She’d always felt drawn to Jerusalem, and after moving to the city decided to enroll at the Hebrew University and pursue a BA in Jewish Studies and Hebrew Language. She began working for Tene Yerushalmi, a local leadership organization that connects young adults to the city of Jerusalem through learning, tours, and social and community involvement. It was a natural fit, as she’d always been a social activist. 

Within a few years, Shir realized that rather than advocate and protest, she wanted to be sitting around the table where decisions were being made. To this end, she decided to pursue a master’s degree, to take her career to the next level.

She chose Hebrew University’s master’s program in Urban Planning and joined the Urban Clinic. She’d seen the planning processes from the other side – working in neighborhoods and communities undergoing urban regeneration. She knew that planning was never just about buildings – it was about the people and communities that occupied the building. Building community, fostering trust, guiding processes – these were things Shir knew how to do, and did well.

During her studies, she began examining the history and role of Jerusalem’s open spaces, primarily to the west and north-west of the city. These unbuilt areas were intentionally designed to enhance the experience of ascending to Jerusalem – a city on a hill. The stark demarcation between the open spaces and the built environment made both more unique.

Today, Shir is the director of Save the Hills of Jerusalem, which is fighting to save precisely the open spaces she studied. Her confidence to lead this organization is largely thanks to her master’s degree. Besides gaining planning skills, her research took her deep into the historical record, as well as into meetings with contemporary stakeholders and planners.

As a graduate student, Shir went to Copenhagen on an exchange program, where she saw the difference good planning makes. Pedestrian-friendly streets, small shops on every corner, and biker-friendly trash bins – it was truly an eye-opening experience. 

Link to Scopus Magazine 

“The Urban Clinic gave me tools to examine the build environment. I realized everything we see – someone planned it. And we can always plan differently. There’s no reason Jerusalem can’t be as bike friendly as Copenhagen. If we plan a dense city, with good public transport and prioritize pedestrians, we will have vibrant neighborhoods and reduce reliance on private cars. If we build up the existing city, there will be no need to expand Jerusalem at the expense of its beautiful open spaces.”

 

She enrolled in the Hebrew University’s master’s program in Urban Planning and eventually took the Urban Clinic’s course. She decided to work on a project that had been proposed to the Clinic – developing a solution for Pisgat Zeev, neighborhood in northern Jerusalem plagued by morning traffic jams.

After some serious legwork, observing and meeting with stakeholders, it was decided to focus on two adjacent schools, where administrators and parents were committed to encouraging walking.

“There are many benefits to walking to school. The kids become more familiar with their neighborhood, it can be a social experience, they learn to solve problems, develop independence, take responsibility, get exercise, and so much more. Worldwide, it is common for students to walk to school, often in organized groups. There is no reason that Israeli schoolchildren cannot walk like their peers in Japan, England, and Canada.”

Shir, working with her classmate, Devora, got to work: They plotted student addresses in a geographic information system (GIS), in order to identify the best possible route for the largest number of students, avoiding steep inclines. They distributed a questionnaire and learned that some kids already walked, while other parents were interested in making a change. At the same time, they learned that the neighborhood had walking paths, but these were situated on side streets, often set back from the road.  

Ultimately, Shir and Devora identified three different walking paths – and suggested ways to improve each one. These ranged from physical changes (crosswalks, speed bumps), community adaptations (crossing guards, walking groups), and proposed regulations (speed limits, strict ticketing of cars parked on the sidewalk).

After such an intensive process, They submitted her proposals to Pisgat Zeev’s neighborhood planner. But Shir wasn’t done. She decided to write one of her seminar papers on encouraging walkability, specifically in hilly cities. Motivated to make an impact, she submitted her final paper to the neighborhood and regional planners, the Urban Clinic, and the Jerusalem municipality.

Link to Scopus Magazine 

 

Tharaa Kirresh always felt like she didn’t quite belong. The feeling first arose during her childhood when she constantly moved from one neighborhood to another in East Jerusalem, and to this day, it accompanies her as she searches for answers to questions about identity and belonging. Tharaa, however, does a constant in her life: she has always had a deep love for studies and hard work, a constant desire to push herself, and the determination to improve each and every day. Her questions and goals, along with her passion for working with people, has led her to build and help different communities around her. And Tharaa does all this with a huge smile and sweeping laugh.

This is how she introduces herself: “My name is Tharaa, I am a Jerusalemite from a family from the Old City. This is an important distinction, because when you say ‘Jerusalemite,’ it means that I not only live here, but also that my family is originally from Jerusalem. I am not from one of the most well-known or wealthy families, I come from a relatively small family. I grew up throughout the city between the neighborhoods of A-Tur (Mount of Olives), Issawiya, and Wadi Al-Joz.”
 

Tharaa Kirresh

 

“Moving constantly from place to place made me feel like I did not belong to a particular place or neighborhood, but to a broader concept of Jerusalem. We consumed all of our goods and services from the CBD of East Jerusalem. Therefore, even when I lived in these neighborhoods I was never truly a part of them. In the past, most of these neighborhoods were villages adjacent to the city as opposed to neighborhoods within the city. That translated into us being perceived and constantly reminded by residents that we were outsiders in these former villages/current neighborhoods. Ever since, I have always felt like a stranger. No matter where I live, I feel like a stranger.

I am the third of four siblings, and as the middle child, I always felt the need to prove myself. People kept telling me that I was smart, so I continued to study hard and excel at school. I studied at a Wakf School (Alfatah Al-Lagi’a) on Salah al-Din St from elementary school to high school, and that became the place I was most connected to. I completed my Tawjihi (Palestinian high school certificate) with high grades. I was able to get those grades because I’m a nerd! That’s who I am! This is always something that has been important to me. Every day, I would return from school and keep studying. After graduating from high school I was unsure where to study next. If I wanted to pursue a degree in engineering, I had the option to go to either Najah in Nablus or Bir Zeit in Ramallah. Al Quds University was also an option, but there was a chance that Israeli Ministry would not recognize that certificate, which is something I did not want to risk. Ultimately, I decided to study architectural engineering in Nablus, where I already felt connected to because my mother’s family is from there. Despite excelling in my studies, I struggled deeply. The coursework was highly demanding, and I didn’t have a social life or a life at all. While I was there, I also realized how much I love Jerusalem and did not want to stay in Nablus. During my time there, I was mostly looking forward to graduating and returning to Jerusalem.

When they ask me why I didn’t think of studying at Hebrew University in the first place, I need to explain why even the thought of it was unfathomable. The neighborhoods I lived in surround the campus, so we always walked around it, but never entered it. I received both implicit and explicit messages that told me that ‘it’s not your place, it's a place that excludes.’ “You can’t enter, you can't study here, you won’t be accepted, it’s too hard, it’s too expensive, you need to know Hebrew, you need to be Israeli…!” As a child, one of my dreams was to explore the campus!”

Upon completing my degree, I started working in an office that deals with building permits in East Jerusalem. It was different from what I had learned because in Nablus you don’t study Israel’s Planning and Building Law. In the office I felt like I knew how to do all the professional things easily, but I faced a language and legal knowledge barrier. I still had not learned Hebrew. Because I like to learn and improve, I began taking courses and attending training sessions at the Taawoon Welfare Association in the Old City^[1] which helped me to broaden my vision. During that time period, I worked, studied, and used my architecture degree and started finding private clients to design villas for them in Jericho.”

 

How did you get to the Urban Clinic?

“I am registered with the Jordanian and Palestinian Association of architects and engineers. I turned to these unions because I knew that in order to advance and develop you need to network with other professionals in the field. I am smiley and curious person, and being happy and optimistic has really helped and opened doors. Through these networks, I saw an advertisement from the Urban Clinic to apply to a degree in urban planning and be a scholar at the Clinic. At a workshop on activism that brought together engineers, lawyers, and journalists in Jericho, I met Maliha Zugayer, a Clinic graduate. She told me about working in an office on Yafo Street and her attempts to take a licensing test^[2]. At the same time, Prof. Rasem Hamaisi^[3] mentioned the urban planning field in the same workshop, and emphasized the importance of knowing Hebrew in order to advance in the country and widen our professional horizons. I internalized the things I heard from both of them and concluded that I need to be a better architect and know the law and the language.

You need to understand, I didn’t think that studying at Hebrew University was an option at all! I felt that I accomplished something great! Studying at Hebrew University, on a campus that up until that point had excluded me, went from being a dream to reality. Not a goal, a dream. It was clear to me that I would struggle but be able to get through it.

After submitting my application I put it out of my mind. When I read the email inviting me to the interview I was really happy, but I didn’t know enough Hebrew. So Emily (Dr. Emily Silverman, the Clinic’s founder) suggested that I first take the courses offered in English courses until I learned enough Hebrew. I was conditionally accepted with the expectation that I would receive an exemption from Hebrew studies during my first year. It was not easy to get a loan as an independent young woman, but I challenged myself. During that first year, I had to advance three levels in Hebrew and take courses in the degree, which proved to be quite a challenge. During the first semester, I felt like my head was going to explode, always running between school and work. However, by the end of the year, I had met the conditions and officially became a Clinic scholar.

At the Clinic, the staff encourages us to ask questions and express our positions. Every idea is important. The study method that I knew until then was to accept the information that is conveyed without challenging it or expressing criticism. This is a really significant difference. I entered an environment where I can say what I think, whether it is right or wrong, and my opinions can also change. This changed my worldview, and it also taught me how to say ‘no,’ or ‘sorry, but I am not available for that. In the past I would always say yes to everything, but I quickly realized that not everything helps me advance.”

 

 

An analysis of the current situation notes the preference for sectoral and economic residential segregation that advances planning based on economic goals. Having mixed populations in new neighborhoods has only happened accidentally, and the state does not plan for any type of diversity. Additionally, according to Avital Blonder, CEO and founder of Jindas, an NGO advancing social urban renewal, the state no longer uses or perceives housing as a tool for social mobility. This is particularly worrisome because socioeconomic gaps throughout the country and regions continue to grow, and a positive correlation between social mobility and residence address has been identified. Assaf Simon, CEO of Africa Israel, a development firm, explains that one of the main issues is that the discourse is still based on economic terms, mainly by the land income multiplier.

 

This raises the question, how do you begin to solve the issue?

 

Richard Baron, Co-Founder and Chairman of US-based real estate company McCormack Baron Salazar, was the main guest at the conference and shared his groundbreaking experience. Richard grew up in a mixed neighborhood in Detroit in the 1940s and experienced socioeconomic class diversity as something positive. His experience led him to formulate a vision for ‘nontraditional’ urban renewal. Beginning in the 1970s, he began to promote an alternative model for social urban renewal in areas with high concentrations of disadvantaged populations, few businesses, and little public investment. He did this by advancing an integrative model that looked at housing policy, public space, and education and welfare systems as critical factors in social mobility.

 

But can Baron’s vision be applied in Israel as well? Jindas is working toward making that a reality by applying Baron’s tools to diminish Israel's social and economic gaps.

 

Avital Blunder proposes a model for neighborhood urban renewal in Ramat Eshkol in Lod. She bases her work on the assumption that social mobility happens in mixed-income environments. When examining housing issues, Jindas provides a broader perspective, one in which urban renewal includes developing schools, community centers, and public spaces with a strategic and long-term outlook. Avital describes how, as of now, the key indicator for education outcomes in Israel is one’s address. Through this type of urban renewal, she claims, that that cycle can be broken. According to her, a model for urban renewal that targets the most disadvantaged places and populations who have real social needs is where one can effect change. However, these are neighborhoods that have not been slated for renewal opportunities because low property values result in unfeasible projects for developers.

 

In addition to presenting different plan alternatives, Avital describes the heart of the housing crisis in Israel. Currently, only 2% of the housing supply is state-owned public housing, and 98% is privately owned and regulated. However, most of the population does not qualify for public housing, nor can it afford to bear the growing rental costs or purchase a home in the private market, indicating that different housing solutions need to be presented. Avital emphasizes the need to create an intermediate housing market that offers affordable housing that is developed in tandem with centers for culture, education, and community in each neighborhood.

Avital Blunder (Credit: Israel Planners Association)

 

Two other speakers presented courses of action to complement this type of housing policy. First was Dr. Michal Braier, architect, planner, and the Clinic’s head of community engagement. She questioned how social leadership and fairness would come into play in Ramat Eshkol if/when it would undergo high-intensity development. She used Kiryat Yovel in Jerusalem as a case study to propose the need to focus on non-statutory neighborhood master plans in addition to developing housing. She notes that neighborhoods’ public networks are rarely planned at the same stage as the actual housing. This is unfortunate because the public network is a crucial element in urban renewal and residents' quality of life. Michal explains that the public network is developed by various bodies that do not have a central command that coordinates the planning and project execution. This results in a process that largely benefits the homeowners as their properties go up in value but does not necessarily help the tenant populations who do not benefit from an improved public network.

 

Noga Adler, the Director of Community Urban Development in the Department of Community Work at the Ministry of Welfare, spoke next. She stressed the need to constantly refer to the question: urban renewal and social leadership for whom? Who are the beneficiaries of these processes? Noga claims that urban renewal is one of the country's biggest forms of social intervention. It can change the lives of disadvantaged members of society, whether it is those who lack familial support, individuals living in poverty, the elderly, or people with disabilities. They are most vulnerable to the complications of life. However, urban renewal is also a very complex process that may threaten their residence and daily life. There is often mistrust between developers and tenants, and their routine life is uprooted when their home undergoes renewal. According to Noga, demolishing the old and cheap apartments for urban renewal directly contributes to the displacement of these vulnerable groups. She concludes by saying that social leadership in urban renewal must take into account these people and their circumstances.

 

Translation: Galya Globerman

 

 

 

 

“I was always a talkative child, not opinionated, talkative… and I always had the courage to speak. As a kid, you also hear your parents speak about all sorts of things, including issues you don’t always understand. However, one particular issue constantly nagged me. Every six months or so, I would hear my parents speak about the demolition order for our home. I never really understood it. Why would someone want to demolish our home? I asked my father: “Dad, this is our land, right? We didn’t invade the land, correct? It’s our home?” He answered yes to all three. I didn’t understand the meaning behind this ongoing event, especially why my parents needed to pay the huge fines as part of the legal process they were going through. This forced us to deal with significant financial changes and hardship. We sold our car and then stopped going to after-school activities. As a child, it drove me crazy, I did not understand what was happening.”

Amal was born in Dir Hana, is the third of four children, and comes from what he describes as your typical Arab family, “everything fell somewhere in the middle.” Throughout my interview with him, he spoke about his path and the various aspects that made him who he is today: an attorney, urban planner, and commentator who relates and confronts the social and political struggles the Palestinian Arab society experiences in Israel. He is a frequent guest on various news and media outlets, a feature of the daily commentary program ‘From the Other Side with Guy Zohar,’ and writer and host for an Arabic podcast that deals with Palestinians’ legal struggles in Israel.

How did you find yourself in Law School?

In 2006, while I was still in High School, the Second Lebanon War broke out. There was chaos all over the country, and schools shut down. At that point, I hated school, and I reached an agreement with my father that if I got high marks on the psychometric exam, he would let me drop out. I got very high marks, so I dropped out. I moved to Haifa and started working as a dishwasher while waiting for my acceptance letter to study Law at Haifa University. 

The first thing I wanted to understand as a student was the world of ‘demolition orders,’ why did they want to demolish our home? and how does this process work? In hindsight, that specific interest led me to study Real Estate and Planning Law. I developed political awareness through this new lens, something I lacked before starting university. During my studies, I became quite politically active and, despite opportunities to leave, decided to complete my degree. After finishing my degree, I needed to complete a law internship, and I had to choose between a private law firm and the public sector. I wanted my internship to be meaningful and allow me to gain a deeper understanding of the legal system, even if it came at a high cost. I applied and was accepted to the Office of the State Attorney in the Planning and Construction division. My clerkship occurred during Deputy State Attorney Erez Kaminitz's stint in the Ministry, where he helped pass the infamous “Kaminitz Law,” severely affecting the Arab sector. Even though I was not involved in writing the bill, I witnessed a lot of action in the department. As a clerk, you don’t actively participate in anything; you’re a fly on the wall, you write protocols only for them to be mostly erased or rewritten. During that period, I absorbed a lot of information, but I also left with hard feelings. The transition from Haifa to Jerusalem was not easy.

What made it difficult?

The sheer scale mostly, it changes everything. On my first day in Jerusalem, a terror attack set off a chain of stabbings incidents throughout the city. I witnessed this difficult period from the Ministry of Justice. On top of that, there is also the day-to-day struggle Arabs experience in the country, especially in the field of planning and construction. I would sit through official meetings attended by Arab leaders in the Knesset, people who, up until then, I had only heard about, and there I was, watching them deal with the Ministry of Justice, summarizing the meeting minutes. There, I realized something that is both very straightforward and precedent-setting. I realized that lawyers had no understanding of planning and planners had no understanding of the law; they were not speaking the same language. By the end of every session, I could see that when the goal was to discuss planning, it transitioned to a discussion about a trial and vice versa. They could not understand each other. Add to that the fact that these debates clearly had a political element, however, when politics came up, they would say: ‘this is not the place for political considerations.’ And I would sit there and ask myself, if not here, where? 

I remember one particularly volatile discussion that dealt with planning in Wadi Ara. Among the planners who came to speak was Dr. Enaya Banna. Enaya began to speak and instantly showed legal and planning expertise and knowledge, fascinating the audience. That was the first time the Ministry of Justice was exposed to an Arab woman who understood planning, law, and history. I was awestruck and thought to myself, “I want to be like her!” I suddenly understood what I wanted to be and needed to figure out how to get there. What did I need to study to be like Enaya? Towards the end of my internship, I noticed the Urban Clinic scholarship for an M.A. in Planning studies at Hebrew University. I applied and was invited to an interview. Do you know who was on the scholarship selection committee? Enaya Banna! 

I was fascinated by my studies and learned a new professional language. The conversations I had with Dr. Emily Silverman, the head of the Clinic, was particularly significant because she presented planning as a multidisciplinary field. This made me feel that being a lawyer is advantageous as it allows me to see layers upon layers of information that planners don’t see. I saw the law. My studies, together with the scholarship program offered by the Clinic, enabled me to develop my own worldview. I met people from all fields, from law to geography to social work who piqued my curiosity. I began to ask about our space, what shapes it, how it affects and influences our behavior, but mainly, how does it affect the essence of our existence - the conflict?

 

Amal at a Clinic staff meeting

What does that mean?

Conflict is the essence of our existence, it cannot be denied. It is central to shaping our identity and day-to-day experiences. My studies helped me understand that many factors shape our space. For example, institutions like the Admissions Committee Law allow local committees to exclude me from living in 900 localities. In this sense, the law shapes the planning reality, and the planning shapes the space. Take, another example, my home. For thirty years, the house’s status has been ‘not permitted’ (has no building permits) because a planner arbitrarily drew a ‘blue line’ (a plan’s delineation) marking our local council’s boundaries. This planning tool affects my life and that of my neighbors. We all live without a building permit.

During my studies, I started working in Zian Kaur’s Law Firm. Thanks to him and the Clinic, I learned how to view spaces from the residents’ point of view. As a lawyer, the case is usually what interests you. As a planner, you’re interested in the ‘user experience,’ or on cases I worked on, the person afflicted by planning is my top priority. Once I found my place at the Clinic, I felt more comfortable writing about topics that interested me. I wanted to bring myself and issues I cared about to lessons. Some of the professors appreciated this, while others did not. I found people in the Clinic who encouraged me to write about myself and what interested me. I engaged in deep and meaningful learning and constantly received feedback from people who agreed and disagreed with me. There’s a phrase from the Torah I like that relates to this “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” The Clinic was a space where we could have difficult conversations and debate complex issues. It’s there that we decided to run the East Jerusalem Planning Platform.

Toward the end of my degree, I had to decide if I wanted to be a lawyer who understands planning or a planner who understands the law. I decided to take all the tools I had acquired and contribute to my community’s struggle. I returned to Haifa and began working for Sikkuy-Aufoq, an NGO campaigning for a ‘shared and equal society,’ as a planner in the equitable policy department. In Sikkuy, they believe that ongoing advocacy work, policy proposals, and research will change policy just like water erodes rocks. I wanted to lead a struggle for spatial equality and equal land distribution, to change places where there are policies of separation and discrimination. During our team learning stage, I increasingly sat with public Arab leadership speaking with them about the struggle from a professional standpoint. That was another defining moment for me. I realized that I am a planner and a lawyer, and my knowledge is a means to an end. I can use my knowledge to fight spatial and cognitive segregation between Jews and Arabs because currently, Arabs don’t see Jews, and Jews don’t see or hear about Arabs.

Why does it happen?

The current planning conditions are the result of a political vision, a  Jewish national planning vision. TAMA 35 (National Outline Plan 35) leaves no room for doubt. The plan limits Arab townships and surrounds them with JNF forests. Arab townships have local councils where residents are supposedly represented, but there are severe issues of underrepresentation in spatial and regional district committees. Arabs make up 80% of the northern population but only account for 2% of the planning committees. The facts and figures are so extreme that they cannot be ignored. Still, every time you come to a government office, you need to ignore this data; otherwise, you are ‘politicizing’ the discussion, which is frowned upon.
 

Amal with the Sikkuy-Aufoq team
 

Every single day we hear about the housing crisis in Israel. What is the housing crisis for the Jewish sector? It is about housing scarcity in central areas. What is the housing crisis for the Arab sector? It is about a lack of land, lack of planning, and lack of infrastructure. I wanted to present this struggle in words. How could I take maps and turn them into words? How could we share our work with other people? And do it all while still understanding institutional complexities, understanding the planning context, and connecting it to the social, historical, and political context, not to mention the context of a shared society. 

I became more critical of principles of segregation and discrimination and began using planning and legal tools to understand and submit policy recommendations to government ministries and shape a new planning approach. The recommendations were based on the culture and nature of Arab townships. The new planning approach was based on equitable spatial planning for everyone living in the same area, not just for the benefit of the Jewish majority. Planning can be a deterministic act guided from the top that promotes a nationalist policy, but planning can also be a tool to shape our day-to-day life equitably.

Three years into working at Sikkuy, crime and violence in Arab society began to rise, and the issue of personal security became a top issue on the agenda. Because I studied planning from a social point of view, I interpreted the subject of personal safety from a planning perspective. For years localities demarcated by that ‘blue line’ were not allowed to advance planning and build infrastructure. That led to unprecedented density without any infrastructure development, including public and commercial spaces. Inevitably, these places became slums which led to violence. Surprising, right?

Take the mirror image, for example. I read somewhere that people who grow up by the sea develop artistic traits. An accepted opinion is that if you live by the sea and in proximity to green spaces, you become an artist. However, stating that growing up in a slum with demolition threats and without public space will lead to crime and violence is not acceptable. The response to that statement is, ‘what you are saying is nonsense. Arab society is a violent society, your culture is violent.’ At Sikkuy, we understood that the upcoming discourse on policing would, at a minimum, negatively impact relations between Jews and Arabs and Arabs and the state. We decided we needed to introduce a different lens to analyze this phenomenon and look at violence from a socio-economic perspective. In the end, what shapes the economy? What shapes housing? Planning. Here, I realized that the best thing I can do with this knowledge is mediate and share it. I needed to use my knowledge to share our story and struggle and put forward a new planning perspective. We do not need more bureaucrats, we have enough of those. 
I will conclude with the following: To us, Palestinian Arabs, in our lives and in this state, land is in the soul of every one of us and Arab society in general. Land is a pillar of our conflict; our conflict is essentially a conflict about control over the land. Through speech, writing, and research, I try to express my identity as a member of Palestinian Arab society and as a native of the land. We are a population fighting for its place and fighting against separation, nationalization, and oppressive policies. That is my first and foremost job as a professional. I refuse to say, ' I don’t deal with political issues, and I am only driven by professional considerations.’ Politics are part of my professional considerations. Edward Said called it “the educated involved.”

Amal currently works for the New Israel Fund as the manager for Arabic communication. He is also a member of Amnesty International's Israel branch and is constantly involved in spatial and environmental justice campaigns.
 

Translation: Galya Globerman

 

 

 

On Yom HaShoah, there are sirens that ring throughout the country. During those single minutes, nearly the entire country comes to a complete halt. Drivers stop their cars along the highways, cashiers stop the grocery conveyor belt while shoppers put their lists aside, and mothers walking their kids ask them to wait on the sidewalk. We (myself included as an Israeli Jew) all stand in absolute silence. For Israeli Jews, this is a national observance, but more so, it is a  near-sacred ritual. However, in contrast, in Arab and Palestinian circles, the sirens may represent an endless range of emotions, depending on the person, their environment, and their worldviews.

 

On this year’s Holocaust Memorial Day, Tharaa Kirresh, Dr. Maisa Totry, and I had a scheduled site visit to a student’s project in Majd El Krum, an Arab town in northern Israel. On this visit, we were going to meet local council officials. On the night before the excursion, I made the connection that  I would likely be in Majd El Krum when the siren rang. My thoughts were racing and anxiety set in.

 

“What am I going to do when the siren rings? Will it ring in the meeting with the council officials? Does this extremely uncomfortable situation warrant postponing our visit? Am I going to stand in silence and acknowledge Yom HaShoa or should I ignore the siren? How would my peers and hosts react? What would they think of me?” I knew I needed to settle this before the siren rang.

 

I thought about it. I believe that Yom HaShoah is a day that transcends current geopolitical conflicts. More importantly, I lost family in the Holocaust, I’m Jewish, and I’m certainly not ashamed of who I am. To be true to myself, I needed to stand. Furthermore, not standing would project the opposite: shame, indifference, and nonchalance about my history and identity. I had to stand.

 

As we drove, I asked Tharaa if she thought it would be okay for me to stand, and she said yes, it would be okay. I had no illusions nor expectations that my Muslim and Christian peers, let alone the hosts of our meeting, would stand - after all, the sirens are not commemorating their tragedy. When the siren rang, we were in a meeting with the Mayor and the head of the Education department. I tried to quickly and quietly find a corner where I could stand. I wanted to remember and honor the lives lost during the Holocaust, but I also wished that the siren would just end. The situation felt so uncomfortable. Our hosts left the room, and I choose to believe that it was out of discomfort and not necessarily an act of opposition or protest. A fellow student remained seated. However, Tharaa and Maisa, while hesitant at first, stood with me. Why did they do that?

 

It wasn’t until weeks later, when Dr. Emily Silverman asked me about that moment, that I began to comprehend what had happened. Dr. Maisa Totry is a Christian Palestinian who has lived in Haifa her whole life and is often surrounded by Jews. She has experienced this scenario from the other side. As she has done before with her Jewish friends, she did with me. Dr. Totry chose to stand out of respect and compassion. She holds hope that her peers will recognize Palestinian suffering as she recognizes Jewish tragedies. And Tharaa, who didn’t plan on standing, looked out the window at the local cemetery and felt moved by a sign that read, “Everyone on Earth is mortal.” This compelled her to stand. Where least expected, in an Arab town, and in the face of scrutiny from others, my peers and friends stood beside me.

 

That single silent minute was a beautiful expression of solidarity, bravery, and friendship.

 

 

 

Credit: Tharaa Kirresh

In hindsight, that moment meant more than most words can express. It reflected the deep respect we have for each other and the bonds we have cultivated. It reminded me that in the little time we have, we must boldly choose to better our world. We choose to be compassionate. We choose to be courageous.

 

Ma'alul is not just a place; it’s an idea, a people, a memory, a dream. Ma'alul was an Arab village in the Galilee prior to the War of 1948, when it was largely demolished - along with hundreds of others.   Descendants of the  Christian and Muslim Palestinian residents are now dispersed through neighboring towns such as Nazareth and Yafia, and come together annually in Ma'alul to visit and tend the remains, including the cemetery, two churches, and a mosque.

Ma’alul’s mosque. (Credit: Ismail Salah)

Attorney Ameer Bisharat, a Clinic scholar whose family is originally from Ma’alul, invited the Urban Clinic to visit and together learn the story of Ma’alul. Ameer asked village elder Mahmoud Ali to tell us about the rich and painful history, and the strong social and ideological ties among the families of the original residents over the years. Together they recounted the deep connection to the land, the unusually strong social relations among Christian and Muslim neighbors, and the sense of mourning and frustration following their long exodus. Clinic scholar attorney Myssana Morany explained the legal framework by which Israel manages the lands of internally displaced people (IDPs),  with examples from international law in other situations abroad. 

Ameer Bisharat. (Credit: Galya Globerman)

Decades after being uprooted, former villagers and their descendants return once a year to gather, repair, and commemorate their past and shared present.  Ameer explained that although his family was well received by Palestinians in the neighboring Yafia, he still experiences a sense of non-belonging – his dream is to become  Mayor of Yafia and from there, lead his community to repopulate their homes in Ma’alul.

Mahmoud Ali telling the group about the community and Ma’alul’s history. Credit: Tharaa Kirresh

Myssana Morany. Credit: Galya Globerman

Ma'alul is one of an estimated nearly 500 other uprooted Palestinian villages, and here as in many other cases, much of the land remains unbuilt. Given the severe lack of land for housing in Arab towns in Israel, several participants raised the potential for redevelopment of the site, noting favorable factors such as the proximity to a major road (highway 75) and a nearby town (Yafia), and the well-organized community of descendants. But redevelopment of ‘absentee ownership’ land is a highly contentious topic across the political spectrum in Israel. Clinic members’ responses ranged from ideological support to opposition, including pragmatic or opportunistic ad hoc solutions. 

Credit: Tharaa Kirresh

The Urban Clinic trip to Ma’alul was an extraordinary opportunity to reflect on these questions from various perspectives. Palestinian Israeli Clinic scholars  commented after in the WhatsApp group that this was ‘an emotionally difficult trip’, but that it was ‘important to have a conversation about the Naqba with Jewish peers, and with the East Jerusalem Palestinians.’ Several East Jerusalem Clinic students noted that they hadn’t known much about this part of Palestinian history, or the distresses suffered by their fellow students. As a Jewish Israeli student, I was saddened to hear about the story of Ma’alul, especially from my dear colleagues, and with that, I also felt hope for a brighter future.

 

Tal Alster’s involvement in housing issues began in 2011 alongside his academic career as a student enrolled in Hebrew University's prestigious PEP - Philosophy, Economics, and Political Science or PAKAM in the Hebrew acronym. He was first exposed to housing issues when he started volunteering as a student for Knesset member Dov Khenin, the only Jewish Knesset member of the primarily Arab  Hadash party. Through his volunteering, Tal became exposed to the politics of workers’ rights and housing. Towards the end of 2011, Israel’s social protests erupted. These protests would have a long-lasting impact on him. “I think the social protests’ effect on me and others raised awareness of our ability to change the political sphere. The reality we live in is less rigid than we think, and it is more malleable than it initially appears. We can move in the direction we choose. In hindsight, I think that the protests evoked this feeling in many people. We saw ourselves as agents of change in civil society and government, which gave us a positive feeling.”

 

Exposure to current events and issues and more profound academic pursuits jumpstarted Tal’s professional development.  

 

Tal Alster (Credit: Tal Alster)

 

What happened after 2011? What were your next steps after you realized that this is the field that interests you?

"During my last year in my B.A. I registered for courses taught by Dr. Avner de-Shalit from the Political Sciences Department. One of my assignments in the Poverty and Social Exclusion course dealt with people who are unhoused. To gain a deeper understanding of the issues at hand, Avner recommended I speak with Dr. Emily Silverman. Toward the end of my degree, I signed up for Emily’s fascinating Housing Policy and Urban Renewal course, where I learned about urban revitalization projects that attracted new people without displacing the existing residents.  

I enjoyed my B.A. PEP program and I felt that the urban policy and planning field provides a platform to implement transcendent ideas in political philosophy. I thought that this would be a great platform from which I could advance social policy and implement concepts of justice, equality, and fairness.”

Tal pursued an M.A. in Political Science with a concentration in urban planning and is now completing his Ph.D. He describes how his path intersected with the Urban Clinic, where he would go on to deal with housing issues for two and half years and receive a wealth of knowledge.

 

How did the work at the Clinic influence you? 

“I started as a transcriber for a forum initiative led by the Ministry of Housing and Emily. The forum was established by the Urban Clinic as a platform for multi-sectoral discussion (private sector, municipalities, and government ministries) on affordable housing. This task included preparing legislation initiatives. Despite the legislation not being passed, the experiences still provided me with an invaluable opportunity to enter the field of urban planning. At the same time, Emily and I started working together, and little by little, I received a more prominent platform to advance my own initiatives in the Clinic. The most memorable moments from my work at the Clinic were working on the War on Poverty Housing Committee report (in Hebrew) and participating in the  World Urban Forum in Medellin, Colombia in 2014, representing the Urban Clinic. 

About 30 Israelis attended the World Urban Forum (WUF)  that year, in a delegation organized by the Urban Clinic. “Participating in the WUF was fantastic  - it allowed me to meet new people, exposed me to new places, gave me excellent networking opportunities in Israel, and I went on to edit an Urban Clinic report titled Social Urbanism: What Israel can learn from Medellin”, with articles written by Israeli members of the delegation. 

Following his MA, Tal began working in planning and pursuing a doctorate in housing policy and inequality in cities. He also continued his advocacy work as a founder of Yes in My Backyard (YIMBY), translating the ideas from San Francisco to Tel Aviv. One of YIMBY’s main goals in Tel Aviv was to organize political interests to advance just responses to the city’s need for additional stable and affordable rental housing. The hope was that this movement would influence decision-makers by presenting the political cost of voting against development plans.*

 

How did the YIMBY movement you founded in Tel Aviv start?

"The initiative began as a response to the literature I read and my interest in these issues. I found that YIMBY is relevant for housing policy in Israel because it advocates for renters’ rights and strengthens them in decision-making processes. My initiative stems from an understanding that tenants’ political weakness is bad for housing policy. However, unlike the movement founded in San Francisco, CA, where a middle school teacher claimed that “you can no longer live here” and “you cannot rent an apartment even near San Francisco,” our institution is not a grassroots movement. Everyone who has worked in our organization has done so in a professional capacity. One can say that that was our main weakness; our movement did not rise from ‘the bottom up,’ which was a central feature of the San Francisco movement.”

 

Tal at the Israeli Architecture Festival, June 2019 (Credit: Tal Alster)

What was this movement’s fate? Why did it stop?

"My activity at YIMBY ended when I joined the urban planning team tasked with writing Tel Aviv’s housing strategy. It didn’t make sense that I take part in the counterculture movement and work as an ‘insider-advisor.’ I felt that there was a limit to how many roles I could have and that these two were incompatible. Ultimately, for a movement like this to succeed and gain traction, it needs to influence housing policy, just like civil movements, where decision-makers are pushed, challenged, and shamed’. 

 

Why is it important to take tenants’ voices into account? Is it accurate to say that the power has resided in the hands of homeowners up until now?

"Generally speaking, planning at its core, throughout the world, is a tool that benefits homeowners and secures their assets in various ways. Planning principles are comparable to the idea that municipalities look out for their residents, maximizing services while minimizing taxes and increasing local property values. For most municipalities, this is a straightforward task as most residents are homeowners, but in Tel Aviv, more than half the residents are renters. It’s important to understand that political power isn’t just a function of headcount. Political power is always also tied to the questions of who will fight? Who will vote? Who will protest? Who will call their city council people? Who will be taken into account? In general, tenants, both in their self-image and reality, have less seniority and less experience and tend to be less involved. 

The analogy I think of relates to transportation and mobility. When the planning system attempts to widen sidewalks or add bike lanes at the expense of parking spots, it will always face powerful and centralized opposition. Even if the change will help thousands of pedestrians and cyclists, at the expense of perhaps twenty parking lots, it is still usually the interests of the car-owners that will be expressed more loudly. It’s possible to develop many mechanisms that help preserve the status quo, and one of them is interest groups. I think of homeowners in the same way, especially veteran homeowners. These people have a disproportionate influence on housing policy, and just like the car owners, they use their disproportionate allowances and unequal share of the pie.”

After pondering the essence and roots of planning and working to understand its relationship to the physical world, Tal shaped his YIMBY insights. His theoretical framework is based on William A. Fischel’s Economic Theory on Planning. The theory postulates that planning and local governance serve homeowners. “Fischel claims that the main driver behind the NIMBY movement in the United States and what characterizes local governance, in general, is risk management. Even when we are fairly certain that changes are going to result in positive outcomes for homeowners, there will still be opposition due to risk aversion.”

 

How do you make sense of all this in the Israeli context?

"What’s interesting about the Israeli context is that we see an opposite process to what is happening in the US. The government established a new institutional framework that changed the equation through its raze and rebuild (pinui binui in Hebrew) legislation (aimed at increasing the housing supply), primarily through the TAMA 38 plan. It’s not that homeowners don’t understand the disadvantages of adding residences, including stress on infrastructure and increasing density. They know why it’s problematic, but the economic benefit and increase in housing welfare are significant enough incentives to accept these projects. The state successfully created a mechanism where homeowners agree to increase density and housing supply in high-demand areas. Contrarily, in the US, the leading interest is to oppose building projects.

Today Tal is finishing his doctorate in Political Science under Prof. Avner de-Shalit and Prof. Michael Shalev’s guidance. Over the past few years, he has researched inequality in cities and written about urban renewal. He works as a planner and consultant on housing policy for the Tel Aviv Municipality and is a leading member of the team that wrote the municipal housing strategy for the city.

As a concluding note, Tal’s answer to “Where he sees himself in the future” embodies the same personal dialogue between theory and practice. Tal says that he would like to study and work in policy-making, both of which he already does (he teaches an MA  course on housing policy and urban regeneration with Dr. Emily Silverman and works in the public sphere). On a grander scale, Tal strives to improve the field of planning in Israel in academia and improve the quality of urban policy.

"One thing that needs to change is the way we teach planning. Many talented people go on to study planning, and the curricula don’t reflect that well enough. I would like to take part in that; the changes in planning practice and how we understand urbanity need to be reflected better in the curricula for urban planners.”

*The Yes in My Backyard (YIMBY) is rooted in the United States and a counter to the Not in My Backyard (NIMBY) movement. NIMBY features residents opposing the establishment of public institutions and urban renewal processes near their homes out of fears that their property values and lifestyle could be affected.

Translation: Galya Globerman

 

Islam Idaes (Credit: Islam Idaes)

 

What was your academic path?

I began by studying architecture at the Palestine Polytechnic University in Hebron. On finishing my degree, I returned to Jerusalem and started working in urban planning at an East Jerusalem-based private firm. This trial period led me to realize that I needed to develop myself further professionally - I did not know enough about Israel’s Planning and Building Law. When you work within the framework of Israeli planning institutions, it is vital to know the meaning and implications of Israeli law on the state of planning and infrastructure, and consequently, on the reality on the ground. For example, in East Jerusalem, in addition to the lack of planning infrastructure, there is a widespread phenomenon of construction without building permits, which affects residents’ quality of life. I, too, live in a building that lacks full planning permission - that’s how it was when my parents bought it decades ago.  I wanted to understand the demolition orders and why it is so incredibly difficult to grant permits retroactively. I realized that once I understood the legal system, I could, on the one hand, help reduce non-permit-related construction issues and, on the other hand, become a better and more knowledgeable professional. I understood that strengthening my professional language and my Hebrew skills would increase my chances of successfully integrating into the labor market. Both were necessary to open up job opportunities with the Jerusalem Municipality and various planning offices, so I enrolled in the Hebrew University’s Urban Planning M.A. track and a Hebrew language program to develop and acquire proficiency. This step let me communicate productively with professionals in my vicinity, in the planning institutions around the city, and in private and government offices.

 

Can you describe your University experience?

It was interesting, certainly not simple. I started studying at the end of 2015, a very difficult time in Jerusalem following the murder of Muhammad Abu Khadir. I was concerned, and my parents were uncomfortable as they thought it was dangerous for an Arab woman to study at Hebrew University. I did not speak Hebrew, nor did I know the system. It was a challenge, but I wanted to overcome these obstacles. In Jerusalem, each group is suspicious of the other, and there is a lack of trust between the sides.

Given that I did not feel safe in my city, I was surprised to find that I felt safer at the University. Even before I knew Hebrew properly, there was a pleasant atmosphere. I realized that this was a place I sought to spend time in and study. Even after completing my master's degree, I stayed on campus and worked with the Urban Clinic, which also helped me a lot to grow professionally.

 

Do you feel safe in Abu Tor?

Not always. Abu-Tor comprises two neighborhoods, a Jewish-Israeli neighborhood and an Arab-Palestinian neighborhood, and I live next to the boundary between the two. If I lived in the center of the Arab area, I would feel even less secure due to the lack of infrastructure like lighting and planning and the high rates of crime and violence that generally exist in East Jerusalem, particularly in Abu Tor. Additionally, instead of giving me a sense of security, the police in Abu Tor create a sense of insecurity and suspicion. However, despite all this, it is my neighborhood and living space.

Abu Tor - Islam’s place of residence and work (Credit: Islam Idaes)

 

 

What are the main difficulties you encounter?

The first is the language barrier. Throughout my studies, I also worked as a community planner for Abu-Tor, Silwan, and Ras al-Amud, which helped me improve my Hebrew and acquire professional experience. I realized that I could not be a planner in my city without the language skills and an understanding of the planning system and the law. Second, social-familial challenges. Being a woman who works in planning within a traditional society is complex. Before attending Hebrew University, I had opportunities to study abroad; however, due to constraints, I stayed here. Ultimately, I believe everything was for the best, and my decisions put me in an advantageous position.

 

And after the master's degree?

Immediately upon completing my degree, I started working as a freelancer. I joined planning teams for local master plans and detailed plans, especially those in East Jerusalem, and worked with the Urban Clinic as a project coordinator. My first job as a self-employed consultant was working with my Hebrew University lecturer, Yaara Rosner-Manor, on a master plan for Wadi Joz and a detailed employment site plan for Issawiya (both neighborhoods in East Jerusalem).  My role on the planning team was to be the architect who coordinated, accompanied, and promoted the planning with the relevant consultants and planning institutions. All of these provided me with intensive learning opportunities about the nature of my role.

 

So you haven’t been directly employed by the Municipality.

No. I had the opportunity to work as a staff member in the City Planning Department at the Municipality of Jerusalem. However, I realized that such a position would limit me in the nature and scope of my work. I chose to remain independent and work beside the Municipality to lead change more effectively. Additionally, because I am self-employed, my opinions are often accepted as a professional living in these neighborhoods [as opposed to an ‘outsider’]. My professional thoughts contain socio-cultural elements pertinent to residents’ day-to-day lives. My independence gives me greater freedom to express my professional opinion and be in touch with more interested parties.

 

Maybe when we become planners, we have the vision to come back with renewed vigor to save the neighborhoods where we grew up, but it's more complicated than that.

As part of my commitment to my neighborhood and my living space, I am on the community board of the Abu Tor community council. As residents, we created a vision for Abu Tor together with the director of the community council. We produced a clear statement of principles to guide the current and future development of the neighborhood. Based on our statement of principles,  the Jerusalem Development Authority allocated a budget of several million NIS and commissioned a neighborhood master plan. I now work with the professional team preparing the neighborhood master plan, together with that same Hebrew University teacher. This is an example of my contribution to my neighborhood after gaining the professional knowledge and language skills required to initiate planning processes that may promote the community and solve planning issues.

 

 

Abu Tor - Islam’s place of residence and work. Credit: Islam Idaes

 

What are the urgent issues in East Jerusalem?

Government Resolution 3790 allocated budgets to East Jerusalem to reduce socio-economic gaps that deepened over decades between the city's East and West, such as unemployment, lack of security, unlicensed construction, violence, and school dropout rates. These problems severely affect the local population, resulting in low levels of education and increasing levels of violence in the neighborhoods. The first major problem I would like to elaborate on is the lack of public buildings and classrooms. To meet the classroom shortage, the Municipality began renting out residential buildings and turning them into schools. In practice, they are not up to standards, thus creating an environment not conducive to learning. The students feel as if they are in prisons - the classrooms are very small, there are no playgrounds outside, and the schools lack all the primary conditions for a proper and good quality educational environment that the standards require. The state of the education system in the Wadi will harm the whole new generation and hurt their sense of belonging to the spaces they use - ostensibly, this is their space, but they do not feel like it was created for them. All of these spatial, planning, and sociological problems are intertwined, which harm communities living in East Jerusalem and do not allow a sense of belonging, causing vandalism and preventing people from taking part in creating their public space.

Another big problem I would like to expand on is the housing crisis and housing overcrowding. The most urgent issue in East Jerusalem is dealing with the overcrowding in the neighborhoods and reducing the number of houses built without a permit. The Municipality has misguided prejudices about Arab society, which need to be addressed - for example, in most cases, it is thought that Arab society does not cope well with multi-story residential buildings. A change in planning policy needs to be implemented to meet the needs of the residents of East Jerusalem and address overcrowding and land use issues. My participation in the planning teams influences a paradigm shift regarding planning policy in the relevant institutions. I have the opportunity to present a concept and tools that are culturally and contextually adapted to East Jerusalem residents. The unplanned organic densification being led by residents on their land results in an unexpected load on the infrastructure, education, transportation, and employment systems which are not designed to absorb the unplanned growth.

 

Is the Municipality of Jerusalem solely responsible for East Jerusalem?

Yes, in all legal respects. In recent years, a lot of money has been allocated to reduce gaps between the city's two parts. Indeed, various municipal players and residents' representatives are interested in improving the situation. Still, the question is how and what to improve. It is impossible to control everything, and some issues should have been taken care of twenty or thirty years ago. There is also the question of trust - how to instill trust in residents who have experienced a lot of damage and suffering, whose homes have been destroyed time and time again, whose basket of services is insufficient, and who live in distressed conditions?

 

Do you feel that as the years go by, the policy improves?

Recently, the policy has become more flexible. According to the government's resolution, there are efforts to increase the number of employed people to reduce poverty, but there is no change regarding the housing supply. The government's policy aims to improve the quality of life for the residents of East Jerusalem. Still, there is little local involvement in decision-making, and there is almost no progress in increasing the housing supply.  Decision-makers do not allow sufficient supply, so there is no solution to this basic need. People should live in legal and good-quality housing, knowing that it will not be demolished at a moment's notice.

 

What is your dream for the future?

That’s a tricky question. First of all, to improve the quality of life for myself, my family, and my society, and to continue to grow professionally, to lead programs on a broader and more significant scale, and to see myself and be seen as a "social architect." I hope to promote educational advancement and, more specifically, to continue to improve spatial planning. I also want to contribute to changing the perceptions that Israeli planning institutions have about Arab society. We need to deepen our understanding of how to improve the quality of life in the context in which we live, in my neighborhood, and throughout the city and country. I hope that being an active and involved planner will lead to me continuing to contribute and point out inequalities. Hopefully, I can also formulate implementable plans with my skills and toolbox.

 

Translation: Galya Globerman

 

 

The Old City of Jerusalem comprises a network of narrow alleyways and stairs where fully mobile locals can reach different areas with relative ease and tourists can happily meander between historic and religious sites. But what is functional and fun to some can be quite challenging and frustrating to others. How do senior residents and individuals with disabilities get around in the Old City? How do they reach clinics, purchase groceries, and interact in their communities?

Urban Clinic Internship Course student Merav Horovitz Stein, who works in the Old City as part of her job at the Jerusalem Intercultural Center, noticed an ad hoc solution: electric golf carts were being purchased by residents and used as 'taxis' for locals and tourist. 
 

 

Merav describes how golf carts operate in the Old City.

 

Merav invited the students and faculty of the Internship Course to experience the golf-cart-taxis early on a  Friday morning in December. Hurdling around, we realized the enormous potential of these vehicles as public transport - they are clean, quiet, and fast! But, without clear standards, they can become a hazard: there is no one-way system, and in the narrow streets, they could easily block passage and collide with pedestrians and each other. Operators also told us that they receive traffic fines when they ferry passengers outside the walls of the Old City (to health clinics, for example) and park the vehicles outside their homes for charging. 

 

Learning about the challenges drivers face.

 

Credit form left to right: Alla Barhoum, Eman Ansari

 

Merav presented her project in Fall 2021, and new student Haim Yamin asked to come aboard, bringing his work experience as project manager for the Jerusalem Development Company Moriah, specializing in the Old City. With Merav receiving a Moelis Fellowship to work alongside Haim, the team mapped the routes, assessed needed infrastructure changes, and presented their work plan to six senior officials from the Jerusalem municipality and the Ministry of Transport (see screenshot below). 'This fits perfectly with our strategy to make the Old City car-free,' said the director of the government-municipal company for developing the Old City.  Haim and Merav were asked to expand the project to include connections to the Light Rail, estimate the number of cars that could be removed, recommend parking solutions, and develop management options. 'Once you can do that,' said the political advisor to the Minister of Transport, ‘we show the Minister and the Mayor how golf carts as public transport can help improve life in the Old City of Jerusalem.'
 

Screenshot from the meeting, January 25th, 2022.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Padlet discussions regarding the lack of social intervention in the planning sphere

This revelation comes in contrast to the ever-present environmental participation in nearly all planning committees throughout the country. In practice, this means that almost every single plan in Israel is scrutinized various times from an environmental point of view, but not necessarily to the same degree from a social/welfare standpoint. Such an imbalance can result in skewed decision-making and deepen social inequalities. In a country as socially diverse, conflicted, tribal, and complex as Israel, it is unfathomable yet unsurprising that we do not prioritize bringing different views to the table. 

How do we plan for individuals different from ourselves when we do not know their needs, cultural constraints, and experiences? Who represents the minorities, impoverished, and marginalized? How can we pursue a just society when we aren’t designing our communities to be just? Who is advocating for parks in poor neighborhoods? Who is examining the effects of high-voltage power lines in underserved communities? Who is guaranteeing children have safe access to playgrounds?

Despite the structural gap, there are some mechanisms to promote and ensure social welfare. For example, in Jerusalem, there are neighborhood community centers that operate based on the communities’ wants and needs. There are laws that protect individuals with disabilities, including guidelines for recommended open spaces in Jerusalem neighborhoods. However, these mechanisms are scarce and scattered, leaving communities to fall between the cracks. There are also alternatives to instituting a social representative; Silverman and Churchman proposed various approaches in their 2012 publication Strengthening Social Considerations in Land-Use Planning in Israel. These include increasing state welfare services and citizen presence in the planning process, improving public participation, requiring impact assessment studies, and including formal representatives (planners and advisors) in the planning process.
 

Padlet discussion regarding the agenda of a social representative

Even as a masters student, I still find it difficult to understand where to get information from, how to contact my local representatives, and how to participate in decisions that will affect the neighborhood in which I live. Where does that leave asylum seekers, Bedouins, Holocaust survivors, Haredis, Arabs, and new immigrants? 

The most recent discussion included the importance of including social representatives in the planning process from the outset and identifying the main goals they should pursue, but to me that all fell to the wayside when Yoel Segal and Debbie Gild Hayo spoke. Debbie, an attorney and Policy Director at The Association for Civil Rights in Israel, reminded me that the role of a planner is to guarantee quality of life to all residents while focusing on those who have no voice, representing and protecting vulnerable members of our society. This ethos is weak in Israel’s gridlocked and overly politicized planning sphere. However, even if planners could plan based on this ethos, we would then depend on planners’ goodness to promote social and spatial justice, and that too risks being corrupted. Yoel, a Ph.D. in social work and representative of the Israel Urban Forum on the National Planning Committee, expanded on this and expressed that we cannot guarantee socially equitable outcomes if we are always ‘playing defense’, just like we cannot fight climate change by only adopting small changes in our daily lives. Yoel calls for a structural and institutional paradigmatic shift in Israel’s planning system. ‘Simply’ adding a social representative (arguably especially a temporary one - an idea brought forward by Ofra Carmon from the Ministry of Welfare) to committees cannot solve this problem. 

Ultimately, one representative is better than none, but if we can expand our horizons and imagine a different planning reality, one that by nature advocates on behalf of our more vulnerable members of society, perhaps, just maybe, we may be able to plan and shape a more equitable society.

 

Padlet discussion regarding future steps to improve social intervention.

Screengrab from the online meeting.

 

Discussion highlights (with English subtitles):

Sources:
“Strengthening Social Considerations in Land-Use Planning in Israel”, 2012, Haifa, Center for Urban and Regional Planning, Technion. Churchman, A., and Silverman, E., (in Hebrew).

 

 

 

My recurring thoughts address harmony and planning, and how we can plan in a way that promotes, guarantees, and encourages coexistence? And I mean coexistence in the broadest of terms: coexistence with our diverse neighbors, the environment, and different groups and institutions. Throughout the conference countless ideas were presented: we need to guarantee long-term home rentals; childcare centers should become our one-stop-shop for our neighborhood needs and could be used as tools for urban regeneration; tourism in open spaces needs to be bolstered while protecting our sensitive and ever-dwindling ecosystems; Arab townships need to be planned, not regulated; etc. Frankly, I agreed with most of it, but imagining a utopia is not too difficult of a task. Getting there is the challenge. How can we plan for, and achieve, a more harmonious country? The lectures I went to didn’t fully address this, the posters did so to an extent. Next time I will dig deeper into the different projects presented as they succinctly identified issues and solutions instead. Maybe then, more hows would have been answered.

 

Despite my unanswered questions, I enjoyed my time there. The Planners’ Conference isn’t supposed to provide solutions to all these problems, it is supposed to expose participants to different ideas, approaches, and individuals. As a student I find this to be the inherent value of the conference. I heard from experts and professors whom I would not have encountered at Hebrew University nor in Jerusalem and was able to expand my frame of reference. Next year I will be better equipped, and ready to search for more answers.

 

 

 

Hila Bar-Ner was born and raised in Rishon Le’Tzion. She holds a BA from Hebrew University’s Amirim program, where she also did her MA in Urban Planning. She is a member of the Young Urban Planners Forum and works as an urban planner at Gavrieli-Segal and a Teaching Assistant at IDC Herzliya. She currently lives in Tel Aviv with her partner, with whom she is expecting, and their dog.

Hila Bar-Ner

 

How did you reach the Urban Clinic?
Even before I began my master’s I knew that I wanted to join the Research track, and therefore set up a meeting with Dr. Emily Silverman, whose work I had come across in the past. Emily participated in the 2011 social protests and strongly made the case that in order to solve socio-economic issues it is crucial to look at the spatial aspect. When I saw that she had a course called “City-University”, I made sure to register for it. Emily is a pioneer in learning and teaching through dynamic field trips which made me enthusiastic about her work and contributed towards my desire to join the Clinic. I initially joined the Clinic as a reporter, mostly writing about events. From there I transitioned to Urban Clinic Coordinator, where I worked on various things including new media management and project advancement. Through exposure to the diverse content I was working on, I developed an interest in placemaking and began writing and editing content that attempted to reveal what placemaking is and how it is expressed in Israel. This publication contributed to my thesis which dealt with different perceptions about placemaking and the impact the institutions behind them (national, municipal, or local) have on managing low-cost, temporary, dynamic, and community-oriented interventions. Following that, I wrote an additional publication for the Clinic, which was based on a series of sessions from the Department Seminar course where I was a TA. This seminar aimed to shine a light on professionals and the research taking place in Israel on public participation in planning.
 

Credit: Yinon Fox - Hila Bar-Ner lecturing in 2018

What do you do today?

Soon I’ll have completed five years at Gavrieli-Segal. The office was established by Tami Gavrieli who was the founder and director of Tel Aviv-Yafo’s Strategic Planning Department and Guido Segel who is an architect who worked for the Strategic Planning Department and led the City’s bicycle project during its formative years. 

I joined as an underling and dealt with all sorts of affairs. Over the years the job developed into planner and project manager positions. One of the things I love about the office is that we deal with long-term strategic processes, and view planning not only as producing plans, but as a means to promote in-depth processes. Another thing I like is the nature of the projects we take on, such as planning for child-friendly environments and urban renewal. Over the past couple of years, I’ve been collaborating with Dr. Nati Merom, a sociologist and architect at IDC Herzliya who specializes in sustainability and urbanization processes in the global north and south. Together we are conducting research on sustainable development in Tel Aviv that has taken place over the past two decades. I also TA courses on sustainability and urbanization processes in global cities. 

I am also a member of the Young Urban Planners Forum Committee, which is quite a blessing. At the most recent Israel Planners Association, we were able to set up a discussion forum to advance the interests of young planners and use our platform to promote social change through spatial interventions.

 

You’re one of the first people who wrote about placemaking in Israel, can you tell us more about your perspective since writing your thesis?

I was first exposed to the concept in 2015 during a collaboration between the Clinic and the Porter Center at Tel Aviv University which brought representatives from the Project for Public Spaces organization. From my perspective, placemaking is a process that embodies an understanding that urban change needs to be gradual, affordable, and ‘boots on the ground’ as opposed to long-term plans. My thesis aimed to explore the phenomenon of temporary, cheap, dynamic, and community-oriented interventions in public spaces. What are the goals being set? How do the interventions change depending on who is leading them? For example, what is the difference between projects when they are led by residents, the municipality, or the state? 

When I first started writing my thesis there was this buzz around the topic, but it was still not clear how, with whom, and when to act. Since then, it is my impression that places that promoted placemaking, such as Jerusalem, have been busier with practical issues such as maintenance, budgetary cooperation, and others, and less focused on the actual projects. So, even though we have more knowledge and tools to execute projects, those involved do not always have clear goals and outcomes in mind.

I believe that placemaking can be a great tool for short-term solutions, but it is important to view it as an initial step toward long-term solutions. I think that this transition point is where placemaking becomes an interesting tool for planners, as opposed to designers or community members.

Listen to Hila’s Lecture on Five Placemaking Methods

Credit: Noa Regev - Hila Bar-Ner lecturing in 2020

 

What do you think planners can advance through placemaking?

The first step is to support placemaking as an important complementary tool to support long-term changes. It allows for local knowledge and ‘wants’ to be shared when promoting public spaces. The second step is to find a way to use placemaking for long-term policymaking. For example, how do we maintain, strengthen, and empower a community garden during urban renewal processes as opposed to destroying it? These are the kind of challenges that require creative and multidisciplinary thinking, which, in my opinion, are well-suited for urban planners.

 

Is there anything else you would like to tell our readers? 

I would like to invite curious, creative, and determined young planners to take part and join our field. To me, it is important to remember and mention that urban planning is not just a bureaucratic and boring profession. It can be made more interactive by networking with other peers at forums, participating in association activities, participating in hackathons, and others. Most importantly, connecting with people who care results in more power. The more curious and passionate the planners, the more significant that change will be. We must continue to celebrate and promote the creative process because, in my opinion, that is exactly the factor that influences the places we design. At the end of the day, these are the places where we all live.

 

About the author: Adi Shifrin is working toward her BA in Sociology and Anthropology and Theater. She is also on the Urban Clinic’s writing team. 

Credit: Yinon Geva - Young Planners Forum at the Israel Planners Conference 2021

Translated by: Galya Globerman

 

 

Maliha has a wonderful personality and is a great role model for other Palestinian women. This inspired me to interview her and gain a deeper understanding of her life and work. We spoke about the way in which she transformed her personal story and hometown, Kufr Aqab, into a research topic she studied in depth.

Maliha Zugayar

 

 

Why did you want to study Urban Planning at Hebrew University? How did you get here?

Soon after completing my Architecture degree at Bir Zeit University, I was able to secure a job, however, I soon realized that all the work was in Hebrew. It required me to speak and write in Hebrew, as well as understand Israeli planning and building law. The language barrier and complex legalese meant that I needed to improve my language skills, and after searching for ways to advance my education, I found Hebrew University’s Planning and Building Law course. This led me to enroll in its Planning degree. However, before I could formally enroll, I needed to take a year of prerequisite studies. Overcoming the language barrier was the most difficult part. I would record the lessons and then review them once I got home, and in the end, I finished the year with good grades. I was finally able to start my master’s degree. I enjoyed writing research and position papers, and my professors were also pleased with my writing. These factors led me to remain in academia and pursue a thesis. 

What tools did you acquire from the degree?

My Hebrew improved drastically. I finally understood Israel’s planning and building laws, I was able to grasp a better understanding of the reality in which we live, East Jerusalem included, and I was able to tie theory to reality. I was also able to establish a strong professional network and make new friends.

What did you enjoy the most during your degree?

I loved the atmosphere at the Urban Clinic, and I did not feel alone at all. When I felt lost, people were always there to help me. The Clinic was aware that we [Arab students] were encountering a new atmosphere and were constantly facing language barriers, so the staff guided and accompanied us.

Now that you work in the field, what do you think the program was lacking or did not teach?

As an architect, I felt like there needs to be more practice and hands-on planning. Perhaps more studios on spatial planning would have been beneficial as opposed to the numerous studios on social planning.

Sofia and Haim’s Studio on Planning and Designing of New Residential Neighborhoods (49883) was great and tied architecture and planning together. 

(The course syllabus can be found here).

Where did you work after finishing your degree? Did the tools you acquired help you?

I currently work as a researcher at the Jerusalem Institute for Policy Research. I am often involved in research on East Jerusalem, and more recently have been researching public health. I am examining the franchise operating mechanism for HMOs, which is something the Ministry of Health only allows in East Jerusalem. 

I also teach a course on governance and regime in Israeli policy at the pre-academic preparatory program at Hebrew University for East Jerusalem students and am a TA in the East Jerusalem Course: Policy, Economics, and Society (49850). Additionally, I recently joined a team of architects, which includes Dr. Yaara Rozner, that is working on a master plan for Abu Tor, a neighborhood in East Jerusalem.

My studies helped me gain a deeper understanding of the reality that shapes the planning processes in Jerusalem and expanded my social network. Dr. Emily Silverman recommended I work at the Jerusalem Institute, which is where I currently work. 

Can you tell me about your thesis?

I wrote my thesis on informal multi-story construction in Kufr Aqab under Dr. Silverman’s supervision. I was born in Kufr Aqab and lived there up until the Second Intifada, while the neighborhood was still considered upper class. The neighborhood had green areas and I remember that we were always able to walk to my grandmother’s home. After marrying my husband, we moved back to the village, but only stayed for a year. During that time we experienced many hardships. I tried to understand why… What happened to Kufr Aqab? I was deeply affected by this ordeal. As a child, I experienced the village as a good and happy place, but when I returned as an adult, I was disgusted, I felt a lack of personal safety, and experienced a poor quality of life. 

When I started my master’s in planning I tried to understand how developers were able to build 16-story buildings and how they were able to convince people to buy the apartments. In other words, what led to the phenomenon of multi-story informal building in Kufr Aqab? Was it the occupation? Do similar phenomena take place in other countries? How was this construction funded? How did people manage to purchase these apartments?

To frame my research, I defined ‘vertical informality’ as a process that resulted in at least seven-story tall buildings that were developed without a permit, plans, zoning, and without the intervention of banks (through loan or mortgage programs) to make a profit through the sale or rental of such apartments.

I learned that informal construction takes place worldwide. For example, during the 1990s, under Egypt’s weak government, citizens faced land scarcity, and people had nowhere to live. This led to informal multi-story construction. My research showed that in Jerusalem, people are willing to live under these conditions to retain their ID cards.  Furthermore, they were able to purchase an apartment at a reasonable price. The price of these apartments in Kufr Aqab is lower than average because total costs are cheaper: there is no supervision, contractors can use cheap materials, and the purchasing process takes place without paying engineer fees. 

Did writing your thesis lead you to view this phenomenon differently? 

Before writing my thesis, I viewed Kufr Aqab as a slum and thought that informal construction is not suitable for housing. While I lived there I didn’t want to return home because of the traffic, sewage, and lack of privacy from my neighbors. However, writing my thesis enabled me to link this type of construction to the political reality. I realized that despite all their disadvantages, these multi-story structures provide housing solutions in poor neighborhoods in East Jerusalem. My perspective changed from a personal point of view to a more general perspective.

How did you adapt your thesis into an academic article? What did you learn from this experience?

I did not have any experience publishing papers, however, Dr. Nufar Avni, who gets published often, was available to help me. She guided me through the process of adapting a thesis into an academic article.

What are your plans for the future?

I want to pursue a doctorate.

What do you want to research?

I want to continue exploring the topic of vertical informality and focus on the social fabric of neighborhoods. I would also like to study development in the Shuafat refugee camp, especially because it takes place in the context of a refugee camp as opposed to a declining neighborhood like Kufr Aqab.

What inspires you?

My daughters. I want them to see what I do and my accompaniments. I want to be a role model for them. I feel like I work in a field that has the power to change society, and I want to give them the feeling that even though the road is tough, we can achieve our goals. I want them to believe that they can be whatever they want.

What is something the University to take into account to welcome Palestinian students?

That our political perspective is different from that of our Jewish peers.

What advice would you give to Palestinian students who are embarking on their academic studies?

I would encourage them to be more self-confident. “Don’t think that Jewish students are better than us, and don’t think that their learning methods are better than ours. We can also work hard and compete with others.”

I would also recommend that they start working during their studies and become more independent. “The sooner you enter ‘real life’ the easier it will be to acclimate to reality. And finally, don’t be afraid of hard work, things don’t come easily.” 

What do you think changed in the way the University related to Palestinian students? What else needs to change?

Today there are many Palestinian Arab students enrolled in universities due to government efforts to reduce socio-economic gaps. I don’t know if this is good or not. Sometimes students will begin their studies without clear goals in mind. Numbers aren’t the only important factor. It is important that students are aware of their goals and keep true to their identity and being. 

Did you face any obstacles as a Palestinian Arab woman at Hebrew University?

I thought I would face more obstacles. The language barrier was difficult, but that improved over time. I was also concerned about my academic performance and that I wouldn’t be able to compete with Jewish students. 

I would like to thank my partner, a dentist, Masav Abu Garbi’ye, who supported me. He plays an important role in my life. He helped me prepare for my dissertation defense, spent a lot of time with our daughters while I was studying or running late, and took my place when I was absent. He is truly a life partner. I have a strong support system. 

About the writer: Iman Ansari, Jerusalemite, Hebrew University alumna with a degree in Hebrew Language and Literature and Geography. Today Iman is completing her master’s degree in Hebrew Language and Literature and Urban and Regional Planning. She works as a TA in Hebrew studies at the Shalem Academic Center in the Islamic and Middle Eastern Studies program, a research aide in the Jerusalem Institute for Policy Research, and a creative writing teacher for 4-6th grade students at a center for gifted students in East Jerusalem. Furthermore, she is researching the feasibility of integrating the use of the Rav Kav bus pass in East Jerusalem’s bus network. This research is being done in collaboration with the University of Berkeley, Hebrew University, the Urban Clinic, and Tamara Krezner.

Translated by: Galya Globerman
 

 

 

For its second field trip of the year, Tharaa invited the Urban Clinic to meet at a small Palestinian town in the West Bank. Al-Auja is a somewhat sleepy town, which looks more like a rest stop along a loud highway than a village. In all honesty, I’ve passed by it during previous trips, but never truly noticed the town. I didn’t realize that was the community we were going to visit. My interest piqued and I was ready to explore, meet up with friends and peers and get to know their families. We were introduced to Amer, our host and guide for the day whose family runs a farm like many other families in the town.

Credit: Alla Barhoum

 

Amer’s family’s home has a beautiful stone facade, elevated and breezy porch, and cooling home interior… it feels out of place. Surrounding the house are remnants of past orchards and grapevines which in all certainty provided shade and greenery in some bygone era. The empty pool collects dust - surely it was abandoned long ago. The flies swarm to any hints of moisture. Nature is reclaiming its desert. When did this drought begin and upend life? How did it come to be?

 

It’s not all lost. We sat down at the uncovered patio to chat, eat, and contemplate life in Al-Auja. The open fire pit, sitdown area, and garden filled with citrus trees offered respite from the speeding highway, desert sun, and littered streets. Tharaa’s mom fed us a delicious meal she prepared over the firepit. Families who had just met mingled while children ran around and played. Just as the sun began to set and the desert began to cool, the sweet, warm, crispy-creamy homemade knafeh was ready. Looking back at this family reunion-like afternoon, it’s surprising that just that morning many of us were strangers. 

 

Credit from left to right: Alla Barhoum, Tharaa Kirresh

 

Credit form left to right: Alla Barhoum, Eman Ansari

 

It wasn’t long before the home visit and village tour offered us a sobering reminder of both the parallel worlds in which we live and how reality changes at an astonishing pace.

 

Al-Auja is under the authority of the Jericho Governorate, however, more interestingly, is the fact that the town is split by Israel’s Highway 90. This results in an Area A town being halved by Israeli infrastructure and control. The western part of the town is both upstream and in direct proximity to Jericho while the eastern part is downstream and geopolitically divided from its Governorate. Although there is no visible border between the segments (highway aside), there are political boundaries that impact basic governance such as policing and development.

 

As the tour progressed I began to understand the complexities of life in Al-Auja. Amer addressed water scarcity issues that they have been facing for years. While in the past families could reliably depend on spring and well water for their farms for eleven months during the year, today they live in constant uncertainty about when and how much water they will have. This reputedly man-made crisis is the result of greater Israeli extraction efforts aimed to supply settlements with more water for irrigation. By allowing the construction of new settlements and increasing their share of the water supply, the Israeli government is doubly harming Palestinian communities.
 

To make matters more complicated, the western part of the town is upstream, therefore has more access to already scarce water than the eastern downstream part. This ostensibly reflects a hyperlocal north-south divide. While there are efforts to distribute water equitably among families based on farm size, politics and geography still dictate the harsh realities of life. Today irrigation water flows through open canals, meaning that upstream farms have access to water first. Amer’s family’s farm is downstream, and despite communal efforts to share water fairly, he admitted that sometimes water does not reach their farm. Amer was kind enough to sit with me, answer questions, and share his thoughts on the family business and the future he envisions. He seemed to suggest that water-intensive agriculture is not a long-term option and the next generation needs to diversify the family business.
 

Credit: Alla Barhoum

Amer explains how irrigation water is distributed from the canal behind him.

And while the trip is officially over and we’ve all already been home for a few days, I’ve yet to fully leave Al-Auja. My internal monologue meanders back to that day and asks how children cross the busy highway to go to school or see their friends? How are families preparing for more water scarcity? Are they/can they prepare? How can spatial inequality be addressed to improve water distribution? Why is the Local Council tasked with municipal responsibilities such as trash collection despite being logistically unable to do so? Yet despite these grievances, more than anything, I am excited to see what Amer does with his family’s farm. He has the brains, the know-how, and drive. I wish him luck and hope the Urban Clinic can come back and see how he has transformed his farm despite being on the wrong side of the road.

 

Credit: Amer

 

 

 

 

Planners will be told that good planning is good planning for everyone. I would like to challenge that precept and say that while good planning is good for everyone, it must also hold space to contemplate and observe, and allow particular adaptations for individuals and unique/distinct groups. I think that planning should look at individuals living in poverty, who are a growing proportion of Israelis, and strive to improve their quality of life. Planning is a powerful tool that can be used to change the social order, and in order to do so, planners need to embrace interdisciplinary dialogue.

Noga Adler Shtern has three daughters, lives in Mazkeret Batya, and is a social worker by profession. She is currently the Director of Community Urban Development at the Service for Community Work at the Ministry of Welfare and Social Affairs. In her role at the Ministry of Welfare, she extensively deals with issues related to spatial planning and development and advancing and improving social aspects and conditions of public spaces and communities, while paying special attention to more vulnerable populations groups which are entrusted by the Ministry of Welfare.

In her answer to the archetypical question “How did you get into urban planning studies?” Noga noted the deep and ongoing connection between the welfare and planning worlds. Noga explains that “in 2003, Vicky Knafo led the single mothers’ protest following dramatic cuts to social security benefits, in particular child benefits. During that same period, I worked as a caseworker in the social services department in North Jerusalem and faced individuals experiencing hardship and multi-generational poverty on a daily basis. To a certain extent, I felt that we, social workers, functioned as a safety net that the State tasked with maintaining social order. We were the professionals responsible for absorbing the pain and distress bubbling up from the bottom, tasked with treating those same voices that emerge once in a while in social protests.” 

“A number of life decisions, including choosing to do my M.A. in social work with an orientation toward social policy led me to work at the Department of Social Work established by the Community Social Work Department at the Jerusalem Municipality. Through community social work I discovered tools that helped shape a worldview on various adversities people face. Community social work offers an interdisciplinary approach to poverty by taking into account social, spatial, economic, and environmental aspects, all while facilitating partnerships with people living in poverty in order to improve their quality of life. A few years later, through my role as an Urban Community Work Coordinator, I was given the extraordinary opportunity to participate in the writing of the social section of master plans for neighborhoods that were undergoing urban regeneration through pinui binui. The more involved and acquainted I became with these processes, the more I realized that a degree in urban planning could provide me with a greater skillset and allow me to become a better community social worker. If in my work as a social worker I was able to give one-on-one help and focus on individuals, through community social work and urban planning I would be able to look at the individual in the context of the environment in which they live and the diverse and complex community they come from, which is a resource to said individual which also requires intervention.
 

Credit: Bruno Sharvit

I believe that planning is universal, but it can also cater to selective needs.

 

According to Noga, the unique connection between social work and planning lies in their ability to look at civil society, which is sometimes marginalized and even eliminated in the planning discourse. She says that she realizes that goal in the planning world is to create a holistic and universal approach but believes in the power of social work that is integrated into planning processes to meet human needs, wants, and desires. More specifically, she believes in the power to meet the needs of marginalized and disadvantaged groups, such as the elderly and people with disabilities. She thinks that planning should serve everyone, while simultaneously recognizing that there are populations that know who to voice their wants and needs, and those who either don’t know how or cannot do so.

 

In recent years, Noga has worked toward promoting spatial and distributive justice through the planning system and local communities while attempting to bring the relevant local authorities and actors to action. For example, she says that in her work in Project Urban95, which she did through the Urban Clinic, in an attempt to incorporate toddlers’ and their family’s daily needs into public space. To Noga, this project presented an opportunity to learn about the connection between social needs and the planning world, in this case, it meant recognizing developmental needs in early childhood and planning in a framework that is conducive toward toddler development.

 

What role does the planning system play in promoting spatial justice? Noga emphasizes that the planning system also deals with the development of resources and capabilities.
“For example, How do you get a local authority to prioritize weaker areas when it promotes plans? When there is an annual budget for street renovation and development, how do you get the authority to focus on investments in the city’s weakest spaces?” When I asked Noga, to what extent is a planner’s role to promote equitable planning? Noga explained that “this ability to think and look at society as a whole should be inherent. Someone needs to say that planners will be told that good planning is good planning for everyone. I would like to challenge that precept and say that while good planning is good for everyone, it must also hold space to contemplate and observe, and allow particular adaptations for individuals and unique/distinct groups. I think that planning should look at individuals living in poverty, who are a growing proportion of Israelis, and strive to improve their quality of life. Planning is a powerful tool that can be used to change the social order, and to do so, planners need to embrace interdisciplinary dialogue”.

 

Noga is currently using her skills in social work to translate and transform local voices into policy. Her day-to-day work in urban development consists of multiple issues that arise. The same week we met, she also met the directors of social services in Atlit, Hadera, and Binyamina, dealt with a shortage of green spaces in Arab localities, and proposed a reform in the urban renewal process under the Arrangements Act (“Hok Haesderim”). She can bring these diverse voices and policy interventions through interdisciplinary collaboration, tool development, and training for professionals such as social services department managers. According to Noga, “it is this type of work that enables community organizing on various scales and promotes policy change. Social workers are already doing this today by advancing legislation related to urban renewal and urban processes, for example. However, it is important to note that to local authorities, where efforts are very localized, this interdisciplinarity is doubly important.”

 

She describes government work very succinctly, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. She says this to emphasize the importance of getting to know the various ministries and their work methods to shape partnerships. The inter-ministerial differences are not based solely on different terminology, their DNA is completely different. For example, the discourse in social work is softer, enables processes, and promotes dialogue, while the discourse in planning is often viewed as much harsher and dependent on the stakeholders.

 

Noga is also promoting a partnership with Dr. Ella Brand Levy, a fellow at Mimshak in preparation for the climate crisis at the Ministry of Welfare and Social Affairs. Despite being one of the last offices to join this program, the Ministry of Welfare is one of the first government agencies to begin preparing a climate change preparedness plan. This is based on the understanding that the imminent climate crisis will have more devastating effects on already vulnerable populations. 

 

In addition to her multiple roles, Noga is also a partner in the Accelerator Program led by the Ministry of Energy and Ministry of Environmental Protection. Its purpose is to create plans to deal with climate change on a local scale. The Ministry of Welfare has identified and mapped where the more vulnerable populations live, such as senior citizens and people with disabilities who live alone, as well as identified whole communities which may be threatened by floods, fires, and extreme urban heat. Based on this knowledge the Ministry is working toward creating a deployment plan to be prepared when disaster strikes. 

 

During the first lockdown, Islam Dais, architect and resident of A-Turi in East Jerusalem, drew our attention to her mother’s and her friends’ habit of meeting each other in their homes on a daily basis, often on a rooftop. Islam noticed, that despite being unable to meet in private quarters due to Covid-19, these women were able to find other places that still allowed them to feel comfortable. This led us to explore the various urban functions spaces are playing during the pandemic. It was during this difficult period, when people could only meet outdoors, in public/shared spaces, and in small groups, that a hidden facet of the physical environment in East Jerusalem was revealed: the three-dimensional Arab city. This includes courtyards, balconies, and rooftops, all of which were easily adapted as places suited to gather, pray, and eat. This stands in stark contrast to what happened in the Western part of the city, which demanded significant institutional efforts and alterations to address spatial issues and meet communal needs. In light of these differences, we set out to explore the logic that shapes our spaces.

   

With a grant from the Truman Institute, we set out to examine the network of passages and alleys and their function, in A-Turi, a Palestinian neighborhood in East Jerusalem. Through a process of spatial mapping and interviews with planners and architects living or working in the neighborhood, the study revealed that despite accelerated urbanization processes and ongoing struggles over sovereignty, pathways and alleys continue to persevere in traditional Arab-Islamic cities.

 

Streets, passages, and alleys in A-Turi. Credit: Yasmin Abu-Arafeh
Main streets Passages Private passages

We found that, unlike the clear distinction that exists between private and public spaces in global north and Western cities, many spaces in A-Turi function as intermediate spaces where the line between private and public is blurred. These spaces, which function based on norms that reflect family, age, and gender affiliation, include yards and pathways that invite extended family and community members. While these intermediate spaces are not open unlimitedly, they proved to be of great value during the paradoxical period when gathering and meeting were reduced, but the importance of community support increased. Prayer services, sports, celebrations, and educational activities took place in these spaces. 

Thus, we can interpret the role alleys and passages play in A-Turi as resulting from two competing worldviews. On one hand, the global north-Western-modernist approach, which clearly defines public and private space and guides the development of the neighborhood; while on the other hand, the traditional Arab-Islamic-East Mediterranean design that influences day to day life and perseveres the building typology of Palestinian Jerusalem. Covid-19 emphasized the value of traditional design which is often unnoticed or overlooked by the current planning system. Understanding these contradictions can help promote more attentive and agreed-upon spatial development.

You can watch the Truman Institute's conference Pandemic Days: The Impact of Covid-19  on Jewish-Arab Relations and the Conflict here. (In Hebrew)

 

Yuval Dryer-Shilo is an Urban Planner who studied at and worked for the Urban Clinic. Today he works as a planning consultant for the National Committee for the Planning and Construction of Preferred Residential Complexes (HaVatmal - הותמ”ל). Prior to that he worked for Sikkuy, a joint Jewish and Arab nonprofit that promotes equality and partnership between Arab and Jewish citizens and worked for The Ministry of Education as a planner for educational facilities. Throughout the interview he calls for uncompromising attention to the space being planned in order to improve planning outcomes.

Family photography

 

Yuval began his academic career with a BA in Political Science and Geography, followed by a master’s in Urban Planning. He joined the Urban Clinic after participating in courses taught by Professor Emily Silverman, who is the Clinic’s founder. During his time at the Clinic he became acquainted with policymaking and the various ways in which it can be used to influence and implement change. The Clinic’s interdisciplinary approach allowed him to explore the planning world beyond academia and examine real-world applications. Among the various projects Yuval worked on, participating in Urban95 was the most notable. Urban95 seeks to promote urban planning and urban design in a child-friendly way. Some of the project’s insights were eventually realized in part of Yuval’s work at the Ministry of Education. “The best part is that yesterday Beit HaKerem inaugurated its first playground that was designed in accordance with Urban95 principles. The construction of another park in Katamonim is currently underway as well.” He continues; “There’s a feeling that we changed something in the Jerusalem Municipality’s perception of what a playground is, and introduced a place that holds space for imagination, and offers an opportunity to interact with nature, take risks, and get dirty, all while contributing to children’s development and resilience.”

 

The Urban95 project widely surveys a city from a child’s perspective, in other words, at 95cm high eye-level. Yuval highlights the need for practical and purposeful planning: My role was not to expand on theories, but to provide results.” Various project outcomes were presented to various city stakeholders, including the Municipality.
 

Bialik Garden, Beit Hakerem, Photo: Yuval Dryer Shilo

What tensions arise between planning for practical purposes and between building planning theories?

We tend to see an imitation phenomenon in planning, where something that works well is assumed to have the same impact somewhere else. During my time at the Clinic, I tried to think about policy as a mechanism that needs to be broken down into smaller ideas that can then be understood at their core. One of the most impactful factors that I was exposed to at Urban95 was the need to work in conjunction with local authorities. For example, it is crucial to understand their individual interpretations of the concept of ‘play’. Each local authority prioritizes and defines play differently. Case in point, Umm Al-Fahm has no designated playgrounds and there are current steps being taken to build this infrastructure from scratch. In contrast, Tel Aviv has a plan and yearly budget allocated for infant and toddler play. I presented my Clinic project to a broad group of education and planning professionals who made statements that reflected my own thoughts. Following this meeting, in partnership with the Ministry of Education, we established a committee to create a guide for child-friendly planning.

 

What limits the planning world’s field of vision?

Planners sometimes assume that cities are inherently good. While embracing this concept is not necessarily wrong, one needs to be reminded of its limitations. In light of this, the Clinic provides the opportunity to dismantle and analyze these paradigms; we are first asked to identify human needs and only then introduce the city for context. We know that even good planning cannot fix everything. For example, one of my key conclusions reached in my Urban95 work was that cities are not good places for children; they are crowded, stressful, and loud, and children are vulnerable to these stressors. This is not an easy conclusion to accept nor work from. This reality has steered my work at the VATMAL. This realization has led to a heightened awareness regarding my own biases, and serves as a constant reminder that what I believe to be good, isn’t necessarily good. In my opinion, this self-criticism and reflection will ultimately lead to better planning.

 

The Garden of the Watchers - Katamonim, Photo: Yuval Dreyer-Shilo

 

What planning worldview are you currently most connected to?

“I am trying to learn from Yaara Rosner-Manor who is currently working  with Arab villages in the Negev. I was first exposed to her work at the Urban Clinic. Through my work at the VATMAL, I am currently working toward improving our collection and understanding of local (Arab) knowledge. We have reached the point where we acknowledge the importance of asking the right questions. Yaara’s recognition of the importance of local knowledge has led to an ability to identify spatial patterns and, based on this, develop an appropriate plan. It is critical to decipher spatial patterns. For instance, through my VATMAL work planning for northern communities,  I face different planning challenges due to their complex relations with the State. As a government representative I have to ask myself if I understand the dynamic and developing situation, or if I am just seeing a momentary picture? Is the community I’m looking at undergoing change? Does it have agents for change? What is my role in this context? Additionally, how does my understanding of informal cultural relations help me prevent superficial conflicts between the State and its citizens? I believe that planning teams need to have a team member responsible for deciphering spatial patterns, a place’s ‘essence’, so that planning can take place in that context as opposed to being a copy of a solution that exists elsewhere. When I ask an ecologist what the environmental values of a particular place are, he first examines the place and only then returns with his findings. Social work does not adopt this same approach. In her work, Yaara is working toward creating a ‘social planners’ profession, where experts connect to local knowledge and follow principles somewhat similar to those of placemaking. I am still working out how to do this and what such work entails. Another idea Yuval adopted after working with Yaara is to not only ask ‘what the benefit of a new project is’, but also ask ‘how much harm is it causing?’. Over the past year, Yuval has taken his accumulated knowledge to plan new neighborhoods for the VATMAL.
 

Yuval explains; a new neighborhood ignores the rule that the state is separate from entrepreneurship. As countries create neighborhoods, they adopt the role of developers. Therefore, state planners work off some assumptions about social good and try to plan along those lines. In this sense, new neighborhoods are futuristic products. After land is allocated, planners need to ask themselves what the best option for the future is. This leads to a ‘utopian’ design based on ‘correct’ principles; ‘here streets and paths will be different than before, and this will lead to quality of life’. At this point, I begin to consider the damage planning will cause, as opposed to only looking at its benefits.
 

Translated by: Galya Globerman

 

After the always charming icebreakers and introductory rounds organized by Tharaa, the Clinic’s superstar, we sat down for a delicious lunch. Conversions popped up here and there about new project ideas, how we spent our summer, and beginner Arabic lessons. It was beautiful, fun, and surprisingly normal.
 

  
 

Of course, it would not be an Urban Clinic or urban planning event had it ended with only pleasantries and good food, so halfways through the day we met Sami Ali, a Jisr az-Zarqa resident, guide, planner, and activist, who gave us a fascinating tour about the town’s complex and painful past and present.

 

 

The town, named after a blue bridge over the Taninim River or Wadi az-Zarqa, is bordered by a Kibbutz Maagan Michal and the Taninim Nature reserve to the north, a busy highways to the east, the exclusive Cesarea community to the south, and idyllic Mediterranean waters to the west. It is counterintuitive that such a ‘well located’ town can have such low employment and income rates as well as some of the highest poverty and school dropout rates in the country. According to Sami Ali, instead of being freed by these opportunities and incorporated into the local economy, Jisr az-Zarqa is trapped by these boundaries.

 

 

Residents are forbidden from setting up kiosks and other attractions in proximity to the national park; the highway does not provide access into the town difficult and de facto cuts the town off from neighboring Arab towns; Caesarea built a ~10+ meter tall sand dune that acts as a barrier between the quiet and the loud, the rich and the poor, and the Jews and the Muslims (its purposes are contested); and local fishermen are bound by insurmountable environmental regulations. The town is essentially choking, reaching for a lifeline. And space. And services. And so much more.

 

Sami Ali however, has not resigned himself nor his town to this troubling fate. Through community organizing and legal means he and others are working toward improving the town, strengthening its local economy, and challenging the rich and the rulers. Notwithstanding the uphill battle, Sami Ali and others remain optimistic. After all, us planners are in the business of hope.

 

Galya Globerman made Israel her home eight years ago. Various experiences and adventures led her to a degree in Geography and International Relations which eventually transitioned into an MA in Geography and Urban and Regional Planning. She is currently working towards finding her niche in Urban Planning while preparing for her final year of studies.

 

I identify as a Palestinian who lives in East Jerusalem, a permanent resident who holds an Israeli identity card and travel document, but I also carries a Jordanian passport, yet doesn’t have any citizenship. If you’d like to learn more about life complexities for East Jerusalemites, including issues of identity, residency, and others I recommend you participate in the East Jerusalem: policy, the economy, and society course (49805).

 

The course offered me an opportunity to participate in an academic exploration of the life of East Jerusalem residents from numerous perspectives. Such an opportunity is rare, and certainly not something to take for granted. Normally I find myself on the opposite side, often explaining the situation to others. Not everyone understands or even believes that this is the current reality in Israel. Why is it so difficult to understand? Take for instance, flying abroad. need to travel with both my Jordanian passport and my Israeli travel document, and I often don’t know which to present when. Or consider the fact that I am often stopped because I wear a hijab. Sometimes I’m even stopped in A-Tur, the neighborhood where I live. Do I pose a security threat to my neighborhood?

 

I was glad to participate in the course, as I enjoyed it, and learned a lot throughout the semester. Despite the fact that I too, am an East Jerusalem resident, and experience these complexities on a daily basis, there were things that I didn’t know. I learned about the occupation of the eastern part of the city and government decisions regarding residency from Dr. Amnon Ramon, a senior researcher at the Jerusalem Institute. Frankly, it was very difficult to hear my own history from someone else. It felt as if I was seeing my life in the eyes of others. Seeing my life being presented in this perspective left me in tears more than once. Most notably, was the class on the Separation Wall, where the guest speaker described it as a net positive. He discussed how the Separation Wall has been good for Israelis by increasing their quality of life and personal safety. He didn’t discuss how Palestinian society was socially, politically, and economically affected. I was dumbfounded and unable to respond to his presentation. Even after doing two degrees in Hebrew, I am still aware of the language barrier and am scared of public speaking. The sensitivity, sadness, and anger surrounding this topic make it easier to cry than to speak. I decided to remain quiet. Nevertheless, following the lecture I spoke with Dr. Amnon Ramon and Dr. Sarit Benדimchon-Peleg who were both attentive to my upset.

 

 

The Urban and Regional Planning Masters’ program barely addresses the complex situation in East Jerusalem. It is easier to turn a blind eye than it is to face this uncomfortable reality. This course offered a rare glimpse of the following topics: Knesset decision number 3790 to decrease social and economic and development gaps in East Jerusalem, education, economy and employment, planning in East Jerusalem, and dealing with unregulated land. As an East Jerusalem resident and master’s candidate for Urban Planning, I strongly recommend participating in the course to learn about the lives of our neighbors.

 

The Palestinian people, especially East Jerusalem residents, suffer on a daily basis from a myriad of issues: we wait long hours to get through checkpoints, we face difficulties acquiring building permits, when we build without permits our homes are demolished, there is a shortage of kindergartens and a shortage of open spaces, and the lines in the social security and Ministry of Interior offices are long and the service is sub-par. These are just a few of the many issues we constantly face.

 

The thing is, behind our different worldviews and identity, we are all human beings, each one of us with our own varying degrees of sensitivities. As Mahmoud Darwish, a renowned Palestinian poet wrote: “We love life if we can forge its path.”

 

The writer: Eman Ansari, Jerusalemite, Hebrew University alumna with a dual degree in Geography and Hebrew Language and Literature. Today Eman is completing her master’s degree in Hebrew Language and Literature and Urban and Regional Planning. She works as a TA in Hebrew studies at the Shalem Academic Center in the Islamic and Middle Eastern Studies program, a research aide in the Jerusalem Institute for Policy Research, and a creative writing teacher for 4-6th grade students at a center for gifted students in East Jerusalem. Furthermore, she is researching the feasibility of integrating the use of the Rav Kav bus pass in East Jerusalem’s bus network. This research is being done in collaboration with Tamara Krezhner from the University of Berkeley and the Urban Clinic.

 

Translated by: Galya Globerman