Israel’s occupation junkies are drawn to the Negev

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Unless new opportunities crop up, the Negev remains the ultimate destination for occupation junkies. The days of the major occupations in Egypt, Syria and Jordan are over, and so, like a camel chewing its cud, land that has already been conquered is being conquered once again. And if Arab destinations run scarce, prepare for tanks rolling down the streets of Tel Aviv.

Meanwhile, all the streams of incitement lead to the Negev down south. The media’s heavy artillery has softened public opinion in the run-up to the impending occupation. The headlines cried out in fury: “Where has governance gone?”

Anyone hearing these cries of woe is likely to think that at any moment the Negev will declare independence. Just invite a graphic artist to design the flag, a poet to write the anthem and a musician to set it to music, and yalla, sounds of joy will erupt, the Arabs of the Negev will have a state.

I naively thought that governance meant, above all, guaranteeing a livelihood, housing, education, schooling, roads, water and electricity. But when it comes to Palestinians, the country’s leaders have a different interpretation: home demolitions, destruction of orchards, land confiscation, in short – uprooting. For the Jews, five-star governing, for the Arabs, apartheid.

It’s true, the Guardian of Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. Prime Minister Naftali Bennett played Napoleon: The emperor took on the walls of the city of Acre from the bottom up; for Bennett and the Bedouin city of Rahat it was the top down. Both wanted total surrender, and Bennett outdid himself. He had his picture taken with a gun, and to ensure that he’d be understood, he declared: “We’re switching from defense to offense.”

A few days after the Bonaparte pose, an endless line of police and Border Police vehicles occupied the south. The message was loud and clear: Every grain of sand in the Negev is a proud Jewish grain, and a Jewish grain will never let the foot of non-Jews step on it, even if their ancestors have been living there for generations.

And so on that piece of land we had the privilege of viewing two diametrically opposite pictures. In the first picture the sons of the desert are protesting their expulsion, in the second, Israeli VIPs are planting trees.

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Perceptive people noticed that in the first picture, even during the brutal attack on the Arab residents, there are vibrant signs of life: boys and girls, young men and women, older men and women doing what their people have been doing for a generation – fighting to survive amidst the evil. What did poet Samih al-Qasim write? “A generation passes and shakes up the next generation: I fought, you will fight.”

The second picture looks pallid, the joy is forced. The guests came, had their pictures taken in an absurd patriotic pose, and rushed away.

How fortunate that Tu Bishvat, Jewish Arbor Day, falls in January. If it were celebrated in July, it’s almost certain that nobody would have come – nobody would have withstood the desert heat. So after the ceremonies, the photos and the declarations, only the men and women of the Negev remained with Mother Earth.

In 1953, David Ben-Gurion, still prime minister, moved to the Negev. He hoped that masses of people would follow him, Jews of course. But reality is stronger than dreams and the masses remained in the center of the country. Still, the effort continued. The Jews, even if they lived in Boston, were offered “individual farms” in the desert, each thousands of dunams large. But they didn’t come.

The thick fog of demagoguery notwithstanding, the Arabs only live on 3 percent of the Negev. The establishment with its voracious appetite forgot the 97 percent and covets the 3 percent, so that other than committing suicide, the Arabs have nothing to contribute to preserve the Negev’s Jewish character.

The songwriter Naomi Shemer said, “For me, a Land of Israel that is empty of Jews is deserted and empty.” The establishment and all its branches are marching down the path of the benighted poet. Some see her as the national poet, an apartheid poet.