This Thursday was one of the most bizarre days yet, and I think it really typified what it's like here when things heat up politically. Muhammed and I had plans to go to a few clinics - in a small Ramallah town called Aroura and in Jericho - together, as his job for ANERA entails going to medical clinics to check that they are properly storing and using the medicine donated to them by ANERA. He has a background as a pharmacist, which gives him the power to prescribe medication in Palestine, so he knows his stuff when it comes to meds.
We started out late in the morning to Aroura and arrived at a newly constructed clinic that serves 7 different villages in the area (about 30,000 people). We met with the doctor there (yes, just one doctor for 30,000 people, though specialists come in once or twice a week as well), and, after having Muhammed inspect the medicines, he took us on a tour of the clinic. They are in the process of adding an x-ray room, a lab, and an emergency room, as well as acquiring an ambulance, and these additions will make a big difference for residents in the area, who don't live very close to a hospital. As happens everywhere you go in Palestine, we sat down with the doctor for some delicious Arabic coffee. (I swear, between the coffee and the tea, I have consumed more caffeine in a week here than I do in a typical month in Philly!) We had a really interesting conversation, and he told us more about his work at the clinic. He said that most of the cases he treats are geriatric and that, because of patients' lack of access to more specialists, he often has to diagnose more serious problems such as cancer. In those cases, he sends them to hospitals for more specific diagnoses and treatment.
We also talked about citizenship here in Palestine and in Israel, and the doctor and Muhammed clarified some points for me. We discussed the various classes of citizenship here. First, there are the Jewish Israelis, who have the most rights and privileges. Second, there are the Palestinians who have Israeli citizenship. Third, there are the Palestinians with Jerusalem IDs. Fourth are the Palestinians with West Bank IDs. And lowest on the totem pole, with the most problems and the least rights are the Palestinians in Gaza. I will not get into this in more detail right now, but I will say that I always find it interesting to hear Israel revel in its status as a democracy (as I heard an Israeli government representative do in a television interview the other night) even as it fails to recognize that not everyone in this so-called "democracy" has equal rights.
As we left Aroura, we called Karam to see if she wanted to come with us to Jericho. Since she was getting off of work at 2, we just waited for her to meet us in Ramallah so that the three of us could head off to Jericho together. Once we got together, we decided to go to the Dead Sea first so that I could finally see it (this was the one tourist thing I have been dying to do while I'm here - in fact, I think it was my friend David Miller who told me years ago how cool the Dead Sea was because you could float in it due to the high salt content, and ever since then I have wanted to see it, so thanks, Dave). The Dead Sea is not really all that far from Ramallah, and usually it should take maybe an hour to get there. However, just as we were passing Jerusalem, we ran into an insane line of traffic that reminded me of the worst of Philly rush hours. We thought maybe the traffic was because of an accident,
but it turned out to be just your average checkpoint. Oh well. This delayed us about 45 minutes to an hour, and by the time we got to the Dead Sea the sun was already setting. Still, it was a beautiful sight. The Dead Sea is something like 400+ meters below sea level, and all along the way there are markings on the sides of the mountains to show you how much below sea level you are. It's pretty wierd to be below sea level. I think this is the first time I've ever actually been in a place like this. The Dead Sea is the lowest point in the world. Wow. The other really amazing thing about it is that the landscape changes drastically along the way. Suddenly, I found myself in the midst of desert. The mountains were bare rock with no green at all. The only green around was in the palm trees that grew near the sea. It was so warm there too - I did not wear a jacket at all on Thursday, even as night fell.On our way in, we were worried that we would not be
allowed to pass the checkpoints (we had to go through about 3 or 4 of them) because Muhammed does not have permission to enter Israel. If you are thinking, "But I thought the Dead Sea was in the West Bank, on the border between Palestine and Jordan", you are correct. However, Israel controls it. I guess it was just too valuable to let the Palestinians have. Luckily, the soldiers at these checkpoints did not check Muhammed's ID even once. Remember how I said all of this "security" is arbitrary? Well, case in point. When we finally reached the place where people are allowed to enter the sea (there is a long, winding road to get there), we got out and made
the trek to the water's edge. I have never seen anything like this! Salt coated the rocks near the water, forming a hard, thick crust on them. I broke off some of this salt to take home with me. The salt also gathered in the water and billowed like small clouds in front of us. I watched some people swimming, and they floated effortlessly on the sea's surface. I even dipped my fingers in the water and licked them just to taste the bitter saltiness beyond any other saltiness. Nothing can live in this sea. The salt smothers everything. 
We left the Dead Sea and headed for Jericho. We were starving, as Muhammed and I had had nothing to eat all day but some kaak (sp?) in the morning and Karam hadn't eaten for a while either. All we could talk about was what we would eat when we arrived at a restaurant in Jericho. As we approached the checkpoint into Jericho, though, our hopes of eating anytime soon were completely dashed. The line of cars leading up to the checkpoint was barely moving. As we inched along, we saw one family park its car to the side of the road and get out to pray together (it was the time for evening prayer). It took us about 30 minutes just to get to the front of the line, at which point I handed our three IDs to the soldier and he told us to pull our car over to the side and wait for him. I did as instructed, then the soldier called me over to him. He told me that, as an American, I needed special authorization to go into Jericho. At first, I thought maybe this was that Jewish rule again, but I acted stupid and asked why. He said that it was for my safety. I almost laughed right there and then. Here I was, at the complete mercy of a guy with a gun, knowing that if I just said or did the wrong thing in front of him I could be detained, imprisoned, or worse, and he was telling me that going into a Palestinian city might be dangerous? What? I told him that nobody ever mentioned to me that I needed special permission to go into any city and, besides, I did not feel at all unsafe going into Jericho. I asked if he could please just give me the necessary permission here and let me pass. He said he would check. As we waited another 10 minutes or so, I heard F-16s pass overhead. Maybe this was the danger of which he was speaking - was it the IDF I should be afraid of? I also saw a rocket in the distance. This is the IDF's way of shedding light on areas they can't see in the dark. The soldier eventually came back out, gave us back our IDs, and let us pass, but the entire time we were in Jericho the sky was filled with the sound and tiny lights of F-16s crisscrossing above us.
Jericho was a happenin' place. We had a delicious dinner at a place called the Spanish Gardens, a mix of children's amusement park and outdoor restaurant. I stuffed myself with goat meat, hummus, fries, and salads. I am salivating right now just remembering this meal! (For those of you who are reading this blog mainly for political reasons, I am sorry to devote so much time to food, but if you could just taste the food here you would understand why I am obsessed.)
Yummy dinner (note the expression of starvation on Muhammed's face):
Now came the difficult part. I had to drop off Karam in Jerusalem, but since Muhammed doesn't have permission to go into Jerusalem I had to drop him off in Ramallah first, drive Karam to Jerusalem, and then go back alone to my hotel in Ramallah. On our way, Karam got a call from her mother that there had been an attack in Jerusalem and that she needed to get back into the city as soon as possible. They invited me to come stay with them, but I really couldn't, as all my stuff was in Ramallah and I had a lot of things to do the next day (mainly to update my blog). We were worried that I would not be able to get back into Ramallah, because typically after any attack on Israelis the IDF closes off the city where it happened. However, I was more likely to be able to get back in that night than the next day.
We dropped off Muhammed and headed off to Jerusalem. We waited in line at the checkpoint for about 20-25 minutes, and when we got to the front the soldiers made me step out of the car and open my trunk. I asked the soldiers if I would be allowed to return back to Ramallah tonight, and they said there would be no problem with that. Once we were inspected and allowed to pass, we encountered ridiculous traffic jams on the way to Jerusalem. There were police and soldiers everywhere, too, even in Ramallah (usually there aren't random IDF soldiers hanging out in Ramallah). Finally, I dropped off Karam at her house, turned down yet another very kind invitation from her mother to stay there, and headed back to Ramallah. And here was my mistake.
It was about 11 or 11:30 at that point, and I started not to trust my instincts about how to get back, so I pulled up next to an Israeli "service" (pronounced ser-veece - it's kind of like a group taxi service) and asked if this was the right way to go to Ramallah. The driver said yes, and I asked where I should turn next. He told me to follow him. I followed him all over, from Jewish neighborhood to Jewish neighborhood. Soon, I started to get nervous. Maybe this was some nutjob who, angry about the attack, was going to lead me into a neighborhood where I would be shot by extremists. So when we were in a public drop-off location, I pulled up next to him again and asked if this was the right direction. He hit his forehead with his palm and said that he had forgotten that I was following him. He said, "You want to go to (insert name of Jewish neighborhood that sounds like "Ramallah" here), right?" I said, "No, I want to go to Ramallah." He looked at me funny and said, "But that's an Arab place." Not wanting to be too confrontational, I just looked at him with firm eyes and said, "Yes." He said, "You want to go THERE?" And I said, "I want to go to the West Bank. To Ramallah. Can you just tell me how to go towards Bethlehem?" At that point, I figured that he'd be little help, and I didn't want to antagonize him, since I didn't feel like I could trust that he wouldn't do something bad to me in the wake of the attack that night. Finally, he just told me to follow him and turn right when he turned left. I was back on track. From then on, I only asked directions from Arabs.
I eventually got to Ramallah and called Karam and Muhammed to tell them that I was ok. I got a little lost in Ramallah, but I knew I could just ask directions back to the Manara (a circle in the center of the city) because my hotel was right up the block from there. By chance, I happened by Arafat's compound and asked directions from the Palestinian Authority (PA) soldiers in front of it. I didn't even realize where I was at first, I just saw some people who could help me. It was not until I had already rolled down my window and gotten their attention that I realized who they were. I could tell they were suspicious of me, a woman alone in Ramallah in a Jerusalem car. Who was I? Why was I there so late at night? And I could tell there were more than the usual number of PA soldiers outside of the compound. I too felt a little nervous about what Israel had planned for the West Bank... I got back to my hotel just fine, though, and I made sure everyone knew I was ok.
That night I watched Al-Jazeera's English language coverage of the attack. It was excellent. I also watched France 24's coverage, which was good but not as thorough. Before getting back to the hotel, I knew few details about what had happened in Jerusalem. But as I watched the news coverage, I started to cry. This attack will be very bad for Palestinians. When even one Israeli dies, thousands of Palestinians must pay for it. By no means do I think the attack on the seminary was a good thing, and, of course, I don't support it. However, it really scared me to see how Israeli officials talked about it. One government representative said, "This is what these people do," completely ignoring the fact that this man acted alone and not in coordination with others. He talked about how Israel is a democracy defending itself in Gaza, even when he was confronted by the interviewer with the fact that most of the roughly 150 Gazans who have been killed in the last week were civilians. As I watched this coverage, all I could think was that this situation is hopeless. How can the world expect that Israel can pound Gaza and then not think that people will want to fight back or exact revenge? It saddened me to see Palestinians celebrating this attack, but I understand why they want Israelis to see what it is like to live like them, even if on a much smaller scale. And it saddened me even more to watch the footage of Israelis calling for death to Arabs, for revenge on all Arabs for this one incident. Of course, the Israelis have closed off Jerusalem (from the West Bank) since then and are not expected to reopen the checkpoints until late tonight. And they bulldozed two houses in Bethlehem yesterday morning. And they have made checkpoints all over the West Bank even more of a nightmare. And God knows what else they've done that I haven't heard about yet...
On Friday I slept late and spent the day lazing around with Muhammed and his roommate, Muhammed (there are three Muhammeds in that apartment). I updated my blog and finally responded to e-mails, and they made a delicious m'jadara. Again, I happily ate way too much. At one point, we were looking at a photograph of Muhammed's family's land on Susie's blog, and Muhammed said to me, "All that land belongs to my family, but we can't build anything on it." I asked him why, and he explained to me that there is an Israeli settlement nearby and that the road that goes to the settlement (which is only for Israelis) runs past his land. He pointed it out in the picture. The law makes it so that they can't build anything on the land next to this road - not a house, not a tent, not even a short wall around a field.
The checkpoints, the settlements, the laws governing the use of Palestinian land... All of it reminds me of an interview I heard on the radio years ago. The person being interviewed was talking about the fallacy of the "peace" process in Israel/Palestine. In response to a question about who has control of the land since Palestinians actually inhabit most of the Occupied Territories, he said that a good metaphor for the occupation would be to think of the West Bank and Gaza as a prison. In a prison, most of the space is allotted for the prisoners, and they take up most of the space, including the cells, the cafeteria, the recreational areas, etc. The guards take up almost no space at all. The prisoners also outnumber the guards at least a few hundred to one. But who has the power, who has control of the prison? It is not the prisoners. In the West Bank and Gaza, the Israelis ultimately have all the control.
Last night I had a fitful sleep. I dreamt of checkpoints, of going back and forth across the West Bank and being refused entry everywhere I went. And the whole dream was characterized by a sense of not knowing what would happen to me. I tossed and turned, shifting positions so many times in bed, because something in me didn't feel secure. I think, though, that the dream was not really about me, it was about Palestine. Who knows what will happen here in the coming weeks and months? Who knows what Palestinians will be forced to suffer at the hands of the state of Israel in the name of "self-defense"?
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