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One of my favourite pieces of music is the Sex Pistols' classic'Holidays in the Sun' - a song that begins with the line, 'acheap holiday in other people's misery'. This would have made afitting epitaph for my holiday in Israel, except that the $3000air ticket meant that it wasn't exactly cheap.
I went to Israel full of apprehension. Just knowing what we allknow of the backdrop of paranoia and pain that hangs over thatland is enough to make anybody apprehensive, but I also wentcarrying a dark secret - that I was a friend of MordechaiVanunu's, and I was nervous about the reaction I'd get shouldthis truth suddenly become public.
My friend Morde was completing an 18-year prison sentence fordoing something that most people in this country consider heroic.Morde told the world about a secret stash of WMD's ('weapons ofmass destruction') that are being developed in an undergroundfactory in the Negev desert. Most people I know think he did theworld an enormous favour, but most people in his own country wishMorde had kept his mouth shut. Indeed, most Israelis regard himas a traitor!
In order to try to understand this attitude towards my friend, Itried talking to local people about their attitude to nuclearweapons. The response I received was alarming! "They're onlythere as our last resort" one articulate young journalist said tome. "Just in case we get completely overrun." "Well ... whathappens then?" I asked. "Well", he said, "then we destroyeverybody!"
Tragically, this was not an isolated example. Almost every time Isought an opinion from taxi-drivers, cafe workers or hostel staffconcerning Israel's nuclear capacity, the word 'Armageddon' wouldcome up. And these apologists seemed quite accepting of the factthat in order to strike this decisive blow against theirneighbours, they might indeed need to take the rest of the planetwith them!
Thankfully not every Israeli took this position. Indeed, the'Free Vanunu' campaign itself had a strong local contingent ofactive peace campaigners.
These local activists were some of the most impressive people Imet during my stay in Israel. Even in Australia they would havebeen impressive - mainly young, idealistic University students,with a commitment to world peace and global disarmament -impressive but not extraordinary in our context. In this contextthough, growing up in an environment so overshadowed by violenceand fear, these brave young souls stood out like shining lights.
The violent side of Israeli culture was never more tangible to methan it was on the day of Morde's release. I had traveled manythousands of miles to be reunited with my friend on the day thathe walked free. In my dreams I had imagined our reunion countlesstimes. Morde would walk through those gates with his belongingsin one hand, and me and a few friends and family would be thereto embrace him and lead him away. I didn't really realise until Ireached the prison just how far from reality my imaginarydepiction of that scene would prove to be.
There were hundreds of us at the prison, and the vast majoritywere not Morde's friends. As the time of his release drew near, Itried to move towards the prison gate where I had always imaginedmyself standing as Morde walked out. I soon found myself squeezedinto the middle of an angry mob.
It was certainly one of the nastiest experiences of my life. Thewhole mass of men seemed to seethe with aggression, and eachindividual was competing to claw his way to the front, for whatexact purpose was not entirely clear. Thankfully I could notunderstand the chants that were being sung to the tune of 'herewe go, here we go, here we go', but I was told later that thewords for 'death' and 'traitor' had been central to all themantras that were chanted that day.
On reflection I now think that it was a good thing that by thetime Morde came through those prison gates the police had packedus together so tightly that I wasn't able to move a limb. Whatprevented me from running out to embrace Morde also prevented myneighbours from reaching him with more sinister intent.
Thankfully the car with my friend in it got away with no morethan a dented panel and a shower of eggs. One antagonist didmanage to mount his motorbike in time to catch the car, but afterslamming into the side of the vehicle he lost his mount, and the'free man' was able to proceed in peace.
Back at the gaol things then started to unravel. With their angerunresolved, the mob started to vent their aggression on othertargets. I found myself swept up in this like a wave breakingover my head. One second I was walking towards my bus. The nextmoment I was surrounded by a mob led by an angry rabbi, screamingat the top of his voice. 'Go home' was the only phrase I couldunderstand. Equally unambiguous though were the rough hands thatwere being placed on my body, the kicks that were landing on mylegs, and the spittle that was accumulating on my face.
I didn't see any path of escape in this situation, so I placed myhands together in a position of prayer and bowed my head, workingon the hitherto successful strategy that if you refuse to fightback, guys are generally very reluctant to beat you up. Itworked. A man grabbed me from behind with both hands and hauledme out of the centre of the mob. I made it back to my bus withoutfurther incident.
All of this would have been water off a duck's back had Morde andI then been able to board a plane and fly back to Australia.Unfortunately the authorities had ruled that this 'free' manshould not be allowed to leave the country, nor go anywhere neara border or a foreign embassy, nor have any contact with'foreigners'. The 'foreigner' restriction was aimed at theforeign press. Even so, technically, I wasn't allowed to spendextensive time with my old friend without risking seeing himre-arrested!
We were reunited briefly on the evening of that same day of hisrelease. Unfortunately I cried so much that I really didn't getthe chance to tell him all of the things that I had prepared forthat moment. All I can hope for now is that one-day we will catchup properly - perhaps over a few beers back here in the land ofOz. I know that Morde would like that.
Getting Morde out of Israel is indeed the next big challenge forthe Vanunu campaign. I don't know how hard this will prove to be.I do know that I had a bloody hard time getting out myself. In mycase it wasn't that they didn't want me out (they held off thedeparture of the plane until I got on board). They just seemeddetermined to let me know that they didn't want me back.
I had been warned by the other peace activists of intimidationtactics employed by airport staff. Ironically, I initially madeit through all four security checkpoints without being stopped.It was only as I proceeded to the final gate that a young man ina suit caught up with me and said, "Excuse me sir, but can I seeyour passport." He then told me that there had been a 'problem'and that he would need to retain my passport until the 'problem'had been resolved. I was then shuffled into a small room to begina three-hour process of interrogation, body searching and luggageexamination.
In the end the verdict was that I was free to go and that therewas nothing suspect about the contents of my bags, but that thebags themselves were suspect and that none of them could be takenon board as hand luggage. This meant that I could carry with memy camera, but not in my camera case, my laptop, but not mylaptop case, my video camera, but not the bag with the shoulderstrap that I lugged it around in, my toothbrush and paste, butnot my toiletries bag, and even my Palm-pilot portable keyboard,but not the little vinyl dust-jacket that I kept it in. I couldtake what I liked, so long as I carried it in my arms.
It was just a game, though they managed to keep straight facesthroughout the whole ordeal. For my part I refused to get onboard without the bulk of my carry-on items. In the end theyagreed to give me a large cardboard box to put them in.
And so my cheap holiday in other people's misery came to an end.But now the real work begins. For I returned home, but I left myfriend inside the confines of St George's Cathedral in Jerusalem,where the good bishop has offered him sanctuary.
Morde can't leave the Cathedral grounds. He has at least tworeporters on every exit, taking shifts to cover his movements24-hours per day. If Morde tries to walk out into the street,he'll be immediately surrounded and identified, and given thenumber of locals that would count it as a point of pride to beresponsible for his death, Morde's life in the open probablywouldn't last more than a few minutes.
I'd like to see my friend back here in Australia. I wonder if theAustralian government has the courage to offer him citizenship?
DBS. April 2004
About the Author 'Fighting' Father Dave Smith - Parish Priest, community worker,professional fighter, father of three. Dave is the only Australian in Holy Orders to turn pro boxer to help fund his work. He is Parish Priest in Dulwich Hill, Sydney,and has received numerous awards for his work with young people
Get a free preview of his book, 'Sex, the Ring & the Eucharist' when you sign up for Dave's newsletter at www.fatherdave.org
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