August 7th, '07
Falcon Ridge: Israeli Impressions

Being an Israeli at an American folk festival certainly opened my eyes, and not just in terms of music. Even though I was born and bred in the USA, two decades in the Middle East have changed me. Don't get me wrong... my experience at Falcon Ridge was overwhelmingly positive. Still, there were a few moments of culture shock - mostly when my own Israeli cultural baggage came up against what it means to be an American today.

Many supporters of Israel believe, as I do, that my country gets far more than its fair share of criticism for its policies - policies that would not be necessary, and would cease to exist, if our immediate neighbors were not so intent on killing us. But such caveats aside, there's no denying that criticism of Israel has become mainstream. As an identity-card-carrying citizen of the world's top pariah state, I expected that I would hear some of this criticism at the festival. And I was not disappointed.

The moment I arrived at the festival, I headed for the "Performers' Liason" tent. I introduced myself, and admit that I brought the Israel thing up (hey, I'm a walking conversation piece!). Right there at check in, a smiling woman volunteered the following: "Oh, you're from Israel? You know, I used to think that volunteering for the Israeli army was a good thing, but with what they're doing to the Palestinians, I can't support that anymore."

Oh (said the woman whose almost 50-year-old husband is still doing reserve duty, and is well aware that the standing Israeli army is not staffed by "volunteers"). Is that my badge? Thanks. See you later.

Fast-forwarding through the festival, I was constantly asked about life in my home country. I relied on the following, more-or-less prepared statement:

"Yeah, I love living there, and life is generally more normal than what you see on TV. But we're experiencing hard times lately. We pulled out of Lebanon two years ago, and they're bombing us from there. We pulled out of Gaza last year, and they're bombing us from there. Now people want us to pull out of the West Bank in order to create a Palestinian state (even though one technically exists in Gaza). With everything that's happened, it would be a very difficult, and maybe foolhardy, thing to do."

This layman's analysis led one new acquaintance to burst out with venom about last summer's Lebanon War. "Look at the NUMBERS!" he cried - parroting an oft-repeated argument about how Israel must be the bad guy, because its highly-trained airforce killed more Lebanese civilians than Hizballah's relatively low-tech rockets killed Israelis.

Yes, but. Noting that this person was not interested in being educated as to my point of view, I stayed quiet and let someone else change the subject. If I had had my white board and note cards with me, however, I would have gotten up on my soapbox and said the following:

"Listen. Over a million Israelis were forced to leave their homes in the north of the country last summer and flee south. We took care of hundreds of refugees in my own city, some in my kids' elementary school. They left because those low-tech rockets were pounding northern cities and - even if they couldn't be aimed accurately - were killing people. Do you think the Israeli government should have just let it continue?

"And did you know that the Hizballah deliberately put their rocket launchers into civilian targets - including schools and crowded urban centers - and prevented civilians from leaving? Did it ever occur to you that the high rate of civilian "collateral damage" was a direct result of this inhumane kind of warfare? They've got the media war down pat: they kill us, they win. We defend ourselves, we kill them, they win."

Luckily, I saved myself the embarassment of making this speech. I was less lucky at a late-night campfire Saturday night, where I had been invited to do a 20 minute performance. And had planned to include my song, "The Children's Brigade," which focuses on the tragic use of Palestinian children - and any children, really - as instruments of war. Upon my arrival, the MC (this was a very formal showcase, in campsite terms) told me I had been cut down to three songs, and I should start NOW.

Without thinking it through, I did a truncated set that included two comedy songs and "The Children's Brigade" - a song that requires the audience to actually be listening (something that in my experience, often doesn't happen until a few songs into a set).

The scene was chaotic, with some folks listening, others milling around. I went on automatic pilot, giving my usual introduction to the song, which unfortunately makes a flippant reference to the Z-word (Zionism).

As soon as I began, I realized how dumb this was. This was a teenage/young adult audience. If they knew anything about Zionism, dollars to donuts, they associated the word with racism (for the philosophically inclined) or war crimes (for those who read the mainstream press). And realizing my mistake, I also realized this was no time to backtrack or present an impromptu lecture. So I sang the song. It went over like a lead balloon. Then a surreal segue to my wildest comedy number, "Madlibs." Having lost the audience already, they ignored that, too. Another cultural triumph for our folkie heroine (not).

And a final anecdote, this one about something that went on entirely in my own head.

The afternoon mainstage performance featured a bunch of performers singing some well-known tunes, including "Peace Train" by Cat Stevens. Or as he is known these days, Yusef Islam, a spirituality-seeking former pop star who gives money to Hamas (the current rulers of Gaza whose charter calls for the obliteration of my country), and has gone on record defending Koran-approved wife beating.

OK, OK, it's still a great song. And focusing too much on radical Islam, terror, and all those other yukky things can make me seem like an obsessive downer no one would want at their party. But stay with me...

Down by the stage, the dancing crowd was joined by three huge puppet figures - guys on stilts dressed as the doves of peace. They walked through the aisles, draped from top to toe in white sheets. The "dove" details were indistinct from my vantage point at the top of the hill.

To me, they were eerily familiar. They reminded me of the teeming parades that often take place in the Gaza strip - in which there's always a contingent (often children) dressed in the pure white robes of the suicide bomber.

I was well aware that I was the only person in that packed amphitheatre that would have such a wild association. It's sick. It borders on paranoia. But sadly enough, it's my life.

LET ME STATE AGAIN: I was welcomed warmly at the festival, and these stories represent only the smallest footnote to what was, as a whole, a wonderful experience. But this strange, foreign perspective is an important part of who I am.

Hmmm. Maybe I should go write a song about it.

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