Madam Speaker, when Israel unilaterally withdrew from Gaza in 2005, the Islamic group Hamas--which does not acknowledge Israel's right to exist--took control over the small strip of land. Since then, relations between Gaza and Israel have…
Madam Speaker, when Israel unilaterally withdrew from Gaza in 2005, the Islamic group Hamas--which does not acknowledge Israel's right to exist--took control over the small strip of land. Since then, relations between Gaza and Israel have steadily deteriorated.
On December 19, Hamas ended the 6-month cease-fire with Israel by launching dozens of rocket attacks into southern Israel, randomly targeting civilian neighborhoods. Eight days later, Israel began a counter defensive of large scale air strikes. Hamas has continually used Gaza as a launching pad for rockets against Israeli cities and has contributed deeply to a reduction in the quality of daily life and the deteriorating humanitarian situation.
I deeply support Israel's right to defend themselves against Hamas attacks. I also hope to see a sustainable crease-fire brokered to save the innocent victims of Hamas' continual instigation of Israel's defensive power.
A friend recently sent me this compelling Washington Post article which I would like to submit for the Record.
[From the Washington Post, Jan. 4, 2009]
As My Son Goes to War, I Am Fully Israeli At Last
(By Yossi Klein Halevi)
Jerusalem.--``I just heard on the news that Gavriel's base
has been shelled,'' my wife, Sarah, said to me last Tuesday,
referring to our 19-year-old son, a member of an Israeli army
tank unit waiting on the Gaza border for the order to enter.
And, she added in a deliberately calm tone, ``A soldier was
killed.'' We texted Gavriel, and within five minutes he
called, safe. How, Sarah asked, did families survive war
before cellphones?
For days we waited for a cabinet decision: Will there be a
land invasion or a new cease fire? The politicians began to
bicker while our soldiers waited on the border, in the rain
and the mud. Anything but this, I said to Sarah. Not another
Lebanon War, which, like Gaza, began with an impressive show
of Israeli air power but ended with Hezbollah leader Hassan
Nasrallah predicting the imminent end of ``the Zionist
entity.'' If we don't win this time--deliver an unambiguous
blow if not topple Hamas entirely--our deterrence will
further erode, inviting more rocket attacks and encouraging
the jihadist momentum throughout the Middle East.
And then I caught myself: How can I be hoping for an
outcome that will send my son into battle? This is my first
experience as the father of a soldier, and now, after 26
years of living in Israel, I finally understand the terrible
responsibility of being an Israeli. I had assumed that I'd
become initiated into Israeliness when I myself was drafted
into the army as a 34-year-old immigrant in 1989. But perhaps
only now have I become fully Israeli. Zionism promised to
empower the Jews by making them responsible for their fate;
the price for that achievement is to be prepared to make the
ultimate sacrifice for one's commitments.
I know Gaza from a previous conflict. During the first
intifada of the late 1980s, when Palestinians revolted
against the occupation, I was part of a reservist unit that
patrolled Gaza's refugee camps. There I learned
that there is no such thing as a benign occupation, as
Israelis had once deceived themselves into believing. Our
unit not only arrested terrorist suspects but also dragged
people out of their beds in the middle of the night to paint
over anti-Israel graffiti and rounded up innocents after a
grenade attack just to ``make a presence,'' in army
terminology. At night, in our tent, we argued about the
wisdom of turning soldiers into policemen of a hostile
civilian population that didn't want us there and which we
didn't want as part of our society.
A majority of Israelis emerged from the first intifada
convinced that we need to do everything possible to end the
occupation and ensure that our children don't serve as
enforcers of Gaza's despair. That was why I initially
supported the 1993 Oslo peace process that took a terrible
gamble on Yasser Arafat's supposed transformation from
terrorist to peacemaker. And even after it became clear that
Arafat and other Palestinian leaders never intended to accept
Israel's legitimacy, I supported the unilateral withdrawal
from Gaza in 2005, simply to extricate us from that region,
knowing that we would not receive peace in return.
And now my son is fighting in Gaza. The conflict he and his
friends confront is far worse than my generation's experience
in Gaza. In our time, we were confronted with mere rocks and
Molotov cocktails; my son faces Iranian-supplied anti-tank
weapons--one more price we will pay, along with the missile
attacks on our towns, for the Gaza withdrawal, just as the
Israeli right had warned.
Still, I don't regret that withdrawal. If Israelis are
united today about our right to defend ourselves against
Gaza's genocidally minded regime, it is at least partly
because we are fighting from our international border. My son
and his friends have one crucial advantage over my
generation's experience in Gaza: They know, as we did not,
that Israel was ready to make the ultimate sacrifice for
peace, uprooting thousands of its citizens from their homes
and endorsing a Palestinian state. My son confronts Gaza
knowing that its misery is now imposed by its leaders. He
knows that his country was even prepared to share its most
cherished national asset, Jerusalem, with its worst enemy,
Arafat, for the sake of preventing this war. That empowers
him with the moral self-confidence he will need to get
through the coming days. The face of my Gaza enemy was a
teenager throwing rocks; the face of Gavriel's Gaza enemy is
a suicide bomber.
But we are hardly free of moral anxiety. Even as I pray for
Gavriel's physical safety, I pray too for his spiritual well-
being: that his tank doesn't accidentally shell civilians,
that he isn't caught in some terrible mistake, which can so
easily happen in a war zone where terrorists hide behind
innocent people.
For the past eight years, Israel has fought a single war
with shifting fronts, moving from suicide bombings in
Jerusalem and Tel Aviv to Katyusha attacks on Israeli towns
near the Lebanon border to Qassam missiles on Israeli towns
near the Gaza border. That war has targeted civilians,
turning the home front into the actual front. And it has
transformed the nature of the conflict from a nationalist
struggle over Palestinian statehood to a holy war against
Jewish statehood. Except for a left-wing fringe, most
Israelis recognize the conflict in Gaza as part of a larger
war that has been declared against our being and that we must
fight.
But how? Even some right-wingers are saying that we should
have declared a unilateral cease-fire after the initial
airstrike and then dared Hamas to continue shelling our
towns, rather than risk another quagmire. And even some left-
wingers are saying that we should now destroy the Hamas
regime and then offer to turn Gaza over to international
control or, if possible, an inter-Arab force led by Egypt.
Every option is potentially disastrous. Most Israelis agree
on two points: that we cannot live with a jihadist statelet
on our border, and that we cannot become occupiers of Gaza
again.
The despair of Gaza is contagious. One friend, a Likud
supporter, said to me, ``I don't know what to hope for
anymore.''
Meanwhile, I try to reassure myself about Gavriel's safety.
Growing up in Jerusalem during the suicide bombings in the
early 2000s, he has already known danger, intimacy with
death. A 13-year-old acquaintance was stoned to death, and
was so mutilated that he could be identified only by his DNA.
A friend lost the use of an eye in a bus bombing on his way
to school. At least now, Gavriel and his friends can defend
themselves. Perhaps one reason most of them volunteered for
combat units was because now the generation of the suicide
bombings can finally fight back.
Just before the conflict in Gaza began, I happened to visit
Gavriel at his base. His unit's barracks had been turned into
what young Israelis call a ``zula''--a hangout. There were
muddy couches, chairs without backs, a darbuka drum, a TV
(Jay Leno was on). It could have been a teenage scene
anywhere in the West, except that hanging on the walls were
Hamas banners captured by the unit's veteran members in a
previous round of fighting in Gaza. In a corner of the room
hung a photograph of a fallen soldier. Across the bottom
someone had written, ``What was the rush, Shachar? Why did
you have to leave us so soon?''
Even now, perhaps especially now, I feel that our family is
privileged to belong to the Israeli story. Gavriel, grandson
of a Holocaust survivor, is part of an army defending the
Jewish people in its land. This is one of those moments when
our old ideals are tested anew and found to be still vital.
That provides some comfort as Sarah and I wait for the next
text message.
Yossi Klein Halevi is a senior fellow at the Adelson
Institute for Strategic Studies of the Shalem Center in
Jerusalem and the author of ``At the Entrance to the Garden
of Eden: A Jew's Search for God with Christians and Muslims
in the Holy Land.''