I’d just gotten back and got turned around on the way to my hostel. It had been four wonderful and uplifting days on the beaches of Monte Rey with Hazon and the Jewish Sustainable Food Conference, my head was still ringing with the song and revelry. With my pack on my back and my mind a little dazed, I walked a few blocks in the wrong direction and found myself in the Union Square of San Francisco. There was a small, temporary ice rink erected in the middle and a kind gentleman took my picture for me; I had a wide grin and was content with the start of my journey. I headed off, planning to check-in and go exploring. It was my turn however for a wake up call.
My eye caught a glimpse
of a gathering and somewhat of a raucous in the South-West corner of the Square. You see this was December, 27th. Unbeknownst to me, this was the day selected to be the anniversary of the beginning of the War in Gaza. The chosen San Fran demonstration ground was Union Square. Arrayed were hundreds of supporters of an Israeli withdrawal from the contested region. Cries were ringing, signs and flags were waved, loud-speakers were blasting. There were numerous organizations, the amount and composition was hard to identify, but certainly of note to me were the Jewish groups standing together with other Palestinian supporters.
My mind and heart was crushed. Here I had just spent days with the most supportive, positive, and progressive group of Jews that I have ever met and now I was
harshly reminded of some of the realities of what the Jewish culture, my culture, is mixed up with. While I can comfortably say that Israel is not Judaism, it most certainly, and somewhat tragically, reflects on the Jewish people world wide. Jews that have never been to Israel feel close to it. There is a bond scripturally, culturally, and unfortunately, politically. At the moment I did the only thing I could do, I called my Palestinian friend in NYC, who thankfully picked up, and told him what I saw. I needed that grounding. I needed to express to someone I knew what had just taken place in my being, if only for the sake of my sanity.
At the Food Conference, Peace issues and Palestine did not come up as readily as one might think. This is somewhat understandable, but not entirely. The gathering was focused on environmentalism, food and Judaism, as well as issues of food justice, scripture, and community development. War and current politics were not thoroughly integrated into the agenda, in my opinion because it is such a major issue that the sessions could have easily become overwhelmed by debate and the purpose of the conference made forfeit. Because of this however, I was not prepared for what I was currently facing. My heart was too glad to have made a connection with the culture of my birth to consider the other side of the coin. Well, and in retrospect perhaps it was fortunate, the realities were thrust upon me.
A speech soon began. The event was apparently organized by Boycott Israeli Goods, a Bay area campaign to end the apparent Israeli Apartheid. The crowd I was in quieted down enough for me to hear the speaker proclaim a need for boycotts of Israel, for me to talk with a Jewish-Palestinian supporter to gather information, and to get a hint of the real kicker, the realization that was ultimately to bring me to tears: there was more going on across the street.
A Zionist group was marching as well, and in force with their own signs and loudspeakers. This was the Zionist Freedom Alliance, and they were there to share their point of view. From across traffic the two groups yelled at each other, of course, neither side was listening. I crossed to the other side, it felt like crossing a picket line. I asked questions, I gathered fliers, I took some pictures. The emotions were too great, they welled up and spilled out – from my eyes and my soul.
Why did I have to be part of something that was so beautiful… and yet so troubled? I wanted to run. I wanted to leave and forget it. I realized that would be easy. I stayed to take it in. It was important for me to see this, to be reminded of what I am doing and what the conference I was at was really about. Unless we are all sharing what we have, listening to each other, leaving the past behind, and opening to our shared future, we are lost. 
The truth of this stood bare before me. There is so much pain, and death, and suffering surrounding this conflict. One Zionist tried to tell me that Muslims do not belong in the US. Palestinian supporters were relating and equating the Jewish people with the nation of Israel. The San Francisco traffic in the mean time was little impeded by the cries across its path. There is metaphor there – because the two sides were not listening to each other, nobody is else listening to them either.
There is more, but my point is made. From the Middle of the Road, during a red light I tried to take some pictures before I left the scene. There I watched, and I heard, the call-response reel beginning with the Palestinian side and followed up by the Zionist side: “Free, free Palestine… There’s no such thing as Palestine – Free, free Palestine… There’s no such thing as Palestine – Free, free Palestine… There’s no such thing as Palestine!”
I left in tears but with a sense of purpose. It was my lot to see this. I need to find the peace in myself so that I can help others to find it within themselves. The words of many sages made utter sense to me at that moment.
There was still however some irony left in the night’s air though. On my way to my hostel I spotted a theater showing the Christmas Carol. A show had just started. I walked in to look around. After chatting with the cashier, she kindly offered to get me a pro bono seat in the back. I ran to my hostel, threw my things down, and ran off to the show. It was lovely, and the themes of forgiveness and redemption were ever so uplifting and appropriate for night’s experience. As it turns out that was the last show for the season and downstairs I partook in the final afterparty. There were free treats galore, a cute skit by the child understudies, and I had a chance to talk with the skillful actor that played Scrooge. I shared with him the night’s events, offering my appreciation for the role the show played in them. He smiled, and thanked me for my tale.
I looked to the sky and laughed. It is amazing what a day can bring. There is another lesson in this I suppose: never begrudge a wrong turn, there are no wrong turns.