Borders

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July 12, West Jerusalem

It is hard to write about experiences that are even 2 weeks old. Such was the busy schedule, the fatigue and the stress, that I never thought of taking notes at the end of each night.

Today is my first day that is free of scheduled activities or travels in two weeks. It wasn’t even planned that way. I was supposed to meet with leftist Diaspora Zionist organization leaders and non-violent Palestinian protest organizations at an unfinished portion of the Security Barrier, all courtesy of a friend from the New Israel Fund. At 745 am, after an Aroma breakfast, I began my walk up Emek Refaim in the wealthy (and decidedly American) Jerusalem German Colony to meet the group. My stroll was interrupted by terrible stomach cramps, which forced an urgent diversion to an unfortunate café. Tense and exciting travel in the West Bank amongst exotic foods and strange coffees had finally encouraged my stomach to move into open revolt. I missed the group bus. But if you’re ever in West Jerusalem, I can safely recommend Café Be’Gina (“Café in the Garden”, which it literally is) on Beit Lehem Street to while away a slow day.

June 28, JFK New York (Birthright)

The airport was hectic. I was nervous, despite what I told myself, of embarking on such a new experience. Every third person I bumped into was also doing Birthright, except not my Birthright - Ma’ayanot, Kesher, whatever. Either way, we were all lost in a thick sea of people and luggage. Complicating matters, our group name consisted of four or five parts: “Pioneers & Heroes; Amazing Israel 59; Bus RT 22-400; Routes Travel.” I discovered my overwhelmed-looking co-madrichah (councilor), Sheri, with seven or eight of our participants in one corner. I subsequently discovered that beleaguered airport staff had stashed ten more of them in another corner. The next two hours consisted of fishing each student out of the crowd and then releasing them back into the stream with nametags and relevant information. A few panicky mothers (and it was only mothers) peppered us with questions, most of which we were ill-prepared to answer: “when you go hiking, will there be water on the trail?” Having something to do, namely corralling, put my mind at ease. The last person to arrive was listed as Rembrandt, the iconic 17th century Dutch artist. “Remmy” was an energetic half-mexican, half-Dutch Jewish fashion designer currently focused on ladies underwear. He’d gotten the departure date wrong and had to pack in the car while his mother rushed him to the airport. Yes, we needed a Remmy on this trip.

In Israel, our first stop was Shefayim, a kibbutz about halfway between Tel Aviv and Netanya on the Mediterranean coast. Our staff leader was Jeremy, an English ex-pat, and a bit of a hippie. We hastily threw together a few icebreakers. The last of these involved dividing the forty students into twenty pairs. The purpose was to create a count-off more interesting than the usual “1, 2, 3, 4…40”. When you have large groups of young people, many of whom are liable to become distracted and wander off alone, you need a system to quickly ensure you have everyone accounted for. Jeremy had each pair create matching words, like “ice” and “cream”. Characteristically, Remmy was first and he created the bizarre “Wacka” and “Flacka” words for himself and his partner. From then on, Jeremy would kick off each count-off parade by yelling (insert English accent here) “Wack it off!” We repeated the ritual 3 or 4 times a day between our programming activities. The one time we didn’t use it, we left one behind at the Western Wall.

June 29, Tel Aviv-Yafo (Birthright)

Today the lefty Zionist-hippieness of Jeremy shone in full. We were treated to a walk up the hills of Arab Jaffa overlooking Tel Aviv. This was the first new city of Hebrews in millennia, he explained - Hebrews, as in Hebrew culture, Hebrew language. Not so much Jewish religion. We finished the day at Independence Hall. We listened to Ben Gurion declare independence, heard the stories about Egyptian bombing and frantic fighting, and then sang Hatikvah (the Israeli national anthem). The romantic fight against all odds. But our group was bored and disengaged. We might as well have been listening to Canadian history. Already 1948 is a bygone era for this American generation, a quaint history.

It’s funny - like the students on the trip, I connected better with Jerusalem on my first Birthright trip five years ago. Tel Aviv felt like just another city, while Jerusalem was holy. But this time for me, Israel is more than just holy. It’s political, it’s multi-faceted and its Tel Aviv is secular, leftist, cool, intellectual, laid-back, modern and free. But for Birthrighters, Tel Aviv, at least at first, can be just another bar and just another beach.

July 14, Qalandiya Checkpoint

An older woman is speaking in Arabic. I don’t understand. I realize she wants me to get off the bus. “No, no, I don’t need to,” I say, holding up my American passport. She nods and follows the rest out the door to walk through the Israeli checkpoint. Barbed wire fences, concrete walls and guard towers lie to my left and right. The laneways and booths ahead remind me of a border crossing but which border is this? Ramallah is behind. East Jerusalem is ahead. An Israeli flag flutters in the wind. On the bus with me remain a few women with children and a few old men. Dramatic large graphic portraits of Yasser Arafat and Marwan Barghouti are painted onto the Palestinian side of the Security Barrier wall. The bus creeps forward in the queue. Two soldiers board and start looking at ID’s. They are polite. Being an ‘International’ with an Israeli Visa stamp I have the right to travel freely between Israel and the Palestinian territories. The soldiers finish their checks, exit the bus, look in the trunk, and let us through.

Barbed wire gives way again to Arabic signs and stores. This is the “seam zone”, the term Israelis use to describe the area between the Security Barrier and the Green Line (the 1949 armistice ceasefire lines between Israel and Jordan). But the seam zone is also the suburbs of East Jerusalem, an area quietly annexed to Israeli West Jerusalem in 1967 by redrawing the city’s municipal boundaries. The bus lets off at the typically chaotic Arab terminal near Damascus Gate. Fellow travelers scatter into the crowd.

I walk down Nablus Road, towards Damascus Gate, entrance to the Muslim Quarter of the Old City. This is backward. As a 19 year old on my last trip to Israel, I never set foot in the Muslim Quarter; though “it was probably safe” I would say hesitantly. But that was it - Damascus Gate was the symbol of the final eastern frontier into the violent and scary Arab hinterland (this being 2005, when the Second Intifada, the bloody Palestinian uprising, still smoldered). So my first time through the Gate is ironically from that hinterland, from the East. The Arab souq (market) is remarkably clean and calm compared to claustrophobic Nablus or bustling Ramallah. It’s also well-sprinkled with foreigners and Israeli Jews. I let the streets carry me left and then down towards the Temple Mount. Arab shopkeepers sit and chat idly. The sun is low in the sky but the stones are still warm. I smile. The security gates interrupt my reverie briefly. I turn the corner - Haredi and American Orthodox Jews bustle by while a squad of soldiers listens to a lecture by their commander. I look up - the Wall is still there. I exit the square on the Jewish side, getting lost in the alleys. In this way I wander through the Christian Armenian Quarter for the first time on quiet streets, past charming restaurants and ancient monasteries. I cross Jaffa Gate, leaving the Old City behind and entering West Jerusalem, finally back over the Green Line. The hijab and, to a lesser extent, the kippah are now in the minority. From Palestine to Israel. Where does one end and the other begin?

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Comments

[Jason Hirsch]

Asher - glad I stumbled across this. Great read so far... looking forward to more. J