A Palestinian space in the epicenter of the Israeli festival culture - By Yahav Erez

Forbidden Fruit Camp at Midburn

Midburn used to be a big part of my life.

It all began when I went to Burning Man back in 2013 in the US and fell madly in love with it all.

I came back home right in time for the first official regional event and got right to work planning a theme camp with my new burner friends. Ever since, it was my community, my school to learn everything I know about creating and producing, and mostly my outlet for transformative experiences.

It really changed my life.

But in the past couple of years, I've begun being more critical, and more politically aware. The Israeli Burning Man community was, and still is, an amazing group of people whom I love dearly. But there is a lot of denial regarding the occupation, and the more I get involved with the Palestinian struggle, the more I distance myself from spaces of "progressives" in Israel. I feel that I don't belong anymore like I used to. I feel like the spaces I've surrounded myself with lately are exactly where I feel at home; spaces where Palestinians and Israeli activists can co-resist, and celebrate life and love together - without ignoring the atrocities that are happening around us and to us, but instead manifesting the real peace within our relationships and working together towards healing the many wounds the occupation and wars have cursed us with.

One of those spaces is a group of friends who had decided it is finally time to create a space at Midburn where Palestinians can feel safe, at home, and able to express themselves. Together with the challenging questions this act raises, they took a leap of faith and jumped headfirst into these deep waters. For personal reasons I still didn't feel it was right for me to join this year, but remained - like others - as a cheerleader on the sidelines, rooting for them in every step they took in this strange but beautiful journey. I am so proud to call these people my friends, and the love for them and for what they were (and still are) brave enough to do brought me to an urge to go and have a small taste of what was going on there.

The march of NO return | Political performance art at Midburn

So I made it happen and found my way in for the last day. It was absolutely heartwarming to see what they had done on the playa (the event), and how truly revolutionary political art can be in a space that for years has avoided being political.

On the one night I spent with them, we went out to one of the parties and on the way I spotted three 'shabab' (young guys) who were clearly Bedouin. You see, the event had been held for the first few years on lands that were owned by a Kibbutz in the Negev (Naqab) desert, but it had expanded and had to find an alternative. This year it moved to a different area in the desert, which was literally surrounded by Bedouin villages, some of which are recognized by the government (meaning they have water and electricity), and some of which are not.

The event had never been so bluntly close to the Bedouin communities before. I'm talking shacks no more than 500 meters away from the "trash fence" (the farthest part of the perimeter fence, where the all-night partying goes on with huge sound systems). Walking around that day seeing their homes so close to the event felt not right. Especially when night fell and the event was filled with colorful lights everywhere, and the hill where the houses were was completely dark. I assume they have limited electricity. Meanwhile, we're dancing our heads off to booming loud music that is probably shaking the ground of those shacks. I imagined young parents my age, whose babies couldn't sleep for 5 nights in a row because of all this, while 5,000 people completely ignore their existence and don't think anything of the fact that they are literally on the other side of the fence. The whole thing felt grotesque to me. And yet, I knew that my friends' camp was making a difference just by existing in this context, and opening people's eyes to things they wouldn't have seen otherwise.

I'll never forget how during the 2018 event, the people of Gaza were being massacred and my friend who worked for Breaking the Silence at the time, got to the event halfway through it. When I asked him why, he told me about everything that was going on in "the real world" and how they had been working like crazy. He told me "people are being shot to death by snipers just for protesting for their freedom, and we're here partying. Look around you: nobody here gives a shit about it. They are completely ignoring it like it doesn't mean anything". I stopped. He made me think. It was one of the more powerful moments in my becoming an activist. I owe a lot to him and to that moment.

Fast forward three years, and back to the three Shabab we bumped into inside the event. I saw they weren't wearing the bracelet indicating they had bought a ticket. They had obviously snuck in. Just an hour earlier, my friend told me he saw two police officers catching two young Bedouins and kicking them out for sneaking in. I approached the three and introduced myself in Arabic. I said, "you guys aren't wearing the bracelets, be careful the police won't catch you and kick you out". They were a bit surprised, but immediately understood I wasn't going to rat on them and were really friendly. My friends joined and introduced themselves, surprising them with their perfect Arabic. We explained: "We have a Palestinian camp, you should come over and meet the rest of the gang", we told them. They were happy to join and once they entered the camp and saw the Palestinian flag, they were even more surprised. The camp members started chatting them up and we offered some food and water since they came with nothing but phones in their pockets. They told us they were from the village right outside the fence, and that they had just celebrated a wedding a few hours earlier. "From one hafla to another hafla", they said with a big smile, showing us videos of them dancing the traditional Dabke at the wedding.

I told them they are dressed so "normal" they stand out, and we'll give them stuff to wear so that they don't get caught and kicked out like the ones we saw earlier. They laughed and said they don't care, "if they kick us out we'll sneak right back in", they answered. But they were happy to dress up and try something new. They were also into us decorating their faces with glitter and asked if we have extra LED fairy lights they can wear. My friend jokingly said, "isn't it absurd that they stand out just because they actually look like they live here and belong in this area"? I told them "anything you want, let me know and we'll give it to you if we have it. If you're hungry or thirsty, just let me know". I knew that if I was inside their house, they would treat me exactly like that, and that's what guided me.

After that, we headed back out to the Playa, where I told them a good friend of mine is DJing. On the way, they asked questions about the festival, and I explained some of the "traditions" we had, like gifting, and self-expression. They liked the idea of people giving for the sake of giving and wanted to know if anyone was gifting massages. I told them sure, but only during the day. They said if they had their own camp, they would gift Mansaf.

We got to the party and had lots of fun dancing. After a while, they said they wanted to go to the fence (like 50 meters away) to meet one of the guy's brother who was going to jump over the fence from the other side and join us. We waited with them and saw about 4 kids come stand right outside the fence. Within a few minutes, the perimeter patrol arrived and got out of their jeep. They immediately recognized through profiling which one of us was "in" the event, and which we're not. They told them to stand in front of the car and my friend, a Palestinian with a fierce sense of justice, started confronting the patrol saying "why do you need to treat them like they're being arrested? Okay they snuck in, but that doesn't mean you can humiliate them!". The patrol argued with him, with me just standing beside the guys, as a way to signal "I am with them".

The patrol called on his walkie talkie for the police to come "escort" them out of the event, who arrived within two minutes and the first thing he did was aggressively take the wrap one of the Bedouins was wearing and said "give that back to them", pointing at me. "We gave him that", my friend said, "there's no reason you should rip it off of him like that". The officer barked at us "you think they're your friends, but when you don't look they come and steal from you!" This I couldn't be quiet about: "we hosted them in our camp, offered them anything they want. Why would someone steal from someone who is treating them like a guest of honor?! This is exactly the simple, humane mentality that you can't understand, but they sure do". My friend added, "this is their land, we are their guests, not the other way around!"

The officer said, "you're right. But they don't have tickets, so they can't be here".

Even though it didn't phase him, to me the fact that he said "you're right" about that kind of thing is big. If you've ever been in a situation of minorities confronting law enforcement, you know this is not regular.

They took them away, while the kids on the other side of the fence were watching and cheering us on and dancing to the beats of the party we had just came from. It looked like they were treating the whole thing like a game, and that they felt they had won, even though they were being kicked out.

It was all very surreal and bizarre.

When my friend and I went back to our camp, our friends told us how they were happy we brought them over earlier, and how much it meant to them that we could provide a space where they felt welcomed, even if only for a couple of hours. I'm guessing no other camp would invite them in and give them the feeling that my friends' camp gave them.

Everything is screwed up in this story. And yet there are moments that could not occur in any other situation. This interaction and the conversations we had with these three Shabab (btw they were 18, 22, and 24) were a spark of light in the midst of a dark reality. And it was possible largely thanks to the "home" on the Playa that we were able to welcome them into.

A Palestinian-themed camp is to me a space where groundbreaking interactions can happen, and this is only one example.

They welcomed me as an ally and a friend, as a community member - a community in which they want Jews to be a part of. And that is something we could only imagine a few years back.

Want to read more from Yahav Erez?

visit her Instagram at: https://www.instagram.com/yehavit/