Hebron: What's up, Abraham! / Hello, muzzle!

Well, it seems we have some catching up to do. 

Hebron  (al-Khaleel = الخليل)

We had a week off of school for Eid al-Adha at the end of November.  I didn't participate in any of the animal slaughter that was going on, although I did have the opportunity.  I did, however, take advantage of the time off to visit Hebron. 

Hebron is a hotbed for conflict, as it is the only place where there are settlers and Palestinians living in immediate proximity. Everywhere else the settlers are in settlements that are outside of the city, totally separated and under strict guard. In Hebron, there will be settlers who live in one house and Palestinians in the neighboring abode.

Honestly, this was all I knew as I made plans to go there... and by "made plans" I really only mean "set a time to meet at the service station".  I even arrived there a bit late after a sleeping in because of the previous night of planning for a riddle-driven birthday quest for our boss.  I had a vague idea that we could reach Hebron through Ramallah, and I heard that it took far longer than necessary.  This actually brings us to the end of any knowledge I had prior to leaving.

We found that indeed, we were able to go directly from Ramallah to Hebron.  The entire trip there took us about two and a half hours, despite the fact that the distance between our two cities is about 60 mi (99km).  There a many checkpoints along the way, and when our van was stopped at one, a teenager/young man (ages are odd here) was pulled out.  That part didn't take quite as long as the process of the driver making sure he'd been paid for the young man's journey into detention somewhere between Nowhere and Bethlehem.

Once we arrived, I asked a shop owner what I should see considering it was my first trip to Hebron.  "Hammam al-Ibrahimi," he kept telling me.  I got that it was a mosque, but beyond that I wasn't given any further information - or perhaps I was and simply didn't understand.  I certainly didn't understand why a mosque would be called "The Abraham Bath house", but it was more than I had to go on, so we walked in search of it.  In keeping with tradition, no one ever gave detailed directions as to how to get there, but we were instead given the next chunk of the journey and told to just ask someone when we got that far.  I don't know how I'll deal with living in a place with street names again...

As we make our way in that direction, we find ourselves in the old city, in an old souq (market).  As I continue to ask the way, I encounter a woman whose sister had started a woman's collective in Hebron, which was what she was selling there.  I asked her just what was so special about this mosque.  In a mix of Engl-abic, I realized that this was where Abraham - the father of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam alike - was buried, along with his wife Sara, his son Isaac, and Isaac's wife (whose name escapes me).  How appropriate that I visit this place during the Eid al-Adha break.  Eid al-Adha is the holiday that commemorates the event of Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac at his lord's behest.  And perhaps how inappropriate that I had no idea before leaving.  If you would like further information on the Tomb of the Patriarchs, as it seems to be called in English, you may find it here.

When I visited the site of Abraham's tomb, a mosquigogue (half mosque, half synagogue), I entered on the Arab side. I went through the requisite IDF security checks, and as I approached the entrance, an Arab man demanded of me and a very confrontational manner, "Where are you from?" I replied, "America," to which he responded - equally as harsh - "What religion are you?" "Christian." His face brightened and a smile lit across it. "Oh, welcome!" He said in a suddenly cheery tone. It occured to me that he likely thought that my friend and I were settlers entering the mosque side.

As we walked inside, I started to cover with my scarf. 

"It's a mosque.  We should probably cover,"  I told Jess. 

"Oh... I didn't bring a scarf..." 

So I drape my outer sweater over her head, but as we walk inside we are directed toward a wall of hooded capes, many of which were made from an odd faux-denim-looking material.  We put them on, looking quite stylish, I assure you, and wandered in.  We look at gates labeled with the names of Abraham, Sara, Isaac, and Wife of Issac (what was her name?). 

 

After leaving the mosque, we return to see Layla as we'd promised, and she tells us that if we walk to the roof of the apartment beside us, that we could see where their water tanks had been shot by settlers. She said something about one of their children dying, but I didn't understand just what, and I feel it impolite to ask people to repeat themselves when discussing the death of young child. So we make our way up to the roof left to wonder.


From the rooftop, which was enclosed by razor wire, we could see a minaret just across the way from two huge water tanks painted with the Israeli flag. Some of the water tanks on this rooftop were inoperative due to their having been shot. That, we were told, was the point. We could also see a large accumulation of trash atop the make-shift roof they'd created over their walkway. We'd been told that the settlers threw things down so often that these were erected everywhere for protection. You could see the same thing throughout the souq.

On the rooftop.  Note the bullet holes in their water tanks and the "Howdy, neighbor!" razor wire.

View from rooftop.  Note the crescent topping a mosque on the left and the water tanks decorated with the Israeli flag in the the more distant right.

From the home we visited.  In the foreground you see clothes hanging on a clothes line - normal part of everyday life for anyone.  Behind that you see the make-shift roof, weighed down by trash, and in the background you can also make out more razor wire.

I talked to a boy who lived in the home we'd visited.  He told me about a DVD that had been made in 2003 or 2004, during the second intifada, when he could not have walked the souq corridor we were then standing in without having been shot.  I bought the DVD from him, although I have not yet watched it in its totality. 

This did not surprise me, as Nenita, the Spanish-Palestinian woman I've befriended in Nablus, showed me the apartment of her son which she had not fixed up since his death.  One of the walls of the apartment was missing from shelling, and the walls were sprayed with bullet holes.  However, in Nablus, there is no razor wire or makeshift rooves to serve as a daily reminder of the tension.  Our reminders are more subtle and removed - like sonic booms.  Funny what passes for subtle... guess everything's relative.

As we wandered the city, I asked a waiter in a restaurant where else we might find these areas with Palestinians and settlers living together.  Other than the old city, which had a clearly demarcated and heavily guarded section for the settlers, everything else looked like a typical Palestinian city. 

"Just walk 20 meters that way," he told us.  Easy enough.  This is what we saw.

Straight ahead, in the mobile unit blocking the road, is a checkpoint with Israeli guard on the other side. 

This sign is indicating that the area is under control of the Israeli military.  I can only assume that this is refering to the varying levels of control within Hebron, with areas classified as H1 or H2.  Here is a wiki-clip to explain:  Restrictions on Palestinian movement in H2

"Palestinian control of Hebron is limited to the 20 or 30 square kiliometers of H1, which contains around 120,000 Palestinians. In H2, where more than 500 Jewish settlers live among 30,000 Palestinians, the Palestinian populations' movements are heavily restricted whilst the Jewish settlers are allowed total freedom of movement and protected by the IDF.[13] Palestinians are not allowed to use Shuhada street, which is one of the main thoroughfares of Hebron, which is restricted to settlers. Shuhada street has received millions of dollars of renovations funded by the United States.
As a result of these restrictions, about half the shops in H2 have gone out of business since 1994, in spite of UN efforts to pay shopkeepers to stay in business. Palestinians cannot approach near where the settlers live without special permits from the IDF. Palestinian criminals come to H2 to flee the Palestinian police.[13]"

On the other side of that trailer.

It was soon time to head home.  I'm not sure that I could actually tell the tale of our journey home and do it any justice... basically the driver of our service was absolutely mad, the traffic was insane, some off-roading was involved, and Jess and I just spoke to each other in Spanish the entire journey home so that we could privately pray for our lives. 

Alrighty... one journey down, several more to go to catch up.

As always, much love.

K

Episode Uno.

My apologies for the lack of updates.  I was working on a video compilation about two weeks ago, but after my efforts being thwarted by technology, or perhaps by a defecit of skills on my part, I gave up.

Yesterday was the official one month mark in Nablus.  It's been a good experience thus far, with a smattering of the requisite frustrations.  I'll start with my first week - Enjoying the Honeymoon.

During the first week, my co-workers and I were basically just settling in.  At this point there were five of us.  Greg (from Colorado, the People-eating State) and Delphino (a small boy trapped in the body of a giant wall of a man) were the two who I met at the airport.  When we found our way to our new place, Jess, our house-mom/Assistant to the English Director/First and Second Grade Teacher Extraordinaire was there to welcome us.  We all chose rooms in the spacious 4-bedroom flat, although at that time it was uncertain who would be staying there, as the final roster of Team PBS was not yet settled.  The lower level of our place is occupied by our fearless leader, He Who Is the English Department, "Dr. Sean". 

The boys and I took a trip to Jerusalem a few days after arriving to pick up our newest teacher, who we were to meet at the Damascus Gate in Jerusalem.

In front of the Damascus Gate in Jerusalem

There were a few issues with our plan.  It was the last Friday of Ramadan, and on that day, Palestinians who might not usually be able to get into Jerusalem are permitted so that they can pray on this very special day.  Well, despite this, the checkpoint at Kalundia was shut down.  We arrived to a mass of cars, taxis, and people on foot crowded on our side of the cement blockades, and Israeli soldiers on the other.  I have a short video below that I tried to take discretely. 

We followed Sean's lead, who has found in his four years of living in the West Bank that when all else fails, repeat the word "American".   With a wave of our magic blue passports, the soldiers let us to their side of the baracades and we were free to make our way to the waiting area with the turnstiles to take part in the spectacle 50 people trying to get through 3 turnstiles, each of which actually let someone through once every 5 minutes, typically to turn them away.  Apparently, those younger than 60 would not be permitted entry, despite the rumor that the cut-off was 50, and likewise no entry after 12:00 noon, as the entry allowance was for that prayer.  After finally getting through myself, I told my co-worker, "I haven't felt so happy to be an American in a long time." 


Now through, we made our way to the Damascus Gate, where we were to find the newest member of our team in a sea of hundreds of people.  Sean and I were the only two to have seen his picture, and Delphino and Greg were instructed by Sean to "just look for a black vampire."  And so it went that we searched for Blade in the Holy Land.

After seeing this sign, I realized why people didn't understand where I wanted to go when I asked which way to the Damascus Gate, having litterally translated those words.  The litteral translation would have been "baab dimeshq" - the gate of Damascus.  In Arabic it's actually called "baab al-a'amood" - the gate of the column.

Street in front of the Damascus Gate.  Note the guy with cart impeding traffic.  There was some honking involved.

Five hours later, no vampire sightings, and I was apparently sitting in an open-air urinal.  Fortunately my sense of smell leaves something to be desired... with the exception of this case, in which I was pleased to be able to sit in the one available shady spot without being driven away by the (apparently) overwhelming odor. 

We finally gave up on Blade, assuming that he would not come out while the sun was up, and we made our way back to Nablus.  The return journey included a ride in a shared taxi bus ("service") with fewer seats than people, and I ended up riding in a hole, balled up on the floor.  I might note that it had plenty of seats, simply one less than the driver wanted to cram in, and I was not forced into the hole but chose it myself after deciding that it was the only way the bus would ever start moving.  My attempt to crawl into the hole was, in true form, less than graceful, and assumingly left the other passengers with the renewed belief that all ijanib (foreigners) are classless/tactless/inappropriate/goingstraighttohell.  If only I could assure them that I offend sensibilities equally in the West. 

By the time we had reached our destination, I had a fantastic opportunity to practice my Arabic, translating for Sean's belligerent confrontation with our taxi driver regarding the price of our transport.  It was an extra 5 shekels that day due to the high demand (it being the last Friday of Ramadan and all), which displeased Sean, to put it mildly.  Finally, after telling him that I did not intend to translate the word "theif" into Arabic, Sean threw his 20 shekels through the window of the van and walked off.  I politely handed the man my own 20 shekels, as did the others.  I wish that I had this on video.


Well, that's it for now.  Although that only gets you into the first week, I'm going to stop with that adventure and get some work done for school.  Next time on IPS - Our cast of characters expands... and then contracts; adventures in the souq; and Kelly's attempt at being a teacher.  We'll make our way to present day soon, where you'll hear about my weekend in Tel Aviv, my newfound addiction to Gossip Girl, and the difficulties and joys I've encountered in my first attempt at being an elementary school teacher.  Once we catch up, I'll try to keep this updated more regularly. 

Much love, y'all.

Kelly out.