Mundane in Jerusalem

This post is generally directed towards those family members of mine who are interested in the more mundane aspects of my existence... or the slightly absurd in the mundane...like buying stamps in Jerusalem...

After the indulgences of a cigarette and bourbon fueled night in a bar in Ramallah, I decided that I needed some contemplative alone-time. Waking up late (another thing I needed) I made it to Jerusalem around noon to find what, since the start of the Lebanon Invasion is now a daily occurrence: A makeshift checkpoint of armoured horses and a couple of dozen soldiers and policemen halfway down the single block between the Arab bus station and the Damascus Gate that leads into the Arab section of the Old City. I manage to push my way through, while holding my Canadian passport high - this time they don't look at my visa. I've set myself a number of things to do today and the first priority is to get to a post office so I can mail some postcards and buy some stamps. The checkpoint that they've set up (50 feet from the last one!) outside of Damascus Gate prompts me to skirt the length of the Old City walls (instead of cutting through it) as I make my way towards Jaffa Road, the main street in Jewish West Jerusalem. I know that the Central Post Office is there and I can take care of these things - hopefully - its Friday afternoon and business hours are erratic as Shabbat approaches. The Post Office is housed in a huge building. I'd describe it as old, but Victorian-aged buildings in Jerusalem are positively modern. When I go through the main doors I'm immediately confronted with what is actually a small room. I pass through the metal detectors and I'm immediately in front of a small booth with two young security guards who instruct me to buy my stamps from the vending machine to my right and to mail my postcards from a box outside. With that mission accomplished (awkwardly) I return to the Old City through the Jaffa Gate that leads to the Jewish and Armenian Quarters - the policeman didn't even look up as I passed.

There were two other tasks that I had set for myself in Jerusalem: one was finding a book store where I could get my hands on a Colloquial Palestinian Arabic Dictionary (it was closed). The other thing I wanted to do on this trip was to go to the courtyard restaurant at the American Colony Hotel.

(You can read about the storied history of the hotel and take a look at some of the pictures at their website www.americancolony.com)

I walked up the half dozen blocks up Salahdin Street in the heart of Arab East Jerusalem and entered into the Hotel Compound through the driveway. The Courtyard itself was quaint, with a dozen of so tables spread around the gardens. The waiter, a middle aged Arab man seated me near the door and in perusing the lunch menu I was disappointed that there wasn't much of the lunch options that I could eat. Mostly sandwiches, I turned to the more substantial offerings. I decided that it may be the only time in the American Colony and that I should splurge so I ordered the lamb from the "Oriental dishes" section and a cup of coffee. The coffee itself was actually a tea pot of filtered coffee and after two months of Nescafe it was easily the best coffee I've had in a long long time.

The lamb was two thick chops with green beans and saffron rice with sundried tomatoes. It may have been my Arabic greetings, pleases and thank-yous to the waiters or what appeared to me the snobbish elitism of the other patrons (including a journalist that I recognized) that earned me a banana split on the house. All together the meal cost about $20 - a lot in comparison to the average meal here - but a steal in North America.

Ok... I warned you that this would be a boring post... serves you right for not heeding my warning. The detailed description of my meal was especially for my fiancee.

The rest of my afternoon, however, was less than mundane...

***

Picture

The Courtyard of the American Colony Hotel

Al-Quds

Leaving the American Colony satisfied if not completely stuffed, I made my way back towards the Old City for what had been the main reason for me to come to Jerusalem on what is really a weekend and not the best time to visit.

At the foot of Salahdin street is Herod Gate - one of the half dozen or so gates that lead into the Old City. It, along with Damascus Gate lead into the Arab Quarter, but unlike Damascus Gate, I've never been through Herod Gate. It was a lot less busy than it's neighbour to the West, and I wandered the narrow and confusing streets until I came upon cars - I hadn't known that cars could/or were allowed into the Old City, but I soon discovered that there are a handful of streets that cars can access.

I made my way to what I thought was my destination. The street was wider than most and I followed the few people I figured shared my task up a flight of stairs that ran flush with the road. I translated the sign from Arabic: Omariyyah College. The College is better known as the home of the Monastery of the Flagellation and home to the First Station of the Cross along the Via Dolorosa. This is the site where Pontius Pilate condemned Jesus to be crucified.

I grew up in the church. My mother was the secretary of the United Church down the street from our home and some of my earliest memories consist of hiding on the floor amongst the chairs in the sanctuary - of climbing the stacked chairs in their storage room - of looking over the books I found in the narthex.

The love I felt in reading a cartoon Bible given to me by my Aunt and Uncle when I was young gave me an unfair advantage against my Sunday School peers in our occasional and lively games of Bible Jeopardy. While I didn't know it then - it gave me my first taste of historical narrative that I wouldn't fully appreciate until I was in grad school. While I have drifted away from the Church - and I've openly disregarded religion to friends and family - the reality is that agnosticism, a sort of theological cop-out, has been just that for me: I don't know God - but I'm not convinced enough to say that he doesn't exist.

So I have a BA in Religion. I studied the Bible in all it's historical inaccuracies and self contradictions and it only confirmed to me what I had suspected in the stories of Joshua and of Moses. That it wasn't written by God but by men who edited their work down and patched it together in the same way I just finished my Masters Thesis. The engrossing stories of amazing feats, presented to me in colourful drawings that fascinated me so much as a child were just that: stories.

My partner Danielle, the brilliant and beautiful woman I'm about to marry has had concerns about my lack of faith in something - anything - for years now. Its not enough to stop her from marrying me - probably because I deflect her questions with a "I don't want to talk about this" but it's enough to make it an issue. She just wants to understand my feelings about something that I don't even really understand about myself.

So somewhere between my Historian/Anthropologist academic Self; my liberal but dedicated Christian upbringing; the questions from loved ones and my current state of emotional trouble in the face of injustice, I joined a group of Franciscan Monks in a mobile mass along the route Jesus took on his way to his death.

I listened through the noises of the busy streets to the descriptions coming from the loudspeaker in Latin, in Italian, in Spanish and in English. At each station they said prayers, performed liturgy and described in those languages what took place here.... "Here Jesus fell for the third time".....

It took an hour and it ended in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. There, in that massive building that I had found so amazing on my earlier visit a month ago, I finally waited in line to enter the cube on the spot where they believe Jesus was entombed. Beside me, in that crammed space a priest whose bag had an airline tag that told me he was from Rome, prayed alongside an American teenager. And as they did this I stood and stared at the surprisingly sparsely decorated tomb.

The whole procession was fascinating. What I couldn't help but think about was the intense juxtaposition between the noisy people in the street, the Muezzin call to prayer as our procession began, the heavily armed Israeli soldiers who followed us part of the way, the silence of the normally boisterous and quick to approach Arab boys. This was a city I had just recently called a "Shit-Hole" for the confluence of American Christian tourists, vapid North American teenage Jewish girls on summer vacation and the ubiquitous and enraging Soldier. Over the course of the hour I came to love Jerusalem despite its flaws and I momentarily let my anger go.

And it may have been any of those "selves" that took hold of me at each of the stations, it may have been the enormous emotional weight that comes with life here, it could have been anything; but at each station I leaned against the stones of a thousand year old wall and I cried.

I wiped my few tears, walked the hundred feet to the next station and cried again.

***

Picture

The Old City of Jerusalem - walking towards the Via Dolorosa

Hebron... Or "White Like Me"

I did something dumb. Totally dumb.

Abu Majnoon, Abu al-Jundee (These are the made up nicknames each of us have here) and I went to Hebron this morning and I forgot to bring my passport. We were in a servees (a shared, 8 person taxi) about to leave Ramallah when I realized my mistake. I had emptied my bag the night before and I forgot to put it back in. Stupid! I was panicking and A.M., in the front seat, told our driver who insisted that it wouldn't be a big problem. He was right in that it turned out not to be a BIG problem, but it was definitely a pain in the ass.

We were off. I was in the back of the van with two Palestinian teenagers... Tariq and Ali who were, I'm guessing 17. Servees are good ways to interact with random people and Palestinians, being by far the most engaging and generous people I've met (I'm not saying that my interactions are always perfect!) anywhere in the world. Usually I will be asked the standard: "what's your name", "where are you from", and then I'll be asked if I'd like to come to their village or town and visit with them, or go to someone's wedding. It's quite amazing.

As we approached the dreaded Qalandia (which, fortunately we were not going to have to go through) we passed a number of Humvees and Jeeps moving in the opposite direction. Tariq turned to me and asked where I was from. I told him Canada. Then he asked if I loved Israel. I made sure I understood his question (my Arabic isn't always good at helping me get nuance) and responded by saying "No I don't love Israel". His response didn't catch me as off guard as it would have a month ago. He told me that it was good that I didn't love Israel: An Israeli soldier murdered his sister.

He was from Tulkarm, a town in the north-west of the Occupied Territories, a town skirting the "separation Wall". Our conversation sort of ended shortly thereafter as the woman in front of me, as we approached the first checkpoint passed her infant son towards us. I quickly found that the plan was to put him in the baby carrier that was at my feet. As the baby lay at my feet, clutching and rubbing my middle finger, Tariq leaned over and asked if I'd close the blind beside me: we were approaching the checkpoint. That was the first sign of trouble.

The soldier spoke with the driver who then motioned back to us. Ali handed his green ID up to the driver who showed it to the soldier. Tariq was leaning back, trying to hide himself as best he could behind my shoulder. The soldier looked at the ID and we were waved through - it was a "flying" or temporary checkpoint set up indiscriminately at Israeli will. About a half hour later the baby was asleep at my feet and I was amazed that he could doze through the rugged West Bank roads replete with quick starts and sudden stops. We got to the permanent checkpoint half way through our trip, not far from the town of Abu Dees where this time we were stopped. The soldier opened up the sliding side door and took a look at us in the back. He asked for Tariq and Ali's ID and walked off. We sat there for fifteen minutes before the driver stepped out and went into the checkpoint hut. He spoke some Hebrew (likely a skill learned in Israeli jails... typical of former inmates) and was handed the boys ID's back. And we were off again. So far, no soldier has asked for MY ID... which in this case was a Provincial Drivers license. I cursed myself again and then knocked on wood.

An hour later we were driving through Gush Etzion Settlement Bloc. One of the larger Settlement Blocs, Gush Etzion was also known to be one of the more militant. We drove along the street and all of a sudden we come to a traffic light with Israeli teenagers and soldiers (both heavily armed) crossing the road... Like nothing out of the ordinary... except that they are in the middle of the West Bank surrounded by people whose land they had stolen and who do not want them there: a theme I would be reminded of later in the day.

We continued on for about a Kilometer before we came to another flying checkpoint where were stopped again. This time, an older soldier slid the side door open and asked for everyone's ID (except the women). I thought I was bucked. The worst case scenario, I reasoned, was that they would detain me while I sent A.M. back to the apartment to fetch my Passport and Visa. That would be the worst case scenario. I should have known though, that as much as the IDF do not want Westerners in the West Bank so that they can continue to do what they do without outsiders knowing, they wouldn't bother to hold me. No, today, as everyday, they were after young Palestinian Men. I remember reading in Amira Hass's book "Drinking the Sea at Gaza" that if you were a young man living in Gaza you had no hope of getting a work visa to provide for your family. They would only issue work visas to those over 40 and married. She said that Palestinian youths in Gaza were just "waiting to turn 40".

I showed the soldier my drivers license and tried to explain myself - "how will I see your visa" he asked derisively. I shook my head in resignation. He handed the ID back and I knew that it didn't matter. Ali and Tariq were taken out of the servees and lined up with the other group of young men, obviously removed from other taxis. We pulled over to the side of the road and with an ominous move, our driver turned off the car.

We waited there for a while. I looked back out the window a few times to see the soldiers speaking with Tariq. Eventually Ali came back over to the cab with another young man. They spoke with the driver and Ali got back in. A few minutes later though Ali was back out of the cab and the other boy was in his place, beside me in the back. Our driver got out, made his way over to the Jeep where Tariq was standing and spoke with the soldier there. I saw Tariq give the driver some money and then he was spun around by the soldier and frisked against the side of the jeep. They bent his arm back and I saw him grimace as they felt up and down his legs. As they were doing this, our driver got back in and we began to move on.

We came into Hebron quite quickly. I hadn't realized that we had been just outside when we were stopped for the last time. Hebron is quite large - in fact it's the biggest city (with all the surrounding towns) in the West Bank - and it took us a while to make it into the center of town. When we got there, A.M. asked our driver how to get into the old city and he directed us to take another (private cab). We did and after a short drive (it turns out we could have walked it - we in fact left the Old City and wound up in the center of town by accident) we were let out at the end of a dead end street. At a set of closed turnstiles, a friendly woman directed us to go around and she lead us the hundred yards to the right alley.

We walked along until we came to a set of turnstiles. We waited for a local to go through them (we're always a little hesitant to walk through turnstiles unless told to do so by a local or the IDF) before following him through. At the other end, behind cement barricades the IDF soldier there asked for our passports. I go through the same routine... this time telling him that I left it in my hotel room in Bethlehem (passing as a Christian tourist and not a West Bank resident). He lets me go through. On the other end is a road with a fence running alongside it. Twenty feet to the left are another set of turnstiles and metal detectors and I guess right that its the entrance to the Ibrihimi Mosque and the Tombs of the Patriarchs.

We approached the metal detectors apprehensively. A handful of soldiers stood around staring at us. A jovial looking Israeli policeman stood forward and told us that it was prayer time and that we could not go in (same routine I went through at the Temple Mount in Jerusalem). We tell him we'll come back and we turn around and walk past the checkpoint that we came through. Half way along the road I start to see posters plastered all over the place with the smiling face of Meir Kahane. Kahane was an American Jew who started a movement in the US called the Jewish Defense League and one in Israel called "Kach" which was eventually outlawed in Israel because of its violent ideology that advocated the (forced) expulsion of Arabs from historic Israel (which to some Kahanists includes the Sinai, Jordan, Lebanon, and parts of Syria and Iraq) and the establishment of a Jewish theocracy. Kahane was assassinated in New York after he was deported from Israel. But the ideology he created survives, especially amongst the militant settlers in Hebron.

And Baruch Goldstein was a Kahanist.

On February 25 1994, Goldstein, dressed in his Israeli Army uniform, walked into the Ibrihimi Mosque and opened fire with an automatic weapon upon praying Muslims. He killed 29 and wounded 125+. In the riots that followed throughout Israel and the Occupied Territories, another 30 Arabs were killed by the IDF while 4 settlers were killed by Arabs. Goldstein was an American from New York, who like so many other Americans, settled in the militant Settlements that are in and surround Hebron. The memory of Goldstein was present as I walked down that street in front of the Mosque where he killed so many and seeing his ideologue on a poster sent chills down my spine.

At the end of the street (50 feet) we came to the third checkpoint in less than 100 meters. There another soldier examined my drivers license and let me go. Before we knew it, we had walked into the Jewish Settlement in the Old City. I tensed up. We walked another thirty feet to an opening that looked up towards the mosque. We cautiously took out our cameras and snapped a few shots before we decided that we had had enough.

We went back through the checkpoint and back towards the entrance to the Mosque. The jovial policeman there stood in front of us and made small talk. Where are we from? What were we doing in Hebron? What did we do back home? A.J. a former Marine who works as a sous chef told him he cooked and the Policeman explained that he too was a chef. The Car-15 assault rifle around his neck and the pistol in his waist band told me otherwise. ("why aren't you in a kitchen then?!!?" I thought).

After fifteen minutes of waiting, watching the teenage Israeli soldiers talk on their cell phones with their boyfriends and girlfriends we were allowed in.

We walked through the metal detectors and had our bags searched. Once through we walked uptowards the Mosque, through a gate and not twenty feet later another pair of Israeli soldiers and metal detectors. Nonchalantly the teenager soldier looks through my bag; "Anything sharp?" - "No" - "Any knives?" - "No" - "Any guns?" - "No"- "Want one?". I was caught off guard. I hope he was joking.

The Mosque itself was unimpressive for A.M. who has been to three of arguably the most beautiful mosques in the world (al-Azhar in Cairo and Umayyad Mosque in Damsacus... Suleiman Mosque in Istanbul is also on that list) but I was impressed. The tombs of the patriarchs weren't what I was expecting. They are outside of the ground, in what look like large household oil containers - but covered in fabric and enclosed in a brick and barred cube. Issac and Rebecca's tombs (they're separate) are entirely within the Mosque, while Abraham's and Sarah are awkwardly placed against the walls - which apparently connects with the synagogue next door.

We walked around the Mosque some more and then made our way outside and back through the metal detectors. As we approach the last metal detectors two teenage boy-soldiers were playing monkey in the middle with the beret of a teenage-girl soldier. Their assault rifles, slung around their backs bounced up and down as they jumped around and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

AM told us that he wanted to try and walk around the main road of the Jewish Settlement. Two votes to one and we made our way back to the Arab quarter. Walking along one of the main alleys of the Old City we passby store after store that are shuttered up. One of the locals who was walking beside us explained that they've been closed for 15 years.

At one point we come to the spot that I had been dreading. Above our heads, chicken wire had been installed running the length of the street (Old City Streets in the Middle East are no more than twenty feet wide). Through the trash that had piled up on the wire I saw a half dozen little Israeli flags and one large one.

Because of those tombs that are in the Mosque, the Jewish tradition holds Heron as a very venerated place. After Israel began occupying The Werst Bank in 1967 an infl;ux of Jewish Settlers moved in around the city in a complex of settlements - all illegal under International Law - called Qyriat Arba. At some point Jewish Settlers established a foothold inside the Old City of Hebron. There, the most militant of the Settler Movement squatted in Palestinian homes when the occupants were out in at their jobs and refused to leave when they retuned. The Israelis, (most notably under Sharon) refused to evict them and instead sent in the IDF to protect the squatters. Now, the ratio is apparently 500 Settlers and 1500 Soldiers in Hebron. The Settlers, believing that Hebron (and all of the West Bank... and according to Kach... half of the Middle East) should be lived in by only Jews, began a campaign of hate crimes against the Arab Palestinian population. The Chicken wire was meant to protect the Palestinians in the Old City from the garbage and feces that are thrown out of the windows by the Settlers unto the Arabs in the streets below. I had known that this happens, but seeing it was emotional.

Outside of the Old City, we ate and made our way back home. Again, not having my passport was a problem, but not as much as it was on our way in. This time the cab was carrying two older couples who never attract attention from the IDF - we were waived through most of the checkpoints. Crammed into the back of the cab for the two and a half drive of just 60km I wondered where Tariq and Ali were now. The murder of Tariq's sister by the IDF, in a cruel twist actually puts him on a list that heavily restricts his movements. It seems that the Israelis believe that the families of murdered love-ones have no love for the Israeli military. The logic is that the death will be avenged in some way... shooting... suicide bomb. The murder of Tariq's sister made Tariq's life that much more tough. It seems that he didn't have a good enough reason to go from Tulkarm in the north to Hebron in the south.

Friends in Hebron? Family in Hebron? School in Hebron? Within his own country Tariq isn't allowed too far from home (80km). Israel has shit-throwing settlers to protect.

***

Pictures:

Ibrihimi Mosque and the Tombs of the Patriarchs - With Israeli Flag

Settler trash and chicken wire in the Old City - Also with Israeli Flags

Daily Things...

Here are some random observations about life in the West Bank...

The Sharons

The garbage system is fairly straightforward despite the fact that most civil servants haven't been paid in three months because of the West's refusal to provide any support to the Palestinian Government. Most municipal workers and policemen continue to work even though they aren't getting paid because they support their elected government even if they didn't vote for them. Anyway... basically you take your garbage out of your apartment to one of the dozens of smallish dumpsters that line the roads all over the place (every 200 meters or so?). The funny thing is that we call them "Sharon's" (Israel's comatose former Prime Minister and International fugitive from War Crimes charges) because each has been spray painted with his name in Arabic. I don't know if they were done so because they are short and fat and in green (Sharon in uniform?) or just because they are dumpsters. It's a phenomenon found all over the West Bank.

Wildlife

There's an array of wildlife here. The mosquitos look the same as those in North America but they fly faster and are harder to kill. The other night we were walking home and we saw a car pull over to the side of the road. We got closer and saw that a man was standing beside the road when the car raced forward all of a sudden in his general direction. Then we saw the snake and realized that the car was running it over. We passed by, and the man at the side of the road dropped a rock on its head and then kicked it. I'm guessing they don't like snakes here.

I've noticed that in every country I've been to in the third world there is a different species of random scavenging animal. In Latin America its almost universally dogs. My fiancee and I have a funny picture of us arriving in Honduras and there being an exhausted stray dog lying on its back at the foot of the welcome to Honduras flag pole. Hilarious. In Palestine it's cats. Stray cats that rummage through the Sharons for scraps of food.

Loud Noises

I've become fairly adept at distinguishing the sound of gunshots from fireworks. Both of which are nightly noisemakers that mark some sort of celebration.

Weddings

There are weddings here every weekend. Loud loud parties that last all weekend and late into each night.

Celine Dion

Restaurants play mixed CD's of cheesy mid-90's pop music. Celine is a favourite, Bryan Adams (I once heard "Everything I do I do for you" repeated a half dozen times while we were eating at a nice Ramallah restaurant) Whitney Houston... Strange....

I'll try to post more of these soon...

Tess

I just wanted to post this. My dog died a month ago, shortly after I left. I just wanted to throw up the last picture I took of her before I left. My poor doggie.

This is coming from a discussion between my friends here about the fact that because of the ever-present reality of the conflict and the occupation, can you still concern yourself with things like the litter and trash fires here, or animal treatment... or your dog dying?

I think if things like your dog dying don't bother or upset you then you probably shouldn't have a dog. And, in general, I hope that humans don't have a specific, quantifiable capacity for compassion. I don't like to see a donkey getting beaten (what we call "Jordanian style" here) but I don't think that that limits the amount of empathy I feel when I see a teenager being beaten at a checkpoint. At least I hope not.

Email List

I'm inviting friends and family, who are interested in a more regular and varied (although not THAT varied) take on things here to ask me either through the comment section or through email, to join my mailing list. If you ask, you'll get the emails that are being written by two of my friends here - one Canadian, one American. You certainly don't have to read them... and I've already posted two of them as blog posts... but if you're interested just ask.

I'm not going to give my email because of a desire for some privacy. I'm awaiting the lengthy and difficult interrogation that comes at the airport with everyone leaving through Israel and if the Israeli government wanted to (which they certainly might) they could make my life extremely difficult when I try to leave. Right now I'm fairly secure in the heartland of the West Bank. But when I arrive at Ben Gurion Airport, the standard interrogation lasts at least an hour, and I'm trying to give them as little ammunition as possible. Israel's legendary Orwellian state capabilities concern me so much I'm trying to avoid using my name (at least my last name) and I'm giving my friends pen-names.

Canadians killed in Lebanon

Last night, the news was delivered in a confusing manner to us here. Al-Jazeera, which we sometimes watch in rotation with CNN, BBC and al-Manar (The "Hezbollah" TV station) had reported that 8 Canadians have been killed. The Arabic channels deliver news to us on the conflict often a lot faster than the English language channels. So when we found out that these 8 Canadians had been killed we immediately entered into a discussion about what the response would be in Canada. Although I'm usually just as cynical as my compatriots here can be (and sometimes worse - we all come to our knowledge of this conflict in different ways) I was sure that in a country that reacts with every soldier's death in Afghanistan, or to 2 kidnapped Canadians in Iraq, with rapt attention, I thought this would be made into a big deal back home. I've learned this morning from CBC that it was a Canadian family from Montreal visiting relatives in the south of Lebanon who were killed when an Israeli bomb fell on their home. I'll quote from CBC...

> Ali el-Akhras, 36, was on vacation in the Lebanese village of Aitaroun, about 50 kilometres south of Beirut and not far from the Israeli border, with his wife Amira el-Akhras, 23, and their four children ages one, four, six and eight.

And then they report this...

> Harper, speaking at the close of the G8 summit in St. Petersburg, Russia, said he has no interest in criticizing Israel for defending itself. Harper said it is a challenge for Israel to fight a decentralized organization, such as Hezbollah, when its members are embedded within urban populations in Lebanon. "We continue to urge Israel and others to minimize civilian damage," he said at a news conference at the end of the summit. "We don't intend to single out Israel. We are not going into the temptation of some to single out Israel, which was the victim of the initial attack."

Israel has murdered four children aged 1, 4, 6 and 8.

I'll say it again.... 1, 4, 6, and 8. And Harper refuses to even CRITICIZE? He doesn't want to "single them out"?

So I'll return to the math... Two soldiers kidnapped. Israel bombards Lebanon. Hezbollah retaliates. Civilian deaths in Israel... less than 12. Civilian deaths in Lebanon... more than 200.

But lets not single Israel out.

And the vibe I'm now getting - which sadly proves my friends right - is that Canadians are by and large silent on this. FOUR CANADIAN CHILDREN UNDER THE AGE OF 8!!!

I'm hoping that some of the people who read this blog will respond in the comments portion of this post to this question... What is the reaction in Canada right now? Judging by CBC's coverage on their website its strikingly minimal.

Which leads me to my deepest fear about all of this. That because these 8 Canadians had dark skin. Because the father's name was Ali. Because they were Arabs. Because they were visiting family in an area that has been presented as being infested with only missile-firing terrorists... they are somehow less worthy of an outcry. If I or my friends were to die here would our deaths be met with silence as well? If they had been white would there be a response from Harper? I know that the pervasive racism that exists in the supposedly utopian "multi-cultural" Canada is something we hate to admit, it exists and it's extensive. Please tell me that this is not the case.

What is happening back "home"?

A Night of Culture in Ramallah

The other night four of us made our way to Ramallah for an Oud concert. An Oud is a traditional Palestinian string instrument that looks like a short, fat guitar. Accompanying the Oud was a percussionist, a bass, a cello and a clarinet and it was, in all honesty, a spectacular concert. The Oud player, who was the headliner/main attraction of the show was Mohsen Subhi and his talent was apparent. His manipulation of the instrument through his ten minute original compositions were truly impressive and I was immediately sold on the concept that the Oud (or any other "traditional" or "folk" instrument) could be made to transcend cultural barriers. The music met me with a sense that it retained an exotic originality - if you'll allow my instinctive Orientalism - and still be made to feel Universal... It was a fantastic performance and when I get home I'll have as many of you listen to my copy of the CD version of the show as possible.

My cultural experiences weren't finished after the Oud concert though, afterwards three of us followed four Palestinians we had met earlier in the week to a restaurant close to Ramallah's old city. There we were met with the standard spread of a dozen or so salads already laid-out on the table for us. Humus, Taboulegh, Coleslaw... we dug in and were immediately met with soup - a traditional pre-meal ritual more common to special occasions. And in some ways it was to be a special occasion.

The night before, in response to the continuous use of our windowsills by pigeons, A. had announced again that he wanted to eat a pigeon. Those three Palestinians, sitting in our livingroom told him that they could arrange that for us immediately. A. insisted that he "had a lot of work to do", so they declared that the next night we would go to a restaurant where we could eat pigeon. And as the plates arrived, T. explained to the three Palestinians that sometimes, in North America, people say that they "want" or "will do" something that they really have no intention of going through with. They didn't get it.

The Pigeon was small - with it's wings tied together it looked like a small roast chicken. But it wasn't - the meat was dark, dry and with its neck and gizzard still attached it wasn't a pretty encounter. But each of use ate the damn thing - after a bit of "psyching" each other up for it. And it wasn't bad. It wasn't GOOD - and it looked like... well.... a pigeon. But, we declared in a fit of bravado, if we were starving, we would eat it again.

But only if we were starving.

Which we won't be.

Jericho

Yesterday, about 20 people from my program went to the world's oldest city, Jericho. An oasis town on the banks of the Jordan river, Jericho emerges from the Judean desert and provides, unfortunately, very little relief from the intense heat.

We were accompanied by a Professor of Archeology from the university here, who took us to a number of important archeological sites in different towns in the immediate area. Honestly, I can't tell you many details - Palestine is so old that it has accumulated so many diverse and important "periods" - something that makes it very hard to contextualize. Stone Age... Iron Age... Canaanite (the original "Palestinians")... Israelite... Roman... Byzantine... Mamluke... Ottoman... its a dizzying array that leaves me confused yet still impressed.

Our trip took us through Taybeh - home of Taybeh Beer - and then to the first Israel checkpoint I've crossed within the West Bank. It's there to ensure that only Jews drive on the specially constructed super-highways that bisect the West Bank in three places and link all the illegal settlements. In North America the debate over the use of the word "apartheid" in relation to this conflict used to make me roll my eyes. Now that I've seen it myself - the crappy highways that we ride on that passes under the perfectly paved one reserved only for a particular ethnic group - I don't know what else it could be called. And keep in mind... this is in the middle, well WITHIN the West Bank. But I digress... The exchange with the 18 year old soldier was as unpleasant as ever, and we were back on our way.

The Judean desert is hot as hell. I drank more than 3 liters of water and the fact that I've been sick for the past couple of days didn't help things. We descended along winding and narrow roads at tremendous speed towards the lowest point on earth. Through the valleys that figure prominently in the Bible ("yea though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death" from psalms 13, Wadi Qelt is just around the corner) the landscape is barren and pocked with caves that, like Qumran not far to the south, could easily contain lost parchment.

We see Tel al-Sultan, ruins of a city that is 9000 years old. 9000 years old - the earth has consumed the 8m walls and I have trouble visualizing the surrounding area. Oh well, on to the next. Hishams Palace was far more recent - 1000 years old maybe? And its columns remain visible, along with its rooms with world famous mosaic floors (actually the most stunning thing about the day!). But its too hot. I almost throw up leaving an on-site mosaic research lab. I head back to the bus and while I'm there, my group that's behind me decides to forego the planned pool swimming (an entertainment here that is both costly and gender-segregated and thus not as popular as it easily could be). I'm happy as all I want to do is get home and have a cold shower and a nap.

There is something to be said about civilization that builds itself up and over thousands of years is consumed, in turn, by the earth. I saw it in Tikal in Guatemala... the Mayan pyramids that remain visible only in form, buried under the jungle. I'm going to Petra this weekend and I'm wondering if I'll see something different.

Situation Report - Lebanon and Gaza

I visited the ancient city of Jericho this weekend and I've been writing an post about that as well as a concert I went to last night... but today's news is a little more pressing so I'm going to give an update on that first.

This morning, Hezbollah, a Lebanese military organization and political party launched an attack against Israeli positions around the border with Lebanon. Supposedly, these positions were both within Israel and within the territory that has been occupied by Israel since the 1960's and 1980's and have now been populated with illegal Jewish settlements.

There are conflicting reports that between 5 and 8 Israeli soldiers have been killed and that 2 have been captured. Apparently the capture has been confirmed by the Government and in response, Israel destroyed more infrastructure and civilian property and killed more Lebanese soldiers and civilians.

Apart from the round of boisterous applause in the cafeteria at the news coming from Al-Jazeera TV of the Hezbollah attack, everything remains quiet here in the Central West Bank. We are, in many ways, detached from what happens in the north (Lebanon) and the south (Gaza) by more than just geography and the reality that is Israel. There is apparent here, in the more well-off portion of Palestine, a sor of resignation that can bother some of us - but that comes from the wearing out of a population 40 years under occupation.

So worry about this news coming out of Lebanon. Israel has invaded a sovereign nation and has reportedly called up 6000 reservists to maintain its attack on Gaza as well. The last time Israel invaded Lebanon, thousands of people were killed there including the massacres of civilians in Sabra and Shatilla. But don't worry about me right now - all is normal in the Ramallah area.

***

Before I get back to the less political realities of life here (as if anything can really be called "non-political" here!) I also wanted to mention something about the attack last night in Gaza. I'll quote from the CBC website...

"The 225-kg bomb leveled a residential building at about 2:30 a.m. local time, as Israel launched an offensive in the central Gaza Strip." and "The overnight bombing killed at least six people, but not the intended target."

Apparently they were looking to kill a reputed "Hamas bomb-maker" (even though Hamas hasn't sent a suicide bomber into Israel in over a year). What do they do?....

drop a 225 kg bomb... at 2:30am... on a residential building...

Is that terrorism?

Spook

A very popular game has emerged amongst my group of friends here. Its called "Guess the Spook" and it involves guessing who among the 30 or so students in my program are actually spies.

Basically there could be two options to look for... The first are the people who may be working for, or attempting to work for, an Intelligence Agency in the West. They would be here presumably to learn Arabic - but we've pretty much decided that there aren't any of these types here. Any Intelligence service who wants their analysts to learn solid Arabic would likely send them to a different locale... Damascus, Cairo, San'ah...

The other option, and the one we have decided is far more likely in this particular program, is the Shin Bet agent. The Shin Bet is Israel's domestic Intelligence service tasked with carrying out everything from recruiting Palestinian collaborators to assassinating prominent Palestinians. So again, with 30 people in our program it is actually likely that between 1 and 3 of the people many of us consider friends - and people with whom we've spent a great deal of time - are likely not who they say they are, and have been tasked with monitoring who is here and what we say. It's not illegal to be here, but its obvious that the Israelis would rather we were not here at all. (Including yesterday, when an IDF soldier at a checkpoint told S. a former US Marine, not to go to a nearby town because he will be kidnapped by "the animals"... this of course is ridiculous).

So we play this game - providing each other with reasons why we think so and so is a Spook, And while the other person is supposed to disagree and provide reasons to the contrary - we all just tend to laugh and agree that so and so actually IS a Spook.

P.S. Our favourite suspect is actually H., the super friendly Canadian. We joke about it because he has been trying to learn basic Hebrew from an "In-Flight Hebrew" quick, self-taught language program. He's trying this because he was allowed into Israel but not given a visa (again, ridiculous) and he thinks a little Hebrew might get him one, when he has an appointment in July at the Orwellian sounding Ministry of the Interior. His response when we bring it up: to pull out the collar of his shirt and mumble something quietly in Hebrew.

Of Beer and Teenagers

Actually, this is two stories, both about occupation.

This weekend my friends here decided that they would like to pay a visit to Palestinian only Brewery. Located in the central West Bank Christian town of Taybeh, is the appropriately named Taybeh Brewery. Owned and operated by the Khoury family under the tutelage of Nadim, who was trained in brewery sciences at the University of California, they produce three beers (golden, dark and light) despite the economic strangulation of the Israel Occupation. Let me quote from an update from T.

"As a beer lover myself I must confess that Nadim's Golden is outstanding. The beer is clear, easy to drink, refreshing, but most of all, flavorful. There are only the freshest ingredients used to make his beer and the water for the brew comes from a natural Palestinian spring. Here in the West Bank, the beer is more expensive than other imported beers because it is renowned for its high quality and great taste.

Each month, production of the beer is challenged by the regulations of the occupying Israeli bureaucracy. Barley and hops from Bavaria and the Czech Republic are frequently held up at ports on the Mediterranean where their freshness wanes ultimately damaging Nadim's final product. Israel places severe restrictions on the shipment of the final product as well and has banned the shipment of countless bottles of beer from the West Bank to destinations in the UK, Japan, Belgium, and Germany.

It is interesting to note that Taybeh has not yet reached markets in the United States or Canada. It is my goal to change that. I have been in contact with Nadim and his family members about possible ways to bring Taybeh to the states. As the Khoury family struggles to stay afloat amidst trying economic conditions, the addition of new markets for the Taybeh brews would be a welcomed event for the people of Palestine, and I dare say, Americans who imbibe as well.

Any ideas you have on the matter would be welcomed. I plan on following through with this pursuit beginning with the [State] Alcohol and Beverage Commission upon my return to the states. As mentioned, your contribution to this project will be beneficial on numerous levels. As well, this may be a great opportunity for some of you."

After all, how many times have you seen the chance to merge humanitarian aid and support for the small business man with the consumption of a delicious beer?"

So thats T. and his crusade to bring Taybeh to his sate. H., E. and I - the Canadians - have decided to do what we can to bring this beer to the LCBO. This mission, I'm sure, I'll keep you updated on!

*****

But I wasn't at Taybeh that day.

I returned to Jerusalem to buy the things I couldn't get when the stores in West Jerusalem closed for Sabbath on Friday evening. Despite leaving earlier, it took me 2 hours to get to my destination that again, had this been North America, it would have been a 20 minute drive. Between the circuitous roads that must go around the Wall back to the line up at Kalandia it was an incredibly frustrating experience. But arriving at Kalandia and knowing what to expect, I thought, would make it a slightly less unnerving experience than the last time.

Because of the line up - that took 45 minutes to get through - the Israelis opened another set of turnstile/x-ray/shrapnel proof booths...

A lot has been made by my friends here of the age of the Israeli soldiers that they have seen on their way here. Teenage girls and boys with M-16 assault rifles slung over their soldiers have bumped and jostled past all of us at some point in our time in Jerusalem or Tel Aviv. They talk like teenagers, they look like teenagers and part of me is deeply saddened by the fact that carrying a rifle that is often, especially with the girls, are nearly as long as they are tall, must do something extremely damaging to the psyche.

So I made my way, finally through the first turnstile, through the metal detector, and up to the glass. There staring back at me were three teenage girls. The one to whom I showed my passport didn't get out of her seat - they seemed like they were relaxed and lounging back in their respective spots. She didn't even ask to see my visa and while the general suggestion from everyone I meet is that the Israelis are condescending and cruel at checkpoints I saw not smugness in the smile she gave me. She looked up and saw me and the smile she gave me was one of embarrassment.

H. on the recent situation in the West Bank and Gaza

H. and T. are apartment mates of mine here in the West Bank. H. is a Canadian and we spend those seven hours together in class each day; and T. is an American. Here is H.'s email to his family and friends on the recent situation here in the West Bank and also in Gaza. It is followed by T.'s email, which in turn is followed by a more recent posting by yours truly which may give you the impression that all is relatively well here. And while everything seems normal in that there are no more tanks in Ramallah (they came, they kidnapped 72 Palestinians in the night, they left) the situation in Gaza is deteriorating.

M.

June 28th, 2006

Last night I watched scout planes and helicopters flying beelines over our apartment building. I take a quick break from the demanding piles of homework that arise from seven hours a day of instruction. The constellation Draco swims up into the sky at an unfamiliar declination, and the horizon is charged with mercury vapour. Garbage fires are burning along the roads and the gravity of so many stories of imprisonment begin to wear down on me. Nemo at the hardware store just had his US visa application cancelled on a technicality... after waiting ten years for a decision. He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes, takes a drag of his cigarette. I tell him about Beirut, Toronto, Chicago, Washington...We hear that a settler has been kidnapped and possibly killed. Nearby Ramallah is being closed off by the IDF. Students that go home tonight may not be allowed to return because of the the threat of flying checkpoints. The university has issued advice to international students to stockup and prepare for the Israelis to knock out the electricity. The consular offices have been evacuated in Ramallah- but don't get me wrong, it sounds dramatic but no one is surprised or alarmed. Birzeit is not implicated in these IDF operations.

"il-wada'a fi gaza zay izzift"

But Gaza is a nightmare. Some 80% of Gaza is without electricity after the air force conducted a lightning assault. Crumbling Gazan infrastructure is no match for high-tech weaponry and F-16s. No one knows when electricity will be restored. Bridges have been destroyed as well and several armourand light infantry battalions have massed on the outskirts, waiting to conduct some heinous operation in one of the most densely populated areas in the world. Despite the fairy tale story of Gilad Shalit, no one is tying blue ribbons for the Palestinians. No matter how many die, the media refuses togive them names. I am reminded of Abu Omar of Shatila camp, "We are the living dead..." worse, perhaps. No dignity is afforded to them in life or death. Today, during my amiyya (colloquial) Arabic class, Professor Sami began the lesson with his usually exuberance. He often uses me (Hana) as an example to demonstrate pronoun or subject-predicate sentences. He noticed I was tired today (I stayed up late trying to work out the assignment, with mixed results) and I tell him in Arabic that I am a "humaar almait" - "a dead donkey". He stops and puts his hand on mine and smiles and tells me not to worry. But we are worrying about Professor Sami. His vocabulary examples are becoming more contextual. Fewer cars, windows, pens and books and more words like "settlement" ... "refugee camp" "Israeli army" ... the class is grimly silent. His instructions, given with characteristic authority, are pleas neverthless.

"kul filasteeno behabb salaam"

every Palestinian wants peace

"ana insan"

I am human

and finally,"wallah"

believe me

"ana insan"

I am human

He tells us his family is in Khan Yunis. It has been six years since he saw his father. His mother died during this time and the Israelis would not let him attend her funeral. His ten-year-old son is in Ramallah today at the French school, as the IDF moves in. During breaks he tells us he must go to find out of his son is okay. "I don't worry just for my son," says Professor Sami. "But for all people." There is nothing rational or just about what Israel is doing. There is no way that two whole armour divisions are going to find a kidnapped young soldier and bring him out alive. It's like the wall and the checkpoints, they don't do anything but inflict pain and suffering on Palestinians. The occupation is wrong. The underlying violence is the occupation. Everything else comes from that. The Israelis are not attacking the"militants" or the "militant infrastructure" - they are mounting a violent and punitive assault upon the Palestinian people. Abbas is right, this is collective punishment. Don't think for a minute that it is justified. This is an assault on the foundational institutions of civil society that Palestinians have struggled to achieve against all odds. The people here do not deserve this.

Professor Sami gives us his number. "My house is open to all of you." And he adds. "I will not stop my classes."

Qassamiotics

You just want to scream into the air
at the settlements, at Bethel
but your voice veers off like a rocket
it explodes in the valley
you've achieved nothing
but now we wait for retaliation from Israel
this time people will die
lives will be ruined
we will wait in the dark
we will climb back into bed
the wild dogs will howl for us
they will prowl the road
to Ramallah

T. on the recent situation in the West Bank and Gaza

Dear Friends and Family, If you have been paying attention to the news in this area you might be worried about my safety. Let me first assure you all that as of today I am well and in good health as well as in good spirits, at least as good as can be expected given recent developments. I want to emphasize that Birzeit is a long way from Gaza. I am in a particularly safe area being not only in the West Bank (not Gaza) but also in a small and rather isolated town as well as in the company of many foreign nationals. The fact of the matter is that all information about the incursion in Gaza and further potential IDF action comes to me in much the same way as it comes to you all ... television news. The only difference being that my sources are probably reporting somewhat different events than yours (if you are in the states) especially because I can pick up snipets from Al-Jazeera and other Arabic language news stations. Still, to this point in time, I have seen nothing of the IDF here in Birzeit. That having been said, please understand that the situation in Gaza is desperate. This morning while we slept, the IAF bombed the main power station in the Gaza Strip taking out 78% of electricity there. All major bridges between northern and southern Gaza have been destroyed. Medicine, fire brigades, human rights workers, and all other personnel (including ambulances) have been locked out of southern Gaza. Of course this was accomplished with F-16s as Israel has the largest stash of these advanced warplanes outside the United States. According to news reports it will take 8 months to rebuild that facility and until that time the vast majority of Gazans will be either without electricity or with only sporadic access to electricity. Water, always scarce in the strip, willalso be unavailable to portions of that population. Precise numbers are not forthcoming at this point. These actions are seen as a precursor to what Israeli officials call "more serious actions". Presently, there are four battalions (approximately 2,000 soldiers) poised just outside of Gaza and ready to infiltrate the southern section of the region. Theoretically they are looking for one IDF soldier, Gilad Shalit, who was kidnapped on Sunday in a Palestinian military raid of an Israeli military installation. In addition, there is an illegal settler missing from his illegal West Bank settlement somewhere in the territories. There is a rumor, and I want to emphasize that this information is speculative, that he has been killed in Ramallah which of course is only a few kilometers away from Birzeit. I have also heard that all foreign consulates have been evacuated from Ramallah and that residents are being advised to stay indoors. As students in Birzeit, we have also been advised to charge our cell phones and have sufficient food and water stocked for the next few days. These warnings typically precede Israeli military incursions into the area although this again is speculation. It is important to note that the scale of Israeli actions betrays the true purpose of the Israeli military and government. What has happened in Gaza and what has been threatened in the West Bank are various forms of collective punishment for legitimate Palestinian resistance to an illegal foreign occupation. One might question whether or not the kidnapping of an IDF soldier and a West Bank settler can be considered "legitimate" but I would remind each of you that all settlements are unequivocally illegal according to the Fourth Geneva Convention, the United Nations Charter on Human Rights, and virtually countless United Nations resolutions both within the Security Council and General Assembly. In addition, please remember that while you may be repeatedly seeing CNN's broadcast of the young, fresh-faced, chreub-esque Gilad Shalit, and hearing the testimony of his kind disposition from his family and friends, he was and is a soldier engaged in an illegal military occupation. He was an Israeli tank operator and he and his fellow soldiers have and do target and kill Palestinian civilians including women and children. Shalit and the rest of the IDF (a dubious nomenclature at best) have caused rampant destruction amongst the Palestinian populations of the West Bank and Gaza for the duration of this illegal occupation. He is no innocent despite repetitious assertions to the contrary. Having said that I should also say that I hope he is alive and I hope he makes it out of danger safely. I hope that the illegal settler is alive as well, and that he makes it home to his legal residence safely, whether that be a neighborhood in Eastern Europe, New York, or somewhere else in the world. I hope incursion into Gaza and the West Bank is avoided and that diplomatic processes prevail. While these are my hopes, I remain practical and will be prepared for the worst, even while I hope for the best. In the meantime, you can help. Please contact your representative federal government officials to urge diplomacy in the Middle East. Please urge American *impartiality* in the region as opposed to the blind and unapologetic pro-Israeli stance that has characterized US diplomatic efforts in the region for four decades. Please inform them that lives are lives and that none should be wasted, Palestinian, Israeli, or otherwise. Inform them that you have a friend or family member in the region and that his life (my life) will be adversely affected by unchecked and illegal Israeli military action (please do not give my name to any US government official, or US media outlet, however). Please speak to whomever you can to let them know that all is not as it seems in Israel/Palestine. If you have spare funds, send them to charitable organizations working on behalf of *human* rights in the region. Send medicine, money,and any other form of help you can to Gaza. Send your prayers for me and my compatriots in this, what was once the Holy Land.
I will write more as more information becomes available.
With love,
"T"

Kalandia

I decided that handwashing my clothes everyday will get tiresome very quickly with what I have here. So a little shopping venture into Jerusalem for maybe a pair of pants and a shirt was in order. What better place to do it than the most North American of malls in (Jewish) West Jeruslem. All the Americans who have come to Israel over the past few decades, I am convinced, would make my shopping trip a little easier. While buying groceries and ordering food ect. is easy for me in Ramallah - I just decided that I needed a little bit of good ol' western consumerism for this particular quest. Also, my apartment mate A. has been desperate for some fresh Rosemary and we've been unable to find it anywhere here in the West Bank.

I left around noonish yesterday and got back early enough at 5pm. There were, in fact, a few glitches in my plan. As I was trying on a pair of pants my fiancee called so I quickly left the mall (past the guards and metal detectors that protect each entrance) to talk. When I went back in 15 minutes later the stores were closing. It was 3pm and Shabbath was starting. Shit! I quickly ran back in and got what I needed from the Pharmacy and A.s precious Rosemary from the grocery store that stays open a little later. So, in essence, only a half failure of a trip.

But the most dominating experience of my day yesterday was what I had to do to get to Jerusalem...

Leaving the service taxi stand in Ramallah, my van weaved through the trash lined streets past groups heading to the Mosque for Friday prayers, on its way to the Kalandia checkpoint that stands between the West Bank and East Jerusalem. There, I got out and followed the group from my taxi. We made our way through the huge floor to ceiling turnstiles up to the part where we would actually be "processed". There another turnstile allows four or five people through at a time (this function is controlled by the Israelis in the booth). Once through, one at a time we put our bags ect. on the large x-ray machine that sends a feed into the booth, who I see is staffed by four young IDF soldiers. Before I get there though, I hear them yelling commands through the microphone in Arabic to the group ahead of me - it seems that the kids had been seperated from their mother by the arbitrary jamming of the first turnstile. Once that's sorted out they let the mother through so she can show them the proper documents for the girls.

I and four others are buzzed through and I put my bag on the conveyor belt and pass through the metal detector to stand in front of the IDF booth, reinforced with what I can only assume is shrapnel-proof glass. There in front of me is a young soldier probably 20 years old. I hold my passport up to the glass - he inspects it - asks to see the visa page - I show him - he inspects it - he waves me through. I don't have to wait long before we are buzzed through the next turnstile into a hall that leads to the exit. After we have cleared the security area, the next group is let in. This is how it is for anyone wishing to go from the West Bank into Jerusalem for whatever reason. My first thought is of the people who don't have the right documents, or the sick, or my teacher S. who cannot leave the West Bank and hasn't seen his father in Gaza in six years. This process is the singularly most dehumanizing thing I've ever done and as I made my way by cab through the broad streets of West Jerualem towards the mall, all I can think of is Ramallah, my friends there, and how I feel like I don't belong even here, in the most North American of settings.