My birthday present from J is a beautiful sepia photograph in wide landscape showing a silhouette of Bedouin women leading a line of camels along a road. The Dead Sea is a just-visible snip of silver in the background. It's hanging above my computer, and when I look at it, I can almost feel their slow, hot, plod as they walk towards their destination, wherever that may be. It's a daily consolation to me, because it reminds me that even if my working life is reduced to this plodding speed in the frenzy of family life, I'm still moving slowly forwards and that's better than stopping entirely.
'Are you a Jew?' an old woman shouts at me from the other side of the outpatients clinic at the eye hospital. It's unfortunate, because all (nearly 6 feet) of me, is trying to look inconspicuous in a sea of head-scarfed villagers from the West Bank, with my fair complexion, wearing trousers, holding my film camera on a tripod.
But it's the small necklace I'm wearing that the old lady notices. A 'Hamza' a hand - used by both Muslims and Jews as a symbol of protection, made for me by a friend. 'It was a present from my Egyptian friend who is Muslim, so I doubt it's a Jewish one,' I respond cautiously. She waves her stick at me and marches past. As she walks off I wish I'd said: 'But the hamza is the same for everyone,' and not been defensive.
It's not the first time in a week I've heard this kind of thing. On a recent outing with some staff to the West Bank, a woman explains to me. 'Since this latest war on Gaza, I hate them now. I tried not to beforehand but now I can't help myself.'
Then we ask some friends of the Lozenge's to come and play but their Israeli Mum is afraid of driving to our house on the East side with her: 'Israeli plates'. But J and I are amazed she doesn't know that both Palestinians and Israelis alike have the same car plates in the city.
The poisonous fronds of politics can weave themselves around the shop floor of society quite easily in the current climate. 'The danger comes when we forget each others humanity,' someone says to me recently.
A doctor at the hospital tells me that in the 25 years she has worked here, she hasn't seen a change in behaviour in the villages around the West Bank: 'All the way through from the nits to the contraception'. She wonders if maybe people don't want to change, then concludes it must be to do with 'on high'.
In relation to what she tells me, I can't work out whether the communities here are stagnant because of the constraints they're under from Israel; if the constraint is already there due to 'on high' as she puts it - or un-malleable religious attitudes and blind faith which absolves human responsibility; or a combination of everything - perhaps even one because of the other, and the dangerous millefeuille that creates. And there's nothing like the prism of health care through which to view this layering.
I take a trip back up to one of the eye hospital's northern clinics for my story search and meet a perky nurse the same age as me. She's a Muslim, on her second marriage, she wants to lose weight, she nearly died in a car crash five years ago and lost a pregnancy five months in because of it. But regardless of everything, her eyes sparkle: 'But I'm still alive! And this husband is really a good man. We'll begin IVF soon, because children are really the only things that bring us happiness in this life.'
On the way home a heavily armoured, khaki green IDF vehicle makes her husband who came to fetch her, pull over in his car. They are there for over an hour as the soldiers inspect their papers and interrogate them. I ask the other staff in the van what's going on as we continue down the road. They are all tutting and craning their necks to see what's happening and one explains: 'The soldiers shouldn't even be here. This is the West Bank, not Israel. They are guarding the illegal settlements, and they do this kind of thing for fun as they are bored, and just because they can.' The atmosphere in the van falls silent as people return to their angry thoughts.
On our return into Jerusalem I chat to the driver. He explains the overall situation to me as every driver does. They're concerned that I'm not seeing the full picture with my newcomer's eyes. Although it means I'm often hearing similar details from each one, I'm grateful for every take on life in this land.
'What do I tell my children?' he asks. 'If they're in trouble could I really advise them to go to one of these Israeli soldiers or police for help? When they ask me why are these soldiers here, and why are there checkpoints, and what are all these guns, what do I tell them?'
I understand him, particularly as his children are only a little older than ours. I lament that the international community could surely be doing more to help.
He replies: 'The real problem is, that to help the Palestinians, you need permission from the Israelis. So no one will ever be able to help us because there is never permission to do what is really needed.'
'Are you a Jew?' an old woman shouts at me from the other side of the outpatients clinic at the eye hospital. It's unfortunate, because all (nearly 6 feet) of me, is trying to look inconspicuous in a sea of head-scarfed villagers from the West Bank, with my fair complexion, wearing trousers, holding my film camera on a tripod.
But it's the small necklace I'm wearing that the old lady notices. A 'Hamza' a hand - used by both Muslims and Jews as a symbol of protection, made for me by a friend. 'It was a present from my Egyptian friend who is Muslim, so I doubt it's a Jewish one,' I respond cautiously. She waves her stick at me and marches past. As she walks off I wish I'd said: 'But the hamza is the same for everyone,' and not been defensive.
It's not the first time in a week I've heard this kind of thing. On a recent outing with some staff to the West Bank, a woman explains to me. 'Since this latest war on Gaza, I hate them now. I tried not to beforehand but now I can't help myself.'
Then we ask some friends of the Lozenge's to come and play but their Israeli Mum is afraid of driving to our house on the East side with her: 'Israeli plates'. But J and I are amazed she doesn't know that both Palestinians and Israelis alike have the same car plates in the city.
The poisonous fronds of politics can weave themselves around the shop floor of society quite easily in the current climate. 'The danger comes when we forget each others humanity,' someone says to me recently.
A doctor at the hospital tells me that in the 25 years she has worked here, she hasn't seen a change in behaviour in the villages around the West Bank: 'All the way through from the nits to the contraception'. She wonders if maybe people don't want to change, then concludes it must be to do with 'on high'.
In relation to what she tells me, I can't work out whether the communities here are stagnant because of the constraints they're under from Israel; if the constraint is already there due to 'on high' as she puts it - or un-malleable religious attitudes and blind faith which absolves human responsibility; or a combination of everything - perhaps even one because of the other, and the dangerous millefeuille that creates. And there's nothing like the prism of health care through which to view this layering.
I take a trip back up to one of the eye hospital's northern clinics for my story search and meet a perky nurse the same age as me. She's a Muslim, on her second marriage, she wants to lose weight, she nearly died in a car crash five years ago and lost a pregnancy five months in because of it. But regardless of everything, her eyes sparkle: 'But I'm still alive! And this husband is really a good man. We'll begin IVF soon, because children are really the only things that bring us happiness in this life.'
On the way home a heavily armoured, khaki green IDF vehicle makes her husband who came to fetch her, pull over in his car. They are there for over an hour as the soldiers inspect their papers and interrogate them. I ask the other staff in the van what's going on as we continue down the road. They are all tutting and craning their necks to see what's happening and one explains: 'The soldiers shouldn't even be here. This is the West Bank, not Israel. They are guarding the illegal settlements, and they do this kind of thing for fun as they are bored, and just because they can.' The atmosphere in the van falls silent as people return to their angry thoughts.
On our return into Jerusalem I chat to the driver. He explains the overall situation to me as every driver does. They're concerned that I'm not seeing the full picture with my newcomer's eyes. Although it means I'm often hearing similar details from each one, I'm grateful for every take on life in this land.
'What do I tell my children?' he asks. 'If they're in trouble could I really advise them to go to one of these Israeli soldiers or police for help? When they ask me why are these soldiers here, and why are there checkpoints, and what are all these guns, what do I tell them?'
I understand him, particularly as his children are only a little older than ours. I lament that the international community could surely be doing more to help.
He replies: 'The real problem is, that to help the Palestinians, you need permission from the Israelis. So no one will ever be able to help us because there is never permission to do what is really needed.'
Do the villagers in Syria, Egypt, Jordan, Lybia, Morocco, Saudi Arabia change? It has nothing to do with the "occupation" or with something that Israel does. In fact, at least inside Israel, the Arabs who are Israeli citizens have advanced a lot due to the education and opportunities they get in Israel. The literacy among Arab Israelis, percentage of Arab women who work and other measures have improved significantly over the years.
ReplyDeleteIt's a complicated question why the Arab societies EVERYWHERE are not advancing. I think it mainly has to do with lack of solidarity and lack of commitment and care. These are societies of families, tribes not of unified countries. The people there are commited first and foremost to their families, tribes. No one looks or cares about the global picture or population. The rich in Egypt or Jordan or Syria don't give a damn about how the villagers in their countries live. Don't give a damn about the poor in their countries, about the unemployed, sick, or more accurately, the corrupt regimes in these countries don't give a damn. The corrupt rich in these countries care only about their wealth and property and no one invests in the masses - in educating them, in finding them jobs, in providing them with social rights etc. It's something to do with the mentality of the Arabs. Maybe it starts in the families - the way people are brought up there to care only to your family, tribe, but not to have more noble ideals about social justice for all, about equality, about doing good because it's the right thing to do. I think it starts at home, with the upbringing the Arabs get from their parents. The inequality between men and women in the house hold, the violence etc. There are educated and advanced Arabs but they are the minority. I think that in order to make a change it will have to start from "high up" - from the regimes. But usually the Arab regimes are corrupt and want the masses to stay ignorant and opressed so that they could continue to have power and wealth. Maybe in Jordan there's a different approach by the king but he still faces a big tribal population which is ruled by men who don't want to advance anywhere because they don't want to give up their power, the oppressed status of their women, they don't want to have a more democratic and just way of life where other people beside them will also be able to voice their opinions and have control, etc.
If I were the Israeli mum you mentioned I too would not dare drive into an Arab area in east Jerusalem, especially with my children. It's true that the car plates are the same for everyone in Jerusalem, but anyone who looks Jewish could be lynched to death. Haven't you heard about the last incident of an Israeli family from Ramat Gan who drove to the wailing wall in Jerusalem to particiapte in their son's army course graduation and were were clueless enough to use the Waze navigating software to get there as quickly as possible and found themselves in an Arab neighborhood where they were almost lynched to death?
ReplyDeleteWhen they drove through that neighborhood 2 cars of Arabs before them deliberately slowed down, an Arab boy ran next to their car and knocked on their car window, the Israeli father asked him in Hebrew of course what he wanted, then they heard shouts in Arabic and their car, driven by the daughter, started to get hit by stones and bricks. It's only thanks to the fact that the daughter kept ker cool and courage that they managed to escape alive.
Here are links to the story:
http://www.ynetnews.com/articles/0,7340,L-4570280,00.html
http://www.haaretz.com/news/features/.premium-1.616596
By the way, it happened too that Arabs who were "suspected" to be Jewish also were stones as they drove in an Arab neighborhood in east Jerusalem:
http://www.ynetnews.com/articles/0,7340,L-4460109,00.html