changing landscapes

This weekend we commemorate the victims of the Second World War in the Netherlands. We do this every year on the fourth of May, keeping two minutes silence, and on the fifth of May we celebrate freedom. Even more than seventy years after the start of German occupation of the Netherlands, remembering is a big deal. You could even say it is bigger than ever.

Like every year, there are places to remind the victims in many different places in Amsterdam. The most common place to go for the two minutes silence is Dam Square, where the most central official ceremony takes place. In hinesight I regret having gone there, it was extremely crowded and impossible to follow. Although the massive silence of thousands of people is extremely impressive.

However, the next location me and my friends decide to go to compensated the slight disappointment of Dam Square. We went to a performance called “Het hemelse leven” (The heavenly life) in the beautiful Company Theater. An interpretaion of  Mahler’s fourth Symphony in music and words, by sopran Hanneke de Wit, violiste Rosanne Philippens and the Amsterdam Ensemble and amazing words by Ramsey Nasr.

The performance tells the story of conductor Willem Mengelberg, the lead conductor of the famous Concertgebouw in Amsterdam. Mengelberg was passionately in love with Mahlers music and great friends with the man as well. He made it his personal mission to bring great music, and especially Mahler to an audience as large as possible. “Art is like a sun, which should shine for all people” he says.

But of course he finds the freedom of music ends with the coming of nazi Germany, and the occupation of the Netherlands in 1940. For Mengelberg the choice between personal succes or choosing to support the ones in danger is easy. He chooses to take the offer the Germans give him, to bring music to a large audience playing all over occupied Europe during the years of war. With this he soon gives up the right to play the music of his Jewish friend Mahler and allows occupation regulations to fire  his Jewish orchestra members.

The story takes us through the different parts of the Symphony, carefully taking us through the different phases of the period, from rise of the Third Reich, the capitulation of the Netherlands, the slowly building anti-semetic measures, which result in total exclusion and the disapperance of the until then so natural Jewish presence in Dutch musical life. Nasr refrains from mentioning gruwesome details but uses delicate metaphors to describe the terror. The high “d” in the second part dying away in the halls of the Concertgebouw to represent the graceful, discrete and therfor painful way the Jewish orchestra members disappeared.

Mengelberg thought music was above politics. That art was to high to be stopped by politics, that he did nothing wrong by submitting to occupation regime and he never hurt his people, he just turned to music, away from politics. But he was wrong, he was in the middle of politics, while the names of Mahler and Mendelsohn were  erased from the Concertgebouw he took part in an even greater evil: He helped erase culture.

Simply breathtaking. Ramsey Nasr is in my opinion the best writer and interpreter we have in the Netherlands. A small but  amazing detail, which has nothing to do with the quality of the piece, is that Ramsey is half Dutch, half Palestinian. Not something that in this post needs much emphasis, but interesting to mention.

Today, to close the weekend I visit one of the Jewish houses. Places where Jews lived before or during the war, where personal stories are shared and people are commemorated. What a strong way to remember. A house, in the Spinozastraat, where Greetje hided with her aunt and halfway the war is, for unknown reasons, is reunited with her parents in transit camp Westerbork and after that gassed in Auschwitz. Her Neighbour Max hides with a young student who, coming from a mixed marriage (Jewish, non-Jewish) reports herself as non-jewish after her parents are arrested and sent on transport. They miraculously survive.

What I learn from these stories is that who survives often is simply lucky, is extremely brave and gets help from good people. I too come from a mixed marriage like that. During the war my grandparents are both picked up at least once, kept in a prison in Scheveningen, and they survive, for unknown reasons. My grandmother has a star, but doesn’t always where it. She died, and hasn’t explained why. She must have had the luck, the bravery and or good people around them. I am here because of those three factors.

I sometimes have felt guilty for surviving. I have only one family member who was in a camp (in Indonesia). All direct relatives have fled to Switzerland and survived. What I learn from this weekend is gratitude. Gratitude for luck, for bravery and for good people. But also I feel once more an itch. Am I sometimes blinded by what I think is innocent but is in fact unjust, am I not always part of politics, whether I like it or not.

The complete text of Heavingly Life (in Dutch) is downloadable here

Write us a plan … but let us change it
We need you to be flexible …. but fit into the way the system works …
Be independent and assertive … but always keep the ideals of the to in the back of your mind.Walk in line, be special, walk in line, be special. Walk in line, be unique, but not too much, walk in line ….

“Nonono that is not the way we do it here.”
“So tell me how to do it?”
“We don’t know. Nobody really knows. I mean it is discussable, the rules are discussable.”
“So we can make a plan together?”
“No, I doesn’t work that way. You come with a suggestion. So they can look at it, and edit it. Then you make versions: version01, version02, until you all agree.
“Good. Then we done?”
“No. Then you will send it to the rest, they will make versions too.”
“Who are the rest?”
“Everyone, from bottom to top and horizontal as well.”
“Until when?”
“Until everybody agrees. They will all want to put their name on it.”
“But that will take too much time, it will be too late!”
“True that. Doubting the rules takes time, I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“So I just do it and not discuss?”
“Exactly, and then, they will be angry.”
“Why?”
“Because you never asked them!”
“Right.”
“Right.”

A few weeks my boyfriend and me traveled through Turkey for two weeks. It was a magnificent trip with an amazing variety of landscapes. Some places you can almost physically feel the speed of change there. Many cities are vibrant, breathing opportunity for growth and investment. People tell me, especially in Istanbul, neighborhoods change fast.

The differences between places are big. Not only the landscapes, also the people the attitudes. No wonder, the country has an enormous scale. We traveled quite a common route: chalk mountains in Pamakkule, rock houses in Urgup, a bit less common, more Arabic sphere in Hatay, and stunning nature and mountains in Cirali.

There are many things to say about Turkey. And I might write a few posts about this remarkable place. In this first one I would like to write about the overlap between domestic and wild animal life, which was everywhere.

There were semi-wild dogs and cats, and chickens and turkeys circling around people without fences and cages around them. They just hang around. A friend of me told me many dogs and cats were regarded as commons in Turkey. Everybody feeds them, takes care of them, but they sleep outside. In Istanbul you could find cat food in many places, and dogs hanging around shops, patiently waiting for their time to get a snack. The ones we saw seemed well fed, in good shape, and friendly. And they had their task as well. During walks we were often accompanied, even protected by dogs, who climbed mountains with us, waited until we slow two footers were ready. For instance until I cleaned my feet from sand, after a cross over through a small water. As if we had been friends for ever. I have had dogs as friends since I was a little girl. And this felt as safe and cosy like to old days.

But the wild life of dogs was tough as well. A young female dog friend we made, who was in her fertile period (do you call it a dog in heat?) was sexually assaulted constantly by excited male dogs around us. She followed us for shelter and soon we had a circus of dogs following us on our walk, including the beach cafe we walked into, and afterwards to the hostel we stayed at. The next morning she was still there. I hope our hostel owner will protect her a little until the rough days are over.

Around the hostel there was also a huge population of chickens and especially roosters, or cocks. Roosters tend to conquer and defend territory. Several roosters in a small space fight until someone wins, or the other dies or gets hurt severely. There were spectacular fights going on between the animals which were terrifying, horrific and exciting at the same time. Real life animal planet.

Wildlife is cruel. In the Netherlands we are used to regulate things. We stuffed our small country with buildings and have mostly regulated, artificial nature left. Next nature. And to me this transition from wild to next nature is fascinating, but also messy. Especially the male-female, weak or strong battle, which seems never ending, and also shows some similarities with human life (though of course you should always be careful of comparing worlds). Also the people of Turkey made a big impression on me. Extremely hospitable, with a complex history, a dominant religion which is exercised in various ways, with a big talent for entrepreneurship and maybe a need for a bit more organization.

Maybe my little wildlife story is a good first step for a next blog about people in the area. I loved the idea of not owning dogs and cats but concerning them commons, getting companionship and a bit of protection in return. I think we can learn a great deal of that. I also think too many territorial ambitions on a small territory will unavoidably result in cock fights.

Here in Holland we are preparing for crisis. It is a little surreal. We have everything we want but fear is, we don’t know when, all we have will disappear. And we will be left with no currency and an abundance of goods of inferior quality. Piles and piles of plastics, and H & M clothes, and terrible food with high doses of preservatives, and no system to make everything change hands frequently, and no system to remake these things again …

And then what? … Secretly some of us are already preparing, growing our own foods, picking up grandfathers carpentry tools, to prepare for an era of self sufficiency. A funny article in NRC Next this week told us to stop working so much and to start getting used to to doing other things than working, workaholics like me, used to offices and laptops and not having being able to explain our professions for a few years now … our era is ending. My era is ending ….

I am taking the ending of this year to rethink my way in life once more….  To be honest, for myself I don’t worry too much about this crisis. If it comes it will bring complete chaos at the most, a little chaos at the middle, a fierce adjustment at the least. Maybe I am naive, as always, but I expect a little flexibility and a steady base will yet again help me through the terror.

I do worry about the people I see who have less to build on. I sat in the tram next to an old man this week. He was reading a letter. I didn’t mean to at first, but curiosity (and yes indecency) lead me read over his shoulder. He got a letter his allowance will no longer be provided by the DWI (Amsterdam Service for work and income). Of course I don’t know anything about him. He might really not need the money. The DWI might be right not giving him support, but something tells me this is a sign of the time we are living in.

Something tells me we need to do more than we did to protect the vulnerable ones, the ones who are coming from far away places, or just from here, who work in factories to be closed soon. Preparing for crisis maybe also is preparing to opening our doors for each other again … who in for starting to practice that?

This weekend I was back in Tel Aviv. The first time after I left 5 months ago. It is the same city, and yet many things have changed. While I was gone thousands of people were marching for social justice. Friends talk to me about seas of tents and people, and round circles where different groups of people are discussing what they think should change. God, so many times I wished I was there. The marches, the conversations, the hope in the air. I can only imagine the powerful sensation.

Now, a few months later, left overs of the revolution are decorating the streets. Little tents here and there, yellow stickers, and I don’t think I am imagining a general sense of optimism. On Saturday evening I witnessed a small demonstration on Rotschild. A small circle of people dancing, singing, having sit ins. When I was there I felt a bit estranged, not feeling part of a revolution I didn’t quite understand (my hebrew is still very much kacha kacha), but surely something was going on. Even after some of the demands of been responded to, this movement still seemed alife.

Last year I interviewed Maysa Baransi of Radio Shalom. She said it clear: “We have no tradition of civil society being taken seriously here” and expressed a hope for change and strength to gather in society. Now there you have it. This year changed that. In many places. I am curious about what this, and many movements are bringing us. Social Justice, they are demanding. A government to govern for the people. An economy to be there for and of the people. As I am writing this the news of Gilad Shalit’s release is coming in. Many see this as a victory of the people, who marched for his freedom.

The other day I read a blog in the economist. It reminded me of (one of the) the tail(s) of the revolution I witnessed on Rotshild this weekend. A quote: “to bring about real change in a real democracy you also have to do real politics. It just takes work—and enough people who think like you “. I guess these are the next steps.

In the morning at the train station I see them. The ones who made a transfer station into their temporary homes. What a paradoxical place to be: a house in movement. I wonder. Will it ever be me in my sleeping bag at Central Station. What is keeping me now from ending up there? What is the difference between having and not having? They say it’s a thin line but I guess you don’t know how thin until you are there.

I think of the times we are living in. The stress being spread by banks and politicians about more and deeper financial crisis to come and how it will effect the relatively safe and rich world we are living in.

When I was in New York a few years ago during the last crisis,  the thin line was frighteningly visible. A woman, dressed as if she could well be a consultant or marketeer in some fancy office, had just been kicked out of her house. She was desperate, in the subway, didn’t know where to go. No one helped her. Will this hit us too? And then, when it hits us, how will we deal with it?

What I find scary at the moment is the lack of solidarity in public life. Sometimes we hardly seem to know what to do anymore when someone falls from the stairs, or an old woman can’t carry her luggage, figure what will happen if large groups of people will end up in “shameful” situations: without money, or a house, dirty, vulnerable. A bigger division of haves and have-nots will grow.

I have been wondering for a while. What are the right choices to make. How do I contribute most in life: By trying to contribute to the system, trying to make it healthier, more innovative, more human, or by helping the ones who fall out of it? As far as I am concerned you have several choices:

1. Go for the money and security, if possible fame, work for a company, maybe even a government, go with the flow and just not think about the negative influence on the world you might be contributing to;

2. Be part of the system and try to change it from within;

3. Go out of the system and do whatever you think is right by building something new, or work on the borders of society and try to contribute in whatever way you can;

Currently I find myself in 2, since 1 is no option for me, although … what exactly is the difference between 1 and 2? I am afraid I slide of to 1 every now and then,  don’t we all … For 3 I am preparing .. gathering tools and courage to take a big step.

It’s Jewish new year. A good moment to think and plan again and to consider what is valuable, to prepare for new changes and to make them happen. I have a feeling the coming period will make me choose my priorities…  Shana Tova

I come from an exploring family. My father was born in what now is Indonesia. His family before that lived in Suriname. The colonist part is not something I am particularly proud of, although it must have taken a lot of courage to move to exotic places like that, but the sense of adventure is something I can relate to. Me, I also like finding my way in new environments, but in a more neutral way.

After having come back from Israel I am now exploring a whole new life: the life as a governmental official. In the centre of Dutch governance: The Hague.

I think I can say I am a peaceful person. I am one of those mediators, I tend to find the middle road, want to have understanding for different points of view, and find a solution or work with stubbornly ones who hold on to their ideals. This was something that tore me apart, but also made me survive in the Middle East.

Coming back to Holland struck me as the most boring decision I possibly could have made. And for a while I thought it was. Until I discovered there actually was a kind of a Stratego right in front of me. It turned out making and executing policy for a Dutch Municipality is also a small battlefield. Of course the weapons are of different order, and fighting is not about life, death, water or land. But it is all about territory.

I found is that conflict is not a matter of different parties simply not agreeing and fighting it out. Conflict is much more than that. The execution of conflict is a complex web of alliances, secret meetings, kind smiles and vicious emails, drinks and lunches.And worst of all, its addictive … I tend to think people actually are hooked to this game of intrigues and alliances. They need it in order to keep going. It’s Westwing!

Today I heard myself saying “Why can’t they just cooperate and focus on the people who are supposed to be working for?” Now. Where did I hear this before?

I guess my journey continuous: Again I am trying to build bridges and support new solutions, finding the pioneers …  Wish me luck!

Na zeven maanden in Israel was ik gefrustreerd door het gebrek aan engagment. Tel Aviv leek een stad met enorm ongebruikt potentieel: grote aantallen slimme, jonge, kritische mensen en enorme problemen. En toch leefden de meesten met weggestopte frustratie en “lang leve de lol” mentaliteit. De krant was dikwijks een taboe onderwerp. Er was niets aan te doen.

Vlak voor ik wegging leek er iets veranderd, misschien lag het aan mij, en was ik meer op mijn gemak, maar steeds vaker had ik vurige gesprekken niet alleen over de bezetting, maar ook over andere onderwerpen.  De leefomstandigheden van de allerarmsten die onder alle bevolkingsgroepen voorkomen waren abominabel, het onderwijs moest beter.
Over de huurprijzen in Tel Aviv was iedereen het eens. Belachelijk, te hoog, onhaalbaar voor de meesten. Er was voorzichtige onrust: Er waren stakingen van sociaal werkers en artsen die CAO onderhandelingen afdwongen.

Voorzichtige onrust, want: “Israeli’s demonstreren niet, niet echt”, dat zeiden mijn vrienden. Politiek engagement was aanwezig, iedereen vond wel wat, maar het gevoel iets te kunnen betekenen ontbrak. “Onze politiek is corrupt en versnipperd en vertegenwoordigd onze belangen niet”. Politiek nam de burgerbeweging niet serieus. “Er is hier geen relatie tussen civil society en politiek, dat is een groot probleem” vertelde de directrice van Radio all for Peace me tijdens een interview.

En dan is er nu de protestbeweging. Al weken slapen jonge Tel Avivians in tenten op Rotschild, de flaneerboulevard in Tel Aviv. Ze protesteren tegen de hoge huizenprijzen. Inmiddels is de beweging verspreid over het hele land. Honderd duizenden mensen. Ze zijn niet meer te negereren. Toen ik er voor het eerst over hoorde vond ik al die opwinding een beetje absurd, bijna vulgair. “Een beetje protesteren over je huizenprijzen terwijl verderop mensen voor hun eigen rechten strijden.”  Maar stukje bij beetje begin ik ervan overtuigd te worden dat er wel degelijk iets belangrijks aan de hand is.

De Israelische bevolking was lange tijd verdeeld. Juist over zaken als de bezetting, over het nut of onnut van vrede, kon men het niet eens worden. Eindeloze gesprekken over zionisme, post-zionisme, stonden ook andere onderwerpen in het land in de weg. En hierdoor ontbrak het aan een sterk tegengeluid. Het heeft Israel gemaakt tot een land dat in vele opzichten op de VS lijkt. Voor een groot deel kapitalistisch met een groot onderscheid tussen de haves and de have-nots en enorme sociale problemen.

De huizenbeweging heeft nu haar eisen neergelegd bij Netanyahu (Bibi, in de vollksmond). Als Bibi gehoor geeft aan hun eisen is de toon gezet. Dan is links terug. Geleid door een groep jonge, gedreven en intelligente leiders. Een groep mensen die natuurlijk een mening heeft over het conflict, maar voorzichtig start en eenheid creeert in haar achterban door te starten met onderwerpen waar iedereen onder te lijden heeft. Ik volg vol hoop de ontwikkelingen ….

Een nogal impertinente vraag die ik in Israël bijna dagelijks hoorde. Het antwoord had kennelijk implicaties. In Israël betekent het zoiets als:

• ben je een mogelijke blijver? (familie, vrienden, kennissen, werkcontacten)
• ben je date/huwbaar (willekeurig jongens in tram, bus, club, café, strand)
• ben je “een potentiele vijand” (ergens in Ramallah, Betlehem, of elders achter de Groene Lijn)

Ik had niet een consequent antwoord. Met mijn familieachtergrond ben ik “joods genoeg”. Joods genoeg om me joods te laten verklaren. Joods genoeg om aliyah te maken. Maar onjoods opgevoed en op geen manier verbonden met gemeenschappen hier in Nederland.

Dus zei ik soms:

• Ja (als ik discussie wilde vermijden) of;
• Jewish enough (als ik, op cynische wijze wilde uitleggen dat ik het bizar vond dat ik gebaseerd op mijn achtergrond mijn geboorteland mocht ruilen tegen “The Holy”) of;
• I don’t know (als ik het echt even niet meer wist)

Tegen het eind van mijn verblijf deed het er niet zoveel meer toe. Ik voelde me thuis en had niet meer de behoefte mijn wel, half, of niet-joods zijn te verklaren of verdedigen. Mijn joods-zijn was en is van mij, een van de dingen die bij mij horen, net als Amsterdam, en mooie muziek en een heleboel andere dingen.

Wat echter constant aanwezig bleef, en ook niet meer is verdwenen na mijn terugkomst, was de druk op de positie die je innam binnen “de kwestie”. Er ging haast geen dag voorbij zonder de vraag te krijgen waar jij staat. Een Engelse vriendin van mij die ook in Israël woont, schreef laatst een prachtige column hierover “Roses are red, violets are blue, are you pro-Arab, or are you pro-Jew”

De laatste weken leek de druk om te kiezen alleen maar vergroot. Tijdens de “airflotilla” kregen “goede toeristen” bloemen van het Ministerie van Toerisme om te laten zien dat Israël niet alleen eng was (zie hier). Met de goede toeristen leken ze te bedoelen, degenen die niet aangaven van plan te zijn naar de Westelijke Jordaanoever te reizen. Tijdens mijn verblijf ging ik regelmatig naar de Westelijke Jordaanoever. Ben ik nu een slechte toerist?

Ik weiger te kiezen. In Israël heb ik me nooit aangesloten bij activistische organisaties. Mijn blogs voor EAJG schrijf ik omdat ik wil laten zien dat ik vanuit een connectie met Israël, met grote zorg kijk naar hoe er omgegaan wordt met kritiek op het systeem, en wat er gebeurt in de bezette gebieden.

Joods genoeg voor Israël, mens genoeg voor de wereld…. zoiets???

Last week it was my turn to write something for “a different Jewish sound”. I had a terrible time getting something in writing. In the end this is what I wrote:

“Dear people,

This week I don’t seem to manage to write anything solid about Israel. This writers block is caused by  a feeling of disturbance caused by Israeli news. Every morning I still have the tendency to check Haaretz, Jpost, and follow some bloggers. I know it’s risky because it pulls me down. The result is that my warm feelings towards the country in connection with dear friends and family are constantly disturbed by messages about arrests, skunk machines, predictions of Third Intifada’s, messages about anti-semitism, filmclips about danger coming from the Westbank, filmclips about the mythology of anti-semitism. etc. etc. etc.

Anyway. My love for this place, my friends and family is as big as the despair which overcomes me hearing again horrific news about the region. I can’t seem to reconcile this with my experiences. It’s not that they didn’t occur when I was there. The difference is, that experiencing it at the spot offers a context, people who go through it themselves, who live this life, who know their normal life that evolves around it. This is a world of difference. Hearing the news here is a frustrating experience. There is no one to fire my confusion at, no one to refute my conclusions, or no one who just smiles and says they understand.

So I apologize, hardly any words this week, instead I use someone else’s. A friend taught me a poem by Jehuda Amichai, “The precision of pain and the bluriness of joy”. Of course the poem is about love, but to me it is also applicable to my feelings about Israel. In short it says: Pain is easy to localize, it can pierce, it can sting, you can describe it quite well, but joy is so much more difficult to catch in words. http://www.chanabloch.com/open-closed-open.html.”

I guess I choose the poem for a reason, Israel and me, we have some kind of affair. And yes, if Israel were a lover, he would be someone my mother would warn me for. Which is of course exactly the attraction it has on me ….