Over three months have passed now, in what seems like a fleeting glimpse of an intricately complex picture. Like a movie you watch again and again, where you discover something new each time or something profound that you didn't see before, my stay in Palestine has been an impression that continues to unfold. Five days from now I will be back in the States, enjoying the comforts of life as I knew it before, a world contrasting deeply to the one where I find myself at present. That I will be shifting back into American life has not quite hit me yet, perhaps it won't until I step off the plane in Geneva and then in New York. It might be the small things that will affect me most - the music playing in the background, the coffee, or the vehicles. This will be my second reentry into the Western world after short stays abroad, the first being in 2005 after nearly 6 months in Asia, and it's hard to know what to expect upon return.
What is interesting, however, is that I have made that transition here, in a lesser way, a dozen or more times in the last four months. I am referring to traveling back and forth from Israel, the West Bank, and Jordan. I was in Tel Aviv several days ago, visiting an Israeli friend I met in Hawaii many years back, and while sitting in a posh bar, sipping Israeli Gold Star beer, the stark contrast of the atmosphere was mind boggling. I had left Dheisheh an hour prior, the environs of which I have described before, and after a short bus ride I was surrounded by wide streets, malls, and all of the convenient amenities of Western life. It is difficult to explain what that feels like, and in spite of it being a return to the social world I was raised in, it is a little disconcerting as well. Other than the exposure to it in the news, movies and documentaries, or personal travel, the 'divide' exists here literally just miles apart. That continual exercise in contrasts does help to build perspective, and I feel fortunate, albeit a bit guilty too, to be able to experience it.
I haven't spent much time writing in my blog lately, though not for a lack of good material to share, however. After a recent experience, the content of which was deeply affecting, it would be a shame if I didn't express it as best I could here. The Israeli friend I mentioned above helped to facilitate one of my last journeys in Palestine, and perhaps one of the most significant in terms of its implications. It will help to give you a little background first. This woman I am referring to, Mikhal, was an Israeli Army sniper instructor (during her 2 year mandatory service), grew up on a Kibbutz in the Negev, and is a second generation Israeli-born Jew of Russian descent. Having knew her for only a short period of time in 2002, I wasn't sure what she would think of my present living situation and volunteer work in the West Bank. I took the risk and made contact again and was thoroughly surprised by her perspective. As in any country, the spectrum of political perspectives is broad, and through Mikhal I have been exposed to one Israeli families very open and forward looking take on life in the Middle East.
Mikhal and her family work directly with a few Palestinian communities in the West Bank, and the opportunity was presented to join them on a trip to a village outside Nablus to acquire an intimate sense of the kind of work that they do there. I had little idea as to what I should expect, and was convinced that this would not be an experience to pass up.
The morning began at 7 a.m., at which time my friend Eric and I ventured north from Bethlehem. Most of the ride was familiar, both of us had traveled to Ramallah and beyond on many occasions, but we also drove through areas of incredible beauty that we had not seen before, and it was uplifting to see many untouched and fertile areas of the West Bank. 2 hours later, after three taxis, we arrived at Zatara checkpoint, replete with Israeli soldiers smoking cigarettes next to their jeeps, clad with heavy gear and wielding their guns, though they didn't pay us much mind. We soon met Mikhal and her parents, hopped into their car, and our journey in the West Bank with three Israelis had begun.
As soon as our drive had begun we received an introduction to the activities we were to engage in for the day. For several years Mikhal's family has been building connections with a number Palestinian communities most affected by the Occupation, and although the essential purpose of their engagement is to form intimate bonds with particular families in great need, they have done this by facilitating medical care, rights advocacy, and in offering agriculture expertise. We were told that we would be visiting a number of families, talking to them, catching up, and coming to understand their unique stories, but our first stop was a little more formal.
Because it is illegal for Israelis to enter West Bank villages and territories, they have a special arrangement with the Israeli Army. Namely, abrogating all responsibility for the Army over their protection when they enter into 'dangerous territory'. A necessary formality, we entered the Israeli base near Nablus, driving by rows of armored personnel carriers and unassuming structures, to sign the requisite forms. We were directed to one building in particular, and upon entering we could see that it was a communication center of sorts, run by a group of young women, whom, I was told, were quite confused as to why we wanted to visit a Palestinian village, believing it to be a suicide mission of our own accord. Of course, upon hearing the stories of their cohorts whom control the areas via checkpoints, or those whom are ordered to make incursions into the camps and villages, it is easy to see why they consider it dangerous. But we were neither military or naive tourists, and our friends, I found later, had incredibly deep bonds with much of the community we were soon to visit.
The area we were entering has been isolated from the outside world for many years, controlled on all sides by settlements, military checkpoints, and Israeli-only roads. We walked through one checkpoint on the outskirts of the village by foot and a Palestinian man met us on the other side. Cramming into his 4x4, it was a short drive to his home, where we met some of his 8 children and sipped tea and coffee for a good hour or two. This man we were visiting, who I will call Imman, had an especially tragic story to share. Years ago he and his brother were walking together and were caught in a demonstration unaware. As they were walking the younger of the two was shot by an Israeli soldier and was fatally wounded. After this incident the Israeli government rejected Imman's worker status, fearing reprisal for his brother's death, and cut off his only source of income. With few options before him, Imman continued to enter Israel for work, sneaking across the border at various points, and on one occasion was shot by the border police, destroying his pelvis.
This is where my Israeli friends came into the picture. They coordinated the money and transportation and facilitated for Imman the surgery he direly needed, in many ways saving this man's life and his families welfare, a 'debt' that has bonded the families forever. To watch as Mikhal's mother coddled Imman's two month old baby was really a sight to see, and was certainly counter to the impression one might have of Israelis and Palestinians as 'enemies'.
We left Imman's home and headed on to visit one of his relatives, a woman and her children whose father was sentenced to prison for 8 years after unknowingly driving 'terrorists' in his taxi. The man's wife was an incredibly vibrant woman, with an air of humor and vitality that I will never forget, and to again see how this family related so personally to Mikhal's was truly amazing. We stayed only a short while, just enough for coffee and tea, as is the unavoidable and heartwarming custom here, and moved on to an area in the heart of the village.
As we walked towards the next home we were met by dozens of sheep, goats, and one donkey, coming in from grazing in the hills. The family we were visiting there survived by cultivating the land and maintaining a small number of sheep, goats, and cows. Some time ago the father, Anan, was shepherding his flock in the hills above the village and was confronted by a local Israeli settler, who proceeded to harass him (not wanting Arabs in the area I was told) and shot both of Anan's dogs. Mikhal's family found him a lawyer and took the case to court, and eventually the settler was found guilty, and although in one way the animosity between the two communities was manifest, this one Israeli family successfully maintained a personal bond that has survived to this today.
As one of my last experiences here in Palestine, I am incredibly grateful to Mikhal's family for allowing me to observe and take part in their courageous efforts, and the courage and openness of the Palestinian families I met there. Until last week, I was unsure if I would be able to acquire an authentic Israeli perspective on the conflict, and although it was perhaps not the mainstream experience I witnessed, it nonetheless afforded me an opportunity to rethink my preconceptions about the walls, and Wall, that divide people in this region.
What is interesting, however, is that I have made that transition here, in a lesser way, a dozen or more times in the last four months. I am referring to traveling back and forth from Israel, the West Bank, and Jordan. I was in Tel Aviv several days ago, visiting an Israeli friend I met in Hawaii many years back, and while sitting in a posh bar, sipping Israeli Gold Star beer, the stark contrast of the atmosphere was mind boggling. I had left Dheisheh an hour prior, the environs of which I have described before, and after a short bus ride I was surrounded by wide streets, malls, and all of the convenient amenities of Western life. It is difficult to explain what that feels like, and in spite of it being a return to the social world I was raised in, it is a little disconcerting as well. Other than the exposure to it in the news, movies and documentaries, or personal travel, the 'divide' exists here literally just miles apart. That continual exercise in contrasts does help to build perspective, and I feel fortunate, albeit a bit guilty too, to be able to experience it.
I haven't spent much time writing in my blog lately, though not for a lack of good material to share, however. After a recent experience, the content of which was deeply affecting, it would be a shame if I didn't express it as best I could here. The Israeli friend I mentioned above helped to facilitate one of my last journeys in Palestine, and perhaps one of the most significant in terms of its implications. It will help to give you a little background first. This woman I am referring to, Mikhal, was an Israeli Army sniper instructor (during her 2 year mandatory service), grew up on a Kibbutz in the Negev, and is a second generation Israeli-born Jew of Russian descent. Having knew her for only a short period of time in 2002, I wasn't sure what she would think of my present living situation and volunteer work in the West Bank. I took the risk and made contact again and was thoroughly surprised by her perspective. As in any country, the spectrum of political perspectives is broad, and through Mikhal I have been exposed to one Israeli families very open and forward looking take on life in the Middle East.
Mikhal and her family work directly with a few Palestinian communities in the West Bank, and the opportunity was presented to join them on a trip to a village outside Nablus to acquire an intimate sense of the kind of work that they do there. I had little idea as to what I should expect, and was convinced that this would not be an experience to pass up.
The morning began at 7 a.m., at which time my friend Eric and I ventured north from Bethlehem. Most of the ride was familiar, both of us had traveled to Ramallah and beyond on many occasions, but we also drove through areas of incredible beauty that we had not seen before, and it was uplifting to see many untouched and fertile areas of the West Bank. 2 hours later, after three taxis, we arrived at Zatara checkpoint, replete with Israeli soldiers smoking cigarettes next to their jeeps, clad with heavy gear and wielding their guns, though they didn't pay us much mind. We soon met Mikhal and her parents, hopped into their car, and our journey in the West Bank with three Israelis had begun.
As soon as our drive had begun we received an introduction to the activities we were to engage in for the day. For several years Mikhal's family has been building connections with a number Palestinian communities most affected by the Occupation, and although the essential purpose of their engagement is to form intimate bonds with particular families in great need, they have done this by facilitating medical care, rights advocacy, and in offering agriculture expertise. We were told that we would be visiting a number of families, talking to them, catching up, and coming to understand their unique stories, but our first stop was a little more formal.
Because it is illegal for Israelis to enter West Bank villages and territories, they have a special arrangement with the Israeli Army. Namely, abrogating all responsibility for the Army over their protection when they enter into 'dangerous territory'. A necessary formality, we entered the Israeli base near Nablus, driving by rows of armored personnel carriers and unassuming structures, to sign the requisite forms. We were directed to one building in particular, and upon entering we could see that it was a communication center of sorts, run by a group of young women, whom, I was told, were quite confused as to why we wanted to visit a Palestinian village, believing it to be a suicide mission of our own accord. Of course, upon hearing the stories of their cohorts whom control the areas via checkpoints, or those whom are ordered to make incursions into the camps and villages, it is easy to see why they consider it dangerous. But we were neither military or naive tourists, and our friends, I found later, had incredibly deep bonds with much of the community we were soon to visit.
The area we were entering has been isolated from the outside world for many years, controlled on all sides by settlements, military checkpoints, and Israeli-only roads. We walked through one checkpoint on the outskirts of the village by foot and a Palestinian man met us on the other side. Cramming into his 4x4, it was a short drive to his home, where we met some of his 8 children and sipped tea and coffee for a good hour or two. This man we were visiting, who I will call Imman, had an especially tragic story to share. Years ago he and his brother were walking together and were caught in a demonstration unaware. As they were walking the younger of the two was shot by an Israeli soldier and was fatally wounded. After this incident the Israeli government rejected Imman's worker status, fearing reprisal for his brother's death, and cut off his only source of income. With few options before him, Imman continued to enter Israel for work, sneaking across the border at various points, and on one occasion was shot by the border police, destroying his pelvis.
This is where my Israeli friends came into the picture. They coordinated the money and transportation and facilitated for Imman the surgery he direly needed, in many ways saving this man's life and his families welfare, a 'debt' that has bonded the families forever. To watch as Mikhal's mother coddled Imman's two month old baby was really a sight to see, and was certainly counter to the impression one might have of Israelis and Palestinians as 'enemies'.
We left Imman's home and headed on to visit one of his relatives, a woman and her children whose father was sentenced to prison for 8 years after unknowingly driving 'terrorists' in his taxi. The man's wife was an incredibly vibrant woman, with an air of humor and vitality that I will never forget, and to again see how this family related so personally to Mikhal's was truly amazing. We stayed only a short while, just enough for coffee and tea, as is the unavoidable and heartwarming custom here, and moved on to an area in the heart of the village.
As we walked towards the next home we were met by dozens of sheep, goats, and one donkey, coming in from grazing in the hills. The family we were visiting there survived by cultivating the land and maintaining a small number of sheep, goats, and cows. Some time ago the father, Anan, was shepherding his flock in the hills above the village and was confronted by a local Israeli settler, who proceeded to harass him (not wanting Arabs in the area I was told) and shot both of Anan's dogs. Mikhal's family found him a lawyer and took the case to court, and eventually the settler was found guilty, and although in one way the animosity between the two communities was manifest, this one Israeli family successfully maintained a personal bond that has survived to this today.
As one of my last experiences here in Palestine, I am incredibly grateful to Mikhal's family for allowing me to observe and take part in their courageous efforts, and the courage and openness of the Palestinian families I met there. Until last week, I was unsure if I would be able to acquire an authentic Israeli perspective on the conflict, and although it was perhaps not the mainstream experience I witnessed, it nonetheless afforded me an opportunity to rethink my preconceptions about the walls, and Wall, that divide people in this region.
