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There is an occupation. It has always been here. That is to say, not always, but it appears in all of our childhood memories. Mostly not as a clear figure; only footprints. We were kindergarten age and they told us stories in blue-and-white about the few against the many, and some of us believed it, because we liked being the hero in this story. We had our country and our story and this oh-so-clear trajectory where there’s no choice but to. And no one really finished this sentence - there’s no choice but to… what?


Those who dared to look closely began to discover just how wide the rift and just how much the eyes burn when they continue to see. Because directing this gaze is not only to see the Palestinians and the ongoing injustices, it is in many ways to see ourselves. Ourselves the occupier, the coloniser, the racist. Ourselves with a broken identity and devoid of belonging. Just a moment ago we were a persecuted minority, how did we get here?


The term “blind spot” relates originally to spaces in the field of vision that we are unable to see. In order to expose the blind spot a movement must be performed, an action initiated, to change the point of view. There are times when we experience cognitive dissonance, are faced with the distance between our principles, our worldview, and reality, our actions. At such times our mind strives to reach a state of harmony, to move some of the information over to the blind spot that is beyond our conscious thought. 


There is an occupation. And there are those who try to struggle against it, but the struggle against these blind spots comes at a price - ostracism, exclusion and violence. Anyway the pain and the injustices are impossible to comprehend, so the blindness stays put. We have been left without the blue-and-white and without the story, and we have been left with endless guilt, but we have also been left with our communities and with our queer identity, which puts forward an answer that is at once clear and blurry. 

How will we find paths we can walk down for long periods at a time, to gaze at the occupation and to struggle against it? Queerness calls us to dismantle, to deconstruct. To imagine the collapse of the oppressive structures which are at the foundation of the social order and then to imagine how we will build the world anew. The invitation to a queer encounter with reality proposes not only exposing the blind spots, but truly finding a new gaze. Queerness requires us to ask- What comes after the dismantling? What then? It is a kind of invitation, a brave one, to first of all give back to ourselves the possibility of seeing, and later on, the obligation of creativity and creation. All this is only so we can discover the obvious truth - our ability to live a full and free queer existence depends on the ability of each person around us to live a full and free existence. 


This journal brings stories from the social margins into the light of day. In the upcoming edition, we strived to gather stories specifically about our avoidance of dealing with the occupation, out of a desire to direct our gaze and to understand the knot of difficulties of how our communities deal with this subject. We tried to do this with compassion on the one hand, and reflective critique on the other. This edition constitutes another step to find a way to think differently about something that we have already gotten used to (not) thinking about.


Directing our gaze is difficult, and sometimes feels like a failure. But this pain, and this gaze - they are a crucial step on the path to healing. There is an occupation and it must end.





Editorial team


Editor-in-chief: Chen Amram

Curator and producer: Noga Or Yam

Website design: Faina Feigin

UX: Shir Hakim

Collective members: Michal Shomer, Shir Newman, Yael Shechner, Erez Amit Moshe

English translation: Amit Meyer

Arabic translation: Afnan Khalaily

Words from the BUSH







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