An attempted translation of a short story by Yossel Birshtein

I am but a shadow/ Yossel Birstein (from “Stories Dancing in the Streets of Jerusalem”)

A famous poet came to my house. Walked around in my room with a drink in his hand, and talked about himself and about Jerusalem.
Was enthusiastic with both.
So much so that he sat in the chair and did not realize that he was sitting on me.
I signaled my wife not to shout. Let me be a shadow. He’s heavy. He’s weighing down on me. And I am involved but I cannot interfere.Jerusalem too weighs down on me. But when a new story emerges on the horizon, and even it is weighing down on me, I choose to remain a shadow – involved but not interfering.

May 24 Conference Meeting

These are some clarifications I would like to make about what I’ve said at the last video conference. I thought about it a lot and I think my discomfort with the position I found myself in during this course, has distorted some of what I had to say. A great deal of my discomfort was actually my discomfort with my being an Israeli. At the beginning of this course, before we started the video conferences, I read a piece about what happened to the Palestinians in Haifa during the 1948 war. I told Vered then, that Israelis can debate their history's accuracy but I'm not sure we can be proud of it. I see my frustration as a positive thing: this course frustrated me, in part, because it made me do what I've been avoiding from doing for a long time- facing the reality. I'm grateful for having had the chance to do so. Although I still think that in order to establish a fruitful dialogue, the materials should have been more balanced, what I meant for was to raise the following question, must a sense of belonging to a place (Makom) rely solely and exclusively on a connection to the land itself. I feel that as an Israeli in the context of such a course, I'm at a competition I'm supposed to lose and I have no desire to compete with anyone. It's not debatable that historically the Palestinians are more connected to the land itself, but Israeli's also have a very strong connection to the place, some of it- a connection through text. Is a connection to the land exclusively defines the connection to the place, or do other possibilities of connection are equally valid? I would like to take this opportunity to once again thank Aaron for his remark; I guess keeping an open mind means willing to accept even the unexpected. Since this is the end of this course, I just wanted to say thank you all for an enlightening experience.

First week's readings

First I'd like to apologize for me limited use of English. I'm trying my best. After reading the articles (a long time ago; sorry for my delayed response; so many apologies…) I've read the comments posted here. I'm sad to admit it but I do question the very possibility of an open discussion about Palestinian-Israeli matters, even in an allegedly politics-free context such as this course, because only half of the possible efforts are being put to use. One of the thing that were rose from both Galit's piece and Suad's was the discourse's (as well as the practice's) inability to break free of the Political context. And it should be so. If I have any criticism here, it is towards the somewhat naïve attempts, you sometimes encounter, to create a non-political communication. I do not want those attempts to stop either. I give full credit to any attempt of establishing dialogue between Israelis and Palestinians. If there's anything clear by now, it is that the politicians take their sweet time not talking to one another at the expense of people's suffering. It's clear that open discussion, as an inseparable characteristic of the two people's culture, could emerge only from the people themselves, not from their so-called leaders. I'm merely suggesting here that we change the way we talk to each other (and talk more often): we should combine the two discourses- the political and the non-political. If we want to create change we cannot leave a portion of the matter unhandled. We have to be brave enough in both directions- listening to one another and stating what we have to say. The challenge is not just talking to each other; this is not a historical-geographic cocktail party. Lives are on the balance here and we cannot afford to pretend we're making real progress when were not. We must rise up to the challenge that is discussing what combines us (folklore and ethnography can serve us well to locate that) and also what separates us, namely- the conflict. Perhaps some real progress would have been made back then if the teams of the geopolitical project worked together with the teams of the cultural- academic project. We might not have gotten either- the festival or peace- but maybe, just maybe, we would have gotten one. That could have been real progress. That could have meant hope.

A self-introduction through an object

Having to choose one object that somehow symbolizes my identity, I did a great deal of thinking about the significance of all those little things I can’t do without and about the meaning of that elusive concept- “Identity”. I’ve come to two conclusions: a. there is no one object that defines me well enough and b. there is no clear-cut definition of me. Not that I am special that way. I believe a person, any person, is one of the toughest things to define (if at all possible) and that any such definition would cast aside some aspects of one’s identity, even certain aspects that are crucial for one’s sense of self identity.

Twisting my own arm, I can come up with one object that bears a unique significance for me; through its significance I might be able to actually make some sort of proper introduction of myself. It’s a book by Albert Camus called Le Premier Homme (loosely translated- my copy is a translation to Hebrew of it- The First Man). It’s his last novel, or, you might say- his final novel. They found what seemed to be the first draft of this book in the wreckage of the car he died in. His kids published it some thirty-four years after his death. It’s an interesting piece to read since it is still in the rough: Camus hasn’t yet decided on the names for all of his characters and that is why some of those carry different names throughout of the book; some of the plotlines do not coincide entirely; it was published with his hand written remarks of what to change and what to add. All in all- a diamond in the rough.

It was given to me by a friend of mine for my eighteenth birthday. The reason was that the novel speaks of a man in search of his past and in order to find his present and a path to his future. At that point in my life I had just embarked on a similar quest, one that I have yet to complete. To some extent I hope I never do. You know, books are my favorite present. Whenever I get one (instead of wasting lots of money I don’t really have on ones I will probably not read anytime soon) I take great comfort in the notion that I have yet another book to display in my library and someone who knows me well enough to know what to buy me.

To sum all this up: I consider myself to be an admirer of the written word, but not exactly a bookworm. I’m also a person who accumulates books and design his library to be a projection of himself: meaningful moments in my life and significant aspects of myself transfigure into these chaotic shelves I have yet to put in order. To some extent I hope I never do. And finally, I’m someone who appreciates true friends, the ones that really know you; I cherish what was given to me by them.