Last Thursday, the Lozenge and I started on his favourite activity: making sandwiches for an adventure. We were preparing to go on a little trip to 'Jewoothalem,' which looks as though it will be our next home for three years, from January 2014. For once, the Arabic word for Jerusalem, 'Al Quds' literally: 'The Holy,' is easier for the Lozenge to handle.
We set off, with a promise that we would find a log somewhere on which to eat our sandwiches. In the end we had to eat them in the car, during the complicated and bureaucratic process that is crossing the border into Israel. We were greeted (if you can call it that) by a blond man with a hissing walkie talkie, sporting a large Star of David tattoo on each elbow. 'You go to Isghael? This line.' Rashimi responded with his new word from the back seat: 'Booooorda! Booooorda!' But no smiles from Mr Blue Stars.
We joined the line, and then another line, and wheeled our trolley back and forth as we collected all the necessary paperwork - with the Lozenge and Rashimi running riot, clambering over alarmed barriers and clutching well-sucked lollies. Queues of Jordanians and Palestinians waited sombre faced but uncomplaining in the longest queues. Had it not been for the Lozenge and Rashimi starting their own little dwarf intifada, which brought out some charm from under the uniforms, I'm not sure we would have glimpsed the sign of a human heart in those highly trained ranks.
Most officials looked around 18 years old - all in the process of completing their military service for the Israeli Defence Force (which J explained is on the receiving end of around $1 billion per year from the US Government). Military service is compulsory for all Israeli men (3 years) and women (18 months). Most girls were made up as if for a disco, with high ponytailed black tresses and ray bans. But each teeny bopper in uniform is trained to use an M16 and drive a tank. I had a sudden flashback to my travels in South America where we used to meet hordes of Israelis shaking off the shackles of their military service on beaches and in nightclubs. A Hebrew word I learned then came back to me: 'Sababa,' which means 'take it easy'. Rashimi copied it: sabbabba sabbabba sabbabba and continued to build much needed bridges between us.
Through at last, with an empty lunchbox, and we wound our way up towards Jerusalem. The first thing you see up on the left hand side, is a stack of Benidorm-esque buildings with red roofs. These are the Israeli settlements - dotted all over the West Bank and Jerusalem and Gaza. J explained the strategy. They build in calculated patterns to enable them to slowly cut off existing bits of Palestinian land from other parts, making it increasingly difficult to govern. It's like a dot to dot picture, where you can see the lines slowly form. And they are ever on the increase thanks to the bums-on-seats-style recruitment of Netanyahu's government. Anyone from anywhere in the world will do - as long as they'll come and stake a claim somewhere - even if it's with just a mobile home.
Think towel on sun lounger, and you'll get the picture.
But over the crest of the hill, looking left from the road, you catch the first glimpse of the gold Dome of the Rock, nestled in between a maze of streets and protrusions of surrounding buildings.
We thought of how many have crossed this crest of hill to see what they consider to be their holy place. As the Duke put it the other day: 'This never ending love story.' We had to pinch ourselves to believe that we may be in with a chance to understand this place a little better, and peel off some of the layers as you would an onion.
We set off, with a promise that we would find a log somewhere on which to eat our sandwiches. In the end we had to eat them in the car, during the complicated and bureaucratic process that is crossing the border into Israel. We were greeted (if you can call it that) by a blond man with a hissing walkie talkie, sporting a large Star of David tattoo on each elbow. 'You go to Isghael? This line.' Rashimi responded with his new word from the back seat: 'Booooorda! Booooorda!' But no smiles from Mr Blue Stars.
We joined the line, and then another line, and wheeled our trolley back and forth as we collected all the necessary paperwork - with the Lozenge and Rashimi running riot, clambering over alarmed barriers and clutching well-sucked lollies. Queues of Jordanians and Palestinians waited sombre faced but uncomplaining in the longest queues. Had it not been for the Lozenge and Rashimi starting their own little dwarf intifada, which brought out some charm from under the uniforms, I'm not sure we would have glimpsed the sign of a human heart in those highly trained ranks.
Most officials looked around 18 years old - all in the process of completing their military service for the Israeli Defence Force (which J explained is on the receiving end of around $1 billion per year from the US Government). Military service is compulsory for all Israeli men (3 years) and women (18 months). Most girls were made up as if for a disco, with high ponytailed black tresses and ray bans. But each teeny bopper in uniform is trained to use an M16 and drive a tank. I had a sudden flashback to my travels in South America where we used to meet hordes of Israelis shaking off the shackles of their military service on beaches and in nightclubs. A Hebrew word I learned then came back to me: 'Sababa,' which means 'take it easy'. Rashimi copied it: sabbabba sabbabba sabbabba and continued to build much needed bridges between us.
Through at last, with an empty lunchbox, and we wound our way up towards Jerusalem. The first thing you see up on the left hand side, is a stack of Benidorm-esque buildings with red roofs. These are the Israeli settlements - dotted all over the West Bank and Jerusalem and Gaza. J explained the strategy. They build in calculated patterns to enable them to slowly cut off existing bits of Palestinian land from other parts, making it increasingly difficult to govern. It's like a dot to dot picture, where you can see the lines slowly form. And they are ever on the increase thanks to the bums-on-seats-style recruitment of Netanyahu's government. Anyone from anywhere in the world will do - as long as they'll come and stake a claim somewhere - even if it's with just a mobile home.
Think towel on sun lounger, and you'll get the picture.
But over the crest of the hill, looking left from the road, you catch the first glimpse of the gold Dome of the Rock, nestled in between a maze of streets and protrusions of surrounding buildings.
We thought of how many have crossed this crest of hill to see what they consider to be their holy place. As the Duke put it the other day: 'This never ending love story.' We had to pinch ourselves to believe that we may be in with a chance to understand this place a little better, and peel off some of the layers as you would an onion.
No comments:
Post a Comment