I landed on the shores of the ancient holy land of Israel, on a hot August afternoon. The streets were empty, there had been a shelling near by to the city so most folks were staying home. I checked into my small hotel and went looking for dinner. Here is where I most delighted in the Middle East. One market had mangos the color of an orange and burnt red summer sunset, kissed by ripeness. The next market had all kinds of pickled vegetables; jeweled beets, onions and cucumbers suspended in heavily spiced brine of peppercorns and sesame seeds. Next to this was a falafel joint with the most delicious falafel I have ever had. Freshly dipped falafel balls sizzled in oil while the chef stuffed my homemade pita with pickled vegetables, hummus, fresh greens and tomato, drizzled in tahina sauce. I was in ecstasy over the good eating. I was also feeling the eerie quiet of a place under the repression of being a military zone. Coming from Greece, the tourist land of the islands, I really felt the intensity of Israel right off the bat.
The next day I decided to head down to Jerusalem. I came to Israel and Palestine to be in the heart of the conflict and I was feeling lonesome and ready for the next experience awaiting me in my non-violent direct action camp. On the way there I stopped by the sea for a swim. In the middle of the sandy beach 3 large watchtowers had been erected. A chance to see if the enemy was coming for a water attack? Maybe originally, but as I sat soaking up the rays I saw there true purpose. There were signs in Hebrew all over the beach and a sketched picture of a drowning victim. As the children and adults played in the water and one got out a little further from the rest, a man with a huge mega phone from within the tower would yell until the guilty person swam back to the others. First lesson in Israel, we will go to great lengths to keep our people safe.
Jerusalem is truly the center. A great pulsing heart runs the middle of the old town, where I spent most of my time. Ancient stone walls, a fortress of sorts, encircles the very fractioned districts within the city. The Jews, Christians, and Muslims all have a piece of this fortress and all seem to try to go about living shoulder to shoulder avoiding the eyes of the other. In the Jewish quarter I saw old men wearing fur caps walking in groups in the middle of heated debate, or perhaps just talking, hard to tell. In the Muslim quarter old ladies sold their fruit using an ancient weight and measure system, my bag of glossy grapes on one side, small metal balancing bars on the other. They would open my hand and count out the sheckles I owed them. I did not get a real chance to visit the Christian quarter but I do remember one night finding myself close to the Armenian district. A large stone wall with one small window of deep red stained glass showed me the way into this private and mostly empty district. I had just learned about the Armenian genocide and could feel the thousands of silent cries as I walked down the empty, echoing corridors of the street.
I met up with my team in Bethlehem; I had to catch a small bus called a "Service" in Jerusalem, which got me to the checkpoint into the West Bank. Check points were a huge part of this journey, being a part of the restrictive movement of this place really made me see how maddening it is not to have freedom. I was only a visitor; I can only imagine what life is like for those that have to deal with border crossings everyday to get to school or work. The tension and frustration were on high at these check points, the soldiers seemed to like what little power they held over the people crossing, making up all kinds of ridiculous reasons why someone could go or not go. I had the American passport, they only questioned my motive for going to the West Bank. I told them to see the holy land, at that point, 2001, the second Intifada had not started yet and travelers from all over were still making pilgrimages to Bethlehem.
When I arrived at The Paradise Hotel I had a cup of Arabic coffee with two of the Palestinian organizers and was shown to my room. Most of my nights in Palestine were spent at Palestinians homes, the hotel was a place for us to come together as a group and do trainings. I have been told this hotel was shelled a few years after our stay and did not exist anymore. In Palestine much felt ancient and temporary at the same time. It is a place of contradictions and a consistent state of turmoil.
The rest of the group arrived and I got to see what diversity we held. There was a small group of Israeli's, many American Palestinians, some American Muslims, Christian Palestinians living in Palestine, American and Canadian Jews, and a medley of Europeans with a larger group of Italians. We ranged in age from young adults; I was second to youngest, 20 at the time, to elders in there 60's. The average age was probably 40. We had vastly different levels of experience, backgrounds, personalities. We had all come there with one thing in common, we wanted to see change and we were willing to be on the front line of making it happen. It was so inspiring to be in that group. There were many times I questioned how I had even ended up there but I knew this was an experience of a life time so I stepped in and rode the wave.
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