Reverence for Reality

Palestine will not leave you wanting in regards to stumbling upon sites of cherished religious significance. In one month I have experienced a few of them - I have gazed into the cave of Jesus' supposed birth, stood above Abraham's tomb, been inside the Old City of Jerusalem, and as of today, while in the ancient city of Nablus, walked by the well where Jesus was recorded to have spoken to the Samaritan woman. To be honest with you, though, I am left feeling a shade bereft because the romanticized impression that I had previously projected onto this region has so far been unfulfilled.

Perhaps it was the swarms of religious pilgrims (mostly from Eastern Europe it seemed), or the overly zealous postcard peddlers, or perhaps I have only myself to blame for not drawing forth the pious veneration they may have deserved. Perhaps even more significantly, in my summation, is the general malaise of experiencing a 'life occupied', the symptoms of which are far from subtle.

Travel here isn't determined by kilometers, but by Israeli checkpoints. It took four such checkpoints to get to Nablus, some operated by two young men with M-16's, others by concrete citadels serving as sniper roosts, and there were turnstiles, x-ray machines, barricades dressed in mangled barbed wire, young men (and women) with grenade-launching versions of the generic US assault rifle, and some with even heavier caliber machine guns. But I have spoken of this before in earlier entries. I just wish I could offer you the complete picture, literally, but taking photos isn't the most favored of activities there.

Standing at the Hawara checkpoint, one of two main entrances into Nablus (both Israeli controlled), scores of Palestinians stood waiting in long lines, letting out a wistful cheer when any one member was allowed through to the surplus of canary yellow taxis awaiting them on the other side. As an American, it was a little easier, though I still had to put my bag through a mobile x-ray vehicle and relinquish my passport. Some of the time the young soldiers engage in light conversation, but most look rather annoyed, edgy, and tend to behave that way too. I know I would be if I had to stand in the sun all day with heavy gear with the principle task of making people frustrated with you.

It was equally as intense to walk through the Balata refugee camp, the largest in the West Bank with around 20,000 persons, and to see the tight streets lined with posters of armed martyrs pasted on the side of every grey, tattered building, all the while young boys running around with plastic handguns and AK-47's playing 'Israelis and Palestinians'. Despite the imagery, I wasn't affected much by the young boys antics.

When I was their age I was just as interested in weapons, and in fact had more 'advanced' versions than the ones they were wielding. Upon reflection I sense that the main difference between my boyhood years of gun playing and theirs is that they have a tangible 'enemy', whereas mine were only imaginary. And it's not hard to see why they would, despite the shocking nature of that statement to many of my countrymen. Even as an American, who carries with him a one-up position (via my passport) here, I occasionally observe retaliatory and antisocial visions wander across my mind, albeit brief as they are. I can assure you that it does take an exceptional person to witness military occupation every day for 40 years and not take up arms in struggle. It would be helpful to understand that by having to walk through the Hawara checkpoint every day (which the UN mentions is the sole contributor to the 80% unemployment rate in Balata) and still remain civil is a powerful form of nonviolence, and most people here live that way every single day.

I don't want to seem as if I support violent struggle. Even though resisting against military occupation is legal under international law (if the occupied party attacks the military forces only) I still have a very hard time accepting the justification it. Today I was told that the Balata refugee camp is famous for its martyrs, of which 170 have been killed by the IDF (I think I saw at least 20 or 30 of their faces on the streets walls). Although it is a tragedy for everyone involved, that is the reality faced in Nablus.

So with all this I hope you can forgive me for not taking the time and being in the space to revere the Holy Land as many people might imagine they would. It is enough to be able to make your way down the main street in Balata and encounter inquisitive children who want to shake your hand and walk with you for awhile, and give to them the respect and warmth they duly deserve.