... Notes on a Protest Movement
I.
These busy intersections, plenty of buses, cars, bikes, pedestrians – all in a rush getting somewhere other than this place. The streets of Tel Aviv know the hum, the honk, the hustle, particularly since the middle of July 2011, when a rather unprecedented level of socio-political awareness started getting a hold of an impressively increasing amount of (predominantly Jewish) Israeli citizens. The streets, Rothschild Boulevard most prominently, now not only know about the hum, the honk, the hustle, but are learning to host all sorts of people’s desiring and demanding calls for a rather blurry concept of “social justice”. Faced with an outrageously high cost of living which forces a lot of people formerly known as a “middle class” to work several jobs and still perceive their lifestyle as precarious, “the people demand social justice” (Hebrew “ha’am doresh tzedek chevrati”) now. And here. Be it during the massive demonstrations in Israel’s urban hubs or peripheral cities, be it in between a circle of tents during a public lecture or over a beer on someone’s terrace – “the people” in its and their heterogeneity talk, discuss, move ideas and engage in lively debates. Whereas during the first weeks of the growing protest movement the media and the struggle’s representatives constantly reiterated an non-political (whatever that may have been), solely social understanding of their plight, more recently the surprisingly non-disappearing connection between Israel being an occupying and oppressive state with a yearly security budget in the billions and therewith lacking financial backing elsewhere, has risen to a non-negotiable (oh, I meant non-negligible, silly) fact on the ground (or rather – in the heads) of this grassroots movement and media representations thereof.
These moments of shifts, these ruptures in societal and socio-political constitutions, they are, one could argue, even more prone to know the hum, honk and hustle accompanying it. Some of these alliterations not only concern language but also are bloody serious, result in burning streets, dead people, and dictators in cages.
Some others are fun. Or rather fun that makes one wonder.
II.
So, there are three actual intersections. Busy ones. Within the bigger context of a seemingly hot-headed, impolite and chaotic – qualities that are unquestionably perceived differently in different places and habitualized forms of socialization. I grew up in Germany, and lived in England – public sphere, which I am currently part of, interrupting the chaotically choreographed order of things is not usually met with cheers and smiles. Arguably, the ruptures described above are so far being met with an understanding and supportive public response and participation.
One might presume it has to do with so many individuals’ own immediate needs and frustration that are suddenly on the forefront of a collective protest, and some form of desire for unity within this struggle seems to suggest itself as the way to go. A person’s own urgent and tangible will for change of their way of living is, apparently (and almost sadly so, given the fact that in most cases these needs are obviously intertwined with others’), a rather motivating force for activism. “I have a problem, therefore I act.” is easier said and done than, “I see you have problem, which may or may not have something to do with me, therefore I act.”
Patience.
III.
“If not now – when?” … Not only part of one of Hillel’s most famous sayings (“If not us – who” precedes the time), but also a chorus line of Yehoram Gaon’s “Od lo ahavti dai” (I have not yet loved enough), a catchy and sunny tune, frequently used for big circle dances that have had their share in a Zionist identity formation during the first decades of the State of Israel.
This song now, and, “If not now – when?”, is played at these busy intersections one Tuesday evening in August. A portable speaker placed in the middle of the road, and suddenly, out of a regular group of pedestrians waiting for the traffic lights to allow them passing, a group of about 30 to 40 people emerges, forms a circle and dances, claps, jumps and sings along. Two and a half minutes the intersection is blocked. Pedestrians see, halt, look, some smile, some are obviously irritated. Drivers are faced with people on the street, which does not seem something most of them appreciate. Many cars and motorbikes meander around the circle, forcing it into some other, more elliptical form, breaking apart the chain of hands joint. Bus drivers argue with wild gestures, impatient passengers are pointing at their watches, metal pushes into people. It is fun, frighteningly so. One would think – people, it is two and a half minutes, why can’t you just let them do their thing? Why push push push? The shove of metal pushes people down, almost.
However, at such a time when push comes to shove, now, more precisely, one wonders why and how people react to interruptions of their being so aggravated, so annoyed, so ignorant. What makes one form of rupture okay, and another one a problem one needs to deal with aggressively? To which level are people here, now, willing to let others voice their concern, their being, in a public sphere?
Public Movement who organized these three little public interventions facilitated a sense of uncertainty for the people being faced with it (and, partially, for the participants too, I am sure) – How does this action relate to the current protest? Why are they dancing a folk-dance? Who are these people, there is no banner, no shouting, no youth-group-shirt? Why are they doing this? Why the fuck are they blocking the damn road and make me be late for this appointment by two and a half minutes? Why this song? Who are they? What do they want? How am I supposed to react? Can I join in? Do I like it? What do I like about it? Would I like to join in? Why am I so angry when someone is 1.) apparently having fun and 2.) is really not that violent or bad?
Am I getting my way? Is that what the angry reactions were asking? Am I getting my problem solved by their action? Do they have a problem? Would I want to listen? Engage with them afterwards? Would I want to know? Why would I want to know? Does it relate to my problems and me?
IV.
I have no patience.
I demand social justice.
Now.
Yes.
How long is now?
V.
Rupture.
Reflection.
How long is now?
Between Two Walls
Between Two Walls
July 2011
Between two walls, facing a third one. Behind me is darkness. Your hands are caressing the stones. These cold ones. Right next to my shoulders. Softly, oh so softly, your thumbs, I presume, work on their flesh. Your eyes, piercing into the wall in front of us, suddenly it is us. Your feet, balancing on the same thin wall. Us, there, between these two walls. And you, I hear you saying how you love my body. And the walls grow tighter. And you keep caressing the stones. And my eyes. Yes. And my smell. Yes. And the walls grow tighter. Yes. And me, then, when the night is making the stone alive enough to hear and speak, then, when the placid whispers are leaving you. Yes. Alone. Then you love me. Without dividing me into stones making up this brick wall you see. But yes, right, you see a wall you think is me (forgivable given the circumstances), right. And so whole it seems. Mortar, caress the mortar, too. It is keeping us together and walls in place.
Whispered Child Dark Dark
a stone of age
and splinters
in between
dark
and
dark
it glitters
broken is the bird
song of morning
dark
and
dark
for life on veins
to play
the splinters
gather
elsewhere
and always
the others
are
splinters
and to play
the splinters
gather
elsewhere
Whispered Child Dark Dark
July 2011
rührt mich an
rührt mich an
jede Ruhe
macht aus
zähem Klinker
festen harten Stein
jede Ruhe
ein Stein mehr
die Falten lachen sich starr
und Jeder tanzt
allein
im Funkenregen
der Stahlbrocken
im Hirn
schon Ruhe
Steinbäume
wiegen
nichts
wiegen
nichts
als den Wind des Traums
der Rührung
Kristalle leuchten wie Lava
in ihren Armen
ist es
nicht
nicht
beinahe heiß
nicht
rührt mich an
jede Ruhe
macht aus
Lava
auch Lava
Beton im Stillen
and more finds
central bus station, tel aviv
march 2011
lifta
march 2011
money from different streets
march 2011
überraschungsei, berlin
march 2011
more finds
in the water, tel aviv
march 2011
sheikh jerrah, east jerusalem
march 2011
esther hamalka, tel aviv
march 2011
silwan, east jerusalem
march 2011
finds
some street, tel aviv
march 2011
hilton beach, tel aviv
march 2011
sheikh jerrah, east jerusalem
march 2011
al rajaa' street, ramallah
march 2011
mea shearim, jerusalem
march 2011
jaffa road, jerusalem
march 2011
i can't remember where it was
march 2011
al shuhada street, hebron
march 2011
Three years later - Hebron. Or: How it is no longer orange.
Al-Shuhada Street. 2008.
Al-Shuhada Street. 2011.
"Liberation. Return. Rebuilding." 2008.
"Liberation. Return. Rebuilding." 2011.
Above the painting it is written:
ויש תקוה לאחריתך נאם יהוה ושבו בנים לגבולם
ירמיה 31:17
The children have returned to their own border.
A side note to translating לגבולם: Luther 1545: Und deine Nachkommen haben viel Gutes zu gewarten, spricht der HERR; denn deine Kinder sollen wieder in ihre Grenze kommen. // King James Version: And there is hope in thine end, saith the LORD, that thy children shall come again to their own border. / Jer 31:17
French versions (http://saintebible.com/jeremiah/31-17.htm):
Tes enfants reviendront dans leur territoire
et tes fils reviendront dans leurs confins.
et tes enfants retourneront en leurs quartiers.
German versions (http://bibeltext.com/jeremiah/31-17.htm):
die Kinder sollen heimkehren in ihr Gebiet!
und deine Kinder werden in ihr Gebiet zurückkehren.
English versions (http://bible.cc/jeremiah/31-17.htm):
Your children will return to their own land.
Your children will come again to their own land.
and your children shall come back to their own country.
And your children will return to their own territory.
and your children will come back to the land which is theirs.
גבול can be translated as: border (state, country), borderline, boundary, limit, frontier, line, margin, extreme, bounds
-ל can be translated as: to, toward, of, for, until, till, into
Google translate offers, when it comes to לגבולם:
come home
to their borders
their borders
have come home
How it is no longer orange
No change.
Yes change.
Egged at your service.
The sun was shining.
I doubt the sun paled the orange away.
No no.
The white of all.
The "Day of Rage".
That was that.
Home-border-line syndrome.
Buch / Care
nobody will know II
February 16th 2011
Through a gate I entered a park and looked at a statue. I asked a woman with strongly painted eyebrows and a light brown jacket (matching the colour of her dog's hair) if there was another exit, back to the train, she said there was not, I could only walk a circle and get back there, but would I not better be afraid as there was this man and he was watching me the whole time - I hadn't realized that this was the case - I said maybe I was not afraid and would have a look and thank you very much.
Ducks stood on melting ice. A lot of bridges. And leaves on the ground. The trees had names pinned into their skin. White paper. Sans Serif Italics. Little brook was wild.
No man came.
The woman, ten minutes later, outside the park, did not react to my smile of recognition. But she really cared. She was wearing a jacket matching the colour of her dog's hair.
That is care.
Safe train back. Until one tree fell on the rails. That was way inside.
Void III
Bear me a child
Bury your hand
deep in the mild
cleft of my sand
Sing of a sun
of dark shadows' age
of moving undone
of birds in a cage
Of wings close and
spread around a face
like a hand
circling a place
Bear me a child
your soul's gentle hand
I shall hold. Your wild
song it will free your land
Void I
January 3rd 2011
Void II
January 3rd 2011
one book
another book
