Throwback: Some Closure from Jerusalem and the West Bank

Hello again dearest readers,

I've decided since the last post left off halfway around the world, I will write another, much delayed post about the other side of the world as well. What I've realized is that back in 2008 I never really wrote anything at all about my experience of Jerusalem and the West Bank, nor my last few days in Tel Aviv, just that I was headed back to the US. I hate to leave things unfinished, and I have some pictures I never got to share with all of you. Therefore, from what I can remember and from the pictures I'm including below, I'd like to finally round out my amazing study abroad year! A lot of you will already know these stories, and maybe even the pictures, but this is a sort of personal closure for me. Thanks for understanding.

I'm looking forward to getting back to that part of the world again sometime, inshallah (especially before I lose EVERYTHING I remember of Arabic under an onslaught of Spanish!).

It feels like another lifetime ago that I was in Jerusalem. Despite that, there are some memories that are crystal clear (well, as crystal clear as memories come). The last week of the dig at Megiddo ended successfully for us first round diggers. The total time of the dig was 7 weeks, and you could either sign up for the first 3 weeks, for the second 4 weeks, or (for the truly inspired/insane) the full 7 weeks of 4 am wake-up calls and dirt-hauling. I was only signed up for the first round, so after week 3, I was free to book a flight home, to explore Israel/Palestinian territories more, or whatever I liked. I chose a bit of the first two options, deciding to delay my return to the States for about a week while I spent some time in Jerusalem and the West Bank. I said goodbye to many Megiddoites and then headed to Tel Aviv for our first night away with some others. That night was Tel Aviv's "White Night" a holiday which celebrates Tel Aviv's designation as a World Heritage Site (it has some very unique white architecture which is particularly showcased this evening). Many restaurants and businesses stay open very late into the night, and there were some concerts and events along the waterfront. We stayed out quite late, went out to eat and went to a bar or two. The thing, however, was that our last day of the dig had been that day, so we had all gotten up at 4:00 am per usual and had gone through the harried packing-process. Needless to say, we didn't make it through the whole White Night, despite valiant efforts.

I took this picture of Tel Aviv's Mediterranean waterfront while sitting out on one of the jetties they've constructed on the beach. As most jetties are, it was a strategically piled jumble of rocks, so climbing out there to relax with some friends in the dark was a carefully-trod experience. It was really beautiful though, as the music was floating out from the beach, and a boat would come by here and there.

The next day I headed on to Jerusalem. My friend Miranda from Morocco was still working in Jerusalem, so I met up with her and her older sister frequently throughout the next few days. Her older sister had just moved to Jerusalem to make "aliyah" or the "ascent" (i.e. immigration) to Israel. It's a pretty basic tenant of Zionism that all Jews are encouraged to return to Israel (regardless whatever roots have been picked up since the diaspora). As a step in the process of "aliyah" many new immigrants attend "Ulpan," or Hebrew classes. Miranda had already been studying Hebrew along with Arabic in her Semitic language program, so between the two of them, I was fortunate to have faithful translators. I was also able to conduct a significant amount of affairs in Arabic (along with English, of course).

The trip between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem is under an hour, a pretty forceful reminder of just what a small country Israel is (and what a small region the explosive Levant is--Gaza, for example, is just 25 miles long and between 4 and 7 miles wide!). I stayed at a hostel in Jerusalem's Old City, called the Petra Hostel. It was host to some famous guests like Mark Twain at one point in time, but now it's comfortably filled with shoestring-budget backpackers. For just $8 a night you could sleep on the roof on a mattress with a few blankets they would provide. You can bet that's the option I chose! It was incredible, each morning I would wake up to the prayer call at sunrise and to the sun itself coming over the Mount of Olives, glinting off the golden dome of the Dome of the Rock--talk about your religious experience! Since I'd gotten in the habit of rising early, I never stayed in bed much past that, and would head out for some coffee, breakfast, and adventuring! As a minor side note on breakfast: Israel had really sub-par bagels. It's definitely a New York Jewish thing rather than an Israeli Jewish thing (despite the efforts of bagel chain "Holy Bagel").

Now, you know how much I love to recount history here. Well, the Old City of Jerusalem is so darned historical that you couldn't trip over a stone that wasn't significant. Nevertheless, I'll try to keep it brief.


This is the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, supposed site of the crucifixion and tomb of Jesus. I can't remember what evidence they cited for choosing this place, but I think it goes back to a decision by Emperor Constantine's mother or something relatively ridiculous like that. In this image, Franciscan monks are entering the small shrine which is said to hold the tomb of Jesus Christ. Each Friday, these monks process down the Via Dolorosa ("Way of Sorrows," in Latin) chanting and marking the Stations of the Cross, the alleged literal locations where the stations of the cross really happened, they're marked with Roman numerals. There are nine of these stations outside of the church and then five within the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. For some interesting/comical-because-it-shouldn't-be reading, read about the custody battles between the different Christian factions who have shares in the church. There have been fistfights and hospitalizations between religious groups. It's like the Christian microcosm of the larger religious tensions in the city.


The sign at Station 5 of the Via Dolorosa.


This of course is the famous Western Wall, or Wailing Wall. It is one of the only remaining sections of a former temple called the Holy Temple. It is commonly believed in Jewish tradition that the Divine Presence rests upon the wall. It is also the closest spot that Jews can go to the "Foundation Rock," upon which rested the "Holy of Holies" when the ancient temple stood. No one knows for certain exactly where this Foundation Rock was, and so it is strictly forbidden to Jews to enter the Temple Mount, where they might accidentally enter this area and desecrate it (as it was only open to high priests).


Rounding out our trifecta of major world religions crammed into one small city, this is a section of the famous Dome of the Rock, which stands atop the Temple Mount today. Muslims believe that it was from this spot that Muhammed ascended into Heaven on his "night journey." It is widely considered the third holiest site in Islam, following Mecca and Medina. It was also the direction in which Muslims prayed (as Jews do) until Muhammad received word from God to change the direction to Mecca.


A nighttime photo from my sleeping perch at the Petra Hostel. This is the Jaffa Gate, one of the main entrances to the Old City. Thinking on it all, I think the Petra Hostel is probably one of my favorite places I've ever stayed. Being able to wake up with the sunrise and the call to prayer in this amazing city, even before the day had gotten too hot--it was just incredible.


I took this picture in a little shop along David Street, the main "street" (read: passable only to humans and donkeys) leading from the Jaffa Gate into the heart of the Old City. If there's anywhere where you could find a genie in a lamp, it's here.


In the Arab quarter of the city, admiring some intensely pickled vegetables for sale. I didn't alter the colors here at all--that's really what the cauliflower looked like!


Some beautifully embroidered traditional Palestinian dresses in a shop near the Dome of the Rock.

This is an Israeli stop sign (I've been actively collecting photos of stop signs in different countries). I like this one, most universal obviously. Most Israeli and Palestinian road signs are in Arabic, Hebrew, and English. I guess they figured that would be too much for a stop sign, however.

What I should have realized about this stop sign, was that it was quite symbolic and literally true for me that day. I took this picture just as I was wandering into a neighborhood of Jerusalem called Meah Shearim. This was one of the first days I had taken out of the relatively conservative Old City, so I was excited to try out a new, knee-length and short-sleeved cream dress I had bought. I flounced out of the Old City believing that I would spend the day finding cosmopolitan art museums or cafes or something. My eye was detracted from the main road, however, by a beautiful old Russian Orthodox church, and from there I started wandering down into some residential neighborhood, unaware of what awaited. (Apparently they have "modesty signs" posted at each gate, but it must have been covered by a tree or something!) As it turns out, Meah Shearim, one of the oldest neighborhoods of West Jerusalem, is actually home to a huge Haredi Jewish population, some of whom are known not just as Ultra Orthodox Jews, but "Ultra Ultra." Gulp. I had heard stories of Ultra Orthodox Jews who would throw stones at cars which drove through this neighborhood on Shabbat. It wasn't until I was a good distance in my walk that I realized that EVERYONE was dressed in black, in traditional Eastern European clothing like fur-trimmed hats or frocks, and all of the men and boys had long side curls. The women were in road-scraping dark skirts and almost all wore headcoverings of some fashion. Umm, can you say "stick out like a sore thumb?!" I had never felt this out of place yet in all my travels through the Middle East! And the more I walked to try to exit, the deeper I found myself going into the neighborhood. Since I knew next to no Hebrew, and absolutely no Yiddish (primarily spoken here), I didn't know how to ask for directions, and I was afraid that I would insult someone by approaching them in my blazing immodesty. Therefore, eyes averted, I walked on, praying I would find some way to get myself out of this ridiculous situation. Mercifully, I finally found a bus labeled with "Western Wall." A-ha! The Old City, I knew my way around there! I hopped on and sat quietly. I definitely received a few scowls from mothers whose little boys were staring at me...I've never really been comfortable wearing that dress since, and I've rarely been so excited to see a bus!


You would think I would have learned my lesson after the sojourn in Meah Shearim, right? No more trekking off the beaten path? Ha.

The very next day I decided to go to the Mount of Olives, which is on the opposite side of the Old City from the Jaffa Gate where I was staying. Rather than get there by going through the Old City, which I had done quite a few times, I decided to walk around the walls. I thought I might get some good pictures of the old walls and a new perspective. Well, new perspective, yes indeed! I walked myself straight into a dusty Palestinian refugee camp on the outskirts of the Old City! I figured something had gone wrong when I started to hear donkeys braying and chickens crowing, and when a small group of Palestinian boys speaking rapid, unintelligible Arabic started following me down the increasingly untrod path. Luckily the boys soon decided I was boring, and even more luckily, I did speak enough Arabic to catch a local woman completely off-guard. She was sweeping the path in front of her house when a tall blond girl came out of nowhere and asked her in halting Arabic how to get to the Mount of Olives. She pointed me off in a general direction, and after a bit more confusion, I made my way to a real road again and passed the UNRWA school pictured above. UNRWA (United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestinian Refugees in the Near East) is the special UN refugee agency for Palestinians living in the Palestinian Territories and the neighboring countries. Why there is a refugee camp of that sort in the middle of the city, I'm not sure. I am sure, however, that I experienced two incredibly different sides of the city completely by accident.


After much more walking in the hot sun, I did finally reach the Mount of Olives, and the site of what is believed to be the Garden of Gethsemane. The olive trees in the garden, and in my photo above, have been dated to over 2,000 years old, which means they were literally there for Jesus' famous night in the garden. There are several churches in the area (I know, you're shocked), including the Church of All Nations and a gorgeous Russian Orthodox church with golden onion domes. The thing I remember most strongly from that afternoon, however, was being in a really foul mood. I was angry with myself that I had gotten lost (again...), I had tripped and fallen in the gravel and scraped my palm badly, and I foolishly hadn't packed any water or snacks. I walked around, not realizing how steep and underdeveloped some of the paths would be, and I just couldn't shake my annoyance, even when observing sights that some people would give anything to see. Upon reflection later, however, I remembered that Gethsemane is infamous as the place where Jesus' disciples fell asleep while ostensibly keeping watch, and where Judas betrayed Jesus. If there was ever a place of human fallibility, this is it.

PALESTINE
On that note of human fallibility, perhaps it is appropriate to move on the other side of one of the world's most intractable geopolitical conflicts.


Something that meant a lot to me while I was in Israel was getting to the Palestinian Territories. I knew that Gaza was off-limits (though a Megiddo field trip did take us within 15 miles), but I really wanted to visit some cities in the West Bank. After two semesters in the Muslim-majority Middle East, I had obviously heard some pretty strong views on Palestine. I won't turn this into a political statement, since I'm not even positive I know where I stand on the whole Israel-Palestine issue (but then then the only people who are certain where they stand are typically hardline crazies). Basically, after hearing so much about Palestine, and after having spent a bit of time in Israel, I had a really strong pull to see what it was all about for myself.
(Above photo from Yasser Arafat's tomb in Ramallah)


One of the most in-your-face aspects of the West Bank (the one that screams, "You are in a conflict zone!") is the overpowering presence of high concrete walls such as the one above. To enter the West Bank, at least most cheaply from Jerusalem, you go to East Jerusalem and take a microbus to the border. At this artificial border, you must show your passport to Israeli officials who will then, depending on the color of your passport and your luck, permit you to enter the other side, through a passageway in the giant wall. Though I promised I wouldn't let this get political, the wall is something that really galls me. I think most of all because it is not built on the agreed borders between Israel and the West Bank, but on West Bank land somewhat inward from where the actual former borders were agreed. This was largely done to protect those infamous and illegal Israeli settlements within the West Bank. See image below to see what I mean.



The green line on the map above (sorry it's a bit hard to see), denotes where the 1949 agreed boundaries are, and the black and purple and yellow lines (at points quite distinctly inland from the green line) demarcate where the Israelis have built walls.
Just below, another take on Palestinian land loss, the famous and bitingly funny Palestinian archipelago map, showing which areas are actually in the control of the Palestinians. Note, of course, that this tangled mess doesn't even include Gaza into the equation. Once that's done...well, whew, glad it's not my problem to sort out!




Nearly as soon as you enter the border with the West Bank from Jerusalem, you are in Bethlehem. As I mentioned previously, this is a teeny-tiny little place, so Bethlehem was only a short taxi ride away. I had a frequent sensation when I was in the Holy Land that there was something quite surreal about taking a taxi to these sites--where's a donkey for hire when you need one?

Miranda had a friend who was living in Bethlehem with a homestay family, so she came to meet us and Miranda, her sister, the friend from Bethlehem and I took off in a cab we'd chartered for the day to see Bethlehem and Ramallah.

Naturally, while one is in Bethlehem, there's really only one thing to do: go to the Church of the Nativity. This church is on another site conveniently divined by Emperor Constantine's mother (St. Helena) to be holy. The church itself is quite simple, compared to the ornateness one finds in Jerusalem itself. The picture above shows pilgrims entering a grotto site which is believed to have been a section of the manger where Jesus was born.


Following our morning in Bethlehem, our taxi driver took us on to Ramallah, the current capital of the West Bank and Palestine generally. The Palestinians of course want East Jerusalem to be their capital, but the Israelis refuse to give any single section back to the Palestinians, despite huge Arab populations in the East. Sigh.

So, Ramallah. One might think that as the capital of an occupied territory it would be a gloomy and backward place. Not really. I was surprised by just how low-key and capitalistic it all seemed. More people were intent on buying and selling pirated DVDs and going to the ice cream shop than were focused on Palestinian martyrs or injustices. I suppose that people get accustomed to whatever condition they live in, and then they move on with living. All told, Ramallah was actually a pretty fun little bustling city, where people were interested to talk with you, and you really could buy all sorts of interesting things. Speaking of pirated things, the most famous tourist site in Ramallah is arguably the "Stars & Bucks" Cafe, located in the heart of Ramallah in Al-Manara Square. Here you can buy frou-frou coffee and teas and overpriced sandwiches, just like the original. Even better, however, you can choose from an entire menu of sheesha options. Sheesha, or hookah, is the flavored tobacco you smoke out of a long waterpipe. We spent the afternoon chatting, the four of us and our taxi driver, and taking long drags of the sheesha pipe. The photo above was our view over Al-Manara Square.

After spending the afternoon and early evening in Ramallah, we drove back at dusk through the dusty and mountainous roads to Bethlehem. In a rather humorous turn, at the end of our interesting day together, our taxi driver decided to profess his love to Miranda's beautiful older sister. He had learned through the course of discussions over the afternoon that she had just moved to Israel. He already spoke some Hebrew and promised her he would learn more--and learn English--and that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Elle kindly but firmly rejected her suitor, and we eventually were able to say goodbye to him...though I think I've still got his business card around somewhere if anyone's looking for a new Palestinian boyfriend. On a related note, the best camel-for-marriage offer I personally got in the Middle East came in Jerusalem: 10,000 camels and 2 donkeys.


Following our adventures in Palestine, I had one day left in Jerusalem/Israel. I spent it mostly packing, and feeling somewhat lethargic. I had been doing a lot of traveling for the last 2 months, from Egypt to Greece to Cyprus, and then around Israel and the West Bank--most of it on my own. I hadn't been home since January, and the weight of it all was starting to strain. Not to mention the weight of my luggage! Good grief! I left Jerusalem that night and took my short bus ride to Tel Aviv. Ben Gurion Airport is on the outskirts of Tel Aviv, and I wanted to get to the airport that night since my flight was quite early the next day and sleeping in the airport would save me hostel money. I made it to Tel Aviv with enough time, however, to spend another hour or so walking around. If you're ever in Tel Aviv, find the little shops that make homemade frozen yogurt mixes. They look like an ice cream place with a big counter of frozen fruit and chocolate behind glass. Choose a cup size, and then tell the person behind the counter what fruits you want in the cup. Keep choosing until the cup is full, and then that person will take the cup to a big machine, pour it in the top, and then turn on the machine, which grinds around the fruit with frozen yogurt like a McFlurry. De-li-cious. I had my last one of those and then went down to watch the sunset on the Mediterranean, as seen in the photo above.

Eventually, I got myself and my luggage to the train station, and got out to Ben Gurion without trouble. I did have trouble sleeping, however, and was eager to begin check-in for my flight as soon as possible. I had been surprised, upon entering Israel a month earlier, that no fuss had been made over the many Arab stamps in my passport. I had multiple stamps from Morocco and Egypt, and potentially damaging stamps from Jordan, Syria, and Turkey. I figured there would be a luggage search and trouble, but, remarkably, the lady flipped through my passport lackadaisically and stamped away. I figured, "Well, if it was so easy to get in, should be a cinch to get out, right?" WRONG. I knew there was trouble when I got in line and handed over my passport, and the security woman immediately took it over to a gaggle of security people standing nearby. They asked me to step out of line and took me to a special screening area where a 2 hour process began. The first step was verbal interrogation. They questioned my motives in Israel, asked for any and all paperwork I may have had from the Megiddo Expedition (to validate my story), my plane ticket into Israel, and asked for all contacts I had living in Israel. They then began a methodical and repetitive line of questioning about each and every place I had been in the Middle East. "What were you doing in Morocco/Egypt/Jordan/Syria?" "How long were you there?" "Did you attend any meetings while you were there?" "Do you have any contacts there?" and so on. The questions got better when they got to my motives for coming to the Middle East at all. I said I was interested in the Arabic language and North African culture. "Why were you interested in North African culture?" "Why were you interested in Arabic?" Well, I suppose they don't seem silly questions, but it's a bit like asking a kid why he wants to be a cowboy or an astronaut when he grows up: the answer is just going to be unsatisfactory or kind of stupid sounding. This continued for a full 45 minutes, and then the pillaging of my baggage began. Given that I had a suitcase, a duffel, a backpack and a handbag--all full to bursting, this was fun...not. They put my Turkish coffee (bought in Jerusalem, mind you), through the x-ray machine 3 times. They ran a probe around every single inch of each bag (not kidding), and took out everything that had taken me hours to strategically pack. In returning the items to the bag about an hour later, they broke several ceramics that I had bought in Turkey, causing my exhausted and over-interrogated self to nearly boil over. I held it in, however, even as they invited me over to a private room for step 3: a strip search. Luckily it wasn't as invasive as it could have been, but given the mental and physical invasions of my privacy that they had already carried out, I was beyond caring. I just wanted them to let me out of the country so I could go home! Given that I had so much trouble with my American name and passport, I can't imagine what it's like for someone from the West Bank or Gaza, who does have legitimate concerns with the Israeli government. Though I understand the need for security, so much about security in Israel seems so dehumanizing, or at least so undignified--walls, strip searches...if I were a Palestinian I don't know how I would handle it.

Anyway, they did finally let me on the plane, and after a brief layover in Athens, I was on my way back to the US! Then followed an entire year of non-blogging, uncertainty, and stress, which I hadn't really seen coming. I don't think anybody really saw that tanking economy coming though.

Nevertheless, here I am again, back to blogging and traveling and hopefully doing it a bit more wisely and maturely than ever before--haven't stumbled into any ultraorthodox or refugee neighborhoods here yet (though I did fall in the ocean during that hurricane...).

Thanks as ever for reading, and looking forward to updating you on the events--or relative non-events--of life on Isla soon!

Ma salaama!