Planet Israel
January 29, 2004

All my words seem yellow and dusty, cloaked in translation
of space. I write in english, it's a little less intimate
for right now. My Hebrew is being detained.

I walk into Ofer army base, some soldiers direct me
sluggishly to the military court. It's my first time
defending here. The air and my breath are raw to taste. I
try not to be dramatic and concentrate on my steps.

It just so happens that today the exchange of prisoners is
being carried out in the parking lot. It's so historic that
I feel like I'm walking on the pages of a feature for time
magazine, switching the seams of reality with scenes from
somone else's history.

I'm wrapped in the clear windy skies and silent hills that
seem oblivious to the turmoil in my heart, the blue tourist
buses, giant square bugs ready to drive tiredly the 400
prisoners while the numberless television crews film in
silence.

It my first time in a military court appealing
administrative detention. the military order that allows to
confine anyone in the territories for up to six months
without trial if they pose a security danger.

The soldiers smile at me and offer apples, I'm a new face,
and blond and maybe I seem less hopeless or hostile than the
faces they've seen today. I search for the translator whom I
spoke to on the phone and who seems to pull the strings of
the place. His translation is not only of language, but of
time and space.

Welcome to Planet Israel.

The hours fall by, where any reality seems normal, as the
reservists complain about the boredom and the food, the
lawyers that you couldn't win a case with all the
information witheld and secret even if you were god, and the
judges complaining about the lack of guards to accompany the
Palestinian detainees to the court.


Everyone around tells me its hardly worth the try but I know
im going to tell the judge that administrative detention is
not for community organizers that are protesting against the
wall. Speaking to one of the military prosecuters, he tells
me that idealist argument like mine have passed away in the
last three years, and that can just give it up. I eat some
apples and wait for the translator to convert the space zone
into a court room.


I go visit Naim, speak to him for a few minutes through the
metal window with tens of detainees sitting on the floor
around us and a guard that tells me not to get close. I look
at him for a few seconds and he releases his lips, allows me
to stand near the window and whisper. He tells me more about
his job as peacemaker and liason between the people of his
village and the military. I can tell a nonviolent organizer
when I see one, they are a different kind, maybe from
another planet. Their speech is as soft as a caterpillar and
the movement widens your spine, energizes you.


I sit in the defence lawyers room, in the trailor next to
the computer room and across from the chief justice of the
court of judea. This is not Monty Python, im not a
hitchhiker in the galaxy - this is Planet Israel.


We're all called out for a celebration of Id El Adha, the
Muslem holiday of sacrifice for the Druz soldiers that serve
as translators and prisoner keepers and the Rabbi explains
that this will be a quiet celebration since this morning
another suicide bombing blew up a bus near the Prime
Minister's house where all the demonstrations are always
held. My sister calls me up crying over a missing friend.

The soldiers, military judges and prosecuters, Palestinian
lawyers and me stand around two tables in the middle of the
yard with cake, apples, coke and strawberry fizz drink and
toast the holiday of sacrifice. The army rabbi awards one of
the Druz soldiers a certificate of achievemnet for his
excellent service to the military court. The event is sealed
by wishes for a continuation of collaboration for justice
and everyone eats a lot of cake. Two minutes later the
tables are gone and we go in to caravan six for the hearing.



The judge agrees that administrative detention cannot be
used against those organizing protests but claims there is
other information rendering him dangerous.

The judge writes a three page decision, they usually are a
few sentences. So we have what to appeal with to the
military court of appeals.

I sit outside of the base on a slab of rock, where the buses
left before and stare at Planet Israel.