Free The General's Son: Journey of an Israeli in Palestine by Miko Peled Page A

land.” I, like most Israelis, learned the terms fedayeen 6 , infiltrators , and terrorists long before I knew they were actually called Palestinians. People would voice their fears in ways that were aggressive and even belligerent: “You want to make peace with these terrorists who blatantly claim they want to take back the cities of Jaffa and Ramle and Lod and to push us into the sea.” People thought General Peled had lost his mind, or at the very least, lost his direction.
    I am often asked how it was that he had developed such clear and far-sighted opinions on this issue, and the only answer I can think of is that he was a principled man through and through. He did not accept the double standard that we, the Jewish people, deserve to live on the same land as the Palestinians and yet deprive them of their rights. He also had grave concerns for the nature of the Jewish democracy, and he knew that the occupation of another people would destroy the moral fiber of society and of the IDF. He did not want to see the IDF turn into a brutal force charged with oppressing a nation that would surely rise to resist the occupation. There were other Zionists, like the revered professor Yesha’yahu Leibovitch and journalist Uri Avnery to name but two, who thought and spoke as he did. But when he said these things, it was particularly troubling to people because he was a military general of the Palmach generation.
    It wasn’t long before friends stopped inviting him and my mother to social events. He became a political and social pariah. For my father this meant moretime to work, so he didn’t mind. But I remember many occasions during that period when my mother would tell me, sadly, about old friends who were gathering without her: “They invited everyone but us.” My mother agreed with his political views, but she would always insist that the harsh and impatient manner with which he expressed them was counter-productive because it isolated him, and her. “People don’t hear the message when you are so harsh. It is only hurting you,” she’d say.
    Somehow I, my sister Nurit, and my brother Yoav, all reached the same political conclusions as our father did. His rationale was always clear and convincing. There was a time for war, and now it is time for peace. His generation fought so that ours could live in a democracy, and the occupation and oppression of Palestinians was getting in the way. Ossi has never been, and still is not, as engaged politically as the three of us. And while we all criticized and disagreed with my father plenty, albeit not in front of him, on this issue we were all aligned—even though it sometimes came at a heavy price.
    Being the youngest son of a public figure with such unpopular opinions was difficult. I was as patriotic as one could be, and I knew my father was a patriot. So I could not understand how people doubted him. While I felt myself being pushed out of the mainstream, at first I was not sure why.
    Over the years, his views became more and more at odds with mainstream Israel, even though in theory everyone claimed to espouse the principles he preached: democracy, free speech, and above all, peace. With time I too established firm views that were aligned with his, and so I too found myself at odds with my environment. But to my surprise, no one wanted to hear the rationale behind our views. On occasion, I would voice my opinions in school and get in over my head, arguing with teachers and other students. These arguments did hone my debate skills, but I was mostly yelled at for being an Arab-lover. I remember once in fifth grade, a parent of a classmate who was a well-known journalist came to speak to us. The first thing he said was: “I understand that one of you is Matti Peled’s son. Which one of you is it?” I felt my face burning as all eyes turned to me, and I raised my hand and identified myself. I had to constantly negotiate my patriotism and my love and admiration for my country