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	Home About us News from Palestine Contact Email Subscribe Donate Current Delegation Summer 2005 Past Delegations Olive Harvest 2004 Freedom Summer 2004 Past Campaigns Events Photos Videos (ISM) Rachel Corrie Links Speakers Be a Delegate Press faq Actions!		Our delegate Martin is a long-time Boston area activist who devotes his time to issues of peace and justice. Martin left on December 31, 2002. 10) Tuesday, Jan. 21, 2003 - Faisel Hostel, Jerusalem JERUSALEM WALKS The Old City Damascus Gate The main approach from East Jerusalem is the massive Damascus gate, probably the most imposing of the Old City's many entrances. Seated well below the new city's street level, one accesses the gate by way of a massive semi-circle of ancient stone steps, teeming with merchants of every variety. It is easy to picture what this space might have looked like hundreds of years ago when, at least in my imagination, sellers of oriental spices, goods brought from far-off exotic places, and local farmers vied for space and customers. It is not so different now, as you descend through the cacophony of vendors offering fresh produce (now significantly from Israeli farms), shoes arranged neatly in row after row on the stone steps, tables piled high with all types of attire, house wares, candy, and more. Your senses are almost overwhelmed by the frenetic energy all around, the sounds of merchants hawking their wares, the touch of the ever-moving bodies, and the aroma of meats cooking on open grills on the street above the steps. As you enter the gate you pass through a small enclosed area with a handful of street vendors, some with wares simply spread on blankets on the ground, and two indoor shops, one of which is a dealer in timepieces called "Big Bin's!" As you turn right through the passageway you emerge into the bustle of a large courtyard, lined on both sides with the open shops that define shopping in the Old City. Between them are huge pushcarts heaped high with every imaginable type of produce arranged like tiny, middle eastern Bread and Circuses. The sounds, sights, smells, and crush of people assault the senses, and when you enter for the first time you must stop for a moment to take it all in. Across the open space are a number of passageways, with two "major" streets leading off into the mysteries of the casbah. These two streets theoretically lead you either to the left, into the "Muslim Quarter," or to the right, into the "Christian Quarter." In reality the differences in these two neighborhoods are subtle, at best. All of the residents and shop- keepers are Palestinian Arabs. While the Muslim Quarter has the most mosques, and the Christian Quarter an amazing number of churches and holy places, the reality is that there are Christian holy sites in both, and one is hard-pressed to distinguish the specific lines. What most defines this part of the city is the shopping. The shops at beginnings of all the streets and alleys are mostly filled with a variety of goods clearly meant for tourists, visitors, and pilgrims. Here one can find an abundance of holy objects (mostly Christian), camels of every size and type (olive wood, stuffed, leather), mother of pearl, jewelry, and souvenirs of every description, from the wonderful to the wonderfully tacky. There is hardly anything that you cannot find made of olive wood, or emblazoned with "Jerusalem." As you penetrate deeper into the labyrinth there are subtle changes. More of the shops cater to the people who actually live in and around the Old City. These, I think, are far more interesting: the spice shops, butchers, bakers, nut shops, shoe stores, clothing stores, house wares, etc., etc., etc. Apart from the variety of goods necessary for normal living, it is here that one can find some wonderful and far more authentic items like clothing, carpets, accessories, and the like. It is interesting that I remember feeling quite intimidated by these winding, seemingly endless paths. And yet, despite warnings about safety, I have felt quite comfortable wandering. And a word about the people. Along with the locals shopkeepers, shoppers, and residents there is an amazing mix of Christian clerics of all sizes, shapes, and persuasions, pilgrims of every description, western tourists, and Orthodox Jews (modern and, most vividly, Chasidim with their long coats and distinctive hats) walking to and from the Western Wall. (The way from some of the most orthodox areas, including Meah Shearim, leads most directly through Damascus Gate.) I am incredibly angry at myself for not having reacted quickly enough the other day and missed a wonderful photograph of a large group of Eastern Rite pilgrims in procession near the Via Delorosa, chanting as they marched, seemingly led by an old Chassid with a magnificent streumil (a large, fur hat) scurrying along in front of them. If one can put aside the infinite stereotypes and expectations about people's politics, the visual is incredible. Unfortunately, on looking closely, you see that interaction between some of these characters is, to say the least, limited. It sometimes feels as if each "type" is walking in a different place than the person right beside them. The art of oriental bargaining, or, how many shekels can you put through the eye of a camel? Bargaining is one of the quintessential parts of the oriental market. It is quaint, has an ancient set of rules, and adds a whole special layer to the picturesque experience of shopping in the Old City. And I hate it! I hate not being able to assess the relative value of things, I hate the way shopkeepers assault you as you walk through the casbah, I hate the level of hard-sell, and I hate the fact that, ultimately, I'm not very good at it! As you pass the shops each proprietor reaches out to you, welcoming you, inviting you in to see his wares. "You are welcome, you are welcome. Come in, see my shop. From America? Where in America. Oh, Boston? In Massa-shu-setts? Come in. You are Welcome. No charge for looking. 50% off everything in the store!. What are you looking for? If you don't buy, you will still be valued. If you buy, even more!" The pitch is almost identical at each shop, varying only with the vendor's facility with English and ability to catch your attention. Again, any reaction opens the possibility of connecting intimately for the purpose of inter-cultural communication, trust-building, and making a sale. Depending on the nature of the shop, you might be asked to sit and offered tea, coffee, or a coke. All of this leaves you, as the customer, feeling obligated in some way to make some kind of purchase. As you peruse the olivewood camels, mother-of-pearl boxes of every size, silver crosses, stars of David, and hamsas (good luck hands), the ceramic plates and tiles and endless chazerei, you try desperately to focus on something that you might at least be able to pawn off on some appreciative friend back home. Finally, you set your sights on that cute little camel with the twinkle in his eye. "You like this camel? I have many camels. This is real olive-wood, handmade near here. The best quality. You find cheap camels in other places. Not like this. How many you want? Ten? Make good presents for you friends. You have no room to carry? I ship to America." Now you cross the threshold by uttering the opening gambit: "How much is it?" you ask. The experienced buyer can now detect the almost imperceptible gleam in the seller's eye, the twinkle that cries "I've hooked one! Now to reel him in!" "What difference. I give you good price. How many you need?" This can go on for some time, you asking the price and reiterating that one olive-wood camel is more than any human being needs. "You need another size." I have medium and very big." Buy one of each, I give you very good price." If you are assertive enough, eventually he will quote a price. "Special for you, 50 shekels." As you try to compute that in dollars, we are now at a crucial point. Consider the price even if you make a counter-offer, and you're dead he knows you know nothing. And, almost immediately, you know that he knows that you know nothing, and all self-assurance, not to mention self- respect, is down the drain. But, if you are good, you will exhale a gust of (polite) disdain, and immediately hand the camel back and thank him anyway. If you are really good, you will walk out of the shop, not look back, and keep walking until he shouts you back. But this takes the steely will of an experienced haggler. "Wait, what do you want to pay? How much you want? I make good price." "That's OK," you respond, "I don't want to insult you, but I'm looking for little gifts in the 10 shekel range." "Ten shekels! I must pay 30 shekels myself. The truth! I would not cheat you! Please, I must make a little. But I need to make a sale. 40 shekels and we are finished." It is usually around this point that the most difficult part of the dance begins the "we have no business" part. You will be told how difficult things are because no tourists are coming, so there is no one to buy. The difficulty with this is that it is true the shops (especially the tourist places) are virtually empty, and the economy here, while probably not as bad as in other parts of Palestine, is devastated. Every small sale is a major transaction for these shopkeepers. And this presents you with a real dilemma: on the one hand, it is clear that you are in the process of being taken to the proverbial cleaners, and this man will relieve you of every shekel he possibly can. On the other hand, the economy is terrible, and, if you are the kind of visitor that makes up much of the current traveling population (you're probably here precisely because you want to support some part of the Israeli/Palestinian community) it absolutely kills you to haggle about a couple of American dollars. Never-the-less, the right side of your brain says "don't be a fool. He's cheating you, you know it, he knows it, and he will have only disdain for you if you quit now. Show a little gumption. You know it's expected." So you tell him that, for the person you're buying this for, maybe you would pay 15 or 20 shekels (BIG mistake the range, which you think will leave you in the !7 and a half range, has now shot you over 20. "OK, I make nothing, but," and by this point he has taken a thin, black plastic bag down, put the camel in it, and is trying to force it into your hand, "but I take 27 and that's it." "No," you cry, "I didn't want to spend more than 10. I'll give you 22, and that's it." He will now sigh as if you personally, and heartlessly, are reaching into the mouths of his eight children and scooping out the food and eating it yourself. "You take away anything I can make but you are the first person in the shop in three days. Give me 25 and we will be friends." At this point you know, deep down inside, that you should have talked him down to 15, your next bid should be 23, but you cannot possibly go on for the sake of 50 cents or so, and, almost by an involuntary neural response, you nod and it is done! You take the bagged camel, give the man his 25 shekels, and, as you begin to turn, he asks, "There is something else you need? Please, I show you a nice olive-wood donkey." You thank him wearily, and walk out feeling relieved, but somehow, and unexplainably un-elated. This feeling lingers with you until, somewhere in the new city, you look into a souvenir store window and see your camel, without that annoying nick on the right front leg, for 6 shekels. Every shopkeeper promises you 50% off everything. I find this particularly fascinating since nothing is priced and all bargaining begins with the common assumption that the seller will begin with an offer that is somewhere a few hundred percent more than the item is worth. *Chazerei a Yiddish word, derived from the Hebrew word for pig, meaning junky stuff, particularly of the tacky persuasion. All that stuff your grandmother had spread out on the coffee tables, mantel, and window sills was chazerei. The Old City Jaffa Gate Jaffa Gate, so named because the street that emanates from it (Jaffa Road) was the way to Jaffa, long before there was a Tel Aviv attached to it. Approaching Jaffa Gate is very different than approaching Damascus gate. Here, on the western side of the walls of the Old City, modern sensibilities, technologies, and architecture have impressed their sensitivities on the ancient walls. The gate itself, and the walls around it, are unchanged, but the municipality has redone the plaza in front of it, with open space, a sunken road, new, sophisticated signage directing your attention to the gate and to the Citadel (or Tower) of David behind it. This is the quintessential tourist gate. As you enter the inner plaza you are greeted by the sight of the official Old City Visitors' Center, and a number of shops which, among other things, exchange money and sell Kodak film at outrageous prices. You are also greeted immediately and assertively by suavely dressed men offering help, directions, tours, taxis, free maps of the Old City, and visits to their nearby shops. It takes a great deal of will power, not to mention self- assurance, to keep walking without responding in some way. I usually thank them politely and keep on my way, but even this is sometimes perceived as a valid opening to initiate a profound long-term relationship, and have, on occasion, been followed for some distance into the casbah by these helpful guardians of the gate. Jaffa Gate leads one into the Armenian Quarter which is, in fact, inhabited primarily by Armenians. This is significant for two reasons: 1) the Armenians are adamant about being Armenian, not Arab, and 2) they are very much aware that they are the keepers of the gate of Jewish tourism. (The other day I entered the city through Jaffa Gate and walked into the casbah and stopped at a shop where something caught my eye. Either because I have been traveling in Palestine, or because I had been, up until then, mostly in the Arab parts of the Old City, I spontaneously greeted the young shopkeeper with "Salaam Aleikem." He responded warmly but pointedly with a "Shalom.") While I have never heard an Armenian speak poorly of Arabs or Palestinians, they are duly proud of their heritage, and their long history in Jerusalem. At the same time, they are clearly aware of the physical and symbolic position the quarter holds. Local Chasidim and others may access the Western Wall through the Damascus or other gates, but the only direct, clean, and (perceived) safe route from West Jerusalem (where the vast majority of Jewish tourists stay) to the Western Wall is through Jaffa Gate and along the edge of the Armenian Quarter. Although the Armenians are Christian, since their shops cater less to local residents than to tourists, the overwhelming amount of their goods are clearly geared to that market. In the shops one encounters on entering into the inner passages, one finds virtually every kind of Jewish ritual and decorative object: menorahs, Sabbath candle holders, spice boxes, kippot (yarlmukes), beautiful ceramic tiles that say shalom in Hebrew, English, and southern ("Shalom Y'all"), etc., etc., etc. The styles are somewhat more traditional and less sophisticated than those found in shops in West Jerusalem, or in the Cardo in the Jewish Quarter (see below), but they can be quite beautiful and well-crafted. I was personally interested in a number of small photography shops that sell historical photos (mostly of Jerusalem). I almost literally stumbled into one after taking what I first thought was a wrong turn, but turned out to be exactly where I should have been. The owner of the shop's father had been orphaned during the Armenian genocide and, in the orphanage, was mentored by one of his teachers who was a photographer. He eventually became an accomplished photographer who chronicled the history of the Jerusalem of the early to mid 20th century, His son (the owner) has collected his father's work in a magnificent book as noteworthy for its historical value as its artistic presentation. The owner now does mostly portrait photography, but his son, the third generation, is now in the process of photographing all the places his grandfather shot decades ago. These photos will eventually be compiled in a follow-up volume. As is the case throughout the Old City, the demarcations of the various "quarters" exist somewhat more symbolically than in reality. Without a map it is difficult for me to identify where one ends and another begins, as they blend into one another depending on where you are. What is clear in this particular part of the city is the fierce loyalty that the Armenians have to their heritage and to their place in the history of this place. The Old City The Jewish Quarter While the Jewish Quarter can be accessed through the Zion, Tanners, and Dung Gates as it is by the local residents, public transportation, and the mostly orthodox visitors who would rather not walk through other parts of the Old City I "discovered" this area by walking through the Muslim and Christian Quarters. Approaching from this direction and arriving suddenly and unexpectedly in the neighborhood is much like it must be to trudge through a deep jungle and suddenly come upon a great clearing with an uncharted city gleaming in the sunlight. This city within a city within a city is a beautiful, if jarring district that defies all expectations. Reclaimed and renovated ancient buildings blend seamlessly with modern but complementary architecture to create a blend of tiny residential alleys, broad open space, and commercial activity. The history of the Quarter is rich, complicated, and disturbing a reflection of the reality that is modern Israel. When the Old City was captured by Jordan in 1948/49 the Jordanians did what they could to eradicate the Jewish presence that had existed there for generations For almost 20 years Jews had no access to the Old City, or to the Western Wall. I remember well the accounts of Israel's "liberation" of the Old City, with reports of the high number of casualties the Israelis suffered because the soldiers had been ordered not to fire into holy places where enemy soldiers were hiding. And I remember the first photos of Chief Rabbi Goren, in uniform, surrounded by the first soldiers to reach the Wall, praying together, the first Jews to do so in two decades. Jews everywhere were elated, and proud of what "we" had done, and how we had done it. I do not disavow those feelings, nor am I sorry that Jews regained access to our holy sites in the Old City. And nothing I say here suggests that Jews should not have a presence here along with all the others whose ties to Jerusalem go back generations. My discomfort with what I found in this new community comes from a feeling that we (Jews) have reclaimed and rebuilt the area, but while we now have a presence in the Old City, we are not fully of it. That day I walked from Damascus gate with the ultimate goal of finding a particular restaurant in the Jewish Quarter that I had been told had excellent food and a wonderful view of the Temple Mount. Maps of the Old City have only limited value since many of the smaller streets and alleys are not noted, and one turn can send you off wandering for hours. I had some errands to do on the way, and stayed on the main through-streets, heading in the general direction of the quarter. I took a jagged turn that I thought would take me toward Rehov Ha-Yehudim the Street of the Jews and passed between two typical Arab souvenir shops (whose owners practically accosted me to get me to see their wares) and suddenly the street was free of any shops. As I walked on a few meters, on my right I saw a few wide steps leading down into a an open area with brightly lit shops. This, I was to find out, is the Cardo. The Cardo is what remains of Jerusalem's main thoroughfare in the time of the Romans and Byzantines. Substantial parts of the original road have been uncovered and visitors can climb down to view excavated sections of the Hasmonean city walls and remains of buildings from the First Temp period. What is absolutely amazing, however, is that, along with these ruins is a long, covered, mostly underground upscale mall that makes the whole thing look something like an archeological site if it had been designed by the people who did Quincy Market. Here one finds some of the best and priciest shops exhibiting fine art (one store showcases exclusively the art of the famous Israeli artist Agam), crafts, Judaica, clothing, and more. It is difficult to describe the feeling of walking out of the oriental casbah above, into this bright, modern, Western, Jewish Copley Place in the middle of the Old City. Leaving the Cardo I continued on into the heart of the Jewish Quarter. Here all vestiges of what existed in the past is gone, except for the shells of some of the buildings. I cannot speak to the motivations or intentions of those who rehabilitated the quarter, but as you enter you feel as if you have crossed a distinct barrier in time and space. This is no longer the Old City that is an extension of the orient several centuries ago, but a carefully planned 20th/21st century community built in a creative middle- eastern style. The new structures have been designed to blend with and connect the old buildings that still exist, and large areas have simply been cleared to create beautiful squares and open space. There are holy places and archeological sites that have been incorporated into the overlook scheme. There are three or four restaurants, a number of book stores, including one enormous book/Judaica store that remains open well into the evening, and a small commercial area with at least two pizza places that I saw, a couple of small groceries (kind of middle eastern convenience stores) and, at the edge of the quarter, near the city walls, a larger grocery with a wide variety of food and household staples as well as Hebrew and English periodicals. The make-up of the community seems to be overwhelmingly, if not completely orthodox, mostly modern orthodox, although there were a significant number of Chasidim. Clearly there is a connection between the type of religious Jews who live here and the neighborhood's proximity to the Western Wall. There are a number of Yeshivot (Jewish schools, mostly for higher Torah education), in beautiful buildings built, in part, with contributions from wealthy Westerners whose names appear everywhere you look. And this is one of the ironic aspects of the Jewish Quarter: a seeming majority of the people who actually live here are American Jews! I heard distinctly more English than Hebrew, with small children often conversing with parents in one language (usually English) and with strangers in the other. From what I saw, a significant part of the modern orthodox part of the community is made up of relatively young families with lots of young children. I did eventually find the restaurant I was looking for, aptly named "The Quarter." Sitting up above a large courtyard, near a large Torah academy, it is, as we would say in New York, very tony. Despite being self service, it is a sophisticated bistro kind of place, with long tables inside, and an enclosed patio with (as advertised) an incredible view across the nearby roofs of the Dome of the Rock, Al Aksa, and part of the Western Wall. I sat at one of the small patio tables along the window and, as the sun set, watched the changing colors of the large mosque glow across the city. (I found out only after I ate and the sun had set that there was yet another level upstairs with an even more spectacular view. Maybe I and my camera will get back there.) And there, in the most Jewish of Jewish sections of Jerusalem I dined on a wonderful, homemade rustic vegetable soup, a piece of lightly breaded, sautéed halibut with parsley, and a three-cheese and spinach blintz. Not exactly my Jewish mother's food! Jerusalem is nothing if not a place of constant contradictions. After dinner I strolled through some of the immaculate, narrow streets, working my way to the wall side of the quarter. As I got close to the outer wall I noticed a number of signs welcoming people to the Jewish Quarter, cautioning people to be respectful and modest, and indicating the donors of various buildings, paths, and sites. I find it interesting that I do not remember similar signs as I entered from inside the city an indication that the community does not either expect visitors from there, nor do they anticipate any particular interaction between themselves and the inhabitants of the other quarters. I walked through the two good-sized (huge by Israeli standards) parking lots one for residents, another for visitors and found my way to the bus stop, where I got a bus into the heart of West Jerusalem. 9) Monday, Jan. 20, 2003 - Faisel Hostel, Jerusalem 10:30 p.m. By Martin R. Federman A variety of reasons for not writing for a few days. For one, I've had a weird concurrence of computer-internet problems, including the fact that Earthlink decided to change its web-mail system while I'm here (I'm trying not to take it personally). It's actually quite a bit better, but there were thinks I had to do which weren't easy on internet-café kinds of machines. This was exacerbated by the fact that the internet at the hostel, usually pretty good, kind of crashed and, for a couple of days, all I could get to were horribly old computers. Just another aspect of life on the road (how did Charles Kuralt od it all those years, even if he wasn't in a war zone!) I arrived in Jerusalem on Friday, just in time for Shabbat. Thanks to the fact that I traveled from Tulkarem with Patrick Conners, one of the ISM coordinators, who was leaving the next day and had to get to Jerusalem very quickly in order to do some business, we took an "easy" route. That involved only walking a bit to get a taxi in Tulkarem, another longer walk at the border crossing into Israel (some hassle, but you get used to it which is part of the scary part of what life is like here) and, once we were on the Israeli side of the green line, we took a "special" taxi (that's a regular taxi that only takes you, not waiting to fill up with other passengers going to a general area which is called a sherut or "service" taxi). This only involves a much larger fare, but Patrick had already arranged it in order to avoid taking a service taxi to the bus station in Tel Aviv and then a long bus ride to Jerusalem. I was more than happy to share the fare, and in an hour and a half or so later we were in Jerusalem. [A little postscript: As I got into the hostel I realized that my phone had fallen off, almost certainly in the taxi, which was on its way back to somewhere on the Israeli side of the green line near Tulkarem. Being the wonderfully calm, centered, and self-actualized person that you all know me to be, I immediately panicked, trying simultaneously to think about what I would have to do to cancel the number, get a new number (having told you and everyone I am trying to contact here the old one), and how I would retrieve the numbers that I have programmed into the phone but not my hard-copy phone book. Thank heavens for Hasoon, the wonderful man who takes care of the hostel, who calmly suggested that he call me, or rather my phone, and see who had it. I had, indeed, dropped it in the taxi, and in a few minutes the driver returned with the phone!] Since I've been here I've taken some time to decompress by roaming various parts of the city as I've begun to meet with some of the people I wanted to see. I won't write much about that I'll report at the appropriate times and places when I get back. I'd like to use this entry for some somewhat random thoughts some about my meanderings, and some just thoughts I've had over the time I've been here. So, in no particular order: Hebron, again: I don't know how much you've gotten over there about the shooting on Friday night of a settler and its aftermath. The short story is that, during Shabbat dinner on Friday, Netanel Ozeri, a leader of the outlawed Kach movement (founded by the late Meir Kanhane), answered a knock at his door and was shot by a flash of gunfire from two Palestinian terrorists. He was killed instantly and one of his children and one of his Shabbat guests were wounded. One of the gunman was killed immediately, the other escaped, but was tracked down early Saturday morning and, because he was wearing an ammunition belt which the soldiers thought might have a bomb, was also killed. This, as all the violence against civilians, was a tragedy. But, as the story played out over the weekend, all the worst ugliness of this situation, especially the real and symbolic place Hebron has in all of this emerged. I can only begin to communicate anything. I will try to attach an article that appeared in today's Ha'aretz, if the computer allows me to. I'm pretty sure that it would still be on the Ha'aretz web sit (www.haaretzdaily.com). The two most pertinent articles (there have been many) are "Slain settler's body shuffled from Hebron to J'lem for hours, as burial site is disputed" and "Palestinian homes, cars vandalized by funeral mob," in the Ha'aretz of Monday, January 20, 2003. The gist is that Ozeri, as I said, is a leader (and hero) of the far, far, right religious ideological settlers. Among other things he has written "Baruch Hagever" (a play on words meaning either "blessed is the hero" or, in this case "Baruch the hero") a book of poems and essays lauding Baruch Goldstein, the ideologue doctor who sprayed the mosque at the Tomb of the Patriarchs with gunfire, killing dozens, wounding lots more, on Purim some years ago. You may have also heard of Ozeri's father-in-law, Shaul Nir, who was in the spotlight for a while when he killed a Palestinian and was sentenced (by the Israeli courts) to a life sentence only to be pardoned by the president of Israel after serving seven years. Ozeri, mean while, was living in one of the so-called "satellite settlements," which in this case consisted of "Hill #26, with two makeshift buildings the Ozeris built, and one old Palestinian building they had taken over. This is one of the places that has been declared illegal even by the Israelis and the family was slated to be removed. In any event, starting on Saturday evening there were at least two organized attacks on the Palestinian part of Hebron, with people beaten, homes destroyed, cars and property set on fire. It appears that in some cases the Israeli army intervened and in some they reportedly stood by and watched. That part is unclear. What is clear is that some bizarre things went on with Ozeri's body. Apparently his wife and others wanted to bury him on Hill #26, which the army refused to let them do, others wanted him buried in the old cemetery in Hebron, and his parents wanted him buried near them in Jerusalem (so they could visit his grave). Throughout Sunday the body, wrapped in his prayer shawl, was literally dragged from place to place, sometimes openly, sometimes surreptitiously, sometimes in a vehicle, other times not. There were various eulogies at each location, negotiations between family, rabbis, local leaders including calls to some of the top rabbinic leaders of the right wing. You have to read the accounts to really get a flavor of this horrendous mixture of hatred, violence, revenge, and disrespect of the dead. It's most interesting to me that, in their virulent hatred, these people who profess to be the keepers of "true Torah Judaism" managed to break any number of mitzvot (commandments) regarding proper respect and handling of a dead body, including the way in which the body was moved, uncovering it to show to the mob, and delaying burial. The Elections - A number of people have asked me about my take on the Israeli elections which take place in just over a week. I'm no political analyst and I'm not sure how much you folks are getting in the media there, but this is one of the strangest campaigns I've ever seen. The polls all along have shown Sharon's Likud party in the lead, but that means, at it's strongest, about 35 "mandates" (this is a proportional parliamentary system in which each party offers a "list" of up to 120 people), barely a fourth of the 120 seats in the Knesset. With the scandals (Likud was caught buying votes and manipulating places on its list, and Sharon and his two sons have been accused of some seriously shady money stuff), Likud dropped a number of places, but that support did not go to Amram Mitzna's Labor party, the main opposition, which has remained in the mid 20's the whole time, fluctuating a few mandates now and then. What is amazing is the how much there is in the press about how Labor has accepted its defeat and Mitzna is mostly jockeying for post- election support in order to fight off an expected challenge to his leadership of the party. What's clear is, regardless of his views and proposals, Mitzna turned out to be a very unexciting campaigner and candidate. At the same time Meretz, a more left party with a number of ex-Labor people at the top of its list, remains somewhere in the teens. Meanwhile there are three (really a thousand, but I'll only write about three) interesting pieces to this particular election: 1. Shinnui There is a new party whose central platform is support of doing away with the religious stronghold on the government and country. This speaks strongly to a great many of the secular majority (and even some religious people who do not support the official status and perks of the orthodox institutions, or their coercive nature). It's a mixed bag because the idea is one that I, for one, support, but Tommy Lapid, the leader of the party, raises a lot of populist kind of issues that have class and anti-religious overtones. Be that as it may, it appears that a reasonable number of disaffected voters who traditionally back both Likud and Labor are turning to Shinnui. It would appear that they may will be the third largest block in the next Knesset. Which brings us to the issue of a . . . 2. National Unity Government Some time ago Shinnui had already announced that it would refuse to join a unity government that included the religious parties. In the last couple of days Mitzna, with far from universal support from his own party, announced that Labor will not be part of any government led by Likud. This has raised all sorts of possible scenarios since even with a slight bump in the polls in the last couple of days (the scandals must have peaked too soon), if Likud is able to form a coalition it will have to be with its traditional religious partners, and will almost certainly be a razor-thin majority which leaves Sharon in much the same place he was when Labor pulled out causing the current elections. The Federman prognosis? Likud will form the next government, and nothing else can be predicted! 3. The Economy And, perhaps the most amazing thing in these elections is the almost total absence of any talk about the economy. This is remarkable because, basically the economy is dying. People all over are losing jobs, there are virtually no tourists (Israel's biggest source of income) so the hotels are empty (and closing), and that whole sector is dormant, and billions of shekels that are going into supporting the settlements, the occupation, and the military they require, are not going into social welfare (things like health benefits are being cut) or infrastructure. Folks at the bottom of the society are fed-up with this situation, which is affecting the support for closing the settlements and ending the occupation, but cannot overcome the general (understandable) Israeli perception of siege which permits "security" to overwhelm everything else. Consequently, except for very targeted campaigning in specific neighborhoods (especially by smaller, limited issue parties) you hear nothing about the economy outside of the financial pages. I did read in today's paper (can't remember if the Jerusalem Post or Ha'aretz) that Mitzna met over the weekend with the leadership of his economic section and said he wants that to be the thrust of his media campaign in the last week. One of the top people in that group was quoted as saying that this was the proper decision, but far too late. The extent of this non-issue was reflected in a two page spread in one of the papers entitled "It's Not the Economy Stupid." RANDOM THOUGHTS Pedestrian Crossings The Israelis (as my friend Lee used to say) "are not a subtle people!" If generalizations can be made (and of course they shouldn't be), they tend to be aggressive, pushy, and loud. That is why I am totally astounded that they, almost to a person, always wait for the light to turn green, or the "Walk" sign to go on before crossing the street! Taxi Drivers If there is anything to the genetic tie between our peoples, an unfortunate expression of this is the areas taxi drivers. While it shows itself in slightly different ways, one of the few things you can count on here (in Israel and Palestine) is if a driver can cheat you, he will. Palestinian drivers tend to be a bit more discounting making you feel that this is just the way it is and what you have to expect or else they bargain with you in a way you can't possibly win (see below). Israeli drivers, who are supposed to use the meter if you ask them, will find all sorts of ways to get an extra shekel or two. Despite the incredibly high level of technological expertise, they seem unable to keep their taxi meters working I don't know how many taxis I've been in with broken meters (this applies, by the way, to all Israeli taxis driven by Palestinian and Jewish Israelis). Other meter rationales include the time of day and where you are going ("Damascus Gate?!?! I don't go there its too dangerous. 30 Shekels, I'll go near.".) And, of course, in a place legendary for the linguistic abilities of its population, no taxi driver speaks English and, amazingly, taxi drivers, regardless of whether they are Jewish, Palestinian, Israeli, only speak Arabic if you speak any Hebrew, and only Hebrew if you happen to have a few words of Arabic! I have decided that, before my next trip here, I'm going to learn something like Rumanian, or perhaps Proto-Semetic, in order to have a common language with taxi drivers. Smoking If there was an Olympic smoking event, I would have to put my money on the Palestinians taking the gold, but a respectable silver would go to the Israelis. I know people smoke all over the world, but, I've never experienced anything like I have here. The other night I was in a Russian pub with a sign that said "Smoking Section." Given the fact that no specific area was designated, I took the sign to be referring to the entire area of historical Palestine. The Hamburger Wars When I was here 35 years ago there was only one place to get a hamburger in Jerusalem, Wimpy's (pronounced, in the absence of a "w" sound in Hebrew, "Vimpy's). Now there are any number of homegrown and imported hamburger places, led by the best America has to offer: Burger King and MacDonalds. You may be aware of the stirrings of a boycott against Burger King, since the Whopper has found its way to the mini-shopping centers in some of the settlements. This however, is not the real news. The serious story has to do with MacDonalds which, apparently, wanted to open both kosher and non-kosher outlets, but was not given certification) by the all-powerful orthodox establish-ment, so it is not clear to me whether any MacDonalds are kosher. I do know that in the middle of town, near Zion Square, only 50 meters or so from an absolutely, unassailably kosher Burger King, there is a MacDonalds where, although they use only kosher meat, you die-hards can get a real shake with your good old-fashioned cheeseburger! A Footnote: As I've wandered (East and West) I have seen Pizza Hut, Sbarros, Dominos Pizza, and a number of Ben & Jerry's. To Jerusalem's credit, I have not yet seen a Starbucks or a Dunkin' Donuts but I haven't really been to Tel Aviv yet. Red light, green light, or please sir, may I cross? A couple of people have asked about the differences between border crossings, checkpoints, and roadblocks. I can't fully answer that because a) it's complicated and would take too long; b) there is a certain amount of overlap; and c) I'm not really sure I have a clue! But, basically here's the difference: Border Crossings places where one goes across the green line (the pre-1967 borders that arose from the armistice after 1948), or between Israel and Gaza. This is like traveling from one country to another and local people are subject to show their identity papers (sort of like showing an I.D. if asked while crossing between the U.S. & Canada). Foreigners need to show appropriate passports and visas. Of course the reality is that, while usually fairly easy for us foreigners and for the average Israeli Jew there are layers of often arbitrary interrogations, delays, and humiliations for Israeli Arabs and Palestinians from either side of the green line. Checkpoints I have yet to find any consistency to where checkpoints are set up, and sometimes they just appear and then disappear, but they are basically places that the Israelis have determined need to be policed to minimize the possibility of terrorists entering. On a street leading from East to West Jerusalem the other day, where I had already passed a couple of times, there was suddenly a checkpoint. We went through rather quickly in this case (in a taxi with a Palestinian-Israeli driver), but it was strange. Here again, what the soldiers can ask or require is virtually limitless, and they have total discretion over whether one can pass or not. Roadblocks places where the Israelis have simply created some impediment to vehicular traffic. They can be large mounds of dirt, often many meters high, or deep trenches, or combinations thereof. Frequently they appear in pairs, hundreds of meters apart, forming a small no-man' land that travelers must walk across to get from one place to another. Most often (in my experience) there are no soldiers attached to these roadblocks. Most that I have seen have been at the perimeter of towns, blocking off vehicular travel in or out, although I have seen roadblocks within towns. Since they are usually not guarded, and foot traffic, although sometimes difficult, is not completely impeded, they seem to serve only one set of purposes: to disrupt normal life in and around Palestinian cities, towns and villages, and to make travel and commerce, even between nearby communities, nearly impossible. In some ways the roadblocks are the most insidious since they seem somewhat benign and have the ability to disrupt life so profoundly. I think that's why there was such elation among the people in Nablus when we broke through the two roadblocks obstructing passage on a main road there. 8) Thursday, Jan. 16, 2003 - ISM Apartment, Tulkarem 7:30 p.m. by Martin R. Federman I'm tempted to begin with an offhand remark like "just a typical day in Palestine," but even black humor becomes more difficult as the days pass. As many of you have probably already heard, two boys (various sources have reported that both were either 16 or 17) were killed here in Tulkarem. The facts about one are disputed, the Israeli military saying that he was throwing stones and molotov cocktails, the local people saying not. The other case seems clearer: as they do periodically, the military came into town to enforce a curfew that had just been declared and rolled into the neighborhood where most of the boys' schools are. Some of the students probably threw some stones, and the soldiers responded with rubber-coated steel bullets, tear gas, and live ammunition and one boy was killed. Just by chance we were at an elementary school in a nearby village this afternoon (more about that in a moment) and were invited in by the woman who heads it. It turns out that she is the aunt of the boy that was killed. She told us that he had never been in trouble (what aunt wouldn't say that?), but I thought her description of his death was poignant: "He was just on his way school," she said, "and his backpack was still on his back." A depressing footnote to this already tragic story: by early this morning their were already posters throughout Tulkarem with this new "martyr's" picture. What made this even more striking is that he is pictured wielding two machine guns clearly not the image of the boy we heard about. As far as we can tell, there are some stock "martyr" pictures onto which these children's images are superimposed, using them just one more time in death. Since the schools are near where the army installation is, and when they come in to Tulkarem in the morning they come by the students, six of us decided to walk across town and observe in case anything happened. Thank goodness nothing did, and we just interacted a bit with the boys, stayed around for a while after school began, and headed back. Patrick, one of the coordinators in Tulkarem, is leaving tomorrow after being here for a long time, so he has been saying goodbye to the friends he's made around the city. We stopped in a number of places, had some tea and coffee, and eventually heard the news that a house in Qataba, a village overlooking Tulkarem, had been appropriated by the Israeli military. It was not clear whether the family that lived there had been evacuated or not, or why the military was there, so we decided to see if we could be some help in negotiating the situation. We took a taxi up to the village and found the head of the village council, talking to neighbors as we went. It turns out that the military has expropriated this particular house twice before, and another near once, because they provide ideal visibility over both Tulkarem and the refugee camp near it. Apparently these houses have been used to watch activities below and, on a couple of occasions, snipe from them. We were able to determine that there was a couple in the house with five of their seven children (two older sons were not there), the telephones had either been cut or they did not have access to them, and no one had spoken to them since the Israelis arrived, around 3:00 in the morning. (It was during this walk that we were invited by the head of the council to go into the school for a few minutes while an attempt was made to see of the sons of the owners of the occupied house were in the town.) We decided that we would approach the house and see if we could convince the soldiers to let us speak to the family, ascertain that they were OK, find out if they wanted to stay or leave, and possibly bring them some food and supplies. Just before we were ready to go we were told that the soldiers had left, which seemed rather strange. We decided to go anyway and see if the family was OK. When we got near the house we could see members of the family in the windows on the second of three floors. We tried to call out to them, but we then heard loud voices (soldiers in the house) and they quickly withdrew into the house. We agreed that three of us would approach and try to talk to the soldiers, while the other three would hang back and observe (I was with that group). The "negotiators," including Patrick, who speaks Arabic, tried to convince the soldiers to let us come down and speak to the family and make sure they were alright and didn't need anything. They were, to say the least, unresponsive, shouting for us to leave. As we spoke a tank, an APC, and a military truck appeared from the far side of the house, coming from some concealed place down a winding road. They moved into the area with the clear intent of intimidating us (with a reasonable amount of success), the tank driving directly at the trio near the house, the APC coming farther up the hill towards us. Some of the soldiers got out of the tank and spoke to us, finally telling us that if we went up the hill, stayed beyond where they told us, they would bring the family up to speak to us in an hour. While we knew that they would not honor this "deal," we had little choice at that point, and wanted to leverage our credibility. We went to a nearby house where we spoke to a number of the neighbors, trying to get as much background information as possible. Another side-situation presented itself at that point. One of the men in the house we were at raises chickens, who, for the most part, were in a building underneath the backside of their house, facing the side of the occupied house. He had tried to go down to feed the chickens but the soldiers had threatened him and chased him away, and he was terrified to try again. He asked us if we would go down with him. When the hour was up and, as expected, the soldiers made no attempt to communicate with us, we walked back to the house, which again had no army vehicles around it. Our "forward team" asked to be allowed to speak to the family and let the neighbor go feed his chickens. It was immediately clear that they had no intention of letting us do anything when curtains upstairs were opened and automatic weapons were pointed at us. We were told in no uncertain words to leave immediately or be shot at. We held our ground, demanding to see the family, and I could hear one of the Israelis say that he couldn't speak to us because he didn't understand English. While this was clearly lie (he and others had spoken to us in halting but functional English earlier), I went down part of the way and called Patrick. We decided that it was worth our bridging this challenge by my speaking to them in Hebrew. I approached the building and began speaking, when the front door opened and the family came out and began loading their two cars with clothes and household items, obviously getting ready to leave. When we tried to call to them and see if they were alright and leaving by choice, soldiers from inside shouted at them and told them not to talk to us. We waited an watched until the cars were loaded, the gate was opened, and the cars pulled out, one going down the hill, the other backing up towards us. The driver the father of the family got out and talked to us. No, they didn't want to leave, but they were given a choice; during the first time the house had been occupied the soldiers (its not clear how or why) had burned the upper story; the last time they were there, the soldiers had taken a number of personal items, including a sum of money equal to something between $750 and a couple of thousand (the man was, understandably, distraught and we couldn't tell and didn't push the point when he was talking about Jordanian dinars, when Israeli shekels, and when dollars). This time they were not permitted to take a number of "personal items" that they wanted; yes, they had a place to stay in Tulkarem. Finally, we gave them the emergency number of an organization that gives legal advice (probably of no value) and support in situation like this, we exchanged phone numbers, and he got back in the car and drove off. Which left the issue of the chickens. So, at that point, I walked with one other person down the hill and shouted out to the now empty windows, saying, in Hebrew, that my Hebrew wasn't great, but I wanted to talk to someone about letting this man go feed his chickens. I was told to just wait. Suddenly, from down the lower part of the road again, the tank and the APC re-appeared, heading directly for us. We (pretty much) held our ground, and, as two soldiers got out of the APC, I repeated my request and was told, quite unpleasantly, to be quiet and wait. I said fine, and watched as they proceeded to unload LUNCH! from the APC. Finally, two of the soldiers, one of whom was obviously the "commander," approached me and asked, again quite impatiently and angrily, what I wanted. I explained that the man up the hill lived in the next house, had chickens in the building below it, and simply wanted two minutes to go in and feed them that he could leave enough food that they would be OK for a week, but without the food they would die. The soldiers were initially unmoved, irritably wanting to know why I was getting involved with something that was none of my business. By this time they had pointedly cocked their weapons and came right up to me. I have no problem admitting that I would have been very happy to turn and run up the hill, but my assumption was that they would go pretty far to intimidate me, but the weren't about to shoot an unarmed international in front of a bunch of people up the hill. Again they asked what I wanted, and again I explained about the chickens and pointed to the door where they were. I pointed out that no one would have to go near them, and they could easily watch what was happening. Finally, to my great relief, it appeared as if the second soldier (not the "commander") was softening just a bit, so I partly directed myself to him, asking what the difference was if this guy went and fed his chickens. The two whispered to one another, and with incredible disdain, the commander told me that the villager had five minutes to go feed the birds but, he could only get there by going up the hill, around his house, and approach from the other side. This was amazing because it made no sense, would take longer, and actually put the villager out of the soldiers' sight line for a considerable distance. We agreed later that this was nothing more than a typical occupier technique, imposing control and showing who owns the situation. That was perfectly alright with me. I then thought that we might have pushed one step too far when I told the soldiers that the man was very frightened and asked that one of us accompany him. For a moment I thought that the "commander" was going to lose it he gave me a look that was full of hatred and emptied of all patience, as if to say "I wish I could just shoot you and be done with these stupid chickens," but, instead, he gave his exasperated assent, and waved us away. While the villager and one of the ISMers went around to the chicken house, the soldiers made it absolutely clear that they did not want to see us around that neighborhood again, and, again pointing their weapons at me, next time things would not go so easily! Once the chickens were fed (!) we headed back to the village office, regrouped with the council head, and returned to Tulkarem. We went to meet with some people at PARC (Palestinian Agricultural Reclamation Committee, I think). These people are really important because they are part of a core coalition that is developing a strategy to protest the erection of the wall. There are some significant suggestions for mass demonstrations in the coming months. Truth, be told, however, I suffered an adrenaline drop while in their offices, and I thought I was going to fall asleep in the middle of a conversation I was participating in! When a couple of people decided to go to a checkpoint that had been closed and see what was going on, I opted to go to the internet place and send the two entries you just received and come back and rest. A hopeful follow-up to the story I shared a while back about Ras Attiya, where the town's beautiful school was threatened by the soldiers. After the soldiers left the teachers talked to the kids about what had happened. It should be obvious that the effect of these incidents especially when the kids see other kids their age being killed is devastating. In this case the teachers did a fine job redirecting the kids feelings, and they decided to get some paint and make signs to put outside the school. Some of the slogans the kids came up with: Stop Killing Children Let me learn peacefully Stop Confiscating Land and my personal favorite: Tanks + Weapons = No Learning [It's 9:30 p.m. There were a couple of shots fired a while ago, I now hear crowds shouting and breaking bottles outside below our windows.] Some things we learned today about the house that was blown up a few nights ago: the family that lived in it was renting. What's the point? The layers of unnecessary punishment here are endless. The army, under some un-articulated pretense decides to come in and arrest someone. To make an example, despite the fact that there have been no charges filed, he is put under "administrative detention" for a minimum of six months, and the house that he lives in will be demolished. As a result, his family, who may or may not have even known about, much less participated in, whatever it was that we're not told this young man may or may not have done, is now without a place to live, and all of their material possessions have been destroyed. At the same time, the army has destroyed the local office of the Minister of Agriculture which was upstairs, and, just to add a little spice, whoever owns the building, who almost certainly has no connection with the unknown deeds that the young man has not been charged with, that his family may or may not have known about, woke up one morning to find out that his building no longer exists. Excuse my way of drawing this out it is really crucial that people begin to see and react to the layers upon layers upon layers of the consequences of this collective punishment, punitive action. It just goes on and on, effecting everyone, devastating individuals' lives, families, and communities all without any real justification. 7) Reports 1-14/15-03 Wednesday, Jan. 15, 2003 Martin R. Federman - ISM Apartment, Tulkarem 10:00 p.m. It is difficult to keep up with things, what with the time it takes to get around, how much s happening, the difficulty I've had getting to internet sources, and the fact that I haven't been carrying the lap-top with me. A word about Ras Attyia, where we began an action last week. There has been an ongoing confrontation there, and in Habla, the small village next to it. In Ras Attyia my group confronted the soldiers again on the line where the wall is going. While at one point there seemed to be a reduction of tension, the soldiers began responding in a harsher and harsher way, finally demanding that our group leave. When they were told no, they began shooting tear-gas canisters, firing them into the crowd, rather than into the air as is standard procedure. One older Palestinian man from the village was hit directly, injuring him considerably, and a teenager who pushed the canister away was seriously burned. One of Ras Attyia's most cherished attractions is a large, new school funded by the Swiss government, and capable of serving hundreds of children from the area. In a particularly vicious move, as the soldiers pulled back from their attack, they announced over mobile loudspeakers that the crowd needed to disperse, and if they returned, the school would be demolished. Someone will have to explain to me the logic of that kind of policy. What, other than a cruel kind of collective punishment used to crush and control a whole population, can the military be suggesting? And how can they not see the level of hatred they are sowing here? Or, heaven forbid, is that exactly what they are trying to do? It is beyond me. The resistance in Attyia goes on, while the internationals have simultaneously moved to Habla where an attempt is being made to set up a tent enclave on land that the Israeli military is taking in conjunction with the wall. As of this morning the tents had not arrived, and things seem temporarily quiet. One other story from Attyia: Someone told me that the school need 36 textbooks which are coming from somewhere in the south but they have no way of transporting that many books across the borders and checkpoints. As of when I was told this (a day or two ago) they had only been successful in transporting six books: by donkey! Tuesday, January 14, 2003 Decided to go to Qualqilya to see the part of the wall that is already constructed, and try to get back to Ras Attiya. As we were headed to the taxi lot, we heard that there had been a house blown up a few blocks from the ISM apartment. We walked over to see the damage and try to find out what happened. In fairness I need to say that all the information I have at this point is from the people in the neighborhood. From talking to ISM coordinators, the sense is that, except for some possible exaggeration of numbers, and sometimes some confusion distinguishing between soldiers, security personnel, and police, the experience is that the locals are pretty accurate, and are forthcoming about the backgrounds of people they talk about. I offer those observations only because we do not have independent confirmation of all the facts regarding what has been going on for the last three days in Tulkarem. Having said that, I can pretty much attest to the major facts (which have been observed first-hand by one or more of us) and the probable accuracy of some of the peripheral information. Apparently around 2:00 a.m. Monday morning a large number of soldiers (some say as many as 100, with numerous jeeps, a tank and three APC's entered Tulkarem and headed to this house, which stood at the end of a block of typically connected Arabic homes. There were five people (a couple and their three children) living on the lower level of the house, with the offices of the local Ministry of Culture Office upstairs. The inhabitants were ordered, by mobile loudspeaker, to evacuate the house immediately, without taking anything with them (I spoke, through interpreters, to the father of the house who said that he was not even given time to put on his shoes), they were moved from the house and it was blown up with dynamite. At least one care that we saw was crushed in the rubble of the house, windows in nearby houses were blown out, but remarkably, given the total destruction of this building, there seemed to be minimal damage to the house attached to the rear of the structure. Although a moderate-sized earth mover had been working for some time at removing the major rubble, remnants of the family's personal goods, furniture, and appliances were easy to identify among the debris. Once the house was demolished, the family's 20 year old son was taken into custody, without any specific charges. People we spoke to were adamant about his not being part of any terrorist groups or activity, saying that he was your typical Palestinian young man, who worked at odd jobs when he could get them, trying to make some money for the family. Sometime after the demolition and arrest (after 3:00 a.m.) the army moved out and, according to those who were there, shot tear gas behind them and announced that this "was a message for all of you in this city." Again, I don't want to suggest that there aren't things we haven't learned yet. But most of the story seems confirmed, and one of the ISM coordinators says that in the past the locals have been very forthcoming about who was and wasn't involved in unsavory activities. My gut says that what we have been told is basically the story as far as we know it. [Once again, as I am typing this in the ISM apartment, I can hear gunfire, happily this time at some distance.] Once we left the site of the demolition I took off with Douad for Qualqilya. [Douad is a, to say the least, interesting character. He is an English Muslim, from (the other) Cambridge, who left England when he was 13 to live in the Sudan. He has lived in a variety of Arab countries, came to Palestine to be near Al Quds (Jerusalem) and the Dome of the Rock, somehow got to Jaiyus and stayed there. Originally he was ISM's contact with Jaiyus, but they obviously had some mutual problems and now he acts as Jaiyus' contact with ISM. From what I was told when I was n Jaiyus, Douad is more Muslim than the Muslims in the village, and they have taken him in, but perceive him as the village eccentric. My only discomfort with him came when we were walking the long walk at the Jebara roadblock, and he casually informed me that he is connected to the "socil/political arm of Hamas," spontaneously reassuring me that this had nothing to do with the military wing (the terrorists) but the part of Hamas that supports and funds social services throughout the territories. More about this at another time, but I must admit that I wasn't totally devastated when we parted!] I was happy to have someone to travel with, even though it would be only part of the way. I haven't the energy to write about the trip in detail, and I'm sure many of you don't want to hear about another trip like that. Suffice it to say that it took four taxis, one very long walk and two shorter ones, at least one lengthy interrogation by soldiers, and a bit of shekels to go from Tulkarem to Jebara to Azun to Jaiyus to finally get to Qualqilya. (As we passed through Jaiyus Douad pointed out a huge garbage dump which he says is on land that the Israeli's expropriated from Jaiyus and now charge the Palestinians to dump their garbage there! He also claims that there is low-grade radioactive waste underneath and there has been a significant rise in cancer and birth defects in the area. I have made a note to check this out when I speak to some of the medical people I'm going to see in the next week or so.) Qualqilya is probably the nicest, quietest, and most modern of the cities I've seen in the Northern West Bank (e.g., Nablus, Jenin, and Tulkarem). The approach we came in on is actually attractive, and the downtown area, while not as large and open as Nablus, seems more vibrant and sophisticated. It also seems to be the least damaged by Israeli incursions, although the ever-present signs of tank travel (broken curbs, damage to shops, etc.) are indisputably there. There is also a significant amount of Hebrew on the signage, attesting to the fact that Qualqilya's location right on the green line gives it a history of much interaction with Israeli's in the past. I have no real way of knowing if Qualqilya's economic situation is better than elsewhere for the time being,and therefore the relative quiet, but it seemed to me that might be the case. Life in The Ghetto. The tragedy of this city is that the wall is going to come right across the green the line and form a circle around the entire city (in some places right behind people's houses), [There is more gunfire going off] The result will be what the people in Qualqilya regularly refer to as the shape of "a bottle," with the neck being the one outlet: a single road (which will, of course be controlled by the Israelis) leading off to the west, into the West Bank. It means that, once again, there will not be access to the bulk of Qualqilya's farmland, and for all intents and purposes (I cannot be adamant enough about how reluctantly I use this word) Qualqilya will become a giant ghetto, with the population trapped within the walls, and the ability to move in and out controlled by someone else. The dissonances here are amazing and sometimes surreal. When I finally arrive at the Red Crescent offices in Qualqilya I am told that Roman (the Russian-American Jew from Medford) that I wanted to connect with here, has gone to Nablus and will return in an hour or so. I am brought to a small reception office where eight or nine people, only one of whom wpeaks any English, are sitting, walking around, drinking tea and (of course) smoking. I figure out that this is, in part, a dispatch room, with connections to the various ambulances and people out in the field. Suddenly, from the window behind me, I hear the slightly disembodied music that one expects to hear from a soft ice-cream truck in the USA. The music is loud, draws my attention (but, apparently, no one else's), and it is definitely "This Old Man" as in "This old man, he plays one, he plays knick-knack on his thumb, with a knick-knack paddy-whack, give the dog a bone, this old man, he plays one." Only later, when I've heard this maddening cacophony a number of times, do I find out that it comes from a wagon going through the streets announcing that it has canisters of home gas to sell. Roman arrives and we walk next door to a tiny emergency hospital. They care for local emergencies and follow-up, with a small lab, surgery capabilities, post-op, etc. They have a small pharmacy, but they cannot always give people medicine because they don't have the money. We go back where Roman introduces me to Dr. Salaeh Abu-Reehan, the head of the Red Crescent Association in the Qualqilya district. We sit in his office for some time as he lectures on the needs of the Red Crescent and the evils of both Israel and the U.S. Some of the "conversation:" The Red Crescent need"disposables" for ambulances. (As we talk he takes out lists of things they need.) He shows us the paperwork for a woman with a heart problem who can't afford the medications she needs, and there is no one to donate them. He talks about different organizations that have helped obtain medicines and other supplies, and the agencies that help facilitate getting them. If the United States attacks Iraq Israel will close all the cities in Palestine, so they have to have adequate stores of medicines and supplies. They have limited sources of donations, and they will not take anything from some sources. (The mafia has tried to donate money in order to use the Red Crescent for "cleaning the money" (money laundering!). The Red Crescent cooperates with all other medical operations, although they can't do planning or budgeting with groups like the Palestinian Medical Relief Committees, because they are political and the Red Crescent must remain a-political. I ask what kind of political connections the PMRC have, and he tells me Communist. I have since confirmed that PMRC is, in fact loosely connected to Communist parties, but that, of course means very different things here than it does in the U.S. [Midnight: A few spurts of rifle fire, much closer to us.] Later a table is set up in a waiting area and we have something to eat while the TV is on, mattresses are eventually laid out for two of the overnight ambulance drivers, one of whom goes through an elaborate water pipe ritual involving burning chunks of apple and molasses flavored tobacco. When a friend from the U.S. calls me a while later I'm moved to look at what is going on: I am sitting in the offices of the Qualqilya district Red Crescent, in the West Bank, watching "Madonna: Innocence Lost!!!!!" on cable TV. The dissonances here are deafening. Tuesday, January 14, 2003 In the morning I want to see the wall, but, instead we visit Marwan ?, who coordinates the work of all the NGO's (Non-governmental Organizations) in the Qualqilya district. Basically an association of association and organizations. He shares more stories of the difficulties facing the organizations trying to provide services under occupation and in the virtual absence of the Palestinian Authority (PA). He talks about the people dying and giving birth at the checkpoints his own son could not get to Jerusalem for an MRI and he, himself, has heart disease, should be using librator, but can't get it here. H particularly stresses the burden on education and schooling. Curfews close the schools regularly (but, he points out, during a 14-day school vacation there was no curfew. Marwan is an impressive man who seems to care deeply and is struggling to coordinate services in a Kafka-esque gulag. Next we stop at a military hospital, run by the PA. It has three doctors (two general, one pediatrician) who service only military and police personnel and their families. This is a bizarre concept because, since the Intifada and the re-imposition of occupation, there are no identifiable military or police personnel. Roman says that we have heard in the U.S. that Arafat has put away millions of dollars for himself. If he has all this money, why don't the hospitals have medicines. The director says that he does not believe that any man would keep that kind of money and let his people suffer. We move on to Al Quds Open University, where we meet with the head of the Qualqilya site. Al Quds was first opened in 1992 as a response to the difficulty that university students had in getting to traditional schools because of the travel problems and closings. The idea was to bring university education to students since it was more and more difficult to get the students to the university. The school in Qualqilya opened in 1999 with 100 students. Through "unplanned expansion," there are now 1,020 students with 20 full time and 40 part time faculty. They offer a variety of degrees in four major areas: computers, management, social studies, and the largest department, education. The director is very proud of the fact that they have students from all strata of Palestinian society, all ages, and probably more than half women. They strive to make this a university that meets the needs of their students so, for instance, whereas students in traditional schools have up to six years to complete a four-year bachelor's degree, at Al Quds there is a maximum of 12 (to allow especially for those who work or have other obligations). There are now 18 branches in he system, with 30,000 students. We are told that the Israelis cannot stop these students from getting an education, "they insist to study!" His message sounds authentic as we walk through the three floors of the university: the energy is palpable. This conversation, like most in Palestine, turns to politics. "We don't need to fight them [the Israelis]," the director tells us, "We just need our freedom. There is no choice we will not leave, they will not kill our will. We are not like our grandfathers, we will not be chased away again. We insist on surviving they can destroy our homes, they can steal our land, they cannot kill our minds. We will survive because we have no choice." Finally he asks us to deliver "my message when you go back: We are people, we are human beings." One of the students walks us back to the Red Crescent where nothing seems to be happening. As much as I want to see the wall, I am becoming impatient with Abu Raheem I want to be using my time to the fullest. I call Radhika, who I believe to be in Ras Attiya, but it turns out that she is right here in Qualqilya, at the Glow Internet Café. I take my things and walk to meet her and Patrick, who take me to the really nice ISM apartment. (Next time around that's where I want to be, regardless of what is going on!) It turns out that Radhika and David (from New York) is going on to Jaiyus, and Patrick is headed back to Tulkarem before he leaves the country. They tell me that it is almost impossible to get around most of the Qualqilya district, including Ras Attiya, and I decide to go back to Tulkarem with Patrick. On our way out of Qualqilya we stop at an old café for some tea. The owner sits with us, telling us some of the history of the place, which goes back to 1920. He lived in Chicago for seven years in the 1980's, but he hated America ("They kill people for no reason in America," he tells us. "At least here we kill for a purpose.") As we talk, he shares that his 27 year old son was arrested (they don't know why, this was the first time he had any trouble) and is now under "administrative detention." This is an category that exists outside of the normal legal system (but is, amazingly, legal according to international law) and allows the military to detain someone for up to six months without having to file charges or allow any of the usual defendant's rights (like access to a lawyer). At the end of the six months the detention can be renewed simply on the order of a single officer, Major-General or above, and these extensions have no limit! "We call him two or three times a week and ask how he is. He says he's OK, but we know he lies. How can things be OK in that prison. And if they are OK for him, they are not OK for his mother. Or his father." We have finished our tea and he tells us that he must go to pray the afternoon prayers. We gather our things and ask how much for the tea. Nothing, he says. We urge him to take some money but he refuses, saying "the first time is free, so you will come back! We tell him it is not necessary, but know that he will not take our money. "Next time," he promises, "I will charge you double!" I ask him if he would mind having his picture taken, that I am trying to take pictures of all the nice people I meet here and he is a very nice person. He shrugs humbly and answers "why not?" When we are in the taxi going out of Qualqilya Patrick acknowledges that he has found a situation where his (quite proficient) Arabic has failed him. "What's the proper response," he asks, "when someone's just told you their son is in prison, we don't know why, when he'll be out, or when we will see him again." A Difficult Acknowledgement. This is hard to write. I love the Palestinian people, their hospitality, their persistence. And I find great energy in the work that is being done here. But truth be told, I hate it here in Palestine. It is far worse here than it was the last time I was here. I hate the time that is eaten up and lost forever just trying to get from place to place. I hate the horrible roads that we have to travel. I hate the constant humiliation of the checkpoints, and watching the faces of the people who wait while I go through. I hate the tanks, and the jeeps, and the APC's. I hate the fact that every aspect of Palestinian life is framed by the ability to move about, and the confines of the places left to them. And I hate the realities of the hunger, humiliation, and injustice that is the Occupation. Two things that frame my relationship to these people, one which almost all of us internationals share, the other which is specific to the relatively small group of us that are Jewish. I've had a strange response to the sense of accomplishment that many of the internationals feel. Heaven forbid that I in any way demean what we are doing here. It is important, and we need to consider how we can bring many more people here to stand in solidarity with the Palestinian people. And we need to build small, temporary victories into truly meaningful systemic change. But I think that the need we internationals have to feel that what we do is important is so strong, that we sometimes forget two things: that these are only tiny victories, and, most importantly, we all get to go home. I wonder if we give enough thought about what we are leaving behind for the people who have no choice but to go on living here. Only those who have the ability to stay here long-term can relate differently. Would I stay if I could? I'm not sure, but probably not. Hard as it is to admit, and in all seriousness, I'm not as young as I used to be: my capabilities are limited, and I'm not sure I have what is most needed here. But all that aside, the reality is . . . . . . that there is another piece that is even more difficult for me. As much as I have come to care about these people, in the final analysis, they are not my people, only my deeply valued cousins. I have no choice but to return to the other side of the real and metaphorical green lines. I am painfully aware this week of the relief I feel crossing back into Israel. I am glad that travel is easy and the challenges are limited to language barriers and how much a bus ticket or sherut (taxi) fare is. I am glad that I have so many more options of where to buy things, what to eat, where to find an inexpensive place to stay with a bed and clean sheets. I'm ashamed at how difficult it is to be without these things, but I am also furious that being Palestinian means being without these choices, and that supporting Palestinians requires me to be without them also. In many ways this trip is an extension of my last trip here a year and a half ago, and in some ways, since I am different, this trip is different. I am, somehow, less romantic about what supporting the Palestinian cause is about. And I am afraid of the possibility that a realistic view of the situation will lead to a sense of cynicism and, ultimately despair. But I am committed to not allowing that to happen. In the next couple of days I will cross the green line and rejoin the people with whom I feel most comfortable and among whom I have come to feel most uncomfortable. It's clear that my work is on both sides of the line, but mostly there. May it be God's will that green lines disappear, that cousins need not feel guilt about their families, that there be no contradiction in our reveling in our differences while sharing unhesitatingly our common roots. 6)Saturday, January 11, 2003 Martin R Federman Journal 04 Saturday (Shabbat) was quiet: stayed in Jerusalem, roamed the Old City, gave time to my thoughts. Was in contact Saturday evening with ISM folk about how to re-connect with the Tulkarem group, which was actually back in Ras Attiya. Connected with Marcey Gayer, a New Yorker who moved to Tel Aviv 25 years ago, then moved back to New York about seven years ago to care for her mother. She has two grown daughters living in Tel Aviv and, while Marcey is an unreconstructed 60's radical, her children are committed second-generation Israeli yuppies. Anyway, Marcey is leaving in the next couple of days and wanted to go to Jenin to see some people and take photos andthen hook up before she left with the Tulkarem folks. That sounded OK to me since it would give me a chance to see Jenin and have someone who knows her way around to travel with. Sunday, January 12, 2003 I was up Sunday morning at 4:30 a.m. in order to get a taxi to the Central Bus Station in Jerusalem, catch the 5:50 a.m. bus to the Tel Aviv Central Bus Station, and meet Marcey. [The Tel Aviv Station is quite something seven levels of buses with buses going in and out all over. The terminal is much larger than Ben Gurian Airport, and rivals the Port Authority in New York.] Our plan: go the an Israeli-Arab town Um al Fahd which is right on the green line, cross to the other side and get a taxi to the checkpoint at Jenin where we were to meet a Palestinian contact of Marcey's who would take us into and around Jenin. The fun began as soon as we got on the bus. The bus driver and a few of the people around us were immediately "interested" in why two Americans were taking a bus to Um al Fahd. We ignored the looks, took seats in the front, and began the trip. We picked up passengers, almost all of whom were well-armed soldiers. I know that should have made me feel very secure, but . . . At one point a young man (perhaps early twenties) got on and stood in the front steps well, right in front of us. He began talking to us and he, too, wanted to know why we were going to Um Al Fahd and then Jenin. When Marcey told him we were human rights workers he sneered and said "oh, don't you know, they're not human." At the Um al Fahd bus stop there was a nice roadside café and we stopped to get a bite, use the toilets, and get information about how best to get to Jenin. The owner of the café led us to a corner table, suggested we not talk quite as openly, and told us to wait a little while and he would take us to the border. By this time we had heard that there had been some disturbances in Jenin and it was closed. Marcey called her contact (which was quite an ordeal since neither of our phones spoke to his!) who told us that he, as a Palestinian, would absolutely not be able to get in (even though he works there) but he had contacted a doctor friend who would send a Red Crescent Mobile Clinic Van to meet us and we would probably be able to get in. We decided to try, and after a significant drive (for which the café owner would not take any payment: "You're thanks are payment enough" he told us in Hebrew), we were as close to the crossing as he could get us. By the time he drove away we had already ascertained that the way we had intended to go was blocked, and only after a number of other calls did we decide to redirect to a small town called T'aibe where our van would, hopefully, be waiting. This only required our walking a few kilometers up the side of one large hill (small mountain?) and down the other into the valley where the town is. Finally we arrived at the crossing, and the van was, indeed, waiting for us with a lovely young man driving. The Palestinian Medical Relief Committees run clinics in different villages each day where a doctor, two nurses, and a whole lot of supplies go to the village and set up business. Our driver took us to a village (whose name I never got) where a mostly mother/child clinic was operating. We were to wait until all the patients were seen and then drive to Jenin with the medical team. Chairs were put out in a somewhat unkempt courtyard outside the clinic building, we were served coffee (and later tea), and we sat and talked with the men (some of them waiting husbands) that were around. Just some of the conversation: The economic conditions in the northern West Bank are abysmal not unlike the great depression in the 1930's. While we were there a farmer came by hawking oranges. He sells 10 kilos (that's about 22.something pounds?) for a few shekels (@ 5 shekels to the dollar), we were told but no one has a few shekels to buy them. One man we spoke to is a construction worker. He used to make NIS 180/day (NIS is New Israel Shekels) working in Tel Aviv. Now, if he can sneak in to Israel he may make NIS 120. The catch is, - if he's caught he's sent back; - caught a second time he's sent back, almost always with a beating; - the third time he's detained for two weeks and fined NIS 1,000 - and if he's caught again within the next two years he's jailed for six months and fined NIS 5,000 So, the other option is, if there is work in T'aibe, he can make NIS 20/day. An "older" man (maybe 35) noted the younger men sitting around smoking. That's all they have to do, he told us, so they begin to get involved in the religious movements, which seem to give some meaning to their lives. As the boredom and frustrations build they begin to feel that "this life is nothing but illusion" so why not shed it for the promise of paradise. We were taken into a back room where small bags of food are stored. Families who need help can get a ration that consists of a few cans of beans, a little flour, and a bag (maybe five pounds) of rice. These rations are generally available every four months or so. The other part of the story is the children the remarkably happy little children, who, in a short time will begin to exhibit all the mental health symptoms that are so endemic to this place. Finally the clinic is closed and we are led inside where a feast of humus, felafel, fresh vegetables, three kinds of flat bread, dips, sauces and . . . are laid out for us. We eat, talk to the doctor and nurses, and finally are on our way to Jenin. Not long into the trip we meet two Israeli APC's. Our driver stops, takes everyone's ID cards and passports and walks the 100 meters or so to the soldiers, who have us all get out of the van, which is searched as we are questioned. Finally we are allowed to continue. A while later, at a muddy crossroads, we are again stopped, this time by a tank (with cannon fixed on us) and soldiers with guns aimed at us. They push us back, won't let us pass. At this confrontation I'm actually frightened. Marcey & I join the driver, who is talking to the soldiers, and speak to them in Hebrew. After a while they agree to let us pass, but we must wait, we're not exactly sure why. (Don't forget that the doctor, three nurses, and the driver all live in Jenin.) While we wait, locals that are trying to get home are turned away. One elderly man is told he can't go on because "even if we let you pass, the soldiers up ahead might shoot you." So, for his protection he won't be let through. At last another APC and a jeep arrive and want to know what's going on. The soldiers in the tank have all our papers. After some further conversation between the soldiers, our id's are returned, we are told that we can go on, and we begin our final approach to Jenin. As we drive I notice that there is a considerable amount of Hebrew on the stores and buildings, and I'm told that this was once an area that many Israelis used come back and forth to, mostly to buy local products (carpentry, ceramics, building supplies, etc.). It's obvious as we approach Jenin that parts of the city must once have been quite beautiful. We enter by a wide divided kind of boulevard later we will find out that most of the municipal buildings were on this road but they were all destroyed by the Israeli military. The road itself, and the area around it, was clearly a showplace at one time, but now it shows only the effects of neglect and the indifference of tanks. We are taken through part of the city of Jenin, at first I'm not sure if this is the refugee camp I will learn soon to distinguish the two. It is now fully nine hours since I left Jerusalem this morning. We're taken to the offices of the Palestinian Medical Relief Committee, (PMRC) and introduced to our host, Dr. Jamil Khanis Al- Hamad, a refined, quiet man who directs the PMRC in the Jenin district. After taking care of my foot, and some more tea, our driver takes us to the camp which we can easily identify when we are there. During the Israeli action in the spring of 2001 400 homes were completely demolished and another 600, while left standing, were left uninhabitable. As you go through the streets you can still see the vast open spaces, now covered with rocks and stones, where building used to stand, as well as the clear effects of both house to house fighting and aerial attack. That's one of the things that is most striking the military said that house-to-house casualties were a result of the decision to not use a lot of aerial fire, but, even in the city, the signs of the air attack are everywhere. There is little disagreement, even among Palestinians I talked to, that Jenin, especially the refugee camp, is a center of a certain amount of armed resistance. I won't argue the validity of Palestinian armed resistance in general, nor would I deny Israel's right to go after the perpetrators of terrorism if the Palestinian Authority can't do it (and I won't even raise here the question of whether Israel itself has made the PA's ability to function non-existent). It is, none-the-less, almost impossible for me to see any justification for the level of destruction in Jenin. Given the number of houses destroyed, the destruction of public buildings in Jenin City, the way in which streets, utilities, and buildings were damaged by the tank assaults, one can only deduce that there was much more than rooting out terrorists in the goals of this operation. And, given the reality that there is no one to offer any compensation or support for rebuilding, an action of this nature can only be perceived as a way to punish an entire population by making life miserable for them. As I drive around Jenin I cannot help but wonder who these people are that make the decisions that lead to such horrible consequences for human beings. (Later Dr. Hamad will tell us that after the siege Israeli military maps were found which have the area targeted outlined in red. This would not be so noteworthy but for the fact that the maps were dated 1997.) One jarring aspect of our tour of the refugee camp is that the children are not as friendly as the children in other places. At one point as we are walking a large crowd of kids gather around us. This, in and of itself, is not unusual, nor is their obsession with having us take their pictures. But there is an aggressiveness to these children I haven't seen before. One kid wields a frighteningly realistic-looking toy pistol, which he keeps jabbing in my face and in front of the camera; another grabs my camera lens, while others are trying to unhook my cell phone and get into my waist pack: one does manage to almost liberate my handkerchief from a back pocket. And, for the first time since I've been here, children ask us for money, becoming belligerent when we don't respond. Our driver helps push them back and get us into the van, and, as we drive away, some of them are shouting things that, despite my complete lack of facility with Arabic, I imagine I understand. After our tour we are brought to a beautiful new combination apartment house, residential hotel. The idea was for tourists and businessmen to have a comfortable place to stay for a while. Of course no one comes to Jenin for enjoyment or business any more, so the building in mostly empty. A friend of Dr. Hamad's owns it and he has arranged for us to stay in one of the apartments for the night. We are ushered into two-bedroom flat with an efficiency kitchen, and a small sitting area with sofa, table and chairs, and a high-tech TV with cable! Although we plead stuffidness, Dr. Hamad insists on sending our driver out for some pita, cheese, and fruit, while he prepares tea for us. We sit for some hours talking with Dr. Hamad. He tells us about his work with the Relief Committees and then we ask him about the situation in and around Jenin. He professes not to be a politician and, therefore, hesitant to comment, but he is almost eloquent in his quiet, but obviously passionate beliefs. He speaks of the need for peace and the fact that the Palestinians don't really wish ill towards the Israelis, they just want to be left alone to live their lives. But he acknowledges that some of the suicide bombers have come from Jenin, and that the resistance is very strong here. He also talks about the condition Palestinian men find themselves in, without jobs, income, or ways of supporting themselves and their families. As economic and living conditions decline, despair soars, people value life less and are more ready to fight and even die. This, of course, is not the first time we have heard this, but here Dr. Hamad adds an observation that is startling in its honesty and revealing in what it says about the depth of feelings here. He tells us that he makes a very good living by Palestinian standards, able to have nice clothes, a very nice car, a good place for his family to live but, he says, "I don't know, if I were to lose these things, how far I would be from that point of despair." O