Jehovah made a covenant with Abram, saying, Unto thy seed have I given this land, from the river of Egypt unto the river Euphrates (Genesis 15:18)

All good historical holidays and lessons come served with beer, so let us commence. Last Saturday, I took part in a tour to Taybeh, in the West Bank, where a factory there makes a beer that is "the finest in the Middle East." Five days later, on Thursday, I drank this aptly-named beer at a BBQ during my day off for Yom Ha'atzmaut. Israeli Independence Day commemorates when David Ben-Gurion proclaimed the establishment of the State of Israel, realizing Theodor Herzl's Zionist dreams, on May 14, 1948. This same day is called the Nakba, or catastrophe, by Arabs and Palestinians, because although their lands became free of the British Mandate, they were soon to be controlled by another nation. Israelis believe they were only recovering the land that had been promised to them by Jehovah and that their ancestors had been ousted from; meanwhile, of course, a new population would be displaced.

According to the International Herald Tribune, 1.3 million Arabs, or 20 percent of the population of Israel, are being restricted on land where they once had independence. To ensure the security of the Israeli (not Jewish, I must say) state, some rabbis dictate that Jews may not rent apartments or give jobs to Arabs. The larger key to this security, though, is land. Arabs are not allowed to work on about 120,000 hectares of their land, even though it might be just sitting idle. And I'm not even talking about the West Bank and Gaza Strip yet.

So where does beer come in, you ask? Taybeh is located in Area A of the West Bank, which is under complete Palestinian control and is supposed to be legally inaccessible to Israelis. Area C is under complete Israeli control and is the base for many settlements. Area B is under joint Palestinian-Israeli control. Here is a good map of the situation. It is not just the West Bank that is partitioned off by the separation barrier, but each of these areas is isolated too, with parallel highways on each side of many walls, one for settlers and one for Palestinians. Therefore, even though Jerusalem is only a 15-minute drive from Taybeh, any of the beer that is sold in the city is likely bootlegged; it is not legal for Israelis to transfer goods from Area A to Israel proper. And if the beer is to be shipped through Israel -- which it must be to get to, say, Jordan -- the taxes are incredibly high.

So at his grandfather's urging, in the early '90s, Nadim Khoury (above at right) came back to the West Bank to open his brewery, instead of staying in suds-central Boston. Granted, things were looking good: In the year the brewery opened, 1994, Israel signed a peace treaty with Jordan that, among other agreements, stated that "normal relationship between them will further include economic and cultural relations." Since then, though, Ehud Barak's "generous offer" was rejected by Yasser Arafat during negotiations at Camp David in 2000. This offer would have ensured Palestinian control of portions of the West Bank and the Gaza Strip, about 80 percent of the green-line area you hear talked about. But even if this deal would've been struck, Khoury would've been left in the lurch, because only small strips of land would connect three patches of Palestinian property, surrounded by Israeli-controlled estate. And the "generous offer" didn't include any specifics about "economic relations," including non-exorbitant export procedures and taxes.

The Gaza Strip, of course, is a whole different ballgame. Its residents aren't worried about exporting; they are worried about importing. Israel does not allow the territory to have its own port, and the state also controls incoming goods across the land border, which often aren't much. Some aid groups have pulled out of the area, because negotiating through restrictions is difficult. Just last month, the United Nations Relief Works Agency suspended aid to 1.1 million refugees in the territory because of fuel shortages caused by Israeli sanctions on Hamas. It's no wonder that desperation led to the storming of the border with Egypt.

Okay, but back to beer, with an analogy: You're Coastal Extreme Brewing Co. in Newport, Rhode Island. You're trying to make your livelihood with your latest stout, but you aren't allowed to export anywhere outside of the state borders, not into Connecticut, not into Massachusetts, without paying the price. And anyway, your production depends on whether you can get the shipment of Canadian malted barley into the state, because your truck has been stuck at the border for a day now because the crossings were closed and security is investigating your supply. And your Bavarian hops couldn't come in by plane or boat because you're not allowed to have an airfield or port.

I say all this because I want to show that statehood is not the issue. The constituents in Israel already understand statehood; they can draw and re-draw borders with proficiency and on a daily basis. What the area is lacking is an understanding of nationhood, where individual states cooperate with one another, including shared authority over security and trade. A two-state solution can't be a solution until this is realized. Giving the Palestinians, or even Arabs, their own state would mean little if they are going to continue to be partitioned off like my hypothetical Rhode Island, unable to participate in the broader country -- and even world. Perhaps, just perhaps, younger generations of Israelis will consider this as they sip beers on the beach during their Independence Day BBQs. And maybe one day they'll even drink Taybeh.