This past weekend we had a long weekend for the Prophet Muhamed's birthday and I went to Jerusalem and Palestine with some other teachers. There's no way I can do justice to the experience on a blog, but I'll try to at least share some of the events and pictures from the trip.
On Thursday we left King's at about 2pm and headed down toward the Dead Sea and the border crossing. It's ironic because the actual border crossing is only about 45 minutes away, but it would take us 5 hrs to cross (and that's making good time). Once through Jordanian customs we took a bus to the Israeli crossing. This is where one has to beg, bribe or sweet talk the customs official not to stamp the passport - it's impossible to travel in the rest of the region (except Jordan and Egypt who have peace treaties with Israel) with an Israeli stamp in your passport. Folklore is that it's just chance whether or not one gets a stamp. I was lucky and my customs official agreed not to stamp my passport. When I asked her not to stamp it, I was actually surprised to see what I think was hurt flash across her eyes. I had been approaching the situation from such a Palestinian-lensed perspective that I hadn't even stopped to think what it must feel like for the officials to have this constant reminder that their country is almost universally hated and unrecognized. Once on the bus, we pass familiar dusty desert dunes; at one checkpoint, there is an Israeli soldier with blue eyes of impenetrable sadness.
We stay at a hostel called Abrahim in West Jerusalem (the newer, Jewish side of Jerusalem). We eat burgers for dinner and I have this overwhelming sense of being back in Western culture. That night, we go to an Irish pub with lively music; it's a lot of fun except when we leave an Israeli security guard at the bar is incredibly rude to me and my friends for no reason. On the walk back to the hostel, an Israeli girl asking for a light is also incredibly rude to my friend once she learns he is American. I find this ironic since America is the one country blindly and fully supporting Israel currently.
The next day, we tour all four quarters (Armenian, Jewish, Muslim and Christian) of the Old City of Jerusalem. At one point, Katie and I help an older woman carry her heavy grocery bags home and she invites us into her house. It was so interesting to sit with her, her daughter and granddaughter and hear their history. The grandmother is of Armenian and Palestinian descent and we were able to speak some Arabic with them. She said, "It is difficult for the Israelis, but it is more difficult for the Palestinians left in the old city." She said they are not given basic rights. They are treated as non-people even though four generations of her family have lived in Jerusalem. Back at the hostel, we decided to cancel our trip up North to Tel Aviv and visit the West Bank instead. I call the hostel man in Tel Aviv to cancel our room but have one of the most insulting conversations ever. Even though we're calling 24 hrs in advance he insists on charging us the full cost, plus an additional cancellation fee, and he starts actually screaming at me on the phone and insulting me just because I'm American (which he has insinuated purely from my accent). I am so angry and insulted that I have to hang up the phone. Almost in tears, at least I am comforted by our Israeli hostel worker; she tells me not to take it personally, she reminds me that most places she goes in the world she is hated for being Israeli. I start to wonder about the affects of requiring all Israelis to serve in the military at a very young age. Everywhere on the streets of Jerusalem we see young men and women, 16-19 years old, walking in uniform and carrying machine guns. Maybe this system creates the aggressive, defensive and militaristic mentality we encountered.
The next day was unreal: we travelled all over the West Bank, first to Bethlehem to have lunch and see the Nativity, then to Jericho to see palace ruins, then to Taybeh where there's a beer factory and finally to Ramallah, the capital of Palestine. I found the Palestinian people to be warm. I felt even more comfortable than I sometimes do in Jordan. People don't stare as much. I felt less alienated. Amidst the warm and vibrant culture of the Palestinians, the Israeli checkpoints and settlements felt even colder. We even had to stop for an hour to pass through a "flying checkpoint" which means that the Israelis randomly set up a checkpoint. We passed a couple Israeli settlements. They were easy to spot because they were lines of white houses which contrasted sharply with the sprawling, mosque-centered Muslim communities. To me, the Muslim communities seem to meld into the desert land rather than obstruct its unregulated symmetry like the terrible lines of white houses.
Back in the Old City on our last day, we went to the top of the Mount of Olives where Jesus was betrayed and Mary is buried. Once, when Katie is buying bread from a street vender, he offers 10,000 camels for me because I'm "in good condition." He is a Palestinian man who also goes on a rant about the dictators of the Middle East, including King Abdullah of Jordan who I have never heard called a dictator. We also went to the top of the Temple Mount and walked straight up to the Dome of the Rock, where Abrahim almost sacrificed Issac and where Muhamed ascended to heaven.
Where Jesus is believed to have been buried.
Where Jesus was laid after crucifixion.
Paintings on the wall separating Israel and Palestine (the West Bank), built by the Israelis to keep the Palestinians out of Jerusalem. "I look at you and you look at me" in various languages.
The wall and our Palestinian tour guide, Tamir.
Jerusalem, divided. Palestine is separated from the sacred Dome of the Rock.
Palestinian faces.
"Don't forget the struggle."
Liberty crying over Palestine.
"Revolution have started here..."
A famous painting from the Palestinian wall.
Church of the Nativity.
Leading down to Jesus's birthplace.
Katie and I on the ruins of Hisham's Palace in Jericho.
Ruins of Hisham's Palace.
Inside the ruins.
Beer factory in Taybeh. The workers told us they had to buy the water from the Israelis even though it was on Palestinian land because the Israelis control the resources.
Israeli settlements on the way to Ramallah.
Arafat's tomb in Ramallah.
The Damascus gate, one of the entrances to the Old City of Jerusalem.
Muslim tombs on top of the Mount of Olives that were desecrated by the Jews when they invaded.
A view of the city of Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives.
Sitting in a tree in the garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus was betrayed by Judas.
In front of the Dome of the Rock, where it is believed Issac was almost sacrificed by Abrahim and the prophet Muhamed ascended to heaven. One of the three most holy sites in Islam.
On Thursday we left King's at about 2pm and headed down toward the Dead Sea and the border crossing. It's ironic because the actual border crossing is only about 45 minutes away, but it would take us 5 hrs to cross (and that's making good time). Once through Jordanian customs we took a bus to the Israeli crossing. This is where one has to beg, bribe or sweet talk the customs official not to stamp the passport - it's impossible to travel in the rest of the region (except Jordan and Egypt who have peace treaties with Israel) with an Israeli stamp in your passport. Folklore is that it's just chance whether or not one gets a stamp. I was lucky and my customs official agreed not to stamp my passport. When I asked her not to stamp it, I was actually surprised to see what I think was hurt flash across her eyes. I had been approaching the situation from such a Palestinian-lensed perspective that I hadn't even stopped to think what it must feel like for the officials to have this constant reminder that their country is almost universally hated and unrecognized. Once on the bus, we pass familiar dusty desert dunes; at one checkpoint, there is an Israeli soldier with blue eyes of impenetrable sadness.
We stay at a hostel called Abrahim in West Jerusalem (the newer, Jewish side of Jerusalem). We eat burgers for dinner and I have this overwhelming sense of being back in Western culture. That night, we go to an Irish pub with lively music; it's a lot of fun except when we leave an Israeli security guard at the bar is incredibly rude to me and my friends for no reason. On the walk back to the hostel, an Israeli girl asking for a light is also incredibly rude to my friend once she learns he is American. I find this ironic since America is the one country blindly and fully supporting Israel currently.
The next day, we tour all four quarters (Armenian, Jewish, Muslim and Christian) of the Old City of Jerusalem. At one point, Katie and I help an older woman carry her heavy grocery bags home and she invites us into her house. It was so interesting to sit with her, her daughter and granddaughter and hear their history. The grandmother is of Armenian and Palestinian descent and we were able to speak some Arabic with them. She said, "It is difficult for the Israelis, but it is more difficult for the Palestinians left in the old city." She said they are not given basic rights. They are treated as non-people even though four generations of her family have lived in Jerusalem. Back at the hostel, we decided to cancel our trip up North to Tel Aviv and visit the West Bank instead. I call the hostel man in Tel Aviv to cancel our room but have one of the most insulting conversations ever. Even though we're calling 24 hrs in advance he insists on charging us the full cost, plus an additional cancellation fee, and he starts actually screaming at me on the phone and insulting me just because I'm American (which he has insinuated purely from my accent). I am so angry and insulted that I have to hang up the phone. Almost in tears, at least I am comforted by our Israeli hostel worker; she tells me not to take it personally, she reminds me that most places she goes in the world she is hated for being Israeli. I start to wonder about the affects of requiring all Israelis to serve in the military at a very young age. Everywhere on the streets of Jerusalem we see young men and women, 16-19 years old, walking in uniform and carrying machine guns. Maybe this system creates the aggressive, defensive and militaristic mentality we encountered.
The next day was unreal: we travelled all over the West Bank, first to Bethlehem to have lunch and see the Nativity, then to Jericho to see palace ruins, then to Taybeh where there's a beer factory and finally to Ramallah, the capital of Palestine. I found the Palestinian people to be warm. I felt even more comfortable than I sometimes do in Jordan. People don't stare as much. I felt less alienated. Amidst the warm and vibrant culture of the Palestinians, the Israeli checkpoints and settlements felt even colder. We even had to stop for an hour to pass through a "flying checkpoint" which means that the Israelis randomly set up a checkpoint. We passed a couple Israeli settlements. They were easy to spot because they were lines of white houses which contrasted sharply with the sprawling, mosque-centered Muslim communities. To me, the Muslim communities seem to meld into the desert land rather than obstruct its unregulated symmetry like the terrible lines of white houses.
Back in the Old City on our last day, we went to the top of the Mount of Olives where Jesus was betrayed and Mary is buried. Once, when Katie is buying bread from a street vender, he offers 10,000 camels for me because I'm "in good condition." He is a Palestinian man who also goes on a rant about the dictators of the Middle East, including King Abdullah of Jordan who I have never heard called a dictator. We also went to the top of the Temple Mount and walked straight up to the Dome of the Rock, where Abrahim almost sacrificed Issac and where Muhamed ascended to heaven.
Monopoly money, or Israeli shekels?
Crosses and menorahs in the old city.
The Church of the Holy Sepulcher, where Jesus is believed to have been crucified.
Wall paintings outside a house in the Muslim quarter celebrate someone's return from the Hajj.
In front of the wailing wall.
Notes tucked into the wailing wall.
Everyone is so busy wailing, they don't seem to take notice of a dove perched on the wall. A sign?
There are people with guns everywhere.
Where Jesus is believed to have been crucified.
My favorite room in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Doves kept flying across the light.
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