In this inspirational book, Peretz Kidron, himself a refusenik, gives us the stories, experiences, viewpoints, even poetry, of these courageous conscripts who believe in their country, but not in its actions beyond its borders.
We read about the cautious, even embarrassed, response of the authorities. And we see the wider implications of the philosophy of selective refusal - which is not the same thing as pacifism -- for conscientious citizens in every country where conscription still exists. Here is a real model for the peace movement in Israel and worldwide.
In this inspirational book, Peretz Kidron, himself a refusenik, gives us the stories, experiences, viewpoints, even poetry, of these courageous conscripts who believe in their country, but not in its actions beyond its borders.
We read about the cautious, even embarrassed, response of the authorities. And we see the wider implications of the philosophy of selective refusal - which is not the same thing as pacifism -- for conscientious citizens in every country where conscription still exists. Here is a real model for the peace movement in Israel and worldwide.
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Overview
In this inspirational book, Peretz Kidron, himself a refusenik, gives us the stories, experiences, viewpoints, even poetry, of these courageous conscripts who believe in their country, but not in its actions beyond its borders.
We read about the cautious, even embarrassed, response of the authorities. And we see the wider implications of the philosophy of selective refusal - which is not the same thing as pacifism -- for conscientious citizens in every country where conscription still exists. Here is a real model for the peace movement in Israel and worldwide.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781848137660 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Bloomsbury Publishing |
| Publication date: | 07/18/2013 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 400 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
About the Author
In the late sixties, he became active in the radical left and peace movement. He is a founding member of the Council for Israeli-Palestinian Peace and serves on the steering committee of the human rights watchdog Betselem. Having refused to perform military duty in the occupied Palestinian territories, he now handles international contacts for Yesh Gvul ('There is a limit [to what an army can ask of its conscripts]'). Founded at the time of the invasion of Lebanon in 1982, the group became the voice and campaigning vehicle for the so-called refuseniks -- Israeli army reservists who report for duty when summoned but refuse morally objectionable assignments (notably serving on the West Bank and Gaza).
Read an Excerpt
Refusenik!
Israel's Soldiers of Conscience
By Peretz Kidron
Zed Books Ltd
Copyright © 2004 Peretz KidronAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-84813-079-1
CHAPTER 1
• The Early Refuseniks
Balance
by Yitzhak Laor
In December 1972, Yitzhak Laor — at the time a literature student at Tel Aviv University — was one of the first two IDF reservists to declare their 'selective refusal' to serve in the occupied territories, for which they incurred terms in a military prison. Their unprecedented refusal was a sensation at the time, prompting vigorous condemnation from most sections of Israeli opinion. Laor has since gone on to achieve renown in Israel as a leading poet, novelist and literary critic.
The gunner who rubbed out a hospital the pilot
Who burned a refugee camp the journalist
Who wooed hearts and minds for murder the actor
Who turned the whole thing into just one more war the teacher
Who sanctioned the bloodshed in class the rabbi
Who sanctified the killings the minister
Who raised a sweaty arm in favour the paratrooper
Who shot the third-time refugee the poet
Who lauded the nation on its finest hour and the nation
Who scented blood and blessed the Mig. The even-handed
Who said let's wait and see the party hack
Who went out of his way to flatter the army the sales clerk
Who scented traitors the policeman
Who beat an Arab in the anxious street the officer
Who was scared of refusing the prime minister
Who gulped down the blood eagerly. They shall not be cleansed.
Saying 'no' loudly and clearly
by Ishai Menuchin
Ishai Menuchin is the chairperson of Yesh Gvul, of which he was a cofounder in 1982. An IDF reserve major, he served a term in military jail in February–March 1983 for refusal to serve in Lebanon. Born 1958, in Rehovot, Menuchin lives near Jerusalem with his wife Dina, and their three children. He holds a Hebrew University master's degree in cognitive psychology, and is writing his Ph.D. thesis on 'Justification, pluralism and civil disobedience'. On top of writing and editing dozens of Yesh Gvul pamphlets and booklets for distribution to soldiers, Menuchin also promoted and edited the anthology Democracy and Obedience on the law and limits of obedience in a democratic society, with essays by leading Israeli and foreign philosophers, legal experts and writers, including one by Menuchin himself. Together with Dina Menuchin, he also edited Limits of Obedience, developing the subject of compliance and democracy in relation to the Lebanon war; contributors include Noam Chomsky and Prof. Yeshayahu Leibovitz.
Twenty years ago, when I was first inducted into the army, to serve as paratrooper and officer for four and half years, I took an oath to defend my country and obey my commanders. I was young, a patriot, probably naive, and sure that as a soldier I would only defend my home and country. It never occurred to me that I might be used as a tool of occupation or be asked to fight in wars of choice, as opposed to wars of defence. It took me one war, the Lebanon war, many dead friends, and some periods of service in the occupied territories to find that I was wrong, whereupon I refused to partake further in acts of occupation, spending 35 days in military prison as a consequence.
Being a citizen in a democracy carries with it a commitment to democratic values and a responsibility for your actions. It is morally impossible to be both a devoted democratic citizen and a regular offender against democratic values, and it is equally impossible to be such a citizen and neglect your democratic responsibility for your actions. Depriving people of the right to equality and freedom, and keeping them under occupation, is by definition an anti-democratic act. Keeping more than three and a half million Palestinians under brutal occupation for so many years is anti-democratic conduct that drives me, and hundreds of thousands of Israeli citizens, to oppose our government's policies and the army's actions in the territories.
My commitment to democratic values, and my responsibility for my actions, brought me to act against the occupation — to sign petitions, write ads, take part in demonstrations and vigils etc. But all these acts of opposition were not enough when I was required to participate — and in my capacity as officer, to order others to do likewise — in the occupation and its evils. I decided to selectively refuse military orders, if they included my presence in the territories. I will continue to serve in the Israeli Defense Force, but not in the Israeli Occupation Force. I will not obey 'illegal' orders to execute potential terrorists, or fire into civilian demonstrations. (Since October a 2000 close on 3,000 Palestinians have been killed by my army, including a significant number of children and minors, and an equally striking number executed). In addition, I will not take part in 'less violent' actions such as keeping Palestinians under curfew for months, manning roadblocks that prevent civilians moving from town to town, or participating in house demolitions and any other acts of repression in the Palestinian territories.
However, it is not enough for me personally to take no part in all these immoral acts, keeping my hands clean while my fellow citizens keep the Palestinians under occupation and rob them of their basic human rights. This too seems to me immoral and offends my commitment to democratic values. I believe in raised awareness of selective refusal as an option and as a political statement.
Hearing more and more hard testimony about massive violations of Palestinian human rights, it is increasingly evident that it is my right and duty as a citizen to say 'No' in the clearest and most overt fashion.
I refuse to take part in the occupation because I am an Israeli citizen — and take this citizenship seriously. I am not alone. Well over a thousand Israelis have declared that they will defend Israel, but will take no further part in the occupation. Since the onset of the second intifada, two hundred of these devoted Israeli citizens have been imprisoned for their commitment to these values. Our refusal to take part in these actions is a model for other Israelis, illustrating that there is an alternative to participation in occupation.
Bring the soldiers home!
In protest over Israel's invasion of Lebanon in June 1982, Yesh Gvul sponsored a petition that was signed by over 3000 reservists in 1982–3. This is what it said:
We have sworn to defend the wellbeing and security of the state of Israel. We are faithful to that oath. Therefore we appeal to be allowed to render our reserve service within the boundaries of the state of Israel, and not on Lebanese soil.
An artist at Ansar
by Zvi Goldstein
Zvi Goldstein, artist and art teacher at Jerusalem's Bezalel art academy, was jailed for refusal to serve in Lebanon.
In view of the storm my case has provoked, I feel obliged to explain the reasons that induced me to refuse to serve in Lebanon.
Although I was one of the signatories of the Yesh Gvul petition requesting release from service in Lebanon, I did not venture to express my objections in a practical manner until I was summoned to serve at the Ansar detention camp [that housed Palestinians and Lebanese detained without trial by the Israeli forces]. Ansar contrived to arouse in me both my political and civic feelings, and my artistic sensitivity to images.
Anselm Kipfer, the contemporary German artist, employs mythological tools to analyse his people's history. An Israeli Kipfer would probably resort to two images to comprehend our history: the Western Wall [a sanctified Jewish site in Jerusalem, sole relic of the Temple destroyed by the Romans 2000 years ago], and the Ansar detention camp, symbol of our 'enlightened' occupation of Lebanon, and man's domination by man.
I am not calling upon anyone to take a similar step. With that, we are obliged not merely to acknowledge mentally that we adhere to something; we should also give visual expression to our views.
Whatsoever we are unable to express today as human beings, we will be unable to express tomorrow as artists and intellectuals. I was fortunate that, due to the efforts of Yesh Gvul, my case was brought to the attention of the artistic community in Israel. But there are others who were imprisoned, and remain incarcerated for longer periods, anonymously and alone with their consciences.
Discovering the Palestinians
by Mike Levine
Scion of a prominent right-wing family, Mike Levine was imprisoned for refusal during the 1982–4 Lebanon campaign, going on to become an activist with Yesh Gvul and serving as the group's spokesperson. He is currently head of the trade union committee at the transport ministry.
I grew up in a very political home where there was total adulation of Zeev Jabotinsky [the right-wing Zionist writer, philosopher and ideologue], side by side with hatred of the Labour Party. My father had been an active Zionist in Russia and was imprisoned there several times. On arrival in this country he became a leading member of the nationalist Revisionist party. My upbringing was nationalist, but very liberal, with no trace of racism. True, my parents totally ignored Palestinian national aspirations, but I wasn't taught to hate them. In 1950, my father was elected to the Knesset for the right-wing Herut party.
My mother too was politically conscious and greatly involved in the Revisionist movement. She was Jabotinsky's secretary. Up to age 14, I was a member of Betar, the Revisionist youth movement. At my school in north Tel Aviv I was regarded as a right-wing extremist, one of three in the whole school.
I began to change after the 1967 war, while studying at the Jerusalem Hebrew University. I began to attend left-wing events, and for the first time I learned about the Palestinian national problem. I had been brought up with the knowledge of one side only, the Jewish side; suddenly I discovered we have partners in this land, with demands of their own.
That was the beginning of my 'downfall'. As a member of Herut, you have to be totally loyal to the movement and its members. In the 1969 elections I cast a blank ballot, finding it hard to vote against the party of my youth.
My father had died before my 'downfall', but I had bitter arguments with my mother. She was an enlightened, liberal woman, but she couldn't accept that there is a Palestinian people with rights of its own in this country. It demolished her whole value system.
My first thoughts of refusal came up during the Lebanon war. First time I was called up, I reported for duty. The second time I refused and joined Yesh Gvul. I should stress that my activity in the movement is in no way directed against the state of Israel. I do it out of concern and dread over what is happening here. I believe my refusal is an act of personal protest stemming from unwillingness to take part in the brutal acts committed by the Israeli army. Furthermore, I consider my refusal to be a patriotic act. I am entirely at peace with my convictions, I continue to be a member of the nationalist health insurance fund and continue to support the Jerusalem Betar football team, the emblem of the right-wing movement.
In solidarity with the almond trees
by Peretz Kidron
Reaching the top of the slope, we halted briefly to catch our breath. It was heavy going over the soft sands of Sinai, with our Bedouin tracker setting a brisk pace that had us, chubby reservists well beyond the flush of youth, and encumbered by rifles and combat webbing, panting heavily in the desert heat.
Wiping the sweat from my face, I heard the roar of a machine and my eyes were drawn to a scene of intensive activity. Beyond the rolling dunes, a bulldozer was at work, engine whining as its heavy blade churned the light soil. Before my stunned gaze, the driver set it in forward gear to lunge at a tree, bending it to the ground before uprooting it bodily. To his rear lay a long line of ravaged trunks the mechanical monster had already torn up, and the remaining trees stood waiting to undergo the same fate. Rows of almond trees.
It was a startling sight. Israel of those days was renowned worldwide for 'conquering the desert and converting it into a flourishing garden', and here was a flourishing grove of fruit trees being systematically reduced to bare desert. It was painful to see human endeavour demolished by human intent. 'What's that?', I asked the tracker. He cast a casual gaze at the machine. 'They're clearing the ground for a new Jewish settlement,' he said offhandedly. He need say no more.
It was 1974, seven years after Israel's conquest of the Sinai peninsula, and the government of the day was intent on strengthening its grip on the occupied peninsula by planting Israeli settlers at strategic points, displacing the region's Arab population. I knew all about the colonisation drive from media reports, and I was among the as-yet small band of anti-occupation campaigners who responded with vigorous but hitherto ineffective protest actions. But abstract knowledge was one thing: witnessing the process with my own eyes made it painful and inescapable.
That evening, back in our tent, somebody switched on a transistor radio to pick up the news. The main headlines were followed by a smaller item: 'Israeli military authorities in Sinai have taken action against Bedouin squatters who illegally seized state land in recent months. The squatters tried to lay claim to the land by planting almond saplings as proof of ownership. The saplings have been removed.'
That barefaced lie hit me like a physical blow in the face. My years in the kibbutz had set me tending in the fruit groves, and I knew something about trees. Nobody could convince me that trees whose uprooting required such effort by the powerful bulldozer were newly planted saplings! They were mature, well-rooted trees, and to reach that size in the inhospitable desert, they must have enjoyed loving care for many years, several decades at least. So the Bedouin families living there were long-time residents, not 'squatter' newcomers! On top of all its other sins and iniquities, my government was covering up its misdeeds in the occupied territories by resorting to deliberate untruths.
My annual military reserve service had long been engaging my conscience. Each time I reported with my unit, I shuddered at the prospect of being sent into some area of the occupied territories. I am no pacifist. I had completed my regular conscript service, I routinely did armed guard duty at the kibbutz and I was ready to defend my country against external aggression. But policing occupied Arab territory could not be regarded as 'defending my country'. I knew that the duties I would discharge — however reluctantly — were my own small contribution towards perpetuating Israel's domination of other people and their land. True, I was not alone: thousands of soldiers, conscripts and reservists alike, were pursuing similar assignments on a daily basis. The 'Israel Defence Force' (IDF) was rapidly turning into the IOF — Israel Occupation Force.
And to my dismay, I was part of it. It was an irritating awareness, in flat contradiction to my own deepest convictions, to my total commitment to the anti-occupation campaign. It was a strange predicament: I spent eleven months of the year campaigning against the occupation, and the twelfth month enforcing it! But what could I do? Disobey orders?
The notion of disobedience was not alien to me. Several personal friends and colleagues had refused to serve in the territories, thereby incurring jail sentences and widespread condemnation. Reserve duty was both a legal obligation and a socially enforced norm. This was an era when the army was sacrosanct, evasion of service was rare, and malingerers who sought pretexts to evade it were frowned upon. Conscious politically motivated refusal insofar as it existed at all — was regarded as sacrilege, disloyalty, a stab in the back.
I was unreservedly in favour of refusal. As for myself, I could perhaps face up to the social consequences of such a protest, my immediate circle largely sharing my own views. But I had to consider my two teenaged children, growing up in a border kibbutz with a firm military tradition. Did I have the right to expose them to sneers over a father who evaded his national security duties?
The issue had haunted me ever since two close friends had publicly refused service in the territories, and I found myself unable to express my solidarity in anything more useful than smearing an unoffending marble wall at Tel Aviv University with foot-high slogans demanding their release. I felt ashamed at my failure to emulate their bold act, but equally I hesitated at the consequences. I remained undecided, torn between conviction and apprehension.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Refusenik! by Peretz Kidron. Copyright © 2004 Peretz Kidron. Excerpted by permission of Zed Books Ltd.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Foreword - Susan SontagIntroduction: Israel's Refusnik Movement - Peretz Kidron
1. The Early Refuseniks
2. Balance - Yitzhak Laor
3. Saying 'no' loudly and clearly - Ishai Menuchin
4. An artist at Ansar - Zvi Goldstein
5. Discovering the Palestinians - Mike Levine
6. In solidarity with the almond trees - Peretz Kidron
7. The First Intifada
8. I'm no martyr - Hanoch Livneh
9. Whatever the price - Rami Hasson
10. The problem is in Jewish society - Menahem Hefetz
11. Refusal to Collaborate - Dudu Palma
12. I am an Arab Jew - Meir Amor
13. Father and son: refuseniks - Carlos and Amit Levinhoff
14. Spiral of evil - Stephen Langfur
15. The limit is human life - David Ovadia
16. The privilege of saying 'No!' - Adi Ofir
17. Silences that cry out - Doron Vilner
18. Benighted fanticism - Nitzan Levy
19. A typical 'NO' poem - Nathan Zach
20. A policy that demeans my country - Shaul Schwartz
21. The refusenik answers the writer - Mario Weinstein in correspondence with Yizhar Smilansky
22. On the festival of freedom I waive my freedom - Dubi Hayun
23. No to 'Always at Command' - Danny Zamir
24. 'You don't have to do anything wicked' - Daniel Padnes
25. Decent people don't shoot children - Itamar Pitovsky
26. I owe my children at least one refusal - Dan Sagir
27. The Philosophy of Selective Refusal - Peretz Kidron
28. The Story of Yuval and Imad
29. The Second Intifada
30. Letter to the editor of Koteret Rashit from Dov Barak
31. Statements by Jailed Conscripts
32. Those who enlist and those who don't - Uri Yaakovi
33. Militarism and racism have reached a fascist level - Haggai Matar
34. I am a prisoner, yet free - David Haham- Herson
35. A violent and racist society - Itamar Shahar
36. Statements by Jailed Reservists
37. Vile injustice - David Enoch
38. The red line - Michael Sfard
39. Collaboration makes me a criminal - Ro'i Kozlovsky
40. A cause which is not mine - Alex Lyakas
41. An enormous 'black flag' - Avner Kochavi
41. A letter to the commander of Battalion 719 - Ehud Shem Tuv
42. I killed three innocent civilians - Idan Kaspari
43. The shattered dream - Omry Yeshurun
44. The IDF teaches that it's okay to molest an Arab - Ishai Sgi
45. Black Flag - Itai Haviv
46. Three exercises in refusal - Ishai Rosen-Zvi
47. Is Marwan Barghouti yur uncle - Itai Ryb
48. Why am I mad at the IDF? - Ron Gerlitz
49. Closing Statements
50. My reply to the General - Yigal Bronner
51. Israel today is like a prison - Martin Kaminar
List of Addresses