When we crossed back into Jordan today, after swollowing paying a combined 70 sheckels for a cab to cross the bridge and 322 sheckels for the Israeli "exit fee" (a little over $100), we felt a sense of freedom that came from realizing, by contrast, how closed, difficult and heavy it was, even as we were enjoying life, in the West Bank.
We are now sitting in a hotel room, in the same hotel from which we started this journey. It feels like years ago we were here, in different places in our lives.
Last night we drank "Turkish" coffee and talked politics in a Beit Sahour, Palestine living room.
This afternoon, I've checked my work email, started to think about my todo list for the weekend, and responded to emails for meetings in the coming week.
There is more to say. More, about the wall, water, evictions, graffiti, martyrs, checkpoints, oppression, restrictions, boycotts, resistance, "normalization", endurance, patience, humanity, and yes, olives. But it will have to be in retrospect. (At least for me...Denise continues on.)
I wanted to see things first-hand, and I did. In future posts, conversations, interactions, if my positions seem harsh, it is because reality is harsh. In some ways, worse than I thought.
Palestine seemed so far away before we embarked on this trip, physically and politically. Now it feels close and like a family I can not deny.
As Ayman played Cat Stevens over dinner, I started to recall lyrics that my dad had sung to us growing up. Here in this living room, in Palestine, a place I had never been before, I was at home.
Mr. Stevens captures my state of being, "there is so much left to know, and I'm on the road to find out". The end of this trip feels like a beginning of a new chapter. It has opened, changed and grown me.
My promise to all of our friends, old and new, in Palestine, is to speak truthfully and unedited about what we have seen, and until we meet again, do what I can States-side.
Palestine, and all people struggling for peace, justice and dignity, je t'aime.
View of an Israeli settlement, from balcony of Palestinian home in Beit Sahour (near Bethlehem).
Traveling through this area, one can not escape the presence of the Separation Wall. You can see it from afar, and feel it up close traveling from one city to another. It has an undeniable, unbreakable, overwhelming presence.
What was confusing to me was that I thought Israel was building this wall in such a way that all of "Israel" was on one side and all of "Palestine" on the other, thus explaining why it is called the "separation" wall, or "security" wall/fence. But, that's not what's happening.
"Settlements" of Israeli people reach far into the Palestinian areas, and are expanding. Israel then annexes the land, establishing control over it, deep within the West Bank. As we learned first hand olive picking, many Palestinian farms will be divided or enclosed entirely within "Israel" with planned construction.
It is hard, then, to accept the justification of "security" when the plans for the wall enclose Palestinians in Israeli areas, and Israeli settlements stretch into Palestinian areas. It feels more like a psychological assault. It, along with blockages and checkpoints abound, continuously send the message to Palestinians that they do not have control over their movements, livelihoods, destinies.
Reading the news yesterday about Temple Mount in Jerusalem was upsetting and a bit surreal. Erica and I were just there on Thursday, and had observed and felt security measures throughout the Western Wall plaza and Temple Mount compound.
Western Wall plaza with Temple Mount's Dome of the Rock.
In the foreground is the elevated walkway to the Temple Mount compound.
The Western Wall actually forms one side of the Temple Mount compound, putting Jews and Muslims side-by-side in worshiping at one of each of their most revered sites. Inside the compound, two mosques stand out, Dome of the Rock, which many know because of its golden dome and is the Temple Mount, and Al Aqsa. After Mecca and Medina, Temple Mount is the third most holy site in Islam. According to the Koran, Mohammed made a nighttime journey (isra) there where he ascended to heaven (miraj).
Dome of the Rock, Temple Mount
An entrance to Dome of the Rock
The site is equally important to Jews. At Temple Mount, God created Adam, Abraham prepared to sacrifice his son, and Solomon built the First Temple that housed the Ark of the Covenant. The demonstrations and police action reported on Sunday happened in the Temple Mount compound, with protesters securing themselves inside Al Aqsa for hours.
As non-Muslims, we could enter the Temple Mount compound only through one gate (of nine), and to access that gate we moved along an elevated, enclosed pedestrian walkway above a section of the Western Wall plaza. Feet from the compound entrance, we found two rows of riot police shields. They communicated an everyday preparation for potential conflict and a nonchalance about that everyday need.
Riot gear near entrance to Temple Mount compound
Inside the compound, we found a spacious tranquil square filled with tourists and worshippers, a silent fountain, cypress trees and flowers, and stunning Islamic mosaics. As non-Muslims, we could not enter either mosque but one person in our group, a practicing Muslim from Morocco, was able to enter Al Aqsa. The practicing distinction is important, because guards at the mosques' entries may closely question people they suspect are not Muslim or are not practicing.
An entrance to Al Aqsa Mosque
When we exited Temple Mount (one can exit through any gate), we found police fencing a short distance away. Seeing such security measures, especially when we knew the history of tension and violence, was unnerving. It was also prescient.
Police fencing in Old City near entry to Western Wall plaza
Walking through the Old City of Jerusalem, which surrounds the Temple Mount compound, we discovered we felt numb about what we were seeing. The Old City's history, embedded in the cobblestone streets and stone walls, crushed the charm of those features and squelched our interest in exploring where the streets led and what the colorful market stalls sold.
The Old City, Jerusalem
The Old City felt weighted down by centuries of violence. It felt heavy with blood and for what? Sunday's news gave one answer: to perpetuate distrust, injustice, and conflict.
Friday morning came, and we were just too pooped to pick. Denise seemed to be coming down with a cold and we both had stomachs that were ready to rumble. We slept in a little, and feeling better by the early afternoon, spent the rest of the day wandering around Bethlehem.
We visited the Church of the Nativity, the birthplace of Jesus Christ, and must have gotten there just in time, because as we were coming out, there was such a line to pass through the small Door of Humility, that as Denise was trying to capture a picture of me coming out, the anxious tourists pushing to get in told us to "hurry up". That's the spirit.
Through this trip, we've come to realize that we make good travel partners because we both have pretty high tolerance levels for the ridiculous. In fact, we often respond with fits of laughter. I've lost track of how many ATMs we've had to hunt down before we found one that took MasterCard, dispensed dollars, and was working (and even then it ran out of money after we used it), how many chargers, batteries, memory and sim cards for cell phones, cameras, laptops we've coordinated, along with cell phone service that seems to change as one crosses borders and checkpoints, and how many setbacks and missing "details" we discovered and kept ticking.
Seems like this is part of the Palestinian way of life though -- there is so much that one has to deal with on a daily basis, that even not so little things get automatically absorbed by thoroughly cultivated patience and endurance for hardship.
I like this picture because for me it represents a few things coming together: our escaping group guidedness for a leisurely afternoon in Bethlehem (feeling ok about taking a break when one needs one), me finally figuring out how to use the night setting on the camera to capture the moon (after many unsuccessful attempts to document the moon over Brooklyn), and remembering the sensation of knowing I was standing in an incredibly historic location when I told Hiba, who met us shortly after I took this, "yeah, we're in Manger Square, near the Church of the Nativity, see you soon".
(Welcome to Jerusalem sign, posted on separation wall.)
(Western Wall and Temple Mount, behind barbed wire.)
(Security robot shaking suitcase in West Jerusalem.)
We've had trouble accessing the internet, so I'm a little behind!
Two days ago, we visited Jerusalem and the Holy Land. Saw the Western Wall, Temple Mount, and cobblestone streets of the Old City. While there was a lot to take in, and we enjoyed, for example, the lively music of a bar mitzvah happening as we entered the area, Denise and I both felt that our ability to appreciate the beauty and significance of the area was hindered by how heavy and tainted it felt by a history and ongoing status of violence, conflict, oppression. Examples of this were the "Welcome to Jerusalem" sign, posted on the separation wall; the fact that our tour guides, Palestinians, couldn't come in with us; riot gear and security cameras abound.
Later in the afternoon, we met with a representative of the Israeli Committee Against House Demolitions (ICAHD), and learned a lot. The group works to challenge house demolitions and settlements which are illegal under international law, and also works to educate the public and clarify the framework through which theses issues are communicated.
Because we found ICAHD’s work impressive, I’ll relay here some of what we learned:
- Israel considers itself a Jewish democracy, meaning that it must maintain a Jewish majority of the State’s population. When it confiscates and annexes land, such as in East Jerusalem, it must then build housing for (and otherwise support and encourage) “settlers” in these areas to ensure the Palestinian population (largely non-Jewish) now incorporated into “Israel” does not overtake the Jewish population.
- When settlers move into West Bank settlements, it is not a matter of a Jewish person moving into a West Bank neighborhood, it is a matter of Israel claiming sovereignty of those lands. Israeli flags fly over settlements, and the locations are chosen for politically and militarily strategic reasons.
- Settlements are often located on the outskirts of Palestinian cities, for example, to both limit the growth of the city, allow for deep embedding of the Israeli military in the occupied territories and provide a basis for policy makers (such as US leaders) to refer to the “reality on the ground” as a determination of what the State of Israel includes. That is, once Israel establishes a settlement, and Israelis move in, and there are Israeli street signs and post offices, it must be Israel – if it looks like a duck and walks like a duck…
- ICAHD estimates about half of the Israeli population are against the illegal settlements.
- Many settlers are unaware they are moving into the West Bank, because by the time they arrive, the Israeli government has already built the infrastructure up. Though some settlers move into areas for ideological reasons connected to Zionism, many are simply in need of affordable housing.
After our discussion at ICAHD, we were detained because of an apparent bomb scare -- a suitcase left next to a garbage can. I've tried to post the video I took of a security robot shaking the suitcase as people look on in the street, but our connection is not strong enough. People posed for pictures with the robot after it was determined that the suitcase only contained garbage. Our guide at ICAHD simply said of the whole affair, "welcome to Jerusalem".
(Metal mesh covering protects Palestinian shops from rocks and garbage thrown from Israeli settlers' apartments above.)
Yesterday we went to Hebron, a city now divided into a Palestinian controlled area and an Israeli controlled area.
There is much to say about Hebron, and I hope one day I will have the energy and clarity to say it. Right now I am exhausted from all we have taken in. (Settlers' trash, stones thrown onto Palestinian-shop lined street, restricting Palestinian access to water, multiples of Israeli soldiers to "protect" each settler in the area...)
The moment that may forever be etched in my memory was coming face to face with members of the Israeli military: we were walking, chatting casually, enjoying the day, and then suddenly I looked up and about two feet away from my face was a group of five, maybe six Israeli soldiers.
They carried big guns and were ready to shoot. The sound of their boots on the stone path caused ripples of silence around them. The one in the front, his eyes pierced mine. In that moment my heart stopped beating and lungs stopped inhaling. I felt a surreal faintness.
Their way, their look, their presence said hate. That is a strong word, and I use it cautiously. I promised myself I would say on this blog what I saw and experienced, and that was it.
Soon tears involuntarily appeared on the tips of my eyelashes and down my cheekbones.
In those soldiers eyes, I saw the cops who shoot and kill unarmed black men in the Bronx. I thought about how many peoples have suffered under military occupation. And at that point, as we continued on to the mosque, a place of historical religious significance, I couldn't help but think how little religion has to do with the conflict, the occupation, here. It's quite a backdrop, undoubtedly, and it certainly raises the stakes. But what I've seen here is evidence of a brutal, ongoing oppression and occupation of one group of people by another. Any religion that condones that is not one that deserves the title.
Heading out The Olive Press After what seemed like a very long half-day of picking, we visited a processing plant where olive oil is made. The press, which is a cooperative run to sustain a local economy, appears to enjoy the support, in various capacities, of the UNDP, USAID and Italy.
We've been told by our olive picking colleagues, who today over mujudara (lentils and rice) in the field sung "pick the olives" in, collectively, over five languages, that yesterday was much harder -- hotter, not as many olives, and closer to the border. Today was nice. Tomorrow, we've been reminded to bring our passports, as we'll be going through more than one checkpoint.
Still, despite the relative "ease" of today's work, I couldn't help but think about what it was like to be Ibrahim, who waved goodbye to us as we headed up the path to our bus.
Walking towards our first olive field, we pass the remains of a house. We are near Bethlehem, not in an area enclosed by a wall or considered Israel. Yet, we are told, the house was demolished by the Israeli government's orders because the family living there did not have a permit from Israel to have a house there. When we get to the farm, there is writing on the door of the small home there. The farmer has written his name and cell phone number on the door. He has already received a warning that his home could be demolished if he is not there. So he writes his contact information on the door so that if he needs to leave home -- for any reason, to run an errand, for example -- he hopes someone will call him before tearing his house down.
The reason his home is still standing (though with only a make-shift roof; he's not allowed to build a permanent roof) is because he has retained an Israeli lawyer who has won his case in Israeli court. But that is just the beginning of his struggles. The lawyer is also representing him in two other proceedings -- one to prevent the confiscation of his land and the other to respond to the Israeli government charging him a tax on each olive tree on his land. Luckily, he has documentation (which he shows us) dating back to 1931 showing his ownership, and documents, written in Hebrew, Arabic and English, recognizing both the government of Palestine, it's authority to grant title to the land, and the title itself. Many, we are told, are not nearly as fortunate to have accessed and retained documentation.
The cases, filed in 2006, are still pending. If he loses, the land we are standing on today and the trees from which we are harvesting olives, will become completely enclosed - he will be walled in, and the area will be considered Israel.
Checkpoint at entrance to King Hussein Bridge/Allenby Crossing (Jordan)
Entered Israel, en route to Jerusalem.
We made it in, but not without a few bumps along the way. Not counting our first attempt on Saturday, the time it has taken us to get from Jordan to Israel rivals the time it took to get from JFK to Amman. Over 6 hours after we left Jordan, we wearily made it to our family's home in Beit Sahour near Bethlehem.
More striking to us than the detailed, suspicious questioning at the Israeli entrance point, and the endless number of connecting buses, none of which seem to have a posted schedule, was the fact that when we finally arrived, there was little sympathy from the locals. It felt like instead of concern or empathy for what we went through to get here, there was a mix of feelings of (a) six hours, that's quick, you're lucky and (b) you're late. I had a feeling people felt surprised that we were surprised that the trip would be so arduous.
Our host family just got back into Palestine a few months ago, after visiting family in the US. They returned to learn that several of their neighbors had died while they were away. They also showed us (by pointing across the street) where Israeli settlers had come and gone. As we sat there over Turkish coffee, grapes, and pears, they told us these things.
Had a lovely day in Amman. Heard the call to prayer from the Al-Husseini Mosque waft mystically through the streets right up to our hotel room window.
Streets reopened after marathon at 4 pm. Finally got everything together and into a cab heading for the border. Got to checkpoint to cross into Israel. Crossing closed early for the day, at noon, apparently without much notice -- hotel, cab, program organizers all thought we'd be good to go. In fact, we had been advised that it would be open until 8 or 10 pm.
In Jordan again for the night. Will try to get in tomorrow.
Very upset that we'll be missing first day of olive picking. Being restricted and denied the ability to move, frustrating; contemplating the arbitrariness of the restriction, and at a minimum, the lack of notice, maddening.
At least our cab driver, born in Jenin but living in Amman, had a sense of humor. He suggested at one point that we just sleep in the cab to make sure we get in early enough tomorrow.
After a quick stop to pick up fresh lemon-mint and Egyptian mango juices, we found ourselves in a "sweets" shop in the fancy Sweifieh neighborhood of Amman where we stumbled upon some classic merchant hospitality.
After over an hour of tasting every kind of sweet, candy, chocolate one could imagine, and sharing some laughs over coffee infused with cardamom (I did the readings of the coffee grounds to the entertainment of our hosts) we left with two duffel bags full of sweets!
Unsure of whether our stomachs could handle dinner, we pressed on. Rerouted several times because of much of downtown blocked off for tomorrow's marathon, we finally made it back to the hotel, headed over to Hashim's (reportedly the "best" falafel in Amman), and were served a little of everything they had to offer. Before we were half-way through the hummous, we learned our meal had been paid for by someone who left without saying a word.
Somewhere in between all that, I picked up a new game played on a backgammon board, and was confident in my ability to win our next meal, but we were somehow distracted by the fact that we might have a little trouble getting into Bethlehem by tomorrow given the 12,000 runners who will be occupying the streets in the morning.
At least this gives us an excuse to sleep in, and maybe time to check out the area a bit, assuming we can maneuver the run and roadblocks.
The objective of this program is to mobilize as many people as possible for olive picking, especially in areas that are situated in proximity to Israeli settlements and bypass roads, in order to help Palestinian farmers harvest their olive trees which they might be unable to do without international support.
Just starting
Mid-morning
Finishing up
Our collective work
Heading out
The Olive Press 
