Looking south to Metulla

By Michael S. Arnold, Special To The Chicago Sun-Times, Jerusalem Post, 7.6.00

JERUSALEM (June 7) - The preparations for my trip to Lebanon begin the night before my departure, as I scour my wallet, suitcase and clothing for any signs that I have ever set foot in Israel.

Some are obvious: business cards with a Jerusalem address, a Government Press Office ID, a Bezeq telephone card, shekel notes, airport security tags in obscure places on my luggage. Others are more difficult to imagine. Does my toothpaste tube have any writing in Hebrew? Do my shirts have Hebrew marks from the dry cleaner? Do these jeans, purchased in Israel, have laundering instructions in Hebrew?

Two days later, safely in Lebanon on a "clean" American passport - airport immigration officials were surprisingly nonchalant - I am standing at a border fence I have seen countless times. This time, however, there is a difference. I am looking south, into Israel, surrounded by people who gaze at the red roofs of Metulla and the IDF soldiers on the other side of the border with eyes filled with hatred.

I am tempted to yell a greeting to the soldiers in Hebrew, but I must hold my tongue. Instead, I read to myself the graffiti on the walls of an abandoned Israeli position: Ziv was here. Golani, 13th Batallion.

Lebanon is a beautiful land, and an immensely tragic one. Many of the youth I met during my five-day visit, people of exceptional warmth and physical beauty, have not known a day of peace and true independence in their lives.

First there was the Lebanese civil war, when they dodged snipers and shells on their way to school, or watched the deadly fireworks from their balconies, venturing forth afterward to collect spent bullets as mementos. Then there was the Israeli occupation, which many see as justified in its initial stages - to root out Palestinian groups who staged repeated raids across the Israeli border - but which became odious in their eyes when it continued for more than 18 years.

Today, even the most enlightened Lebanese I met refer to Israel as "that horrible state," or by similar titles. Many still reject Israel's right to exist, remaining completely closed to Zionism's internal logic, blaming Israel and its "original sin" for virtually every instance of Arab-Israeli violence in the last half-century. They deride the Jews' "circle the wagons" mentality, while acknowledging no role of their own in forcing those wagons together.

Conspiracy theories connected to Israel and its international support abound, and even the most improbable tales of Israeli atrocity and duplicitousness are given instant credence. The Holocaust is not denied, only its uniqueness.

Israel certainly is damned for virtually everything it does, though my suspicion is that it would be equally damned if it didn't. There is virtually no willingness to attempt to consider the Israeli perspective on issues, to put oneself into the enemy's shoes, if only to understand him better. Generally this posture is justified on the grounds of the balance of power in the Middle East, the operative principle being that virtually anything is allowed to the victim.

That being said, there is an intense curiosity about Israel in Lebanese life. Bookstores, which ban some of the most important works on the Lebanese civil war, stock books by Shimon Peres and a few other left-wing Israeli writers. Approximately three-quarters of Beirut's English-language paper, The Daily Star, consists of news about Israel, not only concerning its dispute with Lebanon but its internal politics as well. Two editorials during my time in Lebanon dealt with the race for Israel's presidency.

Nightly news broadcasts featured extended reports on Israel, including excerpts from Israeli television - especially those quoting northern residents talking about their fears and vulnerabilities.

Only a handful of Jews remain in Lebanon, and while many Lebanese subscribe to the myth of formerly halcyon relations between Jews and Moslems in the Arab world, those few friends who ask about my dark hair and complexion tell me not to dare mention my Jewish background to strangers.

The shame is that, save for the bad blood engendered by the Israeli occupation, it is probably the Lebanese who could be Israel's closest friends in the Arab world. This idea - regarded today with suspicion because of Israel's attempts to install a compliant Christian regime shortly after its 1982 invasion - was reinforced daily by my encounters with Lebanese youth.

Lebanon is by far the most westernized of the Arab countries, and the young people dancing the night away to hammering techno music at trendy Beirut nightclubs would not be at all out of place at the coolest of Tel Aviv haunts. The rampant consumerism of Beirut, the devil-may-care, constant-overdraft lifestyle born of the uncertainty of survival in a world that can quickly spiral into chaos, is familiar to anyone who understands the Israeli psyche.

As one young student at the American University of Beirut told me, "Those of us still alive today are alive purely by chance."

Many of those I spoke with, especially journalists with whom I shared confidences, expressed a deep desire to visit Israel - and many hold foreign passports that would allow them to enter the country - but fear the consequences they could face on their return. A few said the scars from the Israeli occupation made real reconciliation a far-fetched idea.

Others - especially the Christians, who feel threatened by the growing power of the Shi'ites - seem to feel that peace with Israel is possible, even desirable.

Lebanon at this moment is a place of great uncertainty. It can either move forward to a future of economic and political stability - and, if pressure for a Syrian withdrawal continues to grow, toward true independence - but it can easily fall back into the murderous sectarianism that has marred most of its recent history.

Beirut merchant Abdul Sattar captured this schizophrenia in a description that calls to mind the wolf and sheepdog of Warner Brothers cartoons, who batter each other silly until their workday ends, at which time they punch the clock and go off in friendship.

Even during the worst days of the civil war, Sattar said, warring militias would lay down their weapons for a late-afternoon game of soccer - before taking up their positions again to continue sniping at one another.

"The enemies of today are the friends of tomorrow," he said, when asked about the possibility of peace with Israel. "Isn't that what history teaches us?"

At this stage, it may be too early to know what lessons to draw from the troubled history of this tragic land.