The Movement for Reform Judaism

'The pioneering spirit has gone. Israelis are more concerned with self interest and the material benefits of capitalism.'  I paraphrase this comment that a few people I encountered during my recent journey, with the Movement for Reform Judaism, viewed as the zeitgeist of modern Israel.  I disagree.  The plurality of Israeli society challenges a one-dimensional analysis of its people.  Apart from the dubious ideology of certain settlers in the West Bank, who consider themselves chalutzim as they construct illegal outposts, one cannot discount those who chose to live an agrarian life style, worlds away from the seductive delights of Tel Aviv, in the shadow of impending danger.  These people continue to pioneer a right to live in peace;  a refusal to be driven out;  a strength of purpose and commitment  to the undisputed land in which they were born.

There is a clear distinction between those who pioneer for peace and security in their own land, and those who sabotage any chance of peace and security by settling disputed land that they consider belongs to the Jewish people.

As I sit down to write this article, it is the morning of June 5 2007.  Forty years ago Israel had embarked on the briefest war of its history, to date.  Shimon Biton was four years old.  Three years later, in 1970, something would happen to change his life for ever.

On an early spring evening, after travelling through the Golan, we arrive at Avivim, a moshav on the Lebanese border, or the Line of Confrontation.  We are greeted by Sharon Steinbaum-Open from the UJIA and Shimon.  In a cool room, Sharon tells us that we are about to hear a narrative that affected the life of Shimon, his family and many other families in the moshav.

Shimon stands facing us.He stands very upright. As he begins his story in Ivrit, Sharon becomes his interpreter. Apart from a brief amusing anecdote about his conception in Morocco and birth in Israel, Shimon does not smile.  As his narrative unfolds I am surprised he does not weep, but he has had nearly forty years to come to terms with what happened.  And he has no doubt recounted the event many times.  But his body language suggests that he is stealing himself against emotion, which has a habit of creeping up on us when we least expect it. 

One morning, aged seven, he took the bus to school as usual, with his friends, teachers and father.  A terrorist group (unspecified) fired a bazooka into the bus.  It was a direct hit and killed 12 people, 8 of whom were children.  His father was also killed.  He was twenty seven years old.  Many children were injured, including Shimon.  They were airlifted to the Rambam Hospital in Haifa.  Shimon suffered shrapnel injuries that kept him in hospital for six months.  It was only after five months that he was told his father had been killed.  His widowed mother had three small children and decided she would not be driven out by terrorists.

At eighteen he joined the IDF, completing full army training, despite being exempted due to his injuries.  In 1982, he served on the Lebanese border from where he could see his home.  It was from this vantage point that he vowed never to leave Avivim.

After army service, Shimon returned to Avivim taking a job as a school bus driver.  Together with his role as chairman of the Moshav Avivim council, he is now the director of the Upper Galilee Regional Council?s transportation department.  Perhaps Shimon deals with his own demons through his defiant resolve to continue school transportation.

During last summer's war with Hizbollah, the moshav came under intense fire from katyusha rockets.  We walk outside to see how close Lebanon is.  I say to Shimon in my embryonic Ivrit that the land is so beautiful.

"Ma? Levanon?"  (What? Lebanon?)

"All of this here", I say, spreading my arms wide.  One cannot blame the land for the hostile actions of some of its people.  He leans closer to hear me as his hearing was impaired by the bazooka attack.

Yaakov joins us.  He is a senior member of the moshav.  He points to some bushes, a few feet away, where 8 soldiers were killed.  They had been some of the first casualties.  He explains how the IDF had taken such care not to cause civilian casualties.  He tells us that Hizbollah are digging in again, within eyeshot of Avivim.  They are digging bunkers into the mountains above the moshav to install rocket launchers.

"How do you see the future?", I ask Yaakov.

He smiles and I can understand the word 'optimist' in Ivrit.  He says he is not a young man and has experienced many attacks.

We say farewell, as a hawk flies over our heads.  I gaze against the setting sun toward  the mountains of Lebanon.  Such a beautiful landscape, but I wonder who is watching us.  The electric border fence is within walking distance.

Sharon joins us on the bus.  As we drive along the border toward Tzfat, she points out the yellow flags of Hizbollah in the distance.  One flag, however, is yards away from the road, planted feet away from an Israeli outpost.  Hizbollah?s way of taunting Israel is both provocative and deeply disturbing.  Sharon tells she and her young family are leaving Avivim.  They will be moving to a kibbutz even closer to the Lebanese border.

Researching Shimon and Avivim when I return home, I find a recent posting on the internet.  In an article by Hagai Einav, (published April 30 2007, Israel News) Shimon felt that the residents had been ignored and abandoned by the government.  He spoke of how residents of the northern town 'gave their heart and soul' during the war.

"It's been nine months since the war and residents feel as though they are being blown off and ridiculed" Biton said.

Biton said that much of the damage caused during the war was still visible today; a destroyed border fence in a town near the border, as well as electricity poles, roads, sidewalks, and public institutions damaged by tanks, have not yet been repaired.

"Everyone spoke of rehabilitating the Galilee and its communities, but we feel like instead of building, they are tearing us down. Why do I have to beg for aid from the prime minister's office?"

The lives of people like Shimon and Sharon are not driven by self interest and the material benefits of capitalism.  They are driven by a love and commitment to the land in which they have every right to live in peace.  Avivim is not an illegal settlement, but a fully functioning farming community within agreed borders.  Unfortunately its proximity to Lebanon leaves it extremely vulnerable to attack as a soft target. 

The people who continue to live here have not lost the pioneering spirit.  Call them 'stiff necked'if you like, but if they were to cede to terrorist action, a dangerous precedent would be set that would damage the heart of the Israeli nation, in all of its plurality.

An edginess pervades certain sectors of Israeli society.  The word on the ground is that this summer will see renewed hostilities with Hizbollah, with the full backing of the ayatollahs in Iran.  This time the IDF will be better prepared, one hears.  Akiva Tor, the man at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs said:  "We don't watch the Israelis, we are watching the Arabs."  That may be so, but one hope the focus also shifts to those living on the line of confrontation in places like Avivim.  It would be a grave error to consign to a footnote of history pioneers like Shimon, Yaakov , Sharon and the many communities committed to developing this extraordinary resilient country.

Click here to view a gallery of pictures from the trip.

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