Though I currently reside in Israel, news of the Occupy Wall Street movement has managed to hit close to home. A few weeks ago, I read about a grassroots Kol Nidre minyan that took place on Wall Street and thought, “Go, Jews!”
But that wasn’t the first link I noticed between the demonstrations in U.S. cities and the ongoing civic demonstrations that were born in the makeshift tent camps on Rothschild Boulevard in Tel Aviv this past summer.
About two months ago, I arrived in the Holy Land to spend a semester volunteering for Arab-Jewish coexistence — in a program called Tikkun Olam in Tel Aviv–Jaffa — and quickly found myself engaging in social change of a different kind. In September, I had the privilege of attending an incredibly inspiring event organized by several leaders in social innovation.
Called “1,000 Tables,” the event was an enormous display of democratic civic engagement intended to continue the momentum of the social protests that have sparked and energized progressive movements in Israel and around the Arab world.
On a Sunday night, two other Tikkun Olam participants and I opted out of a night of clubbing (which in Tel Aviv is no easy task) to attend the public gathering in the vast outdoor courtyard of the Tel Aviv Museum. Upon arrival, we were met with an unusual sight. Tables of Israelis, stretching as far as the eye could see, were arranged in a manner I’ve only ever seen before at large organized (and often expensive) conferences or benefits — never in a public arena open to anyone, regardless of his or her social status.
Strangers, or near strangers, eight or nine to a group, were gathered around each table, respectfully discussing the social and economic reforms they hope for and expect to work toward in their daily lives.
Video coverage of the event was broadcast live on a large screen overlooking the square, and volunteer transcribers at each table submitted the transcripts of these discussions to a public website (unfortunately, not available in English as of yet). The facilitators were also volunteers, having signed up on Facebook or through the organizers.
At one point, it became known that the mayor of Tel Aviv himself, Ron Huldai, was present at one of the tables, listening directly to his constituents and their ideas of new and better ways to ensure greater livelihoods and freedom for all the people of Israel. He was eventually booed out by protesters who were angry about his removal of the tent city remnants (does that sound familiar, Oakland Mayor Jean Quan?). To me, booing him out was frustrating since it seemed important that he be there. Still, his presence in the area spoke to the significant potential influence of this model.
People answered three questions: “Why are you here?” “What are the top two changes you want to see from this?” and “What can you do to help generate those changes, either alone or in community?” It all sounds very simple, but to me it was revolutionary.
In my college years, I always felt baffled and disheartened by the rarity with which people gathered in the streets of their communities to respectfully and intelligently discuss with one another about what’s not working. Although more and more of us were beginning to tune in, especially on our iPhones, to social media conversations happening at warp speed, I remember how extremely uncommon it was for these discussions to result in a physical manifestation of democratic political engagement on a large scale outside of universities.
Here, though, in the middle of Tel Aviv, I could read from the energy and body language of the participants that something amazing was happening: Connections were being forged and people were truly tuning in to each other’s narratives. A diverse set of Israelis were re-engaging with their right to use their voice for social justice.
Although the Rothschild tent movement (just like Occupy Wall Street) had been critiqued for not having a singular demand or focus, I actually felt encouraged by the diversity of ideas being presented. To me, it signaled that people have stopped voicing their individual grievances in isolation, and have started to connect the dots on the map. We have begun to recognize the common structural harms that are born from a system that is inherently unequal: one that leaves power in the hands of the powerful, and money in the hands of the rich.
Seeing as I am participating in a coexistence program, I couldn’t help but think that it would have been nice to see a bit more ethnic diversity around the tables, but as I’m trying to remind myself each day — baby steps.
For now, I’m inspired to know that right now, these round tables may also be gracing the streets of San Francisco, New York, Baghdad, Ramallah, Mexico City and hundreds of other cities around the world, as people unplug their laptops and head out to the streets to join their fellow citizens in the flesh, eye to eye and ear to ear, demanding a better future for the “other 99 percent.”
Samantha Kanofsky of Berkeley is a participant on the Coexistence Track of Tikkun Olam in Tel Aviv–Jaffa, a five-to-10 month volunteer/study program in Israel. For more information, visit www.tikkunolamisrael.org.