Women

Coping / August 13, 2018 by Sophie Schor

What happens when you write “about” someone as a part of your own personal experience? What happens when you live in a place and feel suffocated by the norm? What happens when you name a problem in a society that is not yours? What happens when that society envelops you and includes you (and therefore excludes you)? How do you move beyond any sort of liberal paralysis that tells you not to speak for others, that you are only a guest in this context, yet you're lead by a gut feeling that something is wrong? And how do you say in Arabic, “It was never my intention to cause any harm”?

Solitude / July 18, 2018 by Sophie Schor

My body does not feel my own. I do not feel my own. My smile falters, my voice fades, and I feel trapped. I cannot walk on the streets alone, I've been told by my host mom. I cannot travel alone, I've been told by the program. I cannot sit in a café alone, I've been told by Moroccan friends. The world started to close in: I have school, the classroom, the garden outside of school, the tense ten minute walk home, and the house. The house is lovely and commanding and reeks of mold and the pressure of a hospitable host mother who is constantly telling me "Eat! Eat!" I do not have a room of my own, I'm starting to go mad.

Why We March / January 22, 2017 by Sophie Schor

The world rose up. 673 women-led marches sprung up from Antarctica to Washington. Hundreds of thousands of feet marching, walking, dancing, prancing, chanting, singing, yelling, smiling, laughing, traveling with a message.

Hundreds of thousands of feet from coast to coast, from continent to continent, marching with a purpose: to be heard.

Something Broke. / November 13, 2016 by Sophie Schor

Something broke last week and a deep grief set in. I was surprised by the heaviness of my mourning. Hillary Clinton’s climactic denouement and Donald Trump’s decisive rise to power has left me spinning in an emotional tidal wave. I wake up in the morning and my limbs feel heavy. My heart hurts. My brain races and runs. My instinct is to throw the covers over my head and hide away, to play soothing music and close the blinds and sit in darkness.

Yet—it is hard to bounce back from watching a woman come so close, yet still be unable to attain the highest-office, the symbolic house that equates the highest power in our world. It is with this heavy heart that I went to Beit Jala this weekend for a continuing seminar with the women activists of Combatants for Peace. I was emotionally burnt out and exhausted, yet I knew I had committed to the process and so I went.

Women Wage Peace / October 24, 2016 by Sophie Schor

It was 32° C (90°F), sweat dripped between my shoulder blades while I stood still. But the warmth I felt was not coming from the desert heat, rather from the company I was in. I was surrounded by thousands of women wearing white who were clapping their hands in unison and leaning forward to hear every word the speakers were saying. Hope rose in waves around us.

Women Wage Peace—the Israeli women’s peace movement that I researched for my masters degree—organized a massive event where for the last two weeks, women have been marching 250km from Rosh HaNikra, the northernmost point of the country next to the border with Lebanon, to Jerusalem. Along the way, they have stopped and met with different communities, and organized events and solidarity marches across the country. All along the way, people met the women and joined them. It culminated on Wednesday with thousands and thousands of people wearing white snaking their way through the streets of Jerusalem from the Supreme Court to the Prime Minister’s house. The organizers claim that it was a crowd of 20,000 people.

The march was a year in the making.

What Can Women Do? / September 21, 2016 by Sophie Schor

Since my return from my summer trip to home and family in North America, it has been a blur of re-adjusting to the time zone, cultural challenges, language gaps, and humidity. As I settle back into the rhythm of the work week and proofreading the upcoming journal, I find all my free hours being filled with conversations about women and peace.

I am applying for a PhD next fall pursuing the research I've begun here on the role of women in Israeli and Palestininan societies in the peace process and what agency they have in a conflict zone. My head is swirling from hours spent investigating academic departments and funding and reading abstracts of potential future supervisors' research. Each day, a new school is added to, or crossed off from, the list; a new checkbox added to the to-do list of applications leads to calculating postage of transcripts and panic over having forgotten high-school algebra for the GRE.

Yet, I am constantly encountering things here that seems to reinforce the feeling that this is the work I want to be doing, that these are the questions that we need to be asking. Earlier this week, I attended a conference hosted by IPCRI (Israeli-Palestinian Creative Regional Initiatives) that focused on the current role of women in the peace process and UN Security Council Resolution 1325. In 2000, the UN Security Council adopted the resolution which,

"reaffirms the important role of women in the prevention and resolution of conflicts, peace negotiations, peace-building, peacekeeping, humanitarian response and in post-conflict reconstruction and stresses the importance of their equal participation and full involvement in all efforts for the maintenance and promotion of peace and security. Resolution 1325 urges all actors to increase the participation of women and incorporate gender perspectives in all United Nations peace and security efforts. It also calls on all parties to conflict to take special measures to protect women and girls from gender-based violence, particularly rape and other forms of sexual abuse, in situations of armed conflict."

This resolution is the cornerstone of the women and peace thesis which claims that women have inherent and important contributions to add to peace processes, based on their gender and based on the facts that historically they have been excluded from national and international conversations and decisions on peace and security.

I had a bumper sticker on my car from high-school from when I worked with The White House Project (an organization that supports women running for public office in the States). It said, "Add Women, Change Everything." While I fear that this saying and the notions behind these resolutions simplifies matters and portrays women in an overly simplified light as being inherently peaceful, I think it also captures a very real discourse that is unfolding around us globally and locally. In cases of violent, protracted conflicts which have been led mainly by men, what would happen if women were involved in the process? Julia Bacha of Just Vision spoke about women's power to transform conflict in Palestine in this phenomenal and highly recommended TedTalk. She highlights that the role of women in the public life and in a movement leads to the adoption of nonviolence as a tenet of resistance. She also remarks on how in many different historical moments, women were present but were invisible in the public sphere or media or narrative. Just Vision is producing a new film about women in the First Intifada, and I cannot wait to see it.

All of this is just a small example of the research that is being done which reiterates again and again that including women in negotiations, decision making, and post-conflict plans results in more successful and long-lasting peace agreements. This summer's resolution of the brutal conflict in Colombia between the government and FARC was notable for its inclusion of women at the negotiations and for the provisions of gender equality and protection of women in the resulting agreement. The resolution to Liberia's civil war was also paramount in it's inclusion of women's perspectives. For more research on these concepts see the UN's Report on Women's Participation in Peace Negotiations (2012) and the Global Study on the Implementation of Resolution 1325.

Theory is one thing, but how does this apply in real life? The conversation at the IPCRI conference began to ask those questions. There were Palestinian women there from the Jerusalem Women's Center, there were Israeli women from grassroots movements, local organizations, an Israeli Member of the Knesset, and international representation by the Swedish, Norwegian, Dutch, and Finnish Embassies. Topics were raised about the importance of creating equality for women in all spheres in Israeli and Palestinian societies in order to empower them to participate in the public and political spheres. Opportunities were discussed, and experiences were shared. The energy in the room felt effervescent, there was so much more that wanted to be said, discussed, asked, and strategized. As the evening drew to an end, and everyone began exchanging business cards and handshakes, I watched as networks were being formed before my eyes.

The next day, I joined one of the directors of IPCRI to attend a forum in Hebrew that was hosted by an Israeli organization (Itaach-Maaki) which is taking the lead in implementing the resolution in Israel. The room was filled--over 40 women and 3 men-- and representatives from many different organizations, experiences, lent their perspectives to the larger questions of how to use UNSCR 1325 as a tool, and how to work together. Representatives from Women Wage Peace, WIPS, Dafna Fund, Minds of Peace, Mahsom Watch, Combatants for Peace, and Forum for Regional Thinking were all present.

The conversation began with the basic questions of Why, What, and How:

Why are women being called upon to participate in peace processes? Why is this important?

What do they have to offer? What work exists, what work needs to be done?

How do we actually take the recommendations of the resolution and implement them in our own lives, work, and societies?

The responses were varied, were challenging, were thoughtful. The 4 hour meeting ended with, yet again, the feeling that the conversation is just beginning.

Later this week, I will be attending the third meeting of the women of Combatants for Peace--a side-project of the organization, and I've been invited to participate. A group of Israeli women and Palestinian women, all members of Combatants for Peace, are meeting to discuss how to insert women's voices into the larger conversations in the organization as a whole and how to create protest actions that more women would be enticed and able to participate in. The conversations are authentic and are questioning how to accommodate a gendered perspective in the very important dialogue work and on the ground activism of Combatants for Peace. Our first meeting was invigorating, and this one should be equally exciting.

Today is international peace day. But, I dedicate this week to women: the rabble rousers, the ground-shakers, the wagers of conflict, and the peace makers.

The Good Ones Don't Make The News / April 1, 2016 by Sophie Schor

Sitting over a glass of cheap red wine in Paris two weeks ago, I shared my life with my old friends from when I lived there. “How are you?” they asked me. Full, I said. I’m leading a full life—full of food and friends and coffee and meaningful work and challenging projects. “But what’s it like to live there?” they ask.“There’s a violent conflict going on,” I answered while shrugging, “It becomes normal...” I sat with one of my mentors. He asked me earnestly, “Sophie, tell me…is anything good happening there?”

The night after the attacks in Jaffa, I went out and it felt like a ghost town. Even the traffic of cars on the main boulevard had lessened—I felt like a specter gliding down the street on my bike alone. But I went out with a purpose: to sit at the local bar with my Palestinian friend from Building Bridges; to toast our glasses of beer together to life, to health, and to the continuation of friendships which are more important now than ever. While it seems small and futile in the face of terror and extremism coming from all angles, these little and powerful moments happen quite frequently in my life. But I've begun to realize that this reality doesn't reach the "outside" world and media.

Good people are working hard and trying to carve out futures together amidst the madness of this place, and that is constantly overshadowed by hate and fear on all sides.

Like today. Today I went to a march of Jews and Arabs in solidarity against the occupation. This march is taking place the first Friday of every month.

The march was organized by Combatants for Peace, an organization of both Israelis and Palestinians who have put aside violence in the name of community building and activism, and another group called Standing Together. The march was the fifth organized event that walks alongside the highway of Route 60 to the Tunnel checkpoint near the Palestinian town of Bayt Jala and the Jerusalem neighborhood/settlement Gilo. February’s march ended in arrests of two Israeli organizers. Over 500 people showed up in March to walk alongside the wall and traffic in honor of International Women’s Day. Today we were around 300.

I walked with friends and held a sign that said: "Standing together against the occupation" in both Hebrew and Arabic. The verbs were conjugated to be feminine. The drum circle was out in all their glory and there was a mix of Israeli and Palestinian flags. As we marched, many people honked their horns and shouted nasty things. But I strolled with a good friend who waved with a big smile to every person who yelled, "Go die" at us and returned a big thumbs up to each and every middle finger that was gestured in our direction. As we stood by the junction, a religious man driving by began yelling at us and we responded in Hebrew and wished him “Shabbat Shalom!” [The colloquial wishing of ‘Happy Friday’ in Jewish Israeli society, which is connected to the religious observance of the Sabbath.]

Soldiers from the Israeli army followed along by the side of the road and at the back of the protest for protection against the oncoming traffic and also to surveil a group of 300 people walking in the West Bank. The few who followed at the back of the protest were wearing balaclavas over their faces. One man walked on the other side of the road waving a huge Israeli flag in opposition to our presence and our voices shouting in unison, “Jews and Arabs refuse to be enemies.”

It has been months since I've attended a march or protest. Tensions have been so high and things here have actually been quite scary with the methodical demonizing of human rights organizations that criticize the occupation, you don't want to draw attention to yourself as someone who supports an end to the occupation. It has not been optimal timing to wave signs and hold hands and say words like “Peace.” See this article by David Shulman that captures all that has been happening recently here.

But in March, I joined this group for the protest in honor of International Women Day, and I promised myself that I would be back every first Friday. The day was incredible. I saw a lot of different people I know from activist circles, powerful women from Women Wage Peace who I interviewed for my research, sweet, sweet Palestinian activists who I have met at various meetings (like Tiyul Rihle) and programs (like Global Village Square), people who joined us in Susiya last year, and more. I asked an old acquaintance “How are you?” He said, “Today? Right now? Right now I am good” and gestured at the crowd. “But when I’m not here, when I’m not with my people…hard. It’s hard.”

In March, for International Women’s Day, everyone was holding balloons. On the count of ten, with numbers flowing naturally from Arabic to Hebrew, the balloons were let go. Within moments, a perfectly timed gust of wind had blown the balloons right over the wall. Tied to them were invitations to the march each month. The sight of the brightly colored balloons in stark contrast with the grey and bleak concrete of the wall was overpowering. And seeing them freely glide over the barrier was incredibly moving. It seemed so simple: the power of the people and the cries for justice could just as easily overcome the walls and everything they stand for.

Today, the march culminated in the planting of olive trees. The symbolism is cliché; the discourse of peace is dead. But, the action of breaking dirt and leaving something behind that will grow is not to be overlooked. The march ended and I was left floating on (maybe unreal) hopes and (some say naive) optimism.

I’ll be there again May 6th. It’s good for my soul.

While in Paris people may have gained a new sense of what a violent attack on civilians can do to your personal psyche and your daily life and empathize more with my reality here, it’s not the full story. Here, while many people are promoting policies of hate every single day, there are also those who are building hope.

Over 500 Israelis and Palestinians took part in march to mark International Women's Day and to call for an end to the occupation and violence, March 4, 2016.

Up and Up: Haifa / November 9, 2015 by Sophie Schor

I spent the day walking up flights of stairs in Haifa.

After glancing at the map and seeing that it was only a 30-minute walk to my destination, I told myself that I was up for the adventure. But as the hill kept getting steeper, I felt more like someone climbing the mountain in order to learn the meaning of life from a monk; I was not disappointed.

I met today with an amazing woman at the Haifa Women's Coalition Center, the building that several feminist organizations call home. Sarai Aharoni had become my “academic crush” while I researching women’s peace and feminist movements in Israel. Aharoni has written a lot on feminism, women, peace and security, and the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. She put into words perfectly my discomfort with the academic boycott of Israel (read it here). To my pleasure, she responded to an email I had sent and invited me to Haifa to visit her and peruse the Women and Peace archives. It was a treat. She's part of the group that is establishing the Haifa Feminist Institute--giving an "official name," she explained to me, to something that already exists.

The center is home to organizations Kayan and Isha L'Isha, two of the most interesting feminist groups in Israel and Palestine. Isha L’Isha is one of the first feminist grassroots organizations and was founded in 1983. Kayan emerged from conversations amongst women in Isha L'Isha and is the Arab Feminist Center in the North working for equality of Palestinian women in Israel. The two organizations pursue many different activities, educational projects, and initiatives to promote women’s rights, women status, and women’s equality in Israel and Palestine. The Coalition is special because it is a space where Jewish and Arab women work together under one roof supporting women and victims of sexual abuse and domestic violence.

So here I was, sitting in this space that has been created for women by women and sharing methodological challenges of feminist theories with this brilliant woman sitting across from me surrounded by books and archives, an academic-dream-come-true.

Me excited to ride the funicular. Public transportation is fun(icular)!

Haifa is a fascinating city in the North and one that I have not explored enough. It extends all the way to the seacoast and then the city rises up to the hills and the Carmel Mountain. I left the meeting and wandered around the rest of the day, heading to destinations that my friends had recommended to me. I stumbled upon a café where the waiter was originally from Lebanon and settled myself into a corner: cozy and happy with my laptop and my work. It is what is called a “mixed” city, one that has a vibrant Jewish and Arab population. As I sat in the café, I felt like I could breathe deeply. People were just living and being people here. It didn’t matter what your ethnicity was, where your allegiances lie, or where you were from originally. This may be too idealistic and just all assumptions and superficial judgments. It is definitely a city that I want to know better. My mom lived in Haifa for a stint when she lived in Israel and as I was trekking up and down the stairs and venturing out to find the funicular (called the Carmelite!), I felt strangely at peace with my life. That feeling that I am exactly where I am supposed to be right now.

Update from Israel and Palestine: attacks inside Israeli borders have slowed down with the arrival of the rainstorm and winter .Yet things sound far from calm within the West Bank, a young soldier, who was stabbed at a famously tense junction (Tzomat Tapuah) in the territories, died today. Six other Israelis were injured in other attacks in the West Bank in the last several days including a particularly nasty drive-by. Settlers supposedly opened fire on farmers near Nablus. Soldiers killed a 72-year-old Palestinian woman after an alleged car attack. Clashes have erupted near Ramallah, protests in Gaza continue, shots are fired, people are dying, and from the perspective of Tel Aviv it feels like it’s being swept under a rug.

As Aharoni and I were talking today, a question left unanswered is haunting me. War and violence can be used as a catalyst to transform a society (with negotiations and compromise on the other side of the spectrum). The question facing us now: how much more violence is necessary to transform this one?

Pains of Exodus / April 3, 2015 by Sophie Schor

April 3, 2015

I met Manel Tamimi while traveling through the West Bank in January. She welcomed us into her home in Nabi Saleh and spoke with us about the horrors her family faces under occupation.

Nabi Saleh is a well known friction point for resistance and holds weekly protests every Friday. The village organizes itself and attempts to walk from their homes across the valley to the spring that used to belong to them. The spring is now a part of the settlement which was built above it. There’s a brilliant profile in the New York Times that describes the Tamimi family and the village.

Manel told us that she classifies herself as a non-violent resistor, but could not call herself peaceful. She said,”I can’t be peaceful in that moment when an Israeli soldier enters my house to arrest my 14 year old son. When I’m watching 2 of my cousins dying in front of me. When my 8 year old faints after being shot with tear gas and the soldier is smiling. Yet, I am nonviolent because a mothers pain is the same pain. I refuse any mother to experience this pain because I’ve experienced it. I understand the meaning of losing your beloved and waiting for your beloved.”

Manel was shot by an Israeli soldier in the leg today with live ammo during the weekly protest.

I heard about this as I am heading to my family’s kibbutz in the south to celebrate Passover—a holiday that marks the freedom of the Jews from slavery in Egypt and their arrival to the land of milk and honey. It is my family’s tradition to have long conversations that are interrupted by food and singing all night long. We often discuss the idea of freedom and I have grown up repeating every year that we are not free until all peoples are free. This sentence has never rung more true for me than in this moment. While we were talking with Manel, she said “Even if one day we free Palestine, I am going to fight for others. Because if you are a human you are going to fight against the pain of others.”

There is weird parallelism in being here in Israel, on my way to the Kibbutz which was founded in 1953, to be surrounded by cousins and tradition, and to know at the same time that across the wall, not so far away, people are hurting because of this claim to this land.