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Looking Around the Old City

On Wednesday, I went along with Maiya, a fellow JOH intern, for an impromptu afternoon in the Old City. It’s weird, because I’ve only been back to the Old City twice since the seminar, so I mostly associate it with that portion of our stay. Still, it seems completely different when I’m not running from one holy site to another on a couple hours sleep. While it seemed that we had seen every inch of the Old City during the seminar, we had so little time to breathe and really look around.

We first stopped at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre since Maiya hadn’t been yet. I was amazed by just how much of it I hadn’t seen the first time around. Going in the late afternoon was a good idea; although it was far from empty, it wasn’t nearly as stifffingly crowded as it was the first time around. We watched a procession going around and chanting in Latin. Although I mostly recalled everything we learned during the seminar on the site, there were a few instances when we would walk into a room where everybody was staring at an object and I wasn’t quite sure how to identify it. We thought of trying to find a tour group and maybe inadvertently joining them, but alas, among the many groups we found, none of them were conducted in English.

From there we walked through the market into the Jewish Quarter, where we took  a stroll along the Cardo and found an observation point where we could see the Kotel (which, as per usual, seemed to have hundreds of women crowding into their respective section and about three men in theirs). We tried to give directions to an Australian couple who ended up just following us and I realized that I was somehow going into Tour Guide mode. I really should charge for this.

We ended up back in the market, where we took a much deserved  and delicious knaffeh break. Maiya didn’t seem to think it was quite as amazing as I did, but wow, I hadn’t had any since we were in Ramallah and I had nearly forgotten just how fantastic it can be. We finished off the trip on the roof of the Austrian Hospice. Watching the sun set and looking out onto the rest of the Old City, I thought about how in the last few months, I had started to fall into a daily life in Jerusalem, and it has become all too easy to forget that all of this beauty and holiness is all around me. Throughout the seminar, and in many ways in the last two months, it always seemed that Jerusalem is completely crazy, 24/6. Sitting on the roof, on top of it all, everything seemed so tranquil. While I have definitely not forgotten just how contested everything around me has always been and still is, sometimes it helps to put that aside just for half an hour or so, breathe, and take in the sights.

Ayelet

Hello, Haifa!

Yesterday, Nick, Sarah, and I set off on yet another adventure. This time, we went to that infamous port city known as Haifa. This trip wasn’t exactly the most well-planned out. First, Sarah got sick and had to leave early. Then, Nick and I ran into some trouble getting to the Baha’i Gardens. There was no direct route from the base to the summit, so we took a bus to try to reach the top but we got off too soon on the first bus and completely missed the stop on the second bus (which took us near Akko somehow). Nevertheless, the accidental bus tour of Haifa was completely worth it because we got to see so much of the city and its intriguing sites (like the Grand Canyon Mall).

Two big sleepyheads on the way to Haifa.

By the time we found our way back downtown, all the museums we had planned on visiting were closed. So, we walked around looking for something to do. We tried to find Old Haifa, but it was really just a ruin or two across the street from a clothing store or coffee shop and not something epic-looking like Jerusalem’s Old City. One of the highlights of our trip (and probably the only successfully carried out plan) was an amazing sushi lunch at a seafood restaurant. Around dinner time, Nick and I decided to head back home via bus. On the road, we were greeted with a spectacular view of the sunset over the Mediterranean and the rolling hills of Israel’s countryside.

A few observations about Haifa:

  • It is significantly more hot and humid than Tel Aviv. So remember to drown your throat in water when you get there.
  •  The fashion is much different than central Israel, which surprised me. Women’s clothing is much more likely to drape around the body as opposed to clinging to it. Blouses, pants, and dresses are more billow and less form-fitting. The juniors’ section is less revealing in comparison to that in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Earth tones, neutrals, and pastels are also more common than bright colors.
  • There seemed to be significantly less Arabs in Haifa than in Jerusalem. People of African descent seem to be on par with the demographic equivalent in Jerusalem. Also, although I spotted a few, there were significantly less ultra-orthodox individuals.
  • Russian speakers are everywhere in Haifa; you can’t escape it.
  • IDF soldiers seemed to be everywhere, but this might have been because they were going home for Shabbat.

Overall, I would say that the trip was a success. Why? Because the joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences. I love going new places and seeing/trying new things. The world is my coloring book and I am not afraid of drawing outside the lines.

~Karina

Letting Go (part 1)

3:40pm I pull my floor length dress on over my modest top rushing, a bit, because I need to be there soon. I run back to my office and chat with my bosses who kindly have let me off early. I run to a store nearby and buy a tin of cookies (better than the watermelon that we brought last time?). I decide to walk to the Damascus Gate instead of taking the train, it would likely be faster now anyway because my office is only two stops away… in the short distance sweat has already collected in various parts of my body and I am pretty sure the space between my back and backpack would be obviously wet to another person at this point.

3:58pm A couple ask me for directions to the train stop, I explain then continue on.

4:06pm I call Rebekah, we spot each other, meet and walk to meet Sarah closer to the Damascus gate. Rebekah asks me if I am nervous, “no,” I reply without evening thinking.

4:20pm We enter the hotel in East Jerusalem after winding our way down Sala-e-din street. Our friend’s husband meets us and we wait in the hotel lobby. We are sitting in the large chairs and the three of us are staring at each other, accessing, then begin chatting, while waiting for *Hadiya’s husband. We wait before riding together in a car through East Jerusalem to their home. It is not until we are sitting in the car about to pull out of the hotel that it occurs to me why Rebekah might have asked me if I was nervous. I realize that my trust in Hadiya and this situation has not really wavered, I consider this briefly taking note of the fact that I am generally more skeptical but am not right now.

In the car Hadiya’s husband explains the Ramadan fasting time frame, which begins with a light meal at 4am then no water, no food, no cigarettes until sunset which today is 7:51pm. He notes the cigarettes are the most challenging for him… Later in the car I ask about Iftar at Al-Aksa. (“Iftar” being the name for the communal feast that takes place at the end of each day of fasting during Ramadan) Al-Aksa mosque hosts an “Iftar for the poor” and, according to Hadiya’s husband, in recent years many people have taken advantage of the dinner who don’t really need the support so those who monitor entrance to the Iftar are very strict this year about who can gain access.

We walk into a compound filled with fruit bearing trees with tiny lemons and grape vines and enter a building which holds Hadiya’s apartment. My mouth is dry. The apartment is cooler than the outside because the blinds are drawn but the air is warm. I feel relaxed. I have chosen to semi-fast for Ramadan today and eaten only a small amount earlier in the day. I stopped water consumption around 4pm. We enter Hadiya’s apartment and are invited to sit down, shortly after Hadiya emerges smiling, her hair is down. This is the first time all summer we have seen her without her veil on. She greets us in traditional fashion and we settle into conversation briefly passing over the question of thirst, before moving on, Sarah, Rebekah and I assure her we want to partake in the fast, albeit an abbreviated version at this point… The fan circulates the air in the room I am aware again of the sweat, but no longer bothered. We move our conversation into the kitchen where Hadiya begins cutting onions, our conversation is comfortable, easy and the occasional laps into silence are not awkward but instead acknowledge the familiarity we feel after spending time together this summer.

5:30pm The sound of the knife slicing onions against the red glass cutting board, Hadiya’s pattern of cutting, always in half than slicing parallel to the board. She stir various pots on the stove. Big beautiful whole wheat pitas are cut in half with kitchen scissors…

Hadiya senses tiredness and prompts us to lie down in the living room, normally taking a nap when visiting someone’s house for the first time might seem odd but it seems like the most natural and pleasant idea in this moment

Hadiya brings me a blanket and tucks me into the couch, a blanket could seem crazy because it’s likely 100 degrees outside and this third story apartment has no AC but the blanket and the warm air embrace me and I let them hold me and I let go, I realize, for the first time since 22nd of May when we stayed in a Hostel in the Galilee (because of the bed and setting, I suppose, in the Galilee I had been able to sink into a deep, relaxing sleep) and now again in Hadiya’s apartment. My thoughts, again I take note, of the not having “let go” (now several hours later I am fairly certain having someone tuck me in indicated to by brain that I was no longer responsible for my self or anyone else in that moment, who knew being an adult would actually feel like something tangibly different?) I sunk into the most delightful sleep, appreciating the tranquility in this moment

Sometime later we are back in the kitchen and Hadiya is slicing cabbage, in the way only someone who is well experienced in chopping does, she has different bowls and moves in a manner indicating her own fatigue but she smiles and laughs as we again offer to help her, she prompts me to practice my Arabic while she pulls pans from the oven and the most heavenly smell, that has lingered in the kitchen emerges with great fullness and we ask her about the spices. A breeze comes in through the kitchen window.

6:30pm Hadiya looks at the clock, moving slightly faster, I notice my thirst and hunger but somehow instead of a nagging feeling I appreciate it and look forward to the meal that lies ahead

While time was everything for this occasion it also held no significance and seemed to float by, I suppose, because of my state of mind…

-Marie

Part 2 and photo soon

“Dirty Arabs!”

Every day I am constantly reminded about the fact that Hand-in-Hand really is a safe haven for co-existence. It’s hard, being neither Arab or Jewish, to remember that the conflict really does affect every single area of a person’s life. Even interacting with the kids at camp I am reminded this. Today, when going to the outside park, there was a broken bottle on the court, ruining any chance we had of playing there. Even if we had cleaned it up, it still would have been too dangerous. So we headed over to the other side to go play at the playground. On my way over there, I told Carmel (who is Jewish), “Why would they just drop a bottle like that and not clean it up? It’s so disrespectful.” She told me: “It happens all the time here. It’s because of our school. Look over there.” She pointed to a wall. “There was graffiti there that we whited out. It said “Death to all Arabs.” Now that she pointed it out, I could see the faint outline of some Hebrew letters on the wall. Considering Nai’s comment, “You should hear what they say to us because we’re Arab” (Nai is eleven), it struck me again just how important a school like Hand-in-Hand is. It’s tragic that there’s only one is Jerusalem, and four in the country. Co-existence schools like this are the key to solving the problem, in my opinion. It drives me crazy that even though these kids have a safe place within their school, the minute they leave the school walls they are subjected to prejudice and bigotry.

Hannah

Towards a More Colorful Jerusalem

As Pride is right around the corner, Open House has started a huge campaign to get as many rainbow flags around Jerusalem as possible. While JOH might be a little rainbow oasis in a monochrome city (thanks, Rebekah!) all year round, we’ve been trying to change that. While this task might be easy in Tel Aviv, it’s quite the feat here in Jerusalem.

In general, the rainbow flag has, for pretty obvious reasons,  been a very contested symbol here. It’s been burned in public on multiple occasions and even just putting it up outside of our offices has been met with opposition. Perhaps this is why Open House has become so persistent on putting them up. While just putting up a rainbow flag may not be that big of a deal to us coming from Northampton, it’s definitely a bold statement here. One person I talked to at JOH described putting up the flag as a way to say “It’s our Jerusalem too”. So much of the seminar, and the topic of our last paper focused on who Jerusalem really “belongs” to, if anyone. It seems that so much of the dialogue about the city tries to justify Jerusalem as belonging to a certain group, and working at JOH has really gotten me thinking about who is actually part of that group.

Ayelet

On Losing My Rock Climbing Virginity

Last Wednesday, Rebekah and I went on an evening adventure to Teddy Stadium in order to leave no rock…err multicolored protruding structure unclimbed. We were joined by two of Rebekah’s friends from the dig: Benny and Yael. It was the first time I had ever gone rock climbing.

The room with the rock climbing walls was huge and completely un-air conditioned. More advanced climbers could even climb on the ceiling.  Since there was a bar mitzah scheduled there that evening, the place was filled with 12-year old boys running around. It was nice to see Israelis of all ages enjoying the sport.

It was a bit frustrating to learn how to belay for the first time, but eventually I got the hang of it and no one died, which is what really matters at the end of the day. My climbing was also not as successful as I had hoped for; I only made it to the top once on one of the easier walls. Normally, I only made it about halfway up before I started to panic because my arms couldn’t reach high enough. How frustratingly unpleasant! Then again, I was a sheltered child so my climbing skills are still at a pretty elementary level. Nonetheless, the world has nothing to weep at for when I do permanently move to Israel, I shall become a renowned climbing master (assuming I don’t get detained or arrested first).

I would insert another sappy Oprah-worthy paragraph here about how important it is to have new experiences and broaden you horizons and live every moment as if it were your last, but come on that would be way too predictable. Besides, I only do impulses not feelings.

Until next climb,

Karina

Orthodox Babies!

As I’m sure most of you know, babies are my thing. I really love them and anything that has to do with them. So, logically, I have been noticing all the babies here especially. It’s funny to see how much a baby’s attire can vary depending on the religion of his or her parent. Even within a faction of babies, they are still dressed differently. For example, I have seen a lot of variation on the part of the Ultra-Orthodox regarding the dress of their children. Some of them dress their girls with complete modesty, like their older sisters. Other let their little girls show a little more skin, with elbows and knees uncovered. So far, I haven’t seen (or haven’t remembered) an Orthodox baby with her shoulders uncovered. In terms of the boys, there are also variations. I’ve seen boys with pe’ot, boys without pe’ot, boys with their heads completely shaved and pe’ot, etc. What I really like to look at is brothers and sisters. Sometimes, a girl might have her elbows uncovered but her brother has his head shaved and long pe’ot. Of course, I realize that a lot of these differences in garb have to do with the different kinds of Ultra-Orthodox communities, but I thought that it was interesting to notice and point out.

Hannah

Hiking in The Golan Heights

The past four weekends, and a few evenings after work, I have been taking advantage of Israel’s many trails and nature parks. Last weekend I spent Shabbot camping on the Jordan River, making our way to the Golan where we planned to hike in The Meshushim Reserve after sundown on Saturday. So, after a night of camping underneath an olive tree in a nearby city, we woke up, made breakfast with coffee, bought some food to last us the day, and began a short highway hike to a rest area doubling as the beginning of a red trail.

The clearly and many marked trails in Israel are something I have not seen in America. The hikes I have taken along the Appalachian trail have markers that you usually ending up searching for, most of which are faded paint on tree trunks. I remember being accompanied by experienced hikers who had to reference the map frequently a necessity that resulted in a frustrating and less than enjoyable journey. However, the great effort put into keeping these trails available and easy to navigate really encourages it’s residents to immerse themselves in the beautiful natural phenomenons Israel has to offer. In contrast to Jerusalem, this kind of site seeing is absent of religion and politics, is quiet, and allows one to get back to the basics.

We began the trek along the red trail, a three hour hike that directed us with markers as to which section of the trail we were at with numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5. Near the third section, we came across two unbelievably deep pools of cold, crisp water surrounded by basalt hexagonal pillars. Without previous knowledge I would have sworn that these pools were man made, complete with fish, and a small but strong flowing stream from one to the other. I couldn’t resist climbing to the highest cliff to dive into the miniature oasis, finding myself deep within the mountain, underwater, swimming for what seemed like twenty seconds to reach the surface again.

After our water detour we continued the red trail, switched to the blue trail, ending up at a gorgeous waterfall which was feeding two pools of more cold deep water. The walls of these pools were made up of basalt hexagonal pillars as well as natural caves. Surprising greenery poked through the cracks of the rocks, decorated with pink flowers.

We exited the same way we entered, taking the blue trail up a ladder then followed the black trail, leading us along an old archaeological excavation site. Like the ruins we visited on the Galilee, these stone structures were composed of the pepper-colored volcanic rocks abundant in the region. I remember when the group visited the north near Galilee and recall the feeling of being in a different world after being surrounded by the beige stones making up Jerusalem. This time instead of just shock I also felt happy to be away from the white mono-colored city that constantly reminds you of the barren desert you reside in. Although the north has building restrictions for using anything besides the uniform volcanic stones on exteriors, like Jerusalem construction rules, the color reminds me of the surrounding water and is more welcoming to me.

Besides my personal realization that I could never live away from natural bodies of water, I made some connections to my work at the archaeological dig at the Givati Parking Lot- Any stones that we find to have black volcanic color and composition must have been imported from the north. This can tell us about how and when trade worked between Jerusalem, along with who was trading with who depending on which time period the stones are found in.

It’s amazing how small Israel seems when I’m in Jerusalem, but how huge it suddenly becomes when I’m in the wild. It’s hard to believe I’ve only visited a handful of the parks on the map after spending days and nights exploring so much land. Because of the inviting trails, and hikes covering this country, I am confident I will return with a plan to conquer all of the challenges it has to offer.

Next weekend-repelling down 30 meter cliffs to the Dead Sea.

Rebekah Renfro

Trip to the Old City Part I

I posted some blog posts ago about doing some mental unpacking. I went through scenarios of different encounters that I had, in detail, but for some reason didn’t post about the event that was essentially the catalyst for the post.

Several weeks ago I went walking through the passageways of the Old City. I wasn’t sure exactly what I thought I would accomplish within those walls, but I stuffed my backpack with a long mesh skirt, a heavily adorned scarf, my 12″ x 18″ drawing pad, a journal, compressed charcoal, my wallet, an ipod, and water. I guess it might help to pause for a second and do some prefacing. Around the time of this excursion, we, students, had a paper looming. We were asked to write about the political/religious sacredness of a site and, before my trip to the Old City, I had yet to decide on anything. Fast forward to my trip and although I consciously and decidedly went to the Old City without any intentions, I think I subconsciously hoped to be drawn, randomly, to a site.

I hadn’t been back to the Old City since our group trip weeks prior. Now, I think it is fair to say that if I had been pressed for time during this outing, it would seem unwise and undesirable to approach the maze-like area without some sort of mental map, at least. Because I had allotted the entire day to play within the walled area, however, I was excited to get lost in and negotiate my way out of the Old City.

Things started off pretty interestingly. On my way to the Givat HaMivtar light rail station, I was stopped by a woman who asked me, in English, where the train going to Jerusalem was. A bit confused, I told her that she could walk alongside me to the light rail stop and asked if she could explain to me, more clearly, where it was that she wanted to go (as far as I knew, we were already in Jerusalem and any stop along the light rail route was also in the city). After five minutes of speaking with this woman, I learned that she grew up in Jerusalem, still has quite a few extended family members in the city, moved to Bethlehem when she was around my age, and has no knowledge of Hebrew. I learned this woman’s name, her children’s names and ages, her age and occupation. I think I gathered all of the information that a person could possibly retain within five minutes, save the only thing I really wanted to know—her desired destination. We got to the train platform and I asked my fellow traveler if “Jerusalem” was close to the city’s center, or away from it. She immediately responded that it was close, and I told her I was headed in that direction as well. During our ride, I spent most of the time talking, sharing my name, my studies, my travels. I basically gave a small snapshot of myself in the 7 minutes or so that it took to get to the Old City’s Damascus Gate. When my stop arrived, I saw that my new acquaintance was gathering her things as well. I pointed to the walled city and asked her if this was the Jerusalem that she wished to get to. She smiled and nodded, giving me an affirmative “yes” before stepping off of the train. “That’s a new one” I whispered to myself as I stepped off of the train. I took out my journal and pen, tightened my backpack straps, and made my way towards this new Jerusalem.

Kamilah

Cultural Appropriation and the Kotel

I hesitated about writing this on the blog, as it only deals with Jerusalem secondhand, but I do think American appropriation of Jerusalem and Jewish symbols still relates to our course, and I am so angry about this that I really do feel like I have to write about it somewhere.

A few days ago, an American anti-choice group announced plans to build a replica of the Western Wall in Wichita, Kansas as a symbol for abortions had in the US. Now, I can write for hours about how the anti-choice movement is one run largely on incredibly false information or how insensitive it is do build this in Wichita, where three years ago, Dr. George Tiller was assassinated, but beyond all that, I’m really angry at this, and the movement’s appropriation of the holiest site in Judaism.

When it comes to cultures that frequently fall victim to cultural appropriation, Jewry isn’t exactly too high on that list. Jews aren’t exactly considered exotic – largely because it’s thought of as a ‘white culture’ (nevermind that this erases so many Jews of color). Despite Jews only making up about 2% of the US population, many of them are very privileged individuals who definitely get a voice in society. Cultures that are higher up on the (imaginary, made up of my non-scientific guesstimates) CA list are often non-Western and Native American, ones that are not in the position of privilege in the US. Still, this is hardly to say that Jewish cultural appropriation never happens.

I think this also goes far beyond just Christians claiming Jewish symbols, since, let’s face it, that’s been happening for a couple thousand years. The article linked features some lovely soundbites from spokesman Pastor Mark Holick, such as when he explains that the Kotel is “a place that memorializes what happened during the Holocaust”. Seriously?! I’m sorry, but does this guy even know what the Kotel is? Even a little bit? Does he actually realize that it’s been the holiest site in Judaism for thousands of years before the Holocaust, or even what the Second Temple actually was? Later, he says that he and his team may travel to Jerusalem to actually see it in person. Maybe, before they do that, they could at least bother with a Google search about it if they plan to replicate the site. And don’t even get me started on how anti-choice folks have appropriated the Holocaust, because that offends me on so many levels that I might just prefer to not even think about that.

The anti-choice movement in the US is made of up of a huge Christian majority. Unfortunately, because of this, I have been misled to think that I wouldn’t see so much of the War on Women in Israel. So, I was both disgusted and disappointed to see an ad for a Crisis Pregnancy Center (a center posing as a clinic similar to Planned Parenthood which tries to talk pregnant women out of having abortions, often by showing clips from 1970s horror movies posing as aborted fetuses and telling them that abortions lead to breast cancer despite countless studies proving otherwise) in the back of the Jerusalem Post, and then another on a bus and then another in City Center. Lest we forget how some Israeli politicians feel on the subject, a few weeks ago MK Anastassia Michaeli made a very public statement that she thinks abortions make women become lesbians. So, I have unfortunately discovered that the stupidity and misogyny I associated with a group made up of mostly American Christians  exists with some Israeli Jews as well.

Still, I would hope that regardless of any Jew’s opinions on the subject (or, for that matter, their opinions on the Wall itself), they can still see how hugely problematic this project is, whether or not it actually comes to fruition (and I really hope it does not). Throughout the seminar we discussed how so many of the holy sites in Jerusalem have become symbols that have been interpreted in so many different ways. While it is important to consider how such sites have evolved in society’s imagination, it is still important to recognize how problematic and harmful some of these interpretations are.

Ayelet