israel

Out of Egypt

חג שמח, or Happy Passover. 

This morning, as I was sipping coffee and working on my computer at my kitchen table, I was suddenly aware of the smell of smoke. I jumped up and rushed to the window, worried I would find my backyard on fire (especially worried considering I saw a neighboring apartment catch fire the day before!). But it was not my backyard, it was the neighboring Synagogue's, and the flames were contained into a small BBQ pit. Children and men with kippahs on their heads gathered around the fire tossing in loaves of bread, and bags of flour as they rid the synagogue of Chametz (leaven) or any food including leaven such as wheat, rye, barley, oats, and spelt. Some Jews also avoid rice, corn, peanuts, and legumes. My roommate explained to meet that this is a traditional Jewish custom of Passover. 

This tradition comes from the Biblical story of Exodus, in which Gold led the Jews to freedom from the Egyptians. It's said that, after God inflicted ten plagues on the Egyptians, the Pharaoh finally let the Jewish slaves go. They left in such a hurry, they did not even have time to let their bread rise, hence the week of eating unleavened foods. Led by Moses, the Jews eventually made it into Israel and back to the temple in Jerusalem. 

(c) Steve Jeter

And while this year I'm in Israel, I had a very atypical Passover experience. Currently there are over 40,000 refugees who fled their countries (mainly Eritrea, and Sudan), and made their own exodus by land, through Egypt and into Israel. They come here fleeing dictators, and regimes, and war, and famine. But life in Israel has proved difficult and many of them end up living on the streets, desperate for work, and food. For the last couple of years, ARDC (African Refguee Development Center), has worked to commemorate this modern day exodus during the Passover holiday. This year, like the years previous, they organized a Passover Seder in Levinsky Park where the majority of the refugees live. 


I went to the seder and volunteered, putting up tables and chairs, and passing out plates of food to over 300 people. Instead of doing the typical ceremony that accompanies the dinner, a speech was given in English, Hebrew, Arabic, and Tigrinya. The speech briefly explained the history of Passover and then went on to say this: "Today tens of thousands of our brothers and sisters are fleeing countries run by modern day Pharaohs. Fleeing brutal dictators and organized murder, running for their lives. Many of you here today made the same journey across the same desert. You have arrived here in Israel hoping to find freedom and rebuild your lives. The question we have today is where is our Moses? Who will lead us all to freedom?"


Throughout the speech, many of the refugees seemed skeptical, choosing to stand on the outskirts instead of taking seats at the table. Things like this don't usually happen in Levinsky Park, and rarely are events organized for people like them. The skepticism increased when they saw all these people with cameras documenting the event. Many hid their faces confused as to what the photographs would be used for, worrying they might lead to their deportation. 

But the draw of food was too strong for hungry bellies. After the volunteers began passing out dinners, the circle was closed and everyone near came to eat. It was hard seeing people who are so hungry. While there's a high rate of poverty and homelessness in D.C., there's also numerous social services to counteract it; homeless shelters, soup kitchens etc. In Israel these services don't exist for this population. 

Eventually, stomach were filled and the mood lifted. The music got louder and the dancing began. It was fun to dance with everyone and feel like, maybe just for for five minutes, nothing else mattered!

Conflict Zone

In the U.S., when you think of Israel, oftentimes images of explosions, suicide bombings, soldiers armed with M-16's and mass panic may come to mind. This image, courtesy of indoctrination from the media- is why so many people were shocked and confused when I told them of my plans to move here. But it is nothing like actually living here. The only explosions I've seen in Tel Aviv involve heavy nights of drinking, and loud music....mostly
Recently, I was offered the opportunity to, once again, venture outside of the Bubble a.k.a. Tel Aviv and get a little bit closer to the side of Israel that is always highlighted by the international media. First I was offered to join a ride-along with the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) on the northern border of Gaza. It was a long ride (which in a country the size of New Jersey means about 1.5 hrs) south, to the border. There we met with the officers accompanying us on our tour of 'No Man's Land' and the fence that separates Israel from Gaza. 
We were put into armored vehicles in order to brave the borders of Israel/Gaza. The vehicle I was in looked like a safe room, with six inch metal walls and a door that sealed shut so tightly I thought we could be submerged in water and wouldn't leak. There were bowling balls lodged into the walls, meant for your guns. The barrel would fit through the hole and it could be rotated in the wall of the vehicle in order to aim. 
As we drove (the red line on the map), it seemed as though we were taking the scenic tour. Out the window were the most pristine, and stunning beaches I have ever seen, with crashing waves and perfectly white sand. All of the sudden, our armored vehicle veered left, up and down a few small dunes, and there we were. A barely obstructed view of Gaza. How surreal it was, to be just on the other side of that fence. The few high rises we could see in the distance hardly belied the reality of what was on the other side.  Just behind that wall was a city of half a million, a city that is one of the most densely populated in the world. A city that lives in extreme and widespread poverty.

The calm I experienced at the border is entirely misleading, however. Two days later, and a stones throw from where we were, Israel successfully launched an air-strike on Hamas members who were setting up missiles to launch over the wall into a city of Israeli Civilians.

The next trip was to Nabi Saleh, a West Bank village of about 500 people just north west of Ramallah. I went with a film crew on a Friday to capture some footage of the weekly protests that occur there. The protests takes place in response to a settlement that was built across the main road into Nabi Saleh. Protestors gather at the road of the town and march as a group towards a spring that was previously owned by a villager, but access was blocked to following the building of the Halamesh settlement on the other side of the road. 
A few hours before the noon 'call to prayer,' we gathered the home of Nabi Saleh's media spokesperson. She's been the one doing all of the interviews for international press when they come by. There were about 20 of us gathered in her home, some press, some israeli activists, some international activists looking to join the protest. She spoke about Nabi Saleh, Mustafa Tamimi (the protestor who was fatally injured the month before) and the spring that everyone was walking towards. Her words were interesting, but what turned out to be most moving was my trip to the bathroom- no water. No water to flush, no water to wash your hands. No water. These people are marching to a spring. Not just out of symbolism but out of necessity. It used to be a supplementary water supply for the villagers. This was not just a symbol, but a practical necessity. Last summer, typical water shortages forced Israel and the West Bank to run on a more limited supply of water. Israel (who controls the water pipelines) cut off the water supply to Nabi Salih for 40 days!

Realizing that really helped me understand why, for two and a half years straight, every friday, these villagers, and outsiders, come to gather. So this week, I gathered with them, hiding behind my camera as the action played out in front of me. I watched the events occur with ritualistic practice - villagers marched, the Israeli Military stood their ground, children in masks threw stones, the IDF responded with skunk water, children threw more stones, the IDF threw tear gas. There was lots of running, dodging, and heavy breathing. About an hour in, I experienced my first real dose of tear gas. Wow. That stuff hurts. It's like swallowing a 4th of July sparkler. The hairs in your nose feel like they've caught fire, your eyes water so much you can barely see. 

It's almost debilitating. I'm not sure if it was the adrenaline or the gas but suddenly I was shaking all over. My friend and a local woman were handing me onions to smell and eat and alcohol swipes to put up my nose and rags drenched in lemon juice - all homemade methods to help alleviate the effects of the gas. 
The protestors were slowly pushed further and further from the spring and back into the village. At that point we bolted, cameras and all, towards the car and took off to avoid any possibility of arrest. Slowly, as the adrenaline started to subside, it occurred to me what might be the actual reason for the protest. Fun. That may sound crazy, but in a way it's like extreme sports! And on both sides, IDF and protestors, all of the anxiety and oppression of the week - working at checkpoints or border control, or living in destitute conditions with a beautiful settlement and brightly painted playground across the road from you -all of that builds up into a giant release of tear gas and stones and community and energy and endorphins. An explosion of endorphins! I wanted to do it again. Right away.

But instead, we drove out of the West Bank, and back to Tel Aviv where the adrenaline rush comes from a run on the boardwalk next to the beach, or dancing all night at clubs. 

Holidays in the Holy Land

Happy Holidays and Happy New Year from the Holy Land!

The end of 2011 (and most of the year, really), has already brought so many changes and new beginnings for me and for the entire wold too. I can only imagine what 2012 will have in store for us all. In anticipation of the 2012, all the news coverage was recounting the front page headlines of 2011, a lot of them including the Arab Spring and the Occupy movements in the U.S. I can hardly believe that I was able to experience a glimpse of both with my own eyes!

Despite all my traveling this summer, my sense of adventure has not abated, which is why the New Year of 2012 finds me relocated in the amazing city: Tel Aviv! But while Tel Aviv is always full of excitement and adventure, the vivacious city that I now call home (albeit temporarily) is like living in a bubble. It is a bubble compared to the rest of Israel, and certainly a bubble compared to the Middle East. It is a beautiful, safe city where I can walk alone at night and not carry my keys between my knuckles like I did in D.C. It is a city that where I can haggle for the best vegetable prices at the Shuk (outdoor market) or stop by the "Mega" supermarket on my way back from class and pick up any groceries I need. It's a city which hosts and hides a lot of trauma and crisis (which I've been exposed to because of my Masters program at TAU: Social Work for Trauma and Crisis Studies) particularly in the south where there is a large asylum seeking community. It's a city where I can work with a woman who's been stabbed in the face while trying to cross the Sinai on a journey from Eritrea to Israel. It's a city where I can work with this woman and then decompress as I walk through the sand on the Mediterranean beach en route back to my apartment.

This city is a bubble that contains so much life, so much heartache, so much vitality, pain, suffering, beauty, and resilience. A bubble that contains so much that at times it seems it might burst.

So far I feel like my time in Tel Aviv has been a true gift, and every moment has been blessed. I was so thankful to arrive at the same time as my friend, Aziz. As a local, he was able to navigate the websites offering apartment rentals and I found a place to live within a week. This truly is remarkable in a city where even locals spend up to two months looking for a flat! Not to mention, I ended up in probably the best apartment in the city, with the best people in Tel Aviv.

I truly am lucky to have ended up where I live, in a beautiful apartment with a balcony attached to my bedroom, a huge living room, a dining room that has hosted more than a few large dinners, a teeny kitchen that I've gotten accustomed to cooking in, and a rooftop that accommodated over 400 people at our New Years Party. 

Not to mention I live with three lovely roommates who introduced me to their amazing friends. By amazing I mean the night before Christmas Eve, I came home from class and two of them had gone into the dog park nearby and picked branches off trees until they had enough to stick in a pot and make it look like a little Christmas tree - decorations included! Not only that but they accompanied me on an Christmas Eve trip to Jerusalem. They even let me drag them to midnight mass! Clearly these are friends for life!

Lucky. That's the way I feel at the end of 2011, and if 2012 brings half as much excitement and joy as 2011 brought, then it will be an amazing year!

Deheishe Knows What It Is To Be Free

Traveling between Israel and Palestine might be one of the most difficult processes ever! It is deceptive at first, since it is no problem to walk into the New Central Bus Station in Tel Aviv, and buy a ticket for a bus to Jerusalem for 20NIS (about $6), that run about every 20 mins. I assumed that traveling the hour from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem would be longest part of my transit to Bethlehem which lies a few minutes drive outside the gates of the Old City. This assumption is false.

From the Jerusalem Central Bus Station you must take another Israeli bus to the Palestinian/Israeli - East/West "border." I put border in quotations because, unlike most borders in the region, there is no physical separation between the two except, perhaps, on some maps.

From West Jerusalem, where the bus drops you off, you must cross the street to East Jerusalem and board a Palestinian bus that takes you....not TO Betlehem, but to the checkpoint. At the check point you have to disembark from the bus, walk through several narrow barred off hallways, show your I.D. to a guard who seems disinterested by any U.S. Passport, and finally you are in Bethlehem.

From the other side of the checkpoint I had to take a cab to get to a (apparently there are multiple) Cultural Center in Deheishe Refugee Camp. All in all the trip took me 5 and a half hours - more than a bus ride from D.C. to New York, and nearly the time it takes to fly from the East Coast to the West.  However, the distance between Tel Aviv to Bethlehem is only about 40 miles! The bureaucracy makes everything more complicated.

Before arriving in Deheishe, I had corresponded with a contact who had organized my volunteering there. So, after 5 and a half hours of traveling, and finally arrivign at the Community Center, I was a bit dismayed to discover they had no idea who I was, or even who my contact was either! I was quite convinced that I would have to immediately turn around and head back to Tel Aviv, or at least I would end up back in Jerusalem with nothing to do, for the foreseeable future.

Things started looking better when Aysar, a sort of volunteer coordinator showed up. While trying to, at least, find me a place to sleep for the night, we walked over to the other cultural center. I am really lucky that he is a volunteer at both centers because once we arrived at the other place, I immediately began recognizing faces from when I came here with Aziz and our group last year. At this Cultural Center they still weren't expecting me, but at least they knew who my contact was!

My awkward start at Deheishe was anything but indicative of the couple of days I ended up spending there. The first night I spent with Morad (a young volunteer who, last year, gave my group a tour of the camp - his father, Ngegy runs the center), and his family at a street party that rivals any one I've ever seen in the U.S. The whole camp was celebrating, and all of Palestine too. The High School seniors had just gotten their results back from their end of the year exams. These exams rival our SAT's and ACT's, only they are used to determine whether a student will receive a high school diploma or not. Only about half of the students who take the exam will succeed. Morad's family had particular reason to celebrate since, not only had Morad's younger brother passed the exams, but he had also been accepted into Brown University on a full scholarship!

Fireworks were going off until midnight, disco lights were set up in the middle of the street, foam was being sprayed all over everyone, music was blasting at full volume and people were dancing, dancing, dancing. According to my friend in Jerusalem, the festivities were so loud it was audible across the wall!

Though considerably less conservative than Cairo, Bethlehem still keeps up with some tradition, including separating women and men during parties like that. I was nervous at first because I didn't know any of the girls yet, and while this may come as a surprise to most people who know me, I am painfully shy when in a new environment. It was of little concern to the women though. Grandmas were grabbing me and leading me out to the dance floor, their hips gyrating to the music in a way that might make Shakira blush! Which I think is ultimately why they separate. The girls just wanna have fun and they don't need the guys around to do so. Not to mention that the minority of women who do cover get to shed their veils and hijab's, let down their hair, and shake what their grandma's gave them!

After the party Ngegy (Morad's father and the one in charge of the Phoenix Cultural Center) drove me back to the center where I would sleep. He led me to a room full of nine bunks that I shared the first night with three other french visitors, but after had all to myself.

I haven't had such pleasant accomdations on all my trip as I had there. The next morning before the kids came I went uptairs to snack on the hummus and pita that I'd carried with me from Tel Aviv. It cost me 22 ILS (about $6.50) and I was stretching it out into a third meal. Anticipating my miniscule breakfast (and if you know me and my eating habits at all) you can imagine my surprise and excitement when I discovered the counters of the dining hall lined with trays of hummus, pita, yogurt, orange jam, nutella, cereal, nescafe, mint tea, cheese, and meat. I was in heaven.

But really, I think Deheishe is making me fat! They prepare amazing feasts lunch at the center as well; chicken and rice, fish, arabic salad! And don't get me started on the falafel! This is not necessarily a good thing for me considering I'm supposed to be snorkeling in the Red Sea in the upcoming week.

Let me stop with the food tangent though, because that is not why I came to Deheishe. My afternoons here have been spent volunteering at a summer camp for the kids. I spend a couple of hours each day watching the kids learn karate, make art, and teach each other new games. The kids here are really amazing; so resilient and full of life that you would never guess they come from a refugee camp. Their smiles are so bright and when they meet new people they are so trusting and full of love. I was truly blessed with the opportunity to learn from them these past few days.

The kids are really an indication of what the population of Deheishe is like. Physically they are a caged people, living in the confines of a refugee camp that has slowly traded it's walls of canvas tent for concrete homes. The streets are so narrow that two cars can barely scrape by each other, and are not only used as roads for vehicles, but as playgrounds for the children into all hours of the night.

Deheishe is subject to nightly raids by Israeli soldiers, forcing it's population to carry identification papers on them at all times. An unimaginable 80% of the male population in Deheishe will serve at least one year in an Israeli prison, and most will never know why. I know this is not an exageration after walking through the streets with Aysar and stopping every five minutes to talk to a young man about how he's adjusting since being let out of prison, or meeting mother's who don't even flinch when they mention a son is BACK behind bars.

Despite all of what they live with, I have never in my life met more genuine, hospitable, and friendly people as here. Their bodies and minds may be repressed by occupation, but their souls are free. They live each day truly knowing it could be their last. They form deep friendship and family bonds knowing one day they might lose eachother. They talk openly and candidly knowing they must speak their mind or else they might never get the chance to.  Despite the harsh conditions they live, most would never trade being Palestinian for any other nationality in the world. Despite the harsh conditions, they have yet to give up on the goodness of humanity. And most importantly, and perhaps because of the harsh conditions in which they live, they dream of futures bigger and brighter than anything I can even fathom.

Deheishe really left a lasting impression on my mind and in my heart. I look forward to returning in the near future to volunteer. Though really I have little to teach but so much to learn from them.

Hipsters Occupying Tel Aviv

I felt awakened as I passed through the rolling hills, greenery, and desert sand of Israel leaving behind Jerusalem as a small speck in my mind. I sometimes find it hard to appreciate things in Israel after seeing places like Deheishe, however, the whole point of enrolling in Tel Aviv University was to challenge my thoughts and awaken myself to both perspectives. The further the bus drove from Jerusalem, the further we got from the conflict. It was easier to open my mind to the other side, which eventually made me realize why it was so easy for the other side to close their minds to what is going on outside of big cities like Haifa and Tel Aviv.

I was looking forward to spending time in Haifa, a beach town in the north of Israel. I was often told it was like being in a different world, a world living without a clue as to what conflict is. For those who spend much time in Jerusalem, or in the border areas, I can see why they feel this way, but for anyone coming from outside, signs of the conflict are still everywhere. The buses and trains and even beaches are filled with soldiers in their green uniforms, their M-4's hanging casually off their shoulders. For me this signifies anything but a conflict free area. But I can't complain too much. The beach was wonderful, besides the jellyfish that kept being washed on shore, and to be honest, the soldiers are hot!

After two days Alejandro and I (yes we meet again!) headed to Tel Aviv via the train. We arrived at our overbooked hostel ('tis the high season apparently) and settled into our lovely tent in the backyard! We spent the day walking around the streets of Tel Aviv and, of course, visiting the beach. I can definitely say that it will not be very hard to move to this city! If Haifa is a place removed from the conflict than Tel Aviv is a pradise where conflict never even existed. Now, honestly I know this statement could not be further from the truth. Tel Aviv has a violent history of occupation, war, and conflict that dates back to biblical times, but mostly youth dominates Tel Aviv now. And what a youth they are!

Tel Aviv's artsy hipsters give places like D.C. and New York a run for their money! And as my fellow D.C.ers are aware, that is no small statement. Seriously, Black Cat, Brightest Young Things, the Red Derby.... Tel Aviv may have you beat in the ways of overzized specs, crimped hair, gaudy red lipstick, skinny jeans and the "i haven't showered in a few days" eau de perfume.

The streets are full of artwork and people. Nearly every wall has some type of graffiti (and not just tagging), or posters, or painting. And then there is the awesomeness of Carmel market in the old Yemeni district that rivals the size and yelling of the souks in Cairo, though not the touching, thank goodness.

I really enjoyed my time in Tel Aviv, and left with the comfort of feeling like I'd made the right decision about choosing to go to school there. I am nervous and excited about this part of my future, but as my coffee cup read - the thing I am nervous about will turn out well. Enshallah.