Dear friends,
There are a few elements of my latest trip to Palestine that I haven't yet written to you about, and one is my mother's visit. Part of the reason I haven't written about it is that I was waiting for her to do so, and now she has. Below are my mother's journals from Palestine. When she sent it to me, she put the "Impressions" section last, because she just wrote it a few days ago as an overall reflection of the issues she confronted on the trip. It makes the most sense at the end, since it comes after the rest of the journey represented here. I have moved it to the front because I know this e-mail is very long and you won't all be able to read the whole thing.
No more of my words needed... here are my mother's.
-Hannah
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Impressions
Genocide:
Some people use the word genocide to describe the situation in Palestine. This offends many Jews, and turns us off from listening to anything else the speaker says. We picture gas chambers, concentration camp workers, and huge piles of bodies. Some of us have learned that there were massacres of Palestinians by Israelis; others do not know. There is no excuse for killing even one person, but the enormous differences in scale make the comparisons easy to refute.
I have been to the Holocaust Museum in Washington many times. When you enter the museum you go up elevators to the 3rd floor. Off the elevators you hear then General Eisenhower talking about what American troops encountered when they discovered the camps. After that, you wind through dark hallways with the history of the increasing amount of restrictions and discrimination against Jews in Europe. That is where I see the parallels with Palestine. We had ghettos; they have refugee camps. We had yellow stars; they have green license plates and identity cards that dictate what parts of their former land they can access. We were prohibited from working and traveling many places we went before; so are they. Daughters who married and moved from Gaza to the West Bank can no longer visit their elderly parents. People who honeymooned at the sea, or worshipped in Jerusalem can no longer go there if they fled to the West Bank because they were afraid of the Israelis. Were they wrong to flee? How could they know at the time they made the decision? Six million Jews died because they did not flee soon enough.
Israel’s Right to Exist:
The U.S. wants Hamas to acknowledge Israel’s right to exist. I think this is irrelevant. I doubt very many Palestinians will agree that Israel has a right to exist, but they recognize that Israel does exist. That’s recognize with a small r, not a capital R, if there is such a thing. Asking them to swallow their pride and lie about how they feel is counter-productive. We need to work out together how to share this precious land.
Right of Return:
Mohammed, a 14-year-old, told me the history of the mosque in the village the Israelis call Zacharia. I doubt the adults who live next door to the mosque know that history. I, as an American Jew, have a right to move there to live. Mohammed’s parents do not have the right to visit, and neither will he in two years. You can not convince me that they should not have the right of return. I’m not saying that the Israelis who live there now should be evicted, but I do think that there will need to be reparations. Where houses exist, there must be an amount of money that a Palestinian family would be willing to accept to turn over their key, or an Israeli family would be willing to accept to move out.
As for the demographics, I know that allowing Palestinians to return may result in a country that is no longer majority Jewish. To me, Judaism should be synonymous with justice. This is not a just, and therefore not a Jewish state now. It is a state composed of more people who celebrate Yom Kippur than who celebrate Ramadan. To quote Isaiah, “Is such the fast that I have chosen?”
Jerusalem:
The old city will never cease to amaze me. It is my history, and my heritage, and it is not wrong for Jews to worship there. It is also not wrong for Muslims and Christians to worship there. It should be accessible to all.
Courage:
I was amazed by the strength of the Palestinians I met, making as good a life as possible for their children under daunting circumstance.
Tolerance:
I was impressed by the lack of hatred of Israelis, given that there is so much negative contact between Israelis and Palestinians in the West Bank. I heard a sincere desire to work things out.
Hannah’s Safety:
I am less worried about Hannah’s safety now that I have seen where she works and met the people she works with. She seems to really know her way around and have some degree of caution, although I still don’t understand why an asthmatic would intentionally go into areas where she could get tear-gassed. I guess if it made her too uncomfortable she would stop. I also saw how many people truly care about her. She would have many protectors in case of trouble.
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Diary of My Trip to Palestine 2/5/06 – 2/11/06
2/6/06 3:40 AM
So, I am uncomfortable. I spoke about this before coming, but I did not really understand it. It’s like knowing labor will hurt, and then experiencing it. Hannah was told before she came here the first time with IWPS that she might need counseling when she got home. I guess I thought I wouldn’t, but maybe I should see Laurie or Josh or Vivian.
I felt the same missing Jules (my husband) I’ve felt before when I decided it would be more practical to come without him. I still know it would be impractical. I am glad I got to see the IWPS house, and he could not have stayed here. I understood most of what Abu Rabia said last night, but he would have had more trouble with the accent and the crackling fire noise – not to mention the smoke and cold.
Now I realize that I should have taken pictures last night. It seems like such a typical family-values experience – sitting around the fire (stoked wood inside an old metal can, placed precariously on a stand on the porch. It fell over once, scaring me – but they knew that the porch material would not burn so they calmly cleaned and stood it back up.
Um Rabia seems like a calm, content woman – watching her two young children and cradling her swelling belly. Her older son, Rabia, is in prison. He called on his cell phone while I was there. The men in prison make calls when the electricity goes out at the prison, because then what they say is not monitored. Such secret conversations – when you come to visit me on Wednesday, bring me this shirt and that food. Um Rabia will spend Tuesday cooking for him, so even though she wants to cook a meal for me, she can’t do it that day. [Followup – Rabia was moved to a different prison before Um Rabia got to visit him. It is further away from where they live, and she has to get a different permit – so the timing of the next visit is uncertain.] We settled on breakfast today – not a traditional meal to invite guests, but the only time we could fit her into the busy itinerary Hannah planned. Hannah told me to eat slowly, because many people want to make me meals today. I can’t refuse food anywhere, so I need to both save room and show them that I appreciate the food.
The food – it took me a while to accept that I may need to compromise my kosher standards here. Hannah has explained to all that I am vegetarian, but they could serve me soup with a meat base. I compromised kosher before – when I was back in the hospital after Ben they served me a wrapped kosher meal of chicken and rice during Passover. I was so hungry and so depressed that I ate it. Whatever I do during this trip will observe eco-kashrut – not withholding myself from others. I’m glad at least that they have Hallal rules. [Followup – To my relief, everything I was served was vegetarian.]
The house is much larger than I expected, and the materials are fine – nice tile – none of the low-quality crap we see so often at home. But – there are signs of poverty – a very uneven road coming down. I was nervous about breaking the wheels on my suitcase.
I was just interrupted by a long conversation with Marisol – 33 or 34 years old, very nice & thinks very highly of Hannah. She told me people around here really respect Hannah and think she does good work. She confirmed that Abu Rabia and Um Rabia really love her.
Abu Rabia is a startlingly handsome man – very distinguished looking – balding, grey hair, big bushy dark eyebrows. The description does not do him justice. He told me he honestly thought I was Hannah’s sister when he saw me. In the daylight he’ll see the grey hair. He seems so wise. He works in the Fatah office. Hannah asked him how his work has been since the election. He said it has not changed much. He gets respect from Hamas because he is known to the people around here and because he has suffered the same experiences – prison himself and now his son Rabia in prison. There is a large age gap between Rabia and his younger brother Sajid because of his prison time.
Abu Rabia understands that the media has shaped people’s understanding of what goes on here. He said that when a Palestinian kills an Israeli, the media shows the Israeli’s mother, sister, etc. When an Israeli kills a Palestinian, the media shows the funeral procession with men in masks, and did he say carrying guns? I had some trouble understanding his English at times. He said they don’t show the mother or sister of the Palestinian child, their vulnerability – but I was not clear if that was media or Palestinian preference. I’ll have to ask Hannah.
I was distressed at Hannah at and on the way from the airport. She wore a Palestinian sweatshirt and greeted me with “Welcome to Palestine.” I answered that this is Israel; we are going to Palestine. Marisol says most Palestinians accept Israel and the presence of Israelis here; they just don’t want it “to be like this”.
Last night while we were sitting around talking with the Rabia family, Huda, who can’t speak Arabic clearly herself, was trying to teach me Arabic by pointing to pictures in a notebook. It was very cute. When I tried to repeat what she said to me, she would repeat the word. She knew what she was trying to say and expected a grown-up to get it right, not to come out with her toddler pronunciation.
The Israeli road on the way here runs along the “security fence”. Hannah sees all the trees that were cut down, but it looked less obtrusive than I expected. She says they don’t have wall where the Israelis will see it when they drive by, and they also try to keep the checkpoints out of sight, so many Israelis are not aware of everyday Palestinian life. She showed me on a map the blocked Palestinian road that runs from here to Tel Aviv, parallel to the new road that only Israeli license plate cars can drive on.
In the taxi on the way here, Hannah was talking to me in English making lots of anti-Israeli comments. I think if she is going to make peace she should not act that way. She thought the driver could not hear her but I thought she should be more careful.
Monday – February 6th and later (I got behind on my writing and did not catch up completely until the plane ride home)
We had breakfast with Um Rabia, Sajid, and Huda. The children liked playing with the camera. The house is richly decorated and immaculate. There are 2 pictures of Rabia, who is in prison. One is as a young boy. I thought it was Sajid. The other is as a young man – very handsome – with his father’s face and eyebrows, but also with a full head of hair.
Then we walked up the hill to Um Fadi’s house. Um Fadi’s sister-in-law came over while we were there. Her sister-in-law has 12 children. People here are surprised that I am old enough to be Hannah’s mother, and surprised that I only have 2 children. Hannah says that she thinks many Palestinians do practice birth control, but they prefer to have 4 to 6 children before they stop.
From Um Fadi’s we went to Fatima’s village, Qarawa Bani Hassan, to pick up her daughter Maisa. We arrived before she was finished classes and waited in front of the school. The girls coming out stared at us, but eventually a group came over and Hannah started talking to them. They asked why she did not have her head covered. She told them we are not Muslim, and that I am her mother. They said we did not look alike, so I took out a picture of Jules to show them that Hannah looks like him. They all crowded in to see that. Maisa told us later that the teachers were afraid we were there to kidnap her.
We rode in a taxi to Deir Balut. The taxi driver is very skilled. The roads in Fatima’s village are very narrow. We encountered a parked vehicle, and we got around it when he folded in his passenger side mirror and broke off his driver side mirror. We just barely squeezed through. When we got to Deir Balut, he had an argument with an Israeli soldier who said he could not drive up the road. His Hebrew was excellent. We got out of the taxi, walked a bit, and then a village taxi drove us up the hill. The second driver would not accept any money.
Maisa went to the house with 8 girls because her close friend Lana lives there. Hannah and I went to visit Reem, her husband, and their 2 daughters. Their 2 sons were not home. Reem is young and pretty, and obviously has a loving relationship with her husband. I was impressed that her husband sat and talked with us. There is quite a bit of social segregation of the sexes here. Reem is a local official and is going to Spain for a conference soon. Her husband was one of 2 out of 200 men to get a visa from the U.S. to visit Miami & Houston. He says he got it because they know he has 4 children, so he will come back to Palestine. They will be away at the same time, while grandparents care for the children.
Then we went to the house of 8 girls – lots of smiles and female energy. There are 19-year old twins who had a triplet who died. The oldest sister was married at 14. She was surprised to learn Hannah was Jewish. Her sisters quickly added “but not Israeli”, but she seemed uncomfortable. She made an effort to be polite, though. Everyone else has been totally accepting and loving of Hannah.
After we left there we went back to Fatima’s house to sleep – if you can call it that. Her 5 children, aged 17 to 10, were very active and noisy until after 11:00. Fatima is a very active divorced woman who does not always obey traditional women’s roles. She is not comfortable in her village which is very conservative, and she does not have a lot of friends. I told her that there is a lot of love in her house. She said, Shukran, thank you, but then told me how she worries about her older son Milad because he is very angry, and she loses patience with him. I did see some of that while I was there.
I enjoy listening to Palestinian women scold their children. I don’t understand the words, but the tone of voice, facial, expressions, and attitudes are all familiar – universal. So are the faces of the children.
We were up early at Fatima’s house because she had to leave for work by 8:30. Fatima works with Women for Life and Flowers Against the Occupation. Women for Life is a rural women’s group in the Salfit region that works to struggle against the occupation and specifically the wall and settlements non-violently, and internal issues within their own society – self-empowerment and self-sufficiency. Flowers Against the Occupation is the daughter group, doing the same thing for girls, including summer camp, specifically against internal and external violence.
When we left Fatima’s house, we went to visit Munira and her daughter Maisa. Maisa should have been in school but she was home sick, which was nice for me because I got to meet her. She is a very sweet and generous little girl. She gave me a necklace, a hair band, and a glass vase shaped like a star. She also brought out a plastic container with two chicks that were born yesterday. One of them had already figured out how to jump/fly over the side.
Their house is the one that is completely surrounded by fence and wall. There is a settlement up the hill from them easily within stone throwing distance, so they have to watch out for falling stones when they are outside. The settlers did not want a fence right next to their property, so instead it is right next to Munira’s house. On the other side is a short expanse of concrete wall, just wide enough to block Munira’s view of her village. On either side is fence. Munira has a key to a gate in the fence, so she can get in and out to go to her village, but she will not leave her house because she is afraid that the Israelis will demolish it if no one is there. They already demolished the greenhouses and henhouses. She showed me pictures of them.
The concrete wall is the one activists painted. There is some controversy among the activist community about the painting. I commented that I thought it made the home more livable, and that’s what Hannah says they object to – it’s almost as if they are consenting to the wall.
Munira seems sad. She could just leave her house and move into the village, where she would be less lonely, but she does not want to give in and give up. Resistance makes her life very difficult. Would I be able to do that?
We walked back through the village to get a car back to Hares. We saw the remnants of a thriving community. Before the wall, Israelis (many Russian) came in to buy things and eat in their restaurants. There are signs in Hebrew and Russian. Now there is no business.
Back in Hares, we visited Issa, his wife Faisa, and their three young children. Issa has been in a wheelchair since he was shot several years ago while trying to get children out of the street while the army was in the village shooting tear gas. He used to be a strength trainer. He is not bitter. He seems very wise and in love with his young family.
Issa has fond memories of going to the sea. He thinks that Jews and Arabs should be able to travel between each other’s places – that Palestine is one unit and it does not make sense to split it up.
Issa told me that Hannah has a big heart. I told him about the Sam Who Never Forgets story, which made Hannah cry when she was 3 in sympathy with the poor hungry elephant in the children’s book. He said there is an expression in Arabic that the clouds precede the rain. It is used to talk about signs both positive and negative that precede other developments.
Issa is Abu Rabia’s brother. He and his wife are young and beautiful. Most Palestinians look older than their age, but this couple does not.
We went back to the IWPS house and said goodbye to Um Rabia and the children. Then we walked up the hill to the entrance of the village where we visited Um Fadi again. Her children had complained the day before that we came when they were not home. Her husband was home and he sat and talked with us. He has such a wonderful smile. I asked him how he met Um Fadi, and he told me that his brother was her teacher in the next village, and he told him that “he must marry that girl”. I thought it was very romantic.
After we left Hares, we headed to Ramallah. At the entrance of the village we got in a service, in Hebrew Shairut. The Palestinian service are sedans with an extra seat in the back that would never pass inspection in the U.S. There are holes rusted through the floor, torn cushions, and rarely seatbelts. I was surprised at how quickly I adapted to not wearing seatbelts. The only vehicles with seatbelts are those that travel on roads that are shared by Palestinians and Israelis. Passengers must wear seatbelts when going through checkpoints. There are various kinds of checkpoints. The ones on the roads where cars can travel through are manned by 3-4 soldiers. Everyone in the vehicle must show ID, and sometimes get out. Usually only the driver must get out with the passports.
The service system works well. The car sits at its departure point until it is filled with passengers going to the same area, then leaves. After it drops someone off, another person can flag it down and hop in. Men and women sit separately if possible, but no seats are wasted even if they must share. The passengers in the back pass their money up to the driver via other passengers.
We went to Ramallah via the Kalandia checkpoint. This is a huge structure with lots of full height turnstiles through which Palestinians pass to get from one part of the West Bank to another. The process can take hours. It did not take us long because we have U.S. passports. The wall converges from three different directions here. The Israelis put up signs with flowers welcoming people, but the Palestinians have painted huge murals on the wall depicting hope and resistance. Some Jewish internationals have also done spray-painting there. In their most recent action, they spray-painted “Work will set you free” in German in the same style as it hung over Auschwitz. Knowing our history, they found the parallels were striking, as did I.
Ramallah is a bustling city. Other than the number of people with head coverings, and the Arabic writing, it could be a city in the U.S. I even recognized some brand names. We met Dunya and Amal for dinner at a fancy restaurant. Dunya and Hannah insisted on paying the bill as a thank-you from Birthright Unplugged.
Amal is a tall, attractive Palestinian woman who does not wear a head covering. She wears makeup and is very stylish. She is currently the Foreign Policy Advisor on U.S. Affairs to the Prime Minister, but she has been offered a job with the President which she is considering accepting. [Followup – she took the job. She is now Director of International Affairs for Abu Mazen.] She meets frequently with Condoleeza Rice. She studied at Kennedy School and Fletcher (associated with Tufts).
Amal asked Hannah and Dunya about their trips with the children. Both are very impressed that Hannah is only 26, considering all she has done and how good she is at her work. I heard from many people that Hannah has earned their respect.
From Ramallah, we went back through Kalandia to Jerusalem. I forgot to write before about the entrance to Kalandia. Green-plated Palestinian cars cannot pass through Kalandia, so there is an incredible crowd of vehicles on either side waiting for passengers. It is very difficult for people to fit between the cars moving in different directions. It’s a miracle there are not more accidents. When we arrived at the checkpoint on the way into Ramallah, we had to walk about ½ mile up a hill from where we were dropped off before we could walk through the opening in the wall into the checkpoint. When we came back to the same place at night, the vehicles had been allowed to come closer.
During the day, there was a large crowd of men seated on benches waiting to get through the checkpoint. At night, there was a large crowd of men in the streets leading up to the checkpoint, upset because Israeli soldiers had just come into Kalandia refugee camp and arrested several Palestinian men. The cabbie was not sure that he could get us close to the checkpoint. I was glad to see that Hannah and Dunya were nervous about getting out of the cab. I want them to be cautious.
We went through the checkpoint with a young family. The wife and two small children went through with relatively little trouble. Then she waited on the other side, holding the baby and watching her young son toddle around while they waited for her husband, who as a Palestinian man had to be more thoroughly searched and questioned.
Hannah and I packed enough for two nights away and headed to the Old City Damascus Gate one block away. Each time in and out of the hotel, it still took my breath away seeing the old city walls. There is a beautiful view of the old city from the roof. All this for $20 per night!
Hannah and I entered the Old City via the Damascus Gate. Most Jews enter via Jaffa Gate, but there were all religions here. We wandered through the old city, which never ceases to amaze me. Small shops line the stone alleyways. Merchants probably sat in those same shops 2000 years ago. I bought ground coffee at one shop. The man ground the beans and cardamom in front of me. I also bought Palestinian halawa. It is oily, even on the outside of the package. I am curious to see how it tastes.
We snaked through the alleys until we came to the Western Wall. I had a skirt in my backpack, but I saw other women wearing pants, so I did not bother putting it on. It was not difficult to find a place to pray touching the wall. I stood for a while there, then I backed up and stood at a small table that had a siddur. I started to do the Birchot Hashachar (morning blessings), when I was stunned to see the words that have been cleaned out of our books since I was a teenager – shelo asani isha. (who has not made me a woman) I read carefully, skipping verses.
From Jerusalem, we headed to Dheisheh, where Hannah lived when she worked with Shiraa and the Arab Educational Institute through a program with Holy Land Trust. Her host parents consider Hannah their daughter, and I could see the affection and concern. I could not understand what Najah was saying to Hannah, but I recognized her tone of voice when she was advising Hannah not to go out at night to pick up a rental car.
Hannah spent the most time with Yazzin, the youngest, for whom we bought the airplane kit as a 12th birthday gift. He wants to be an airplane engineer when he grows up. They had a good time building it, even though it did not turn out very flight-worthy.
We stayed briefly with the family, then headed off to Bethlehem to tour. We saw the church where Jesus was born. The doorway is interesting. At one time it had been huge, then they made it smaller so horses could not get in. It looks more like a cave entrance now. Inside there is the spot where Jesus was born, and then 2 mangers because the Catholics and Greek Orthodox do not agree on the exact spot.
There is a cutout in the church to show the original mosaic floor. High up there are mosaics, studded with bullet holes from when Palestinians took refuge in the church and Israeli soldiers shot it. The lack of respect for the antiquities of another religion, not to mention human life, was distressing. Hannah said the 62-year old bell ringer was shot when he went up on the roof to ring the bell. Outside the church, across the plaza, there is an olive tree transplanted that survived despite being uprooted to build the wall.
After Bethlehem we headed back to Dheisheh. We walked through the Ibdaa center, a 4-story building with a stairway winding up to the top. On the walls as you walk up the stairs is a mural showing the history of Palestine. The project was coordinated by a Jewish artist from California, Susan Green. Keys are a frequent theme in the mural. They symbolize the resistance movement and the hope to return to the houses for which many Palestinians still hold keys.
At 3:30, we headed across the street from the camp to see the circus. I had no idea what to expect. What I saw was a miracle. The “building” where the circus was held is a partially finished foundation. The owner ran out of money to complete it, but he allows the circus to practice in the basement. The entrance is a rough concrete slope where I presume stairs will eventually go. An outsider seeing a group of young boys and teens descending into a vacant foundation might fear that trouble was brewing below ground. The entrance was treacherous. Downstairs was dusty, rough, and fairly dark. There were fluorescent bulbs taped to columns, powered by extension cords that ran up the columns, presumably to the outside and some neighboring plug.
The show started with the boys pantomiming a bus ride where they arrived at the circus. They were really good and had the comedic body language and faces down solid. They juggled, rode unicycles, walked on stilts (up about 5 feet), tossed hula hoops from the stilts, and did tricks with something that sounded like Diablo. It’s an hourglass shaped heavy plastic piece that rolls sideways on a rope they hold in their hands. They keep it moving and toss the plastic piece to each other. They also did very impressive tumbling. They laid three mattresses on the floor, ran toward them, and did diving somersaults onto the mattresses. When they landed, a puff of dust rose up. As each boy landed, he came back in front of the mattress and hunched over. The first few boys tumbled through hoops; the latter ones tumbled over the other boys.
The boys cooperated rather than competed when they were doing tricks. Hannah says she noticed a lot of that among the men in this culture. The stilts were a cooperative effort. The boy putting on the stilts sits in a chair and straps himself in. Then the strongest boys and adults help him stand up. They do the same in reverse to get him down. It is even more challenging because the ceiling where the boys put on the stilts is shorter than they are when they stand on the stilts, so they have to hunch over until they walk to the open area in the middle of the room.
I was very moved by the performance. Afterwards, Yazzin showed me how to do the Diablo. I was able to keep it going for a minute or so, but I could not throw it. The boys laughed when I emphatically said no to trying the unicycle.
Abu Rabia lives on the bottom floor of a building. His sister and mother live upstairs. His mother had a stroke last year and is in a wheelchair. While I was there she returned from the doctor. Rabia, the oldest son, dragged his grandmother in the wheelchair up the stairs. He is young and strong, but his was a real strain.
Inside the house belies the outside appearance. The family has a nice living room with two adjacent sitting areas, one for family and one for guests. Najah says this is Hannah’s house, so we sat in the family sitting area. There is a plastic table with chairs to the side. We ate breakfast there, but for the more formal dinners, we sat on the floor in the sitting area. Najah put a huge bowl of rice in the middle, and bowls with yoghurt and something green on the side. We each got pita and a spoon, and dug in.
I did not shower in Fatima’s house or at Dheisheh because water is scarce, and it would have been cold. The bathrooms are similar, though. The entire bathroom is tiled and there is a shower hose on one side. There is no shower stall – the whole bathroom is the shower. In this house, there was a small square area for showering, but no wall or curtain around it. In this house the sink was in the bathroom, but in most houses it is just outside. For some reason there is rarely a towel.
Thursday Hannah and I went to Hebron, the most disturbing part of my time in Palestine. Hebron is a town of 400 ultra-religious settlers and 70,000 Palestinians. There is a huge army presence there to protect the settlers. These settlers (including Baruch Goldstein) have been particularly violent, so tourism is cut off in an area that should be bustling – the graves of Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, and Rebecca. The alleyway down to the mosque is similar in construction to the alleyways in Jerusalem, but there are no customers and many shops are shuddered. Overhead there is netting because the settlers took over the upper homes. They toss their trash and worse onto the nets. Periodically they come down in large groups to graffiti and throw things in stores. The Palestinians are then locked in their homes by the army for their own protection.
We tried to walk up the hill to the neighborhood of Tel Rumeida. We passed two groups of soldiers as we climbed the steep hill. Palestinians are no longer allowed to drive up the hill. We saw a man helping his elderly father walk slowly up the hill with a cane. When we got near the top of the hill where the settlers live, a third group of soldiers stopped us from going further. I was relieved that they stopped us because Hannah had warned me that the settler kids up there might throw stones at us. Hebron was the only time I was very frightened in Palestine. I do not have the stomach for Hannah’s work.
We walked down to the mosque where Abraham and Sarah are buried. There are separate entrances for Jews and Muslims. Hannah refused to go to the Jewish side because she did not want to go walk among the settlers. I did not feel comfortable lying on the Muslim side, and I partially misunderstood Hannah’s arguments with the soldiers, so we left. Perhaps I’ll be able to go inside when there’s peace. Incidentally, the Jewish side is now a synagogue converted from part of the mosque by Israel.
We left the old city and met Hannah’s friend Hisham. He picked us up in his typical Palestinian car. It starts as long as you park facing downhill so you can coast a bit first. He drove us past the TIPH (Temporary International Presence in Hebron) buildings where many Danes had been, that had been damaged in response to the cartoons. The windows were smashed and already are being replaced. The buildings are guarded by security (Palestinian or Israeli? - I’m not sure), but the people were escorted out of the West Bank in buses by the police or army. We saw the same schoolboys who had smashed the windows walking home from school. Hisham is not sure if they did it of their own initiative or if they were incited. One of the clever protests we saw were Danish flags painted on the street so cars would drive over them. Hisham told us that when the first George Bush was president, there was a huge portrait of him painted at the entrance to Iran or Iraq’s capitol building, so anyone entering there would walk over his face.
Hisham told me the story of his family’s house in Hebron. Hannah and I had seen the alleyway that leads to it. It was strewn with trash about a foot deep. Hisham said his family had won an Israeli Supreme Court victory to get their house back, but those rulings are not enforced. The Supreme Court is named the Supreme Court of Justice, but Palestinians just call it the Supreme Court because they say there is no justice. The ruling included $3000 or 4000 in damages to repair what the settlers had done to the house. The family did try to fix it, but encountered many obstacles. They had to get workers with special permits. The Israeli police insisted on keeping the key overnight. They said they would return it at 7:30 AM, but when the workers showed up they had to wait until 9:00 to get in. Overnight, the police did not stop the settlers from destroying any progress that was made and any equipment left behind. Also, workers were attacked coming to the house. Hisham’s family was not able to get workers willing to work under those conditions, and the damages grew to $30,000. They stopped trying to fix the house.
A European journalist spoke with Palestinians, including Hisham’s family, and with settlers regarding Baruch Goldstein’s attack. The settlers told the journalist that Baruch Goldstein was a good gentle person, who attacked proactively to save Jewish lives because they had evidence that Muslims were stockpiling weapons in the mosque for an attack. Hisham said that to the outside world, that story is believable, unless you know that all people are searched before entering the mosque, and there are cameras inside. The settlers told another journalist that they blame Hisham’s family for beatings and rapes perpetrated by his grandfather during the Arab attacks on Jews during 1929. The journalist, having seen Hisham’s grandfather’s papers, quickly calculated that he would have been 5 years old in 1929.
Hisham was born in Jordan during the 1967 war. His family had fled there because they were afraid of massacres and his mother was about to give birth. When his family snuck home across the Jordan river, his uncle, the tallest person in the family, held Hisham over his head to keep him out of the river.
Hisham has served a total of 16 months in prison for administrative detention. Palestinian men can be held for six months at a time without charges, renewable indefinitely. Hisham was first brought in when he published a student leaflet in solidarity with students in Jordan who were on a student strike. It had nothing to do with Israel. 80% of Palestinian men have spent time in prison. This prevents them or members of their family from getting work permits beyond the checkpoints near their homes.
Despite his experiences, Hisham seems to have a perpetual smile, appreciating the irony of his situation without being bitter.
After Hebron we headed to Al-Arroub refugee camp to visit with Shireen, her parents, and her younger sister. Hannah met Shireen and her younger brother Mohammed last year and was very impressed with their intelligence. Mohammed is now studying in Michigan, and Shireen will be going to college in Virginia next year. Shireen was one of the girls who went to Colorado last year to attend a camp for Palestinian and Israeli teenagers. I thought the inside of their house was beautiful because the furniture and curtains were all blue. Shireen’s mother asked me how I feel about Hannah working in Palestine. I told her I worry about her. She told me not to worry about her, that she is safe there. I answered that I would stop worrying about Hannah when she stopped worrying about Mohammed. Everyone laughed at that.
From Shireen’s house, we returned to Dheisheh. Hannah wanted me to have a tour of the camp. The two men who usually give tours were unavailable, so two 14-year old boys from the Ibdaa center took us. That was more special.
When the Red Cross set up the camp, they thought it would be temporary, just a few months until the refugees could return to their homes. The Red Cross is not set up for such long-term relief, so the U.N. took over after a few years. The families slept in tents for the first eight years until there was a very cold winter and many children died. Then the U.N. built small concrete box houses for each family. Six to ten people lived in a home the size of a single car garage. After a while, when it was clear they would not be leaving the camp, the refugees built multi-story dwellings – one family on each floor. They did not have any additional land, so they built up to give each family more space. The homes are attached or very close together. The space between one side of a street and the other is no larger than the alleyways in Jerusalem. Everything is dirty on the outside, and there is trash on the ground, because there is no trash service here. When enough trash accumulates, they burn it, including plastic.
One of the boys pointed to his home. Several years ago his home was demolished because of an offense by his cousin. The U.N. moved them to another home until theirs could be rebuilt. Unfortunately, since the homes are so close together, demolishing one home makes 5 or 6 others unlivable.
There is a neighborhood across the street from the camp that is in better shape. Refugees from Dheisheh who can afford to move out have built and are building that community.
As part of the tour, the boys showed me a large stone monument of Palestine. They told me with much pride in their voices that it is the only one like it in Palestine. They said with love in their voices that Palestine is beautiful. At the top of the monument is a torch that they light for celebrations. Hanging from the top is also a black cloth. Seeing the monument was one of the times I felt the least hopeful for a resolution. Both people feel the same way about the land. Can we share it?
Hannah told me in advance not to show anyone pictures of Jake in our house because dogs are considered dirty in Islam, and Palestinians keep the inside of their houses spotless. However, she eventually prompted me to show pictures of Jake. Dogs in Palestine are not multi-colored. I was amused when asked what Jake was wearing.[Followup – about a week after I got home Hannah called from her host family’s house because they wanted to hear Jake sing on the phone.]
Abu Rabia’s sister Haniya used to have a cat. When she was nervous about going outside during curfew, she would send the cat out first. The cat was afraid of the soldiers so he/she would come running back if they were out there. Then one day they sent the cat out and the soldiers shot it dead.
We woke up early Friday morning to leave by 7:30. Again, Abu Rabia made us breakfast. In addition to the usual taboun (similar to pita but bigger), hummus, veggies, and yogurt, he fried eggs. This was the only time I saw a man in the kitchen. It was a combination of his belief in equality for women, and the fact that Najah leaves for work at 4:30. She works ½ hour away, but since they put up the new checkpoint and she does not have a permit to work in Jerusalem, it takes her four hours to get there – assuming she does not get caught on her roundabout journey. This has taken a toll on her health - both physical and emotional. Hannah flies back and forth to the U.S., partially because working there for a year straight gets too intense. Najah has no such opportunity.
We rode with Hannah and me in the front seat, and Amy (an American Jewish IWPS volunteer), Mohammed, and Yazzin in the back. Amy is as dark as the boys, but the soldiers on the road saw Hannah and me with our American passports, and the yellow plated car, and let us through with no problem.
Our first stop was the school where we took a picture of the boys in the same spot where their parents had stood when they were allowed in that village, the village their mother’s family is from. Then we went up the road a bit to the mosque and only remaining Palestinian house, now occupied by an Israeli woman. We know because she came out to tell us to leave. Mohammed’s friend’s grandfather used to live in that house. The boys remarked on how beautiful Zakkariya (Zacharia in Hebrew), with its rolling green hills, is. They are right. After you spend enough time in villages and refugee camps, you expect all places to look like that – as if the dirt and dust and squalor come with the land.
We went past the danger sign into the mosque. I had difficulty squeezing through the door. Inside there was abandoned farm equipment and debris. Mohammed asked in a quiet, surprised, distressed voice “Why did they treat our mosque this way?” Muslims respect Jewish and Christian holy places as part of their own traditions. The lamentations about the destruction of the Temple crossed my mind.
We climbed up to the top of the mosque where we had a good view of the village. Mohammed told us that some people used to pray up there for that reason. It’s also where the person who called people for prayer would go. Mohammed told us another story about the mosque. The mosque was for two neighboring villages – Zakkariya and Ajur. They wrote Zakkariya Mosque instead of Zakkariya-Ajur mosque on the side, which upset the other village. We circled the mosque but did not find any traces of that writing.
From Zakkariya we headed to Jaffa so the boys could see the sea. Mohammed had been there once before the 2nd Intifada with a boys trip, but Yazzin had never seen it. Their parents cannot take them there. Missing this ability to see the sea was a major theme of Palestinian loss among the adults. This family had pictures of themselves there in happier times.
Hannah was looking for a particularly beautiful entrance, but instead we found a small beach by the fishing area. We played there just long enough for Yazzin’s shoes and socks to get totally soaked by a suddenly higher than normal wave, then went off in search of the other beach. We walked on some rough terrain, and I noticed that Mohammed walked near me there. He did not touch me, but I’m sure he would have tried to catch me if I started to fall.
Hannah was quite proud of herself when we found the other beach, and it was indeed beautiful with terraced landscaping on the way down. Yazzin had changed into a bathing suit at our first bathroom break. Mohammed did it in the car here, and then they both headed in to the water.
Mohammed is getting to be a somewhat cool teenager, and he is quieter than Yazzin, so we were pleased when he dove into the water. The signs said dangerous and swimming not allowed. We hope it was because there were not lifeguards rather than because of pollution. We weren’t going to stop the boys from swimming in the sea during what may be their only chance. We hope they get there again in the future.
Yazzin took his soccer ball and the boys played soccer in the water. When they were tired, they sat at the water’s edge and stared into the sea. Hannah took a great picture of them from the back. I took a lot of pictures, too. I’m hoping to email their parents some really good ones.
After the beach we drove to a nearby Palestinian restaurant Hannah had eaten at before. She told us about a nearby ice cream place. The last time she was there with a group of Palestinian kids from the refugee camp, the owner refused to accept money from the children. The kids on that trip were hosted by Palestinian families in Jaffa overnight.
From Jaffa we drove to Jerusalem, where we easily found a parking space near the old city walls because it was Friday afternoon. We wandered through the old city. Mohammed spotted a poster of a Barcelona soccer player from Brazil. His eyes lit up so we bought it for him. It was fun to get him something he so obviously wanted.
We got to the entrance of the mosque, guarded by Israeli soldiers. They told us we could not continue, but Hannah told them the boys were Muslim, so they went ahead while we waited for them. It felt right for us to be prohibited entry while they went in. Of course, we could also go in but by a separate entrance. However, if we had approached from that direction the boys could not go in. When the boys returned we headed back to the car and then back to their home. We were all exhausted. Hannah and I stayed just long enough to say our goodbyes and then we left to return the car. We got to the car rental place before it was supposed to close, but there was no one there. Hannah called the mobile phone number and was told to leave the key with Fuad next door, so she did. Then we got in a service to return to our hotel in Jerusalem, and gratefully, a shower.
We went back to our room, packed, read a bit (the first time on the trip) and went to sleep early. The alarm went off at 3:15 so we could wake up and wait for the Shairut to the airport. The driver called shortly before we were going to go outside to say he’d be a few minutes late. He called again when he was 5 minutes away and we went outside. We left the gate of the hotel, and I glanced left down the street at the illuminated walls of the old city once last time before turning right to walk up to the Jerusalem Hotel for pickup.
I was glad it was dark in the Shairut because I cried as I left Jerusalem.
