My throat closed up. I was in awe. My perfect California English was jumbled and confused. How could I speak intelligently when I was still trying to comprehend the unbelievable situation I was in? I was speaking face to face with two Egyptians journalists sitting across from me in my own home.
Today that may not seem so extraordinary, but this was 1980. A few weeks before the visit, I got a call from the Army (IDF) Spokesperson's Office
"We would like to bring Egyptian journalists from the Al-Ahram newspaper to talk with you and to see the moshav."
"Egyptian journalists? Al-Ahram?" I was stunned.
I had been hosting VIPs on my moshav in the Jordan Rift Valley for years, but never from an Arab country and certainly never from a country we had been at war with. Two members of the moshav had been killed in Egypt in the Yom Kippur War only seven before, so I was hesitant. Yet I must admit that this was one of the most exciting groups I had ever been asked to host.
I was skeptical about the recent peace treaty with Egypt. Was the treaty a true sign of change of attitude? Did they really accept us – Israel -- now? Almost a year had passed since Egypt and Israel had been in a "state of peace" and I was still lamenting the inevitable destruction of the city of Yamit, the 17 settlements and the forced relocation of their residents – pioneers who had settled the Sinai after the Six-Day War, just as we on Moshav Petsael had settled the Jordan Rift Valley –Bikat Hayarden. Not only was there a distrust of the validity and security of the agreement with Egypt, but we in the Bika feared we could be the next victims of questionable peace treaties. Meeting these journalists would be an opportunity, I hoped, to get a sense of their true feelings.
The managing editor of the newspaper and his photographer – no names were given – were escorted by Ami Gluska from the IDF Spokesperson's Office. I had wanted Ami to park in the moshav's center and to meet them there so our guests could feel the vibrant life we were leading – to see the kindergarten children in their playground, the everyday shopping at the little country store, farmers, both men and women, driving green John Deere tractors loaded with containers of freshly picked green peppers or eggplants or melons or grapes, evidence of our agriculture success on land that had lain fallow for two
thousand years.
Then from the center, we'd stroll to my street, passing the swimming pool, the basketball court, and the regional elementary school. We'd walk down the wide, two-tone red and gray brick sidewalk path, bordered on each side by the modest homes shaded by cypress, ficus, poinciana, and date palms, the latter providing delicious fruit. Hand-planted green lawns and gardens surrounded the homes.
However, this time, whether for secrecy or security, Ami drove them directly to the back of my house and the atmosphere and unity of the moshav life was lost on the visitors. I had to admit that the representatives from Al-Ahram probably didn't really care about the moshav itself. We were just another forty-five-minute stop on their itinerary which didn't give me much time to try to enlighten the "enemy".
The" former enemy" wore jackets and ties, not uniforms. Distinguished gentlemen, holding little classes of Turkish coffee, munching on homemade cookies and smiling at me. I had a job to do and settled down. They kept smiling when I told them why the settlements in the Bika should remain and why Israel did not have to give the area back to Jordan, that the term "giving back" was incorrect terminology.
"I understand your need for security but why keep the settlements?" the managing editor politely asked me. He tried to convince me that military bases in the Bika for the next ten to fifteen years would be sufficient to ensure our security and I countered his arguments. And he mine. Then he expressed what I saw as his real agenda.
"But why do you feel you're entitled to settle here?" the editor demanded of me. "Whose land is this?"
"Ours."
"Then you're really no different than Gush Emunim," he said
I explained again about the security—as opposed to the religious or political—aspects of the settlements associated with Gush Emunim. I wanted to know why, if there's peace, the settlements in Sinai couldn't remain as a good faith gesture.
"After all, with peace, the settlements shouldn't bother you because we're all friends," I said.
"But whose land is it?" he asked again.
"Sinai is such a small part of your country..." He cut me off before I could continue.
"Oh. Because it's so small it doesn't matter?"
"No, but if the only concern is that it belonged to Egypt then the settlements here shouldn't bother you because this land never officially belonged to Jordan."
We were walking towards their car.
"Let's not forget why Israel is in Sinai and the West Bank."
"Why?"
"Who started the Six Day War?" More of an answer than a question.
"Israel started the war," he said and this time he formed a wry smile.
"Then we need a lot more time to argue the point," I said looking him in the eye.
"I don't think you want to get into that discussion with me."
"Oh, but I do," I said. Now I was smiling.
Ami diplomatically ushered them into the car. The Egyptians were driven off the moshav, off land that had once belonged to Herod the Great, the Ottoman Turks, the British after World War I. The British promised the Sharif of Mecca a kingdom in Mandate territory if they helped fight the Turks. This promise eventually led the British to give them land east, but not west, of the Jordan River. The country of Transjordan (now Jordan,) was created. However, in 1950 Jordan annexed the West Bank despite Arab League opposition and gave its residents Jordanian citizenship. All of this I would have reiterated to the editor of Al-Ahram, but the car was gone and so was my chance.
Ami called the next day. He hoped that we had made a little dent in the journalists' theories and opinions about Israel. "It's important," Ami said, "that they see the settlements and life in general in Israel and maybe that could help break down barriers."
They, too, needed to see us, their former enemy, in a brighter light – after all the years of wars and animosity.
Ami had one more thing to tell me – the editor's opinion of the visit to my home: "I don't agree with her, but I respect her."
I was honored. And if I had been told their names, I might have tried to see them when I was a tourist in their country five years later.