Death of a great humanitarian. RIP Dr Cohen.
Dr Felix Lighter | 15.03.2011 18:02 | Terror War
"But our high spirits were not to last, just a day after we had returned from the peasant house, it was destroyed by an IDF airstrike, the TV claimed that the security services had received viable intelligence from a reliable source that the house was being used as a terrorist weapons dump."
Dr Felix Lighter.
Institute of Humanitarian Research and Civil Rights.
Washington DC.
March 2011. 13:43:04 EST.
It may come as a surprise for many in the international community to read, and not with a little sadness on my part, that I must announce the passing away of my dear friend and colleague, Dr Aaron Cohen. He died peacefully at his home in Jerusalem with his family and colleagues by his side.
A long time advocate of the human rights of Palestinians, he fought tirelessly throughout his entire career to improve their lot in life to the point where he engaged in furious arguments with senior figures in many of our elected governments over the years. Most famously in the early days of the Labour government of Shimon Peres.
At the start of 1982, while enjoying a glass of wine at a party with senior government figures, Dr Cohen had casually remarked that in the interests of humanitarianism, the government should not invade Lebanon, suggesting instead that a more humanitarian approach would be to launch a humanitarian mission which he named "Operation Peaceful Dove of Galilee". The comment inflamed the Likud leadership and just three weeks later, Dr Cohen had been sacked from his job as principle lecturer in English language studies at the university, and demoted to "Director of Propaganda and Military Planning". The move was to be the first of a long line of battles Dr Cohen would be involved with in his time as a human rights campaigner. Although he stayed on at the university, he was required to report back to the Government at daily intervals which he found extremely stressful and traumatic.
I remember talking over the phone with Dr Cohen the night he heard the news of his sacking. We talked at great length about his wife and daughter, the faculties intention to hire 3 new relief lecturers and the coming budget announcements that were expected to facilitate the buying of a new soft drinks machine for the canteen. As we said our goodbyes, I recall a sense of concern and worry at what was to befall my good friend as a result of this confrontation with the party leadership. Just a month later, I was to find out.
On the morning of the 15th of July, we got news that the Palestinians had been playing up again. Dr Cohen was incensed that five Palestinians had been arrested that morning during a demonstration in support of the PLO, which Dr Cohen had been trying to help with "Operation Peaceful Dove of Galilee". One of the men was a student of Dr Cohens. Mustaffa Al Iqbani was just 17 and had been expelled from class by Dr Cohen a week previously. When the news came in we jumped in the faculty minibus and dashed to the local police post where we had heard Mustaffa was being held. Dr Cohen sat in the passenger seat, his face a thunderous shade of pink.
When we arrived, Mustaffa was sitting in the custody pit, handcuffed and his left eye black and swollen. Dr Cohen immediately flew into a rage, he demanded to see know the charge under which Mustaffa had been arrested. After a cup of tea, a quick read of the sergeants newspaper and a few puffs of a cigarette in the corridor, the answer finally came back that Mustaffa had been arrested for throwing a stone at an IDF landrover. The stone had made a small dent in the landrovers rear bumper. I looked at Dr Cohen, and he looked at me, we both new what this meant. We made phone calls to anybody that we thought could help. The UN, the International Red Cross, Dr Cohens housekeeper. But it was no good, the situation was beyond hope, although Dr Cohens housekeeper had confirmed that the plants in Dr Cohen's study had been watered that morning as planned.
We left Mustaffa to his captors, unable to do anything to help. We had been forced to concede defeat. It was a crushing blow for us both, but as I studied Dr Cohen's slightly tanned face over dinner that evening, I knew that he had taken the defeat very badly. He wasn't his usual self, he seemed pre-occupied and distant. He of course tried to distract me from his inner agony by claiming the wine wasn't very good, and that he was tired and had to be up early in the morning, but I could see that he had changed!
The pink shirt he had been wearing earlier, was now white!
Over the coming years Dr Cohen and I threw ourselves into our humanitarian work by furiously discussing with each other the Palestinian problem and what could be done about it, often over dinner but sometimes on the phone, or be email. Our work took us all over the campus and sometimes to the next town. It was a hectic time. Whenever the muslims had been playing up again, we dashed to their help by writing letters and promising to help. And then, in the summer of 2001, we got news that filled our hearts with terror. The muslims had been playing up again but this time in New York, America. I turned on the TV and couldn't believe my eyes, the muslims had learned how to fly planes and there had been a terrible accident on their first trip!!
I sat down and looked at Dr Cohen, he was sitting in his chair marking his papers puffing on his pipe. I turned back to the TV, incredulous and disbelieving. What would the world make of this awful tragedy, and what would it mean for our humanitarian work? Over dinner that night Dr Cohen and I argued furiously about what could be done. I, demanding that we had to write a letter immediately and, as ever, Dr Cohen arguing that direct action was the only approach we could take. And so, on that windy, rainswept evening, we made our decision to travel at the weekend into the muslim area to offer to do some humanitarian work.
Our plan was simple. We would travel into the muslim area and offer to do some humanitarian work. When we arrived, we made contact with a muslim man who studied us carefully. We told him we were academic professors from the local campus who had come to do some humanitarian work and after almost an hour of sign language and drawing pictures on a piece of paper, he smiled and finally understood. We were led to a small peasant house and offered hot water and a biscuit. As I sat on the floor, my hands clasped around the hot cup for warmth and nibbling on the biscuit, the peasant children huddled around me staring patiently at the biscuit. I knew, from reading many travel books by some of the finest travel writers in the world, that I was a guest in this house and that it would be rude not to eat the biscuit. So I ate it while Dr Cohen scribbled into his notebook. The children got up and went off to their beds, the smallest child stroking its stomach as it went.
Later that night as we laid in bed, the sound of gunshots filling the night, I leaned across to Dr Cohen and opined to him the terrible things that had happened earlier and what else we could do to help. Dr Cohen, speaking in a soft tone, reassured me and told me that justice would be done.
We were unable to stay the entire night in the peasant house, Dr Cohen awaking half hour after we had gone to bed, remembering that he had left the grill on in the kitchen at home, but as we left, I glanced back and felt a distinct corner had been turned in our humanitarian work. This would be a night that I would remember for the rest of my life. And as we hurried back to civilisation a mile away and back toward the campus, I knew that Dr Cohen had turned that corner with me.
But our high spirits were not to last, just a day after we had returned from the peasant house, it was destroyed by an IDF airstrike, the TV claimed that the security services had received viable intelligence from a reliable source that the house was being used as a terrorist weapons dump. I was heartbroken, how could this have happened, what had happened to the children and the old peasant muslim man? For three days I searched my feelings for an answer. I battled with my conscience for some way to make sense of it all, and on the fourth day when Dr Cohen returned from an unexpected trip he had been called away to, I sat down with him and poured out my anguish and agony. It was during that night of trauma, suffering and agony, that Dr Cohen told me that we would both have to make a decision about the course our lives would take from that moment on. From that moment, we would be a team, working together in the pursuit of justice and freedom. I would make the contacts and Dr Cohen would take care of everything else. Our humanitarian work would be a priority for us both, nothing would be more important.
The following years travelled past in a hectic blur of excitement and exhaustion, everywhere we went, it seemed as though the forces of evil were chasing us. No sooner had we arrived in one place to do our humanitarian work, the bombs were dropping and the international media were flooding in. We did incredibly important work in those years, thousands of muslims came to depend on us for food, water, medical supplies and international assistance. And through it all, Dr Cohen insisted that we, as humanitarians, should never be seen in public nor celebrated for the heroes we were, instead, our work would be seen by millions around the world and that would be our legacy. Through it all, Dr Cohen argued with government officials on the satellite phone, demanding humanitarian assistance and giving grid references and GPS co-ordinates for the delivery of aid. But that aid never came. No sooner had we asked for the aid, than a new terrorist cell had been found and bombed in air-strikes.
As time went on, our humanitarian work took us to ever more distant locations, Sudan, Pakistan, Afghanistan and on many occasions, during some of the most frightening encounters I ever experienced, into Iraq where our humanitarian work became a game of wits between giving aid, and dodging Apache helicopter gun-ships. For a time it seemed that no sooner had Dr Cohen and I had delivered a box of bread or bottled water, terrorist weapons had been found.
But it was not to last, in 2010, Dr Cohen received a phone call from his doctor one morning and it was all over, we had to bring an end to our humanitarian work and return home. By this time I had got a job with other humanitarians in Washington, and Dr Cohen returned to Jerusalem for his x-ray. It showed that the toll of flights, mobile phones and stress from our humanitarian work had taken its toll. Dr Cohen had been diagnosed with Cardiovascular Lorem Ipsum and died three days later. His family are too distraught to talk about it and immediately moved away.
And so, with the passing of a great man who always shunned the limelight, a hero to the poor and dispossessed, a great academic and scholar of the finest calibre, I salute one of our finest citizens, a champion of civil rights and humanitarianism, a selfless guardian of conscience and justice who tirelessly worked for the downtrodden and needy.
I give you, Dr Aaron Cohen. He will be sorely missed.
Dr Felix Lighter.
Institute of Humanitarian Research and Civil Rights.
Washington.
Institute of Humanitarian Research and Civil Rights.
Washington DC.
March 2011. 13:43:04 EST.
It may come as a surprise for many in the international community to read, and not with a little sadness on my part, that I must announce the passing away of my dear friend and colleague, Dr Aaron Cohen. He died peacefully at his home in Jerusalem with his family and colleagues by his side.
A long time advocate of the human rights of Palestinians, he fought tirelessly throughout his entire career to improve their lot in life to the point where he engaged in furious arguments with senior figures in many of our elected governments over the years. Most famously in the early days of the Labour government of Shimon Peres.
At the start of 1982, while enjoying a glass of wine at a party with senior government figures, Dr Cohen had casually remarked that in the interests of humanitarianism, the government should not invade Lebanon, suggesting instead that a more humanitarian approach would be to launch a humanitarian mission which he named "Operation Peaceful Dove of Galilee". The comment inflamed the Likud leadership and just three weeks later, Dr Cohen had been sacked from his job as principle lecturer in English language studies at the university, and demoted to "Director of Propaganda and Military Planning". The move was to be the first of a long line of battles Dr Cohen would be involved with in his time as a human rights campaigner. Although he stayed on at the university, he was required to report back to the Government at daily intervals which he found extremely stressful and traumatic.
I remember talking over the phone with Dr Cohen the night he heard the news of his sacking. We talked at great length about his wife and daughter, the faculties intention to hire 3 new relief lecturers and the coming budget announcements that were expected to facilitate the buying of a new soft drinks machine for the canteen. As we said our goodbyes, I recall a sense of concern and worry at what was to befall my good friend as a result of this confrontation with the party leadership. Just a month later, I was to find out.
On the morning of the 15th of July, we got news that the Palestinians had been playing up again. Dr Cohen was incensed that five Palestinians had been arrested that morning during a demonstration in support of the PLO, which Dr Cohen had been trying to help with "Operation Peaceful Dove of Galilee". One of the men was a student of Dr Cohens. Mustaffa Al Iqbani was just 17 and had been expelled from class by Dr Cohen a week previously. When the news came in we jumped in the faculty minibus and dashed to the local police post where we had heard Mustaffa was being held. Dr Cohen sat in the passenger seat, his face a thunderous shade of pink.
When we arrived, Mustaffa was sitting in the custody pit, handcuffed and his left eye black and swollen. Dr Cohen immediately flew into a rage, he demanded to see know the charge under which Mustaffa had been arrested. After a cup of tea, a quick read of the sergeants newspaper and a few puffs of a cigarette in the corridor, the answer finally came back that Mustaffa had been arrested for throwing a stone at an IDF landrover. The stone had made a small dent in the landrovers rear bumper. I looked at Dr Cohen, and he looked at me, we both new what this meant. We made phone calls to anybody that we thought could help. The UN, the International Red Cross, Dr Cohens housekeeper. But it was no good, the situation was beyond hope, although Dr Cohens housekeeper had confirmed that the plants in Dr Cohen's study had been watered that morning as planned.
We left Mustaffa to his captors, unable to do anything to help. We had been forced to concede defeat. It was a crushing blow for us both, but as I studied Dr Cohen's slightly tanned face over dinner that evening, I knew that he had taken the defeat very badly. He wasn't his usual self, he seemed pre-occupied and distant. He of course tried to distract me from his inner agony by claiming the wine wasn't very good, and that he was tired and had to be up early in the morning, but I could see that he had changed!
The pink shirt he had been wearing earlier, was now white!
Over the coming years Dr Cohen and I threw ourselves into our humanitarian work by furiously discussing with each other the Palestinian problem and what could be done about it, often over dinner but sometimes on the phone, or be email. Our work took us all over the campus and sometimes to the next town. It was a hectic time. Whenever the muslims had been playing up again, we dashed to their help by writing letters and promising to help. And then, in the summer of 2001, we got news that filled our hearts with terror. The muslims had been playing up again but this time in New York, America. I turned on the TV and couldn't believe my eyes, the muslims had learned how to fly planes and there had been a terrible accident on their first trip!!
I sat down and looked at Dr Cohen, he was sitting in his chair marking his papers puffing on his pipe. I turned back to the TV, incredulous and disbelieving. What would the world make of this awful tragedy, and what would it mean for our humanitarian work? Over dinner that night Dr Cohen and I argued furiously about what could be done. I, demanding that we had to write a letter immediately and, as ever, Dr Cohen arguing that direct action was the only approach we could take. And so, on that windy, rainswept evening, we made our decision to travel at the weekend into the muslim area to offer to do some humanitarian work.
Our plan was simple. We would travel into the muslim area and offer to do some humanitarian work. When we arrived, we made contact with a muslim man who studied us carefully. We told him we were academic professors from the local campus who had come to do some humanitarian work and after almost an hour of sign language and drawing pictures on a piece of paper, he smiled and finally understood. We were led to a small peasant house and offered hot water and a biscuit. As I sat on the floor, my hands clasped around the hot cup for warmth and nibbling on the biscuit, the peasant children huddled around me staring patiently at the biscuit. I knew, from reading many travel books by some of the finest travel writers in the world, that I was a guest in this house and that it would be rude not to eat the biscuit. So I ate it while Dr Cohen scribbled into his notebook. The children got up and went off to their beds, the smallest child stroking its stomach as it went.
Later that night as we laid in bed, the sound of gunshots filling the night, I leaned across to Dr Cohen and opined to him the terrible things that had happened earlier and what else we could do to help. Dr Cohen, speaking in a soft tone, reassured me and told me that justice would be done.
We were unable to stay the entire night in the peasant house, Dr Cohen awaking half hour after we had gone to bed, remembering that he had left the grill on in the kitchen at home, but as we left, I glanced back and felt a distinct corner had been turned in our humanitarian work. This would be a night that I would remember for the rest of my life. And as we hurried back to civilisation a mile away and back toward the campus, I knew that Dr Cohen had turned that corner with me.
But our high spirits were not to last, just a day after we had returned from the peasant house, it was destroyed by an IDF airstrike, the TV claimed that the security services had received viable intelligence from a reliable source that the house was being used as a terrorist weapons dump. I was heartbroken, how could this have happened, what had happened to the children and the old peasant muslim man? For three days I searched my feelings for an answer. I battled with my conscience for some way to make sense of it all, and on the fourth day when Dr Cohen returned from an unexpected trip he had been called away to, I sat down with him and poured out my anguish and agony. It was during that night of trauma, suffering and agony, that Dr Cohen told me that we would both have to make a decision about the course our lives would take from that moment on. From that moment, we would be a team, working together in the pursuit of justice and freedom. I would make the contacts and Dr Cohen would take care of everything else. Our humanitarian work would be a priority for us both, nothing would be more important.
The following years travelled past in a hectic blur of excitement and exhaustion, everywhere we went, it seemed as though the forces of evil were chasing us. No sooner had we arrived in one place to do our humanitarian work, the bombs were dropping and the international media were flooding in. We did incredibly important work in those years, thousands of muslims came to depend on us for food, water, medical supplies and international assistance. And through it all, Dr Cohen insisted that we, as humanitarians, should never be seen in public nor celebrated for the heroes we were, instead, our work would be seen by millions around the world and that would be our legacy. Through it all, Dr Cohen argued with government officials on the satellite phone, demanding humanitarian assistance and giving grid references and GPS co-ordinates for the delivery of aid. But that aid never came. No sooner had we asked for the aid, than a new terrorist cell had been found and bombed in air-strikes.
As time went on, our humanitarian work took us to ever more distant locations, Sudan, Pakistan, Afghanistan and on many occasions, during some of the most frightening encounters I ever experienced, into Iraq where our humanitarian work became a game of wits between giving aid, and dodging Apache helicopter gun-ships. For a time it seemed that no sooner had Dr Cohen and I had delivered a box of bread or bottled water, terrorist weapons had been found.
But it was not to last, in 2010, Dr Cohen received a phone call from his doctor one morning and it was all over, we had to bring an end to our humanitarian work and return home. By this time I had got a job with other humanitarians in Washington, and Dr Cohen returned to Jerusalem for his x-ray. It showed that the toll of flights, mobile phones and stress from our humanitarian work had taken its toll. Dr Cohen had been diagnosed with Cardiovascular Lorem Ipsum and died three days later. His family are too distraught to talk about it and immediately moved away.
And so, with the passing of a great man who always shunned the limelight, a hero to the poor and dispossessed, a great academic and scholar of the finest calibre, I salute one of our finest citizens, a champion of civil rights and humanitarianism, a selfless guardian of conscience and justice who tirelessly worked for the downtrodden and needy.
I give you, Dr Aaron Cohen. He will be sorely missed.
Dr Felix Lighter.
Institute of Humanitarian Research and Civil Rights.
Washington.
Dr Felix Lighter
