I just cut the locks at the back of my head, and now I look more like the Republican Gay that at least one of my friends takes me to be. I think it was a beer-related incident:
“you don’t drink Goldstar? oh my god, you’re such a republican gay!”
I’m sorry, I know it’s locally brewed but it’s the worst beer I’ve ever tasted.
as this operation involved broom and dustpan, I continued from hair in the bathroom to the mud on mom’s marbles, all the way from Abed’s land in Jerusalem. we planted some olive trees and had a great lunch. there are usually jokes cracked at the vegan tendencies of many of the Israeli volunteers, but this time the atmosphere was a bit solemn due to the Israeli attacks on gaza. some of us have family members trapped there, unable to seek refuge from oncoming missiles or flee past the border into either Israel or Egypt. trapped. butchered.
from Abed’s, we drive down to Tel Aviv again for the big anti-war/pro-peace demonstration. I meet my little family of friends in the anarchist block, last and loudest to march, complete with an unrelenting drum section. I am full of gratitude for friends I’ve made this past year in Tel Aviv. beautiful, amazing people, each and every one.
nearing the cinematheque, I find myself hungry and tired. I want to sit down and eat, but more than that I want to keep dancing to the drums. I need a drug. I go for coke. I walk past the police line, spotting a shop nearby. men wrapped in Israeli flags await me there. they don’t look pleased to see me.
“are you one of them?!”, this guy screams in my face. I tell him I’m one of me (this sounds cleverer in Hebrew I must say), and keep walking. this is proof enough for him that I am The Enemy.
“guys! come over! I found a traitor! here he is, a stinking little traitor!”
seconds later I find myself in the shop, reaching for coke, surrounded by heavy clouds of zionist hatred. they’re screaming.
now, I promised myself when this gaza episode started that I would not join the war - I would not join any war, in fact, not in body, speech, action or even thought. it can be tempting, sometimes. we all know. anger is a very potent energy, especially around the dinner table when the stakes are not this high. but now, I remind myself - no war. they’re not making it easy.
“you fucking traitor! you dirty motherfucker! why don’t you demonstrate for Sderot?! where the fuck were you then?! dirty nazi! go get fucked by your arab friends, traitor!”
as I take out my wallet to pay for my coke, one of them shouts at the shopkeeper to not take my dirty money and takes out his own wallet.
“you’re going to buy me a coke?”, I ask. that’s so generous of him, in a warped kind way. but he doesn’t come through, and a policeman grabs me and asks me to get the hell out of there. it was one of those rare moments in life where I find my gratitude extending to the presence of the Israeli police force. I walk back to the demonstration, not before casually being kicked at as the yelling continues. no serious damages.
