Qalandia Checkpoint

This is the Qalandia checkpoint.
It is designed to keep terrorists out of Israel.
Every single Palestinian or International passing from Ramallah into Jerusalem, man woman or child, has to go through this turnstile, show their identification, run their belongings through an x-ray machine, and walk through a metal detector (a more chaotic version of what we go through at American airports).
That means that if a Palestinian works in Jerusalem, but lives in Ramallah (a common occurrence), they have to go through this every single day.
It is perhaps one of the most frustrating things I have ever witnessed.

I have heard more than one person refer to it as a cattle shoot.

We waited for probably 20 minutes where no one was let through for no apparent reason. This was the most frustrating part. At airports, for example, you know why you are waiting in line and you know approximately how long it will take to get through security. Not here. There were long periods of time where no one was being passed through, and no announcements made explaining what was happening. The line stretched out behind and in front of us, with people confused as to which lane to get into.

We saw the guards laughing and pointing at monitors behind the glass windows. The women and men (mostly women this night) in line were patient at first but got increasingly agitated.
Finally after about 15 or 20 minutes, the green light flashed above the turnstile, signaling that people could pass through. Each time, the turnstile will only turn about 3 or 4 times, and then there seemed to be an indefinite amount of time until it would turn again. Each time it turned green, the people would lunge forward, trying to get as many through as possible on each rotation. Sometime people would get stuck inside the turnstile if it wouldn't rotate all of the way.

I kept watching to guards, and they kept looking at monitors and laughing at something, and occasionally would bark orders in Hebrew over the loud speaker, I assume saying 'step back!' or something to that effect.

The night I took this picture, and crossed from Ramallah to Jerusalem, a little boy got stuck in the turnstile. Not stuck in the open part, but stuck between the bars and the cage. The pushing crowd had seperated him from his mother (who was holding another child in her arms) while going through the turnstile and his little body was yanked and pulled in different directions as the metal bars rotated. Women lunged forward to help him, and he was pulled out. Fortunately, it just looked like he would have a couple of bruises and nothing worse.
The guards didn't react.

I am not speaking politically, this is just what I saw.

Pictures from Palestine: Ramallah

After watching Jimmy Carter: Man from Plains, I am all riled up about the situation in Palestine and how little we know about it in the United States.

One of my last days in Israel, right before I left for Egypt, I took a day to visit Ramallah, the de facto capital of the West Bank.

Along with two friends, I took an Arab bus across the border, and to the center of the city.

The city square:

The lions had apparently been graffitied during a protest about Gaza during the weeks previous:

A poster stapled to a pole on the sidewalk, depicting a weeping Palestinian girl hugging an olive tree (the symbol for peace and also one of the main sources of livelihood for many Palestinians).

The tomb of Yasser Arafat:

Outside the tomb:

Looking down on the town square from Stars and Bucks:

Supposedly, the owner visited the U.S. and liked the idea of Starbucks... It is a fun place to eat, kind of like Starbucks, only with some serious Palestinian flare. I encourage you to check out their website, it is a hoot.

And of course, the Wall. This is the security wall built by the Israeli government in an effort of keeping potential terrorists from crossing from the West Bank to Israel. It runs the length of Ramallah, and on our way back to Jerusalem, we stopped to take pictures near the checkpoint. The graffiti on the wall is famous all over the world.

One of my friends told me that the artist who painted this little boy vowed to never paint his face until Palestine was free. He is a recurring image all over the Palestinian Territories.

This image was the in documentary I watched last night, which spurred a whole series of emotions for me.

This is by perhaps one of the most famous artists who has painted on the Wall:

As we rounded the corner to go to the checkpoint, we saw this man just sitting there. He smiled at us and waved for us to take his picture. I think it is priceless.

the demolitions begin.

I'm in the office today working on a grant to the EU.

However, we just got a call saying that a home in Silwan was just demolished, and several more are scheduled for today and tomorrow. The government is finally acting on its plans to demolish 88 homes in the neighborhood of Silwan. This comes just a week after the government issued a statement saying that there were no 'immediate plans' to demolish homes in this area.

These homes are part of the group of homes I have been profiling as part of my internship. Though the families I know personally have not yet been affected, I fear for the near future.

My heart aches for the families who are losing homes on this cold and rainy day.

Some background on the Silwan demolitions:
Christian Science Monitor
Washington Times

The Bedouin School

Yesterday was an especially wonderful day with the Bedouin Teachers. Each Tuesday, I take an Arab bus across the border into the West bank city of al-Azarya. I get off where I see the slab rocks piled, I walk past the vegetable shop, up the hill, and toward a multi-level building that has tires piled out front.

This is the school.

I walk inside, and I can hear children yelling, doors slamming, teachers teaching. I wait in the office area, which doubles as the nursery for the teachers' infants and toddlers. I usually arrive around noon, but it is only about 1 by the time that the teachers have ushered out their student, fed their babies, and are ready to start any sort of a lesson.

These women are Bedouins, born as refugees. Their fathers and grandfathers were herders, and their families were nomadic until the 1948 war, when everything changed for them.

They call this war Al Nakba - the Disaster.

Israelis call it the war of Independence.

Either way, since this war their families have no longer been nomads, they have been refugees.
Most of the teachers cannot enter Jerusalem - they have a Green Pass. Some of them have family there they will never meet.

The teachers all wear a hijab, a head covering, and some of them wear a face covering as well, where only their eyes are visible. They keep this on as long as the older children and men are in and out of the building, but when my 'class' starts, they pull up their face coverings.

The first time this happened, my eyes teared up, and I was honored.

These women's lives amaze me.

Every time we start class, they sit attentively, pen and paper on their desk, looking to me to teach them English, to offer teaching advice, to tell them what it is like in America.

I am becoming a better teacher. The first day I stumbled and bumbled. The second day, I realized they thought I knew what I was doing. The third day, I became a teacher.

Each time, they open up a bit more, ask more questions - though they have never been afraid to ask 'racy' ones. The first day of class, when I asked if they had any questions (thinking they would ask me something about the grammar lesson I had just given), the first one was:
"Was there really a pregnant man in America?"

The second one: "Where did his parts come from?"

And the third: "Why are there gays in America?"

Do you see why I was stumbling and bumbling?

The second day of class they wanted to know about my engagement ring, (I just wear a silver band here), how I could travel alone as a woman, and if I really had a laptop computer and a driving license.

Tuesday, they wanted to know why I was wearing so little clothing (I had on jeans, a t-shirt and a sweater), if I wore a bikini when I went swimming and did the men stare, and why Americans thought they were all terrorists.

They wanted to tell me more about being a woman in Palestine, so they asked that their writing assignment for that week be about that - and we will discuss it more next week.

They made sure, though, before even starting, that I knew that they covered their hair and faces by choice, and that it was a good thing. I smiled and asked them to teach me how to wrap my hair in a scarf next week, and this was a very exciting prospect that led to a lot of laughter.

Working with these teachers is becoming my very favorite part of the week.

Silwan Profile 2: Family of 43

A large part of my internship at Rabbis for Human Rights has become creating home profiles for homes that are under demolition order. My second day of home profiling in Silwan took me to the home of the Abu-Naj family. This family's story is a tough one. They have 43 people living in their house. (This includes two brothers, a sister and all of their children and grandchildren). Their family moved into the house after the 1948 war, when they were forced to leave their former homes in West Jerusalem. Since then they have been paying rent to a man who recently died. Upon his death, a Jewish* settler family claimed the house as being theirs (from before the 1948 conflict I suppose). They refuse to take rent payments or offers to buy the house from the Palestinian family and demand that they leave the house. To further complicate matters, because of their large and growing family, the Abu-Naj's have added on several rooms to the original structure of the house. After the settler family made a claim on the house, the government issued a demolition order on the parts of the house that were not part of the original structure, saying that it was built without a building permit (Arabs are essentially NEVER given building permits by the government to build in Jerusalem, so almost all houses are built without permits - in fact, pretty much the entire neighborhood of Silwan is under demolition order because of this). And to even FURTHER complicate matters, the settler family that is claiming the house says that the house itself has some sort of religious significance and therefore has even more reason to not be a home to this family. Eek.

Here is the head of the household with two of his grandchildren. He painted the room himself and says that he likes to go there to pray and be alone (with 43 people in the house this is a rare space).

This is Fakhri, a community leader and my contact/translator in Silwan. He picks me and the other volunteers up at the entrance of the neighborhood and walks with us to the homes that we are profiling. (Thank goodness or I would probably STILL be wandering around lost). Unfortunately, his home is also under demolition order. It is in his home that I participated in my first interview and profile.
Each interview cannot start without 2 or 3 wonderful cups of mint tea (with lots of sugar) and cannot continue without a VERY THICK cup of coffee (complete with a pile of grounds at the bottom of each cup). I have never, ever liked coffee, but I have learned to breathe deeply and get enough of it down (after pouring in about 4 spoonfuls of sugar) to be polite. I learned that drinking it quickly is a big mistake as then I am just given another cup. Slow sipping is key. Needless to say, each interview ends with me on a sugar and caffiene high.

This interview was hard, as I could tell right away that they would have a very tough case and if everything continues at the status quo, will lose their house. It is hard to sit and get to know these people and experience their hospitality and see their love for their home and family and realize that in a week or less, their home may be rubble and they will either be forced to crowd in with neighbors or be on the street. That said, at the end of this interview, I got a special treat because two of the grandchildren who live in the home peeked in the door to visit. They are beautiful and animated children who were especially excited about seeing their images on my camera. I look at these pictures and hope.. I don't even know for what exactly. For peace? For them to learn to forgive and coexist despite what has happened in their pasts and present? For them to value and to be valued as humans instead of by ethnicity, religion or race? For them to be blessed with extra heapings of resilience and optimism?



*Note: This does not mean that all Jews in Jerusalem do the things or believe in the things that this particular settler family is doing. In fact, the vast, vast majority would not. Even further, there are many Jews in Jerusalem (including my organization Rabbis for Human Rights and most of my Jewish friends and people I interact with daily) who outright condemn that this is happening. This has nothing to do with Jews vs. non-Jews, or even Israelis vs. non-Israelis. It is an extremist attitude that unfortunately a few powerful people and families have adopted, and even more unfortunately, that the government has not stopped. One of the most shocking things that I have learned is that many (if not most) people (even in Jerusalem) do not know that this is happening, or if they do know, they do not know the extent of it or its affect on the individuals, families and communities.

Silwan

This is Silwan, and Arab neighborhood in East Jerusalem (PS - totally check out the link, it has a very interesting history). Today, I went with two other volunteers to interview a family whose home is under demolition order by the government.

I"ll hopefully have the patience to write out a bit of the issues with home demolitions in the future, because it is incredibly important and incredibly complicated - but for now, check out the link above if you are interested.

Outside the home of the family that we interviewed - this house has a demolition order against it.



Conducting interviews. Mainly, we ask questions just to try to understand their side of the story - what were they told by the authorities, what is the story behind the home and property, do they have legal representation, what will they do if it is demolished, how many people live there, etc.




What we want to not happen: The remains of a home that was demolished a couple of months ago. In this case, there was not very much time to get everything out, so there is all sorts of stuff in the rubble - shoes, furniture, etc.

Welcome to the West Bank - Olive Tree Planting

On Friday, I went with RHR to plant Olive Trees in the West Bank. Why olive trees? Three reasons:

1. Olive Trees are the symbol of peace
2. It is a good productive way to bring Israelis and Palestinians together
3. The picture below:
   

Along the horizon, is a Jewish settlement. Technically, these settlements in the West Bank are illegal, however - it is complicated. (As is EVERYTHING here)... and... well, they are there. And they are not supposed to expand, but... well, there are plans to expand this one. Is it illegal? Rabbis say yes. Is it unethical? The Rabbis say yes. But - the real issue - is that the land that is being marked for expansion is land that Palestinian families believe is their land.

So........ without further getting into the complicated political mess - let's talk about the proposed solution: olive trees.

Olive trees take about 10 years to mature to the point that they produce olives. Olives are the main source of income for Palestinians in this part of the West Bank, so the trees are prized enormously. Also, planting them means that the land is claimed - and in some way that I don't understand - it keeps people from being able to just take their land. Check this picture out: this is a Mennonite Christian and a Muslim planting a tree together.

Here I am super excited to stick that thing in the ground.

This is when I decided not to be a farmer, and began to wonder how in the world there was ever civilization on this land:

Here is the leader of a local mosque, beside Rabbi Yehiel - they worked together to create the event. They are both amazingly inspiring.

My first olive tree:

However - it got a bit more complicated. Apparently, soldiers had been ordered to plant some other kind of tree in the same area that we were planting - and apparently this kind of tree sucks the water and would kill the olive trees - so they pulled them out.
And sure enough - soon some soldiers were sent to check up on us. When they walked by, the mosque leader said to them 'someday i hope you put down your guns and work for peace with us' - and one replied 'i do not hope that - i am here only for the security of my country.' A feisty elderly Jewish woman next to me yelled after him 'in time you will understand!' The entire interaction was amazing to watch - there were all spectrums, all sorts of understandings of the situations - all sorts of people doing what they believed was right...

The almond trees began to bloom the last few days. It is beautiful.

Hopefully, in 10 years... our baby trees will grow into this:

Blessed are the Peace Makers - Ibrahim

I had to leave the Bedouin school quickly, because Wednesday afternoon I had an appointment to meet Ibrahim, a Sufi Muslim living near the Mount of Olives. He is one of our core contacts in that area. Just this week a couple of demolitions have taken place, and Ibrahim is our way of finding and talking to the families affected.

Before we could talk business though, we had to eat. Ibrahim prepared us a literal feast - food covered every inch of the table - and told us all sorts of stories about his life and family. Ibrahim is unique - he is a peace maker who believes in working with Jews, Christians, whomever - to achieve peace in his land. His stories were passionate and inspiring. He truly believes that peace is possible, and has dedicated his life to it. He leaves his door open to anyone - and his home has become a neutral place for people to meet and come together from all sides of the factions.

He is truly a preacher of love and peace - he told stories of speaking across the world the message the Palestians and Jews are brothers - he told us about dancing at bar mitzvahs and Christian weddings - and about how much his identity as an Arab means to him. He believes in the power of relationships and grassroots efforts to build peace - he says that the politicians and world leaders need to stay out of it and quit funding the militaries on both sides.

Sitting in his home, it is not hard to believe him and the entire situation, for once, seemed infinitely more simple and hopeful. I pray for more like him and that his influence can multiply.

Me and Rabbi Yehiel - stuffing ourselves with Ibrahim's amazing lunch.

Our group after lunch. From left - Moshi, who is an exchange student from Ukraine/USA who is volunteering at RHR , Monika, an exchange student from Poland volunteering at RHR, me, a Christian guy who was staying with Ibrahim, Ibrahim, a girl staying at his house from Germany, and Ibrahim's grandson.


This is a picture of Ibrahim's ID document. Like most Palestinians in Jerusalem, Ibrahim was not given Israeli citizenship. This means that he is not a citizen of any nation (Palestine is still considered 'Occupied Territories' by Israel) and does not have a passport. He laughed uproariously showing me his ID document as it says he is Jordanian- which he does not identify with at all. As he showed me, he pointed at the next room, saying "I was born behind that wall - do you think that is Jordan?!" [Note: Jordan annexed the West Bank and East Jerusalem after the 1948 war. So according to international law, between 1948 and 1967, E. Jerusalem was part of Jordan as an annexed territory, but many Palestinians that I have talked to do not recognize this as they have a separate national identity and did/do not want to be part of Jordan]

My precious Bedouin babies

Last Wednesday I went with a human rights worker, Nitsa, out to a Bedouin school. Nitsa teaches Hebrew at the school each Wednesday and took me with her to make some contacts and to see if I could set up some sort of conversation group with the teachers.

I had the most wonderful morning - I spent most of my time talking to one of the teachers, who is 22. She was one of the only people there who could speak English easily, and she was SO excited to talk with me. It turns out that she visited the US a couple of years ago on a language -learning scholarship through BYU - go figure! Her impressions of Utah, Mormons, and the USA in general were hilarious and insitful.

After about an hour of visiting, she asked me to come with her to teach her English class. It was a complete disaster of a class - the kids were all over the place.. but I loved every minute.

I will be going back every Monday to have a conversation group with the teachers - they want to practice English and bounce teaching ideas off of me (I was introduced as an expert teacher - ha!). It is something I am looking forward to greatly.

Museum on the Seam

[image location]

Today, my program took us to the 'Museum On the Seam'. It is in an old home that belonged/belongs to a Palestinian family. It was taken over by the Israeli army in the 1948 war, and because of its unique 'on the seam' location, it was used for years as a military lookout. From the windows on the top floor, you look right over the border that runs down the city of Jerusalem that used to divide West Jerusalem/Israel from East Jersalem/Jordan. Since 1967, East Jersalem has been annexed by Israel and is considered by the Israeli government to be a part of Israel. Next door, 'project' housing was put up by the Israeli government for immigrant Jews from Eastern Europe. It was controversial because (among other things) many of those immigrants felt that they were made into human sheilds by being placed in housing directly on the border between warring nations. Phew.

ANYWAY, the exhibit that was there today is called Heart Quake. You can click on the link to read more about it, but the general idea of most of the art is to get a dialogue happening about the effects of conflict on society and the individual. Many of the pieces were powerful.

Three that stood out to me the most:

It was me/Diary - this piece was a giant wall mural that looks like a diary. Each of the entries was written in the frist person:

"This work is a unique diary created by Daniela Comani. Curator Inke Arns notes that 365 journal entries, written in the first person, report important events that occurred in the twentieth century. The fictitious narrator signs the agreement for dismantlement of the Warsaw Pact on March 31, is killed on June 2 by police bullets during a demonstration in East Berlin, blocks the path of a tank on Tienamen Square in Beijing two days later, and assaults a Vietnamese trader on the streets of Hoyerswerda in Germany on September 17. Comani has written a diary of the twentieth century as though all the events depicted happened to her. From one day to the next, from one report to the next, she is first a passive witness, then a political activist, later - a victim, and then again goes on to commit crimes. Thus she seems to instigate these historic events."

Beach, 2006 -
This piece was by far the most powerful to me, mainly because before I came to Jerusalem, the conflict in Gaza was SO heavily on my heart and mind - and then when I moved here, I couldn't see signs of it ANYWHERE - life just seemed to be going on as normal.. This piece really spoke to me about that phenomenon and its lack of reality:

"Guli Silberstein’s work presents a personal report in the form of an unfocused television broadcast; a stream of images progressively speeding up, portraying a family on a Tel Aviv beach, near to a video work showing a little girl running frantically along a Gaza beach under bombardment, a mere 100 km. away. The work depicts a reality wherein tranquility is transformed momentarily into terror, and the possibilities of the real and the repressed pose questions simultaneously conceptual, existential and moral.

Paradoxically, the observer is drawn to the blurred images, and the more they blur, the greater the sense of confusion and dread over what goes on between Tel Aviv and Gaza, between the flickering narrative and his tempestuous imagination. Silberstein’s cinematic language, the deliberate disorder injected into the development of the action, fills us with a growing sense of danger and dread."

A different kind of Farmer's Market