab Palestinian,
are involved so deeply in this “conflict”! We need to liberate
their intelligence & their energy to face the greatest danger
to life on our planet: global warming, & quickly!

& & thinking of danger there’s also that of the fundamentalist terrorists,
Islamist, Judaist, Christian, neo-Fascist, tribal, whatever it calls itself,
whatever creed they claim justifies their heartless slaughter
& inhumane treatment & exploitation of other human beings.

& now I say to you: let’s stay with these thoughts a little,
for they’re closer to the truth than anything the politicians say,
for they are what most of the silent majority feel
when they feel the sad truth.

& it doesn’t matter right now that behind & around & beneath
this “conflict” there are greater power&profit interests
pulling strings, manipulating governments & publics & media.
right now what matters is electing a government that speaks for
what the silent majority truly feels in those moments: that there must
be an end to this intolerable ongoing state of affairs.

How can it be ended? “Solutions” have been suggested,
none have worked. I think there can be only one way that may bring
a true reconciliation, one in which Israeli Jews will no longer
have to fear mass acts of revenge & retribution
for all the injustices they have committed against Arab Palestinians.
It is not an easy way. Certainly not easy for anyone who is proud
of what he or she is. But it is a true way, an honest way,
& I think the only way, to bring true reconciliation.

It is to ask for a sulha. It is to admit,
acknowledge our responsibility, apologize, & offer
acceptable compensation for all the disrespect,
the intent to exclude, the dispossession,
from before & during & after the Naqba, & for all
our violations of human rights thru the occupation,
the blockades, the devastations, the traumas
we’ve caused since the 1967 war.

It is to honestly say to the Arab Palestinians:

We felt we had no choice.
We had just seen millions of our people murdered
& we needed a haven for our remnants. But we had no right
to treat you as we did, even before that.
The Arab armies that invaded us in 1948 weren’t on your side,
they all had their own interests. But we expelled
as many of you as we dared, & limited the lives of those of you
who remained. We saw you all as enemies, as threats
to our survival. We still fear you, we fear that many among you
are justly filled with hatred for us, & that some among you
are only waiting for the best opportunity
to exact a great revenge.We are truly sorry for the injustices & crimes & violations
of human rights we have committed against you.
We wish to put an end to this situation, to end the continuing
occupation & the constant cycle of exclusion, dispossession,
occupation, blockades, devastations, traumas.

Some of you might want to say
that having admitted all our responsibility for your sufferings
we should now vacate the place entirely.
& there might be some justice in that position.
But we cannot do that. History has done its work,
Generations of Hebrew-speaking Israelis have been born here in Palestine,
& Israel is their only homeland.
We have revived an ancient language here,
We have built here a culture & an economy,
There is a mixed society here, with a majority of Jews,
& we have a haven here for Jews who may need it.
We will not, cannot, give up these things.

But we will do what we can to bring about a resolution
that is equitable & acceptable to you,
& our three conditions are that our security is guaranteed,
that our country may remain a haven
for Jews who may yet face persecution in other land,
& that our capital can remain in West Jerusalem
with guaranteed & safe access for Jews to the Western Wall.

We will accept the Arab League’s Peace Initiative of 2002.
We will withdraw from the territories occupied in 1967.
We will recognize a Palestinian state
consisting of the entire West Bank & the Gaza Strip
with constant untrammelled access between its two parts
& untrammelled access to the sea, with East Jerusalem
as its capital, & with the right of return
of Palestinian refugees & rightful restitution to the unlawfully
dispossessed. &/or, we propose to you
the principles of the Two States in One Space idea:
that Palestinians can be residents of Israel & citizens
of Palestine, & vice versa; that there can be free passage
in both states for citizens of either, etc etc
We might call the new framework
the Confederation of Israel & Palestine (CIP).

Ideally its first principles would be EQUAL CIVIL RIGHTS FOR ALL CITIZENS,
irrespective of ethnic, religious, racial or gender differences;
administering cultural institutions & media & schools in their own language,
& teaching the other’s language as their students’ second language,
as well as learning the other’s history; COMMITMENT TO THE CONFEDERATION,
both nations committed to doing their utmost to sustain the reconciliation.

We reject the idea that Israel is the national state of the Jewish people.
We know the difference between the Jewish people in the diaspora
who are citizens of other nations, & the Israeli-Jewish nation
that has arisen in Israel in Palestine.

We recognize that Palestine is the national homeland of all people
of Arab-Palestinian descent, & we recognize in principle the right of return
of all Arab Palestinians who were exiled &/or their descendants,
& of equitable restitution to those we have dispossessed.
& we think the CIP could establish courts to deal justly with individual claims.

We believe that the responsibility for the long conflict
& for its successful resolution rests not only with us
& with the Arab Palestinians, but also with all those countries
that voted in the UN for the inequitable Partition Plan in 1947
& that recognized the State of Israel & supported it during all the years since.
They too must pay their share in making this reconciliation a success.

We know that our greatest problem with this reconciliation is security.
For both sides. For by now there are elements on both sides that hate
& seek revenge on the other side. Cries like “Death to the Arabs”
& “Slaughter the Jews” are still heard. We must each commit to form
strong security forces that will prevent attacks against our partners
in this reconciliation. We must establish trust between us.
Such things have been done before in the world, & can be done by us & you.

If the government of the State of Israel addresses the Arab Palestinians
in such terms, I believe enough support will be found amongst them
for a reconciliation & an agreement. You may say it’s a lot to give,
& it’s true, but you’re still not giving them back as much as you’ve taken
from them. & it’s the humane thing to do, & it’ll bring you peace,
not only no more war, for real, but peace of mind & soul at last, as well.
If all the Israeli & Palestinian security forces have to deal with
are the extremists from their own sides, don’t you think they can handle it?So this is what we have to do: form a Sulha party,
get elected, & form a government that’ll do this!

& others would have to join that someone, & spread the word, really break the silence
& let the suppressed & secretest feelings of the majority at last be expressed,
& let the reconciliation process truly begin.
Will it happen? I can’t guess. But at least, being closer to the end than the middle of my life,
& far away from the scene
I have the time to envisage it, & the will, even more, the need, the passion
to articulate & publish the vision, even if it seems deluded, or megalomanic.
& perhaps someone with younger energies there will see it, & say it
in a way that will inspire many activists
& ultimately lead the silent majority
to elect a Sulha(Reconciliation)-oriented government,
so we can get this “conflict”* out of the way,
create & sustain the confederation
so that its people can live in harmony
& its best minds can give their full attention to the global dangers.

(Someone else might need to translate this into Hebrew,
don’t see myself doing it for a while, but who knows
what i’ll want to do
in the days to come

* If you want to know why i keep writing “conflict” inside quotes, see this link.


&/but – these posts i need to share

Then I make my lunch & sit down to eat it, opening my iPad to Facebook, & find these posts I feel I need to share. Again a most moving  one from Naomi Wolf, two from Jews Against the Occupation Australia, and some from other sources (the 5th link should open The Palestine Project’s Facebook page, where there are many more posts worthy of attention). All I can do at this moment to express my solidarity with those struggling for justice & my feelings for those who have suffered & continue to suffer injustice in Israel & throughout Palestine & wherever else the Naqba’s victims & their descendants may be is to share these posts & hope that some will reach some hearts that can act to make a difference.  (Remember, there are some very moving things in some of the comments too.)

Mass graves of Arabs discovered in Jaffa (from 1948-49  war?)

Mass graves of Arab Palestinians discovered in Jaffa (from 1948-49 war?) (see 1st link)









Palestine: Following Naomi Wolf’s “Witnessings” & Images from pre- & early Naqba times

Joe Lauria: Palestinian Arabs expelled from Haifa under supervision of Haganah members in 1948 / Getty Images

Joe Lauria: Palestinian Arabs expelled from Haifa in 1948 by Haganah members / Getty Images

A fascinating, illuminating (& painful, but the kind of pain that must be borne if one is to be honest with oneself & conscious of one’s complicity, however tacit – the non-indigenous resident’s burden everywhere where indigenous people have been dispossessed, dehumanized, deprived of basic human rights, humiliated, marginalized, decimated, massacred, or whatever) part of the last few days since I published my earlier post on these “Witnessings” being collected by the indefatigable Naomi Wolf on her “Daily Cloudt” page has been following the continuation of the posts that have been rolling in, & that she has been publishing in between her numerous posts on more current matters in Israel in Palestine & elsewhere in the world. I think this is a wonderful use of social media, & serves a good purpose, because it makes us aware of the reality of the life in Palestine that was changed so radically by the Zionist project, & forces us to acknowledge that driving out Arab Palestinians was a deliberate part of that project at least among the Zionist leadership.  How much the majority of the Jewish population of the Yishuv knew about this is a different question, & is perhaps similar to the question of how much the majority of the Germans knew what the Nazi leadership was ordering to be done, or how much the majority of Australians in the 19th century knew what measures were being taken against the Aborigines here (“It is impossible to know how many Indigenous people were in Australia before the arrival of the first white settlers, but it has been estimated to be anywhere between 300 000 and one million. By Federation in 1901 that number had dropped to as few as 20 000” [source]).

I think of Palestine & of Australia more than I think of America or Africa or other places where the processes of colonialism have brought much misery as well as “progress”, & where many of us non-indigenous people live our lives on land once populated or worked by now-excluded (if not eliminated) indigenous people, because I have a special & complex biographical connection to, & emotional involvement with, both (see About me & this blogsite).

I’ve once more collated these posts in the order they appeared, from earliest to latest, starting from where I left off last time (the 4th to the 11th items in the list are photos, preceded by the text that appears in Naomi’s post). Going through them in this sequence can recreate the order in which they became part of recorded history thru this Facebook project initiated by Naomi. Remember: in many of them the comments are as much (& sometimes more) worth reading as (or than) the posts themselves.




Palestine pre 1948. Via Arthur King https://m.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=758078027618047&id=100002475712865&set=p.758078027618047&source=47

Via Joe Lauria. Reportedly Palestinian Arabs being expelled from Haifa. More sourcing please. Saddest image. https://m.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10152610813741378&id=706026377&set=p.10152610813741378&source=47&refid=52

Palestine 1920. Via Eman Bader https://m.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10152614980501985&id=617176984&set=p.10152614980501985&source=47

Palestine, 1922. Thank you to Eman Bader https://m.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10152614979376985&id=617176984&set=p.10152614979376985&source=47

Palestine 1940 via Eman Bader https://m.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10152614980216985&id=617176984&set=p.10152614980216985&source=47

Palestine 1940. Via Eman Bader https://m.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10152614977991985&id=617176984&set=p.10152614977991985&source=47

A silk and rayon factory in Jaffa..via Eman Bader https://m.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10152614979756985&id=617176984&set=p.10152614979756985&source=47

Via Eman Bader: a bus company in Jaffa https://m.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10152614979126985&id=617176984&set=p.10152614979126985&source=47
























Settlements? התנחלות (hitnaxhlút) is not the same as התישבות (hityashvút)

I think it’s important to stress that the Hebrew word התנחלות (hitnaxhlút), generally translated as settlement, refers specifically to Israeli-Jewish settling on Palestinian land occupied by Israel in 1967, & is radically different in meaning & spirit than the Hebrew word התישבות (hityashvút) that denotes any kind of settling and was the only word used for Jewish settlement in Palestine prior to the establishment of the State of Israel & still denotes settlement on land within the “Green Line”.

Both are modern nounal verbs (or verbal nouns), & are ‘reflexive’, meaning that they denote ‘making oneself such-&-such’. Both, too, stem from biblical roots with very strong connotations.

התישבות (hityashvút) stems from the root ישב (yasháv), to sit or dwell, & means the act of settling oneself, establishing one’s home somewhere. From the same root comes the word ישוב (yishuv) which means a place of settling or settlement, be it a village, a commune, a town or a city. In the plural  all such places are called yishuvím. Also, in pre-Israel Palestine, the entire Jewish population & its institutions were known as the Yishuv, the Settling.

But התנחלות (hitnaxhlút) stems from the root נחל (naxhál), to receive a tract of land as a rightful inheritance, & actually means to make oneself the receiver (& in practice the taker) of such a tract. There are many biblical references to such tracts – נחלה (naxhaláh) in the singular, נחלות (naxhalót) in the plural – given by ‘God’ to the Israelites, to the different tribes, to families, & to individuals. The use of this term implies that the takers are actually accepting what has been given to them by ‘God’. At the same time, it is a blatant & shameless, aggressive term that does not hide the fact that what it refers to is appropriation of land that can then be passed by inheritance to succeeding generations. Another interesting fact is that the same word is used both for the act of taking land in this way & for the settlement that is established in such a way. Thus ‘settlements’ in the Occupied Territories are called התנחלויות (hitnaxhluyót).

I know that it is too late to change the current usage in English. Also, there is no equivalent English word to translate the Hebrew word התנחלות (hitnaxhlút). (The closest might be something like appropriation for the act, & colony for the place so appropriated; it would need to be a word that also projected the arrogance implicit in the Hebrew word, the sense of divine right &/or duty to obey a divine commandment that is felt by the more fervent “settlers” if not by the opportunistic land-grabbers who have jumped on their bandwagon.) But I do think this is something that people who think & care about the situation in Palestine, but don’t know Hebrew. should know about.