The Embroidery Is Here!

Remember Najla, the Orthodox Christian Palestinian lady from Bethlehem who hosted me during my trip?  She used to be a tour guide until the "security barrier" went up, but lost her position because she can't get through the wall on a dependable basis to work.  Instead, she and her daughter and several other ladies support themselves in part by doing embroidery.  The finished works are sent to the market for sale to the tourists, which means she generally has to share the proceeds of her work with someone who has better access to Jerusalem; but she is happy to do special orders and is completely capable of shipping her work to the US or wherever else it is requested.  She even takes checks!

While we were visiting, I noticed a beautiful wall hanging in red with Arabic script.  Najla explained that it was the Lord's Prayer in Arabic, and I thought it would be the perfect thing to bring back to my church as a reminder of the Palestinians and their tragic situation.  However, my roommate thought the same thing and was a bit faster than me, which means that red banner is now hanging in her church.  Still, Najla was happy to make another especially for me, and gave me the opportunity to request mine in blue.

While I was at it, I also requested a "pencil case" which is perfect for holding my sunglasses, and a few other things.  Her work is just beautiful, as you can see; and given that Najla is a grandmother, I can't help but be impressed that she has the eyesight to do this tiny, perfect kind of work.  The designs are of a traditional style, but the individual patterns come from her own creativity.

After we left Najla's home, I had the inspiration to e-mail her with a request for a liturgical stole.  I'd been thinking I wanted to bring one home from Jerusalem or Bethlehem, but never quite saw the right one in the shops.  I told Najla I wanted it in green (the longest season on the liturgical calendar) so I could wear it for as long as possible.  Beyond that, I left the design completely up to her.  She wrote back to say she'd go buy the fabric in the morning, and the price would be the same as the (much simpler) stoles available in the markets.

Last Friday, I received the package in the mail - less than 3 weeks after I mailed her my personal check.  I received all the items I requested, plus a few other small items that she threw in as a gift.  They are all beautiful!

As I said, Najla is trying to support herself and her family with this work.  Her household includes her husband (retired), her mother in law (disabled), and a steady stream of visiting grandchildren (adorable).  Given her situation, patronizing her embroidery business would seem to me to be the ultimate "fair trade" shopping.  If you'd like her contact information, just send me a comment.

Update: Sheikh Jarrah and the Palestinian/Zionist land dispute

Those of you who were interested in the confrontation we witnessed on January 23rd between the Israelis and Arabs in Jerusalem may also find this news report of interest.  This is the house we visited on that day.

Reflecting

I've given myself almost two weeks to contemplate and try to develop a coherent reaction to this recent adventure.  I've had many chats with friends at church and school and in the work environment, all of whom want to know more about it.  Processing the photos from the trip has given me a chance to review the events day by day, and I find myself being reminded of little things that I'd already started to let slip away.

I've explained over and over again to friends and family that I never felt in danger, was never particularly concerned for my own well being during the rising unrest in Egypt.  The people of Israel and Palestine seem to have a pragmatic approach to such things; on several occasions people casually remarked to me that with the current military technology, there was no place in Israel which was not within rocket range of the border.  The automatic weapons being toted around by innocent-looking young women and men are ready evidence that Israel fully expects danger to continue on a regular basis, and has determined to deal with it as it comes.  Going through airport security on my way home was another reminder of the routine vigilance of life as an Israeli, where security questions could range from the name of your yeshiva to the ethnic origin of an unfamiliar name to the name of the store where a piece of luggage had been purchased.

In the US, complaining about the TSA has become something of a game, with each person trying to top the last with quips about Thousands Standing Around and so on.  In Israel, I had the unpleasant sensation that saying the wrong thing could easily cost me a missed flight and an uncomfortable questioning session.  Even prior, one of our local hosts mentioned that Israel's internal security included secret interrogation facilities and a McCarthy-esque tendency towards keeping lists of potential dissidents.  I was reminded of the movie Tea with Mussolini, where one of the English ex-patriot ladies remarks how well-kept and orderly things had become in Italy after the brown shirts had taken over.  What price for security, and who gets to decide it?

At the same time, I am entirely cognizant that I am thoroughly spoiled by a lifetime of relative security living in a country which is well-insulated from most of the world and enjoys the reputation of a powerful and trigger-happy military.  Even during my time in the military, I very seldom had any hint that I might actually have to fight for my country's safety.  The Israelis appear to believe firmly that their safety is never a given; from the pogroms to the holocaust to whatever might come next, theirs is a cultural belief that they are fated to continually fight for mere survival.  Israeli laws state that every home must have a bomb shelter, and that any steps taken for the good of national security are beyond question and exempt from compensation.

And what of the Palestinians?  They clearly are getting a raw deal at present.  Their lands and personal freedoms are being stripped away, they are being emotionally and economically crushed, and the world doesn't seem to care.  They enjoy an international reputation, skewed by partisan newspapers and politicians, of a heartless group of terrorists.  Admittedly, there is a certain number of such people in any crowd (including our own United States).  But the people I met were just trying to maintain their economic stability and enough peace and security to raise their families and find a modicum of comfort in their own homes.  Sacrificing their lands, their livelihoods, and their freedom for the benefit of their oppressors is a bitter pill to swallow.  They make me feel like a small child who points and yells, "That's not fair!"

I began this conversation by saying I had no solution for peace and was deeply concerned that such a solution might be impossible.  That opinion has not changed, although I can now put faces on the problem.  Perhaps humanizing the situation will help - giving you, gentle reader, the chance to see what I have seen and empathize for yourself with all sides.  To that end, I will post a comprehensive album of photographs within the next few days.  I also urge you to take the journey yourself if at all possible, and form your own opinions rather than relying on those of strangers.  One little girl mentioned that Americans almost never talk to the locals in Bethlehem, preferring instead to ride the bus to the Church of the Nativity, buy some olive wood souvenirs, and then take the bus straight back through the wall.  If you go, instead of just visiting the dead stones, I urge you to see the living situation for yourself.  Perhaps you are that brilliant person who can come up with the solution which has escaped me thus far.

Saturday & Sunday, January 29th & 30th - The Road Home

Our last day­­­ in Tel Aviv started with the (by now familiar) effort to pack and consolidate luggage, staged for a quick departure later in the day.  We were then off to a walking tour of Historic Neve Tzedek, led by a comic in a fez whose name sounded like “Iran” but was probably something like Aaron.  He had the gift of physical humor and had several memorable bits, which was probably just as well because the history of Tel Aviv is both brief and a bit pallid compared to some of the other sites we’ve seen in the last two weeks.  We also travelled at a trot to the meeting spot, then trotted along behind him, then limped our way to lunch spots (on our own), and then trotted to another meeting spot, and then trotted behind another guide through the edges of Jaffa.  By the time it was all over, we were footsore, sporting the odd blister, and perhaps not in our best humor.  I remain forever grateful that our bus was available to take us back to the hotel, instead of having to walk.  Several of the tour members have come up with a slogan for our trip:  “We ran where Jesus walked.”

As the sun set over the Mediterranean Sea, we sat in a circle on the beach for a “processing session.”  In other parts of the trip, these sessions had been a chance to vent and question and generally express our reactions to the trip.  This time, there was a clear sense of farewell; we seemed to be talking about everything in the past tense and were reaching for summaries.  Rabbi M lit a candle and sang the short service which bids farewell to the Sabbath and prays for a good incoming week.  We passed around a local orange, smelling the sweetness of life, then recognized the beauty of the light, and then (all according to custom) extinguished the candle into a cup of wine.  Shabbat was over, and the new week had officially begun.

After loading the bus with luggage one last time, we met for dinner at a restaurant off Rabin Square and dined on salmon and fresh pasta and some very good local wines.  We recognized our fabulous guide, Jared, and our masterful bus driver, Raji, with rounds of applause, and lots of paparazzi group shots were taken before we headed to the airport. 

Security took quite some time at Ben Guion Airport.  Bags must be x-rayed before they can be checked, and several of us were bounced out of the x-ray line for further pre-screening.  A young lady ahead of me in the “special check” line was having a difficulties, since between her hearing aids and her Romanian passport the security agents were having a hard time communicating with her.  Their pantomime skills were also a bit rusty, to the point where I stepped out of line and helped her move her luggage to the proper spot.  (This earned me another trip out of line, as the guard suddenly assumed I could communicate with her for them.  Not so much.)  When my turn came, it seems that my Goodwill-procured suitcase must have seemed out of the ordinary to them; they just asked me a few questions about where I got it and how long I’d owned it, and then released me to the next stop in the security maze.  Luggage check, passport check, security check . . . I never had to take off my shoes, and nobody cared about the 5 oz of hair product in my carry-on, but I was feeling quite secure by the time we finally got on the plane.  I shut my eyes in the Tel Aviv night, and opened them again in the New Jersey dawn.  Next stop, Chicago.

A security guard at one of the many checks asked my roommate why she had come to Israel?  “A school trip.”  He then asked her what she had learned?  After hesitation, the most honest answer she could muster was, “It’s complicated.”  (He smiled and let her through.) Meanwhile, I’ve received messages from family and friends urging me to let them know as soon as I’m home safely and warning me about unrest in Egypt, Lebanon, and Tunisia.  From outside, I can see why traveling in the Middle East would excite concern.  It’s a relatively small place, full of factions in extreme disagreement which are neither completely justified nor completely in the wrong.  Emotions quickly become explosive, and weapons (including weapons of mass destruction) are readily at hand.  Like Cathy said, it’s complicated.  And yet, the common refrain among our group is what we will do “when we come back.”  There is something about this land which calls to us; an incredible sense of history (much of which remains undiscovered), combined with unending hospitality and a compelling spirit.  I take a little bit of Israel and Palestine with me (even beyond my complimentary souvenir olive wood thimble-sized goblet, a gift from the tour company); I leave behind hopes and prayers and a deepened sense of the continual tragedy of neighbors who are both somewhat right and both somewhat wrong, living together in a time when none of us really knows which is which.

Friday, January 28th

Depart Tiberias
Teva Ivri and the Sakhnin Region Towns’ Association for Environmental Quality
Travel to Tel Aviv
Visit Independence Hall
Enjoy the Nahalat Benjamin pedestrian mall’s Crafts Fair, including lunch
Join Bet Tefila Yisraeli for Qabbalat Shabbat
Shabbat dinner at hotel with guests from Bet Tefila Yisraeli

The bad news was that we had to be up, dressed, packed, fed and on the bus early this morning - at a point in the trip when mornings are getting rougher and rougher.  The good news was that we had several hours on the bus to make up for lost sleep, as we left Tiberias and headed back towards the center of the country. (The other good news, for several of us, is that my precautionary bottle of Mucinex seems to be working.)

We stopped off at Teva Ivril for a presentation and tour of an environmental facility which is teaching classes (to both Jewish and Arab youth) and pioneering low-tech ways to purify water and walk gently on the planet.  Our host examined with us the concept of living not a life filled with "stuff" but a "worthy life" of service and community.  Their building was designed with a central courtyard to allow natural light into all rooms, and what appear to be glorified hood scoops to capture breezes up high, run them through a swamp cooler and then funnel them into the building for summer cooling.  Prisms embedded in several rooftops reflect light into work spaces to minimize the need for electrical lighting, and a small outdoor seating area tucked between the gardens and used for teaching and presentations was created from used auto tires and local plaster.  I was also offered a wonderful cup of herbal tea - but our host couldn't remember the English names of the herbs and with my sense of smell on strike with this cold, I'll just have to guess from the look of things that anise, mint, and lemon geranium were involved.

Driving on to Tel Aviv (more sleep time!), we disembarked at Liberty Hall and listened to a docent wax enthusiastic about the events surrounding Israel's May 14, 1948 declaration of independence.  The museum consists of a short movie and a presentation in the actual hall where the ceremony took place.  The movie featured sprightly music and a series of historical photos; at one point (as the happy, hopeful music continued), the announcer pointed out that many of the people shown in a particular photograph were exterminated by the Nazis shortly thereafter.  The docent's refrain was that Israelis "wanted to survive" and had been attacked time and time again.  She said that the war for independence may have ended in the 1940's, but that Israel had "never yet had real peace."

Later, we attended Shabbat services at a Humanist Jewish congregation in Tel Aviv, followed by Shabbat dinner at our hotel with some congregation members as guests.  One thing which had been frustrating me during our adventure had been the limited opportunities to talk to Arabs about their situation, and I jumped at the chance to share the dinner table already staked out by our heroic bus driver, Raji.  I learned that his son was getting ready to take college entrance exams, and hoped to study computer science.  Raji had been in middle management in Jerusalem in earlier years, but had to switch to driving a bus because it allowed him to better support his family.  I asked him if it was difficult to see all the things he did and to migrate between the Jewish world, the Arab world, and the world of self-entitlement inhabited by visitors like us?  He said that it was necessary in his position to "see without seeing."  Personally, he doesn't think there will ever be peace.  I also asked him if he had ever considered visiting the US?  He said he was only allowed to go to Israel, Palestine, Egypt and Jordan, and couldn't have gotten the necessary permissions to go anywhere else.  For someone like me, who craves travel and is only limited by the practicalities of time and money, it's an incredibly depressing through.

So, how do I reconcile this?  Freedom to go where I will and do what I want seems to be a very basic right; but I've talked to enough Jews here to know that the long history of Jewish persecution and attempted genocide weighs very heavily on their mind, and they feel besieged by the dark possibilities of an unknown future.  From the Palestinian side, Israel looks like an ugly bully; from the Israeli side, they are doing what they must to secure the very existence of their children.

Recently, Dr. T joked with someone that "At CTS, we do dilemmas."  Well, this one is a doozy.

Thursday, January 27th

Umm el-Fahm Art Gallery in the Israeli Arab/Palestinian Muslim city Umm el-Fahm

The Arabs of Israel: Israeli Palestinians, at Giv’at Haviva, Lydia Aisenberg

Life on the Border and Coping with Stress – How and why one does it , Chana Manne

 We began the morning with a trip to Umm el-Fahm, a town whose improbable name translates to “Mother of Charcoal.”  The village was originally surrounded by woods, and the residents did a tidy business for some time slowly turning hardwood into charcoal (which is a long, dirty job, in case you’ve never explored it).  Today it is a small city of hairpin turns and sharp changes in elevation where rug shops and clothing vendors alternate along the street with empty lots piled high with trash, and peopled mostly with Israeli Arabs.  The Umm el-Fahm Art Gallery is a two story space in one of the more modern buildings, and has plans for a large new $30M building as soon as they can find the funding.  Meanwhile, the top floor shows a variety of modern installations while the lower floor displays an amazing collection of photographs from the history of the area.  The museum is also working to photograph and do video interviews of all the local Arab elders, so that their stories are not lost.  Gallery Director Said Abu Shakra is passionate about his work, and speaks eloquently about the role of art in preserving the dreams of humankind, and proudly lists Yoko Ono among the artists whose work has been exhibited in the gallery.

We moved on to Giv'at Havia, an educational facility which works to promote equality and common understanding between Israeli Arabs and Jews.  Our guide for this segment was Lydia Aisenberg, a tiny formerly British woman who cheerfully overrode our schedule to take us on a physical inspection of the “green line” which divides Israel from the Occupied Territories.  She brought us to an overlook where the divide could be clearly seen, and then to a village which had been split in half by the line.  She also told us of an Arab man who had two wives (according to local custom) living on opposite sides of town.  When the green line was drawn, he had to decide which set of wife and children he would live with and which would be left on the opposite side of the border.  (The green line is not marked at this point, but there is a clear understanding of where it lies and those found on the “wrong” side face significant punishments.)

Our next segment had been planned as a presentation on being Muslim in Israel, but the presenter discovered he had been double-booked and our group received the welcome gift of some free time instead.  Many of us have acquired greater or lesser cases of a head cold, and I overheard Dr. T explaining to one of our group that we should have expected to have lessened resistance to Israeli viruses.  Between the cold medicines, the strained systems and the stress of this prolonged trip, it was probably just a matter of time before we started coming down with various ailments.  Still, we all dutifully trooped into the hotel’s meeting room for our last event of the day, a conversation with psychologist Chana Manne.

Ms. Manne is an Israeli born and bred, and draws a dramatic picture for us of the strains of living in a place where bomb shelters are part of almost every home and residents plan for the next missile attack even during times of peace.  She works at the local hospital, dealing with everything from post-attack counseling to long-term PTSD.  She talks about how to help children overcome the stress of having their homes destroyed, and adults who seemed fine until one event uncovered previous traumas and became the straw which broke the camel’s back.  She also commented on working with medical personnel who themselves become traumatized, and the need to “normalize” the experiences as much as possible.  I had the impression that a future chaplain could learn much from her, and I would love to stay in touch.

Tonight is our last night (already) in Tiberius, where we have developed a comfortable routine of drinks and dueling computers in the hotel lounge (the only place with dependable internet access).  Aram did a card trick last night with incredible showmanship, and tonight a few bottles of wine have made their appearance.  It seems like a good time for me to end for the night.

Wednesday, January 26th

Tsippori

Nazareth

Visit Basilica of the Annunciation

Attend prayer at the White Mosque

The Druze, Sheikh Jamil Khatib in Bet Jann (Druze)

Meeting with Ethiopian Israelis at community center

Today dawned with grey skies and drizzle – which is a blessing in this land of minimal rain.  We were happy on behalf of our hosts, but maybe just a little grumpy about walking around all day in the rain.  Our bus brought us first to Tsippori, which had been the capital of the region in Biblical times and is the subject of an ongoing archeological dig.  We dashed between the raindrops into the remains of the synagogue, which has been capped by a modern building for protection and for the comfort of visitors.  Tsippori was a huge town, famously mentioned in a number of contemporary works and home to a bustling population of Romans and others in addition to the small Jewish population.  The synagogue might have seemed a bit snug, but the artistry of the mosaic floor was top quality and beautifully preserved.

Tsippori is also home to an ancient theatre with cut-stone seats as well as a maze of shops and homes.  We discussed several Hebrew texts regarding the difficult role Jews would have had to play in the time of the Roman Empire while living in such a town.  The experience was enriched by watching a few scenes from Monty Python’s Life of Brian on the bus, for perspective.

Next, we visited Nazareth – a place completely ignored by writers and historians in Biblical times, except in the Bible itself.  It is now home to the White Mosque, the Church of the Annunciation, a bustling Arab market, and dozens of “SoGood” gas stations.  The church is a beautifully simple structure overall, featuring dozens of mosaics from around the world on its exterior walls and a reverently maintained grotto within the sanctuary itself.  On a Wednesday morning it is mainly occupied by tourists, but the materials are in place for a solemn worship service and signs indicate that the Pope has been by to visit in the recent past.

The White Mosque is unique in its welcome of strangers and other observers. Women must cover their heads (a baseball cap will do), and cell phones must be silenced, but otherwise visitors are welcome to sit along the benches just inside the door and observe the service.  Since we are behind the half-wall which marks the prayer space, we were not even asked to remove our shoes.  The men began streaming in even before the muezzin’s call, and continued for several minutes after the service had begun. (Unfortunately, the women worship separately and I was told it was “not possible” to observe or join them.)  The Imam moved to the center of the prayer space, joined the worshipers in the normal bows and litany of prayers, and then opened up what I presume to be the Quran and began to sing a passage.  The music was beautiful, peaceful, and enveloped me with a sense of prayer even though I didn’t understand the words.  It strongly recalled for me the way a Jewish cantor will sing passages of the Tanak, and led me to contemplate the many common roots of the various Abrahamic faiths.

We had been scheduled next to drive into the highest of the Golan heights to view a historic site of Jewish mysticism; but although the weather had cleared enough for us to scamper through Tsippori and later skip through the market to the church and mosque, thick mist still limited our visibility.  Our guide pulled a brilliant alternative out of his hat and directed our bus driver to Dalia’s Vegetarian Restaurant, a little eatery in the community of Amirim, perched on the side of the mountain.  The restaurant is reached by crawling up narrow switch-back roads and driving along slim highways bracketed by a rock wall on one side and a long drop on the other, and our bus driver really showed his skill in fitting our big comfortable bus down paths it was never designed to travel.  Once we arrived, I cannot begin to describe how wonderful, plentiful, and in what amazing variety that food was presented to us.  We simply sat in two long tables in Dalia’s back room, with huge windows on one side which would have shown a magnificent view (if there had been one) and a stream of food appearing from the kitchen doors on the other side.

Having thoroughly gorged ourselves (and participated in a discussion on Biblical teachings about eating as a spiritual act), we wove a bit further into the mountains to the home of a Druze sheik.  This gentleman was kind enough to invite us into his home, where his wife and daughters provided us with coffee, tea, cookies, and pastry while he gave a detailed explanation of the faith and practices of the Druze people.  Never heard of the Druze?  I had not either, and apparently there are only about 1.5 million in the world (mostly in the middle east).  Still, our host was gracious in helping us understand the political dilemma of the Druze who live in the areas captured by Israel from the Syrians, which we had visited the day before.  Those members of the Druze people consider themselves to be Syrians, and are careful not to assimilate Israeli culture because they expect their lands to be back in Syrian control at some future point.

Our last event for today was a chance to speak with some Ethiopian Jewish women who had immigrated to Israel with their families in the 1980’s.  These women told horror stories of walking for weeks through the desert from Ethiopia to Sudan, then trying to hold on in refugee camps where theft, kidnapping and assault was the norm before finally being air lifted to Israel.  It was a very moving story, and I can only imagine the strength required from what were then just young girls in order to survive the journey.

Perhaps “common ground” is the theme for today.  We have the Tsippori Jews, who found ways to live peacefully with their Roman overlords at a time when Jews in other cities revolted.  The congregation of the White Mosque is reaching out to strangers, especially foreigners, in an attempt to remove the mystery from their faith and emphasize the common threads of faith.  The church of the annunciation is covered with mosaics from Thailand, Croatia, and around the word, all in the same theme of Mary’s acceptance of God’s will.  The Druze, while open and hospitable, make no bones about their strong resistance to any assimilation or other social weakening of their ancient beliefs.  Our new Ethiopian friends faced perhaps the greatest challenge of all, adapting to the incredible physical, emotional and social strains while retaining a fierce determination to survive.

Earlier tonight, I was complaining to some of my fellow travelers about how uncomfortable I found it not to be able to read the street signs (which are, of course, in Hebrew script).  In retrospect, I feel a bit silly.